An envelope of cream-colored vellum lay on the tray exactly where Mistress Douglas said it was. Gillian stared at it as she poured a cup of tea. She managed to keep her curiosity about her mysterious benefactor at bay until she’d satisfied her overwhelming hunger, but once she’d finished her eggs and kippers, Gillian lifted the envelope from the tray.
Her fingers trembled as she lifted the heavy cream vellum and turned it over to study the seal. The green wax puddle over the folded edge of the envelope bore the impression of a mounted knight.
Gillian ran the pad of her finger over the impression, intrigued by the choice. The vellum wasn’t the sort of stationery one would expect a smuggler to use; neither was the wax seal.
Seals were personal representations. Before he’d been awarded his title and coat of arms, her father had used gold wax pressed with the symbol of a lion. He’d selected the lion because it reaffirmed what everyone already knew: Carter Davies was the acknowledged king of the silk merchants. So, why would a smuggler choose to use green wax and the figure of a mounted knight? Why not a boat? Or a Jolly Roger? Or a cutlass? Or were those symbols a bit too obvious?
Gillian broke the seal and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. She unfolded the sheet of paper and was astonished to find a fifty-pound banknote issued by the Bank of England and three gold sovereigns.
A sheen of unshed tears burned her eyes as Gillian read the note and realized her prayers had been answered:
Madam,
I have taken the liberty of presenting the innkeepers with full payment for your complete room and board until the end of the month.
It is my way of thanking you for allowing me to intrude upon your privacy while I sought shelter from the cold. You gave me refuge when I needed it most, and I’m grateful.
I have also taken the liberty of securing a coach and hiring a driver to take you wherever you wish to go. Please do not hesitate to avail yourself of his services as soon as possible.
I enclose additional funds should you require them for the journey.
The Blue Bottle Inn is no place for a lady.
You needn’t stand watch at the window any longer. The way home is yours.
I am,
Your servant,
Galahad
Gillian’s breath caught in her throat. He wasn’t a figment of her imagination. Nor was he her husband. She had shared a bed and an intimate kiss with a stranger. A smuggler. A smuggler who knew she waited at the window and watched. A smuggler who knew she had seen him in the early morning fog and the nighttime shadows. Gillian folded the sheet of paper and returned it to its envelope.
She should be shocked, perhaps, even ashamed. But she was not. She was grateful. She was deeply, profoundly grateful to her mysterious benefactor for coming to her rescue. Gillian hadn’t been alone after all, because the man who called himself Galahad had known she was there.
The original Galahad had been renowned for his purity and virtue. Gillian tucked the envelope and the fifty-pound banknote in the lining of her bodice. She couldn’t vouch for this Galahad’s purity, but Gillian had to commend him on his virtue for, like all true chivalrous knights, he had come to the aid of a damsel in distress. And he kissed like a dream...
She scooped up the gold sovereigns and hid one between the lining and the sole of her right shoe, then removed a stocking from the small traveling case she’d packed in preparation for her elopement and dropped the remaining sovereigns in the stocking, fashioning a knot between each one to keep them from clinking together. Once the coins were secure inside the stocking, Gillian lifted her skirts and tied the stocking around her waist.
He may not have meant to, but her husband had taught her a valuable lesson when he’d taken her jewelry and her emergency cash. Now Gillian knew better than to be so trusting and careless with the things she valued. She knew better than to be swept off her feet by a handsome face and a charming manner. She knew better than to give her heart and her self away to a man who would leave her behind without so much as a note or a kiss.
Gillian was going home to London where she belonged. She was going to take her mysterious Galahad’s advice and find a way to make amends to her parents. And if that failed and her father refused to take her in, the money Galahad had given her would allow her to find suitable lodging until she could locate her errant husband and demand explanations for the many questions he’d left unanswered.
Chapter Four
“The very life-blood of our enterprise.”
—William Shakespeare, 1564-1616
King Henry IV, Part I
London
“You’re late.” Jarrod, the fifth Marquess of Sheperdston and founding member of the Free Fellows, spoke without preamble when the doors opened and Colin entered the room.
“As you can see, I came as quickly as I could.” Colin’s hair was still damp from his quick bath when he walked into the private meeting room to find Griffin, Duke of Avon; Daniel, Duke of Sussex; and Jarrod conversing over glasses of Scotch whisky while they waited for him to arrive. Colin had only arrived in London a little over an hour earlier, having landed in Dover the previous afternoon following a brief journey to Paris. He had traveled straight through to London, stopping only long enough to change horses and barely had time to pop into the suite of rooms he kept at Jarrod’s London town house to bathe and change before Henderson, Jarrod’s butler, had delivered several messages, including one from the marquess requesting Viscount Grantham’s presence at White’s. The marquess had, Henderson said, called an emergency meeting of the League in their
customary private rooms at White’s.