Barely a Bride (Free Fellows League 1)

“But it’s your ancestral home.”

“Now, it’s your ancestral home,” he said softly. “It’s done, my lady. My solicitor in London has a copy of the documents giving you full authority over the manor and everything in it.”

“I’m overwhelmed,” she whispered.

“Don’t be.” Griffin smiled tenderly. “My solicitor is the same one I used for our marriage contract. He and my man of affairs will assist you with any business decisions you need to make.”

“I don’t know your man of affairs,” she said. “I’ve never heard you speak of him.”

Griffin blushed. “Actually, it’s Colin.”

“Colin?” She drew a blank.

“Lord Grantham. He doesn’t have any real money yet, as his father managed to gamble everything but the title away, but he’s accumulating a tidy sum investing for me and for Shepherdston. He takes a commission from everything he makes for us. And he’s proving to be a genius at making money.” Griffin looked up at her. “He doesn’t advertise, and we haven’t any formal agreement. It’s just something we do for one another. And I’d be grateful if you didn’t let on to anyone else that he acts as my man of affairs. Having everyone in society know that he’s short of blunt is hard enough. He doesn’t need to have to defend his venturing into trade.”

“I won’t say anything.”

“Thank you.” He reached for his coat. “I knew I could rely on you.”

Alyssa stopped him. “Griffin, I have something for you, too.” She squeezed her eyes shut to keep from crying. “A gift. But you asked me to stay here, and now I can’t get up to get it.”

“Where is it?” he said, gently. “I’ll get it.”

“In my traveling case. In my bedchamber. It’s the small black box.”

Griffin left the room. He returned moments later with the box. Crossing over to the bed, he handed it to her.

“Close your eyes,” she ordered. “And bend so that I can reach your neck.”

He followed her instructions to the letter, bending far enough so that she could loop her arms over his neck. “Now, raise up and open your eyes.”

Griffin did and discovered that he was wearing a small gold medallion depicting Saint George slaying the dragon.

Alyssa’s eyes sparkled with pleasure at the sight of her gift shining beside the buttons of his uniform. “I bought it for you the morning after we met at Almack’s—because I wanted you to have something to protect you in your noble quest. Even if Papa refused your suit.” She drew her brows together, concentrating on his earlier words. “I intended to present it to you before now, but we’ve been a little busy.”

“I’ll wear it with pride and honor,” he told her. And love. The words popped into Griffin’s mind, but he pushed them aside. Love hadn’t been part of the bargain. She had married him not because she wanted a husband but because she wanted to escape her parents’ dominion. Because she wanted a home of her own.

Love had never been part of the deal. Besides, he reminded himself, he was a lifelong Free Fellow and sworn never to love his wife. He could like her, admire her, and respect her! But he could never love her.

There was a discreet tap at the door.

“It’s time, sir.” Eastman called softly.

“I’ll be right there,” Griff answered.

“Please Griffin, let me see you off.”

“You are seeing me off,” he answered. “And I am seeing you the way I want always to remember you.” He leaned down and placed a kiss on her forehead, on her eyes, on her nose, and finally on the corner of her mouth. A kiss that was the merest brush of his lips against hers. A kiss so poignant she thought her heart might break. “Good-bye, my lady.” My love. “God keep you.”

“And you,” she whispered.

Chapter Twenty-two

“Hard work is nature’s antidote to grief. There is no remedy for a broken heart. Hard work alone makes the condition bearable. There would be no reason to get out of bed otherwise.”

—Alyssa, Lady Abernathy, diary entry, 10 June 1810.

She was inconsolable for two days after Griffin left to join his regiment, but she finally emerged from their room on the third day with firm resolve, a clear vision, and a handful of letters addressed to Griffin, Major Lord Abernathy, His Majesty’s Eleventh Blues, that she gave to Keswick to post.