* * *
She sent him a gold watch. Griffin opened the cover and smiled. The inside of the front cover unfolded to reveal a double frame containing a miniature copy of her father’s Lawrence portrait of his foxhound bitch, Fancy, and a miniature of Apollo. A reminder of what he’d traded and what he’d gotten, her letter had said. Griffin had laughed aloud as he passed the watch around for Eastman and Hughey to admire. The front cover miniatures weren’t the only ones. Inside the back cover was a miniature of Alyssa wearing the jewelry he had given her as a wedding gift. Her letter informed him that she had ordered the miniature when she sat for her formal portrait as Viscountess Abernathy. The larger version now hung in the portrait gallery of Weymouth Park, his parents’ country seat.
“Good God! But she’s as beautiful outside as she is inside!” Hughey exclaimed, staring down at Alyssa’s likeness. “I didn’t think it possible.” He looked up at Griffin. “I’ll be sure to watch your back tomorrow, sir. You must return to her in one piece, or she’ll never forgive me.”
“What happened to your vow to marry her should I fail to clear the French lines?” Griffin teased.
Hughey stared at the miniature for a moment longer before carefully closing the watch and returning it to Griff. When he looked up, he wore the most pensive expression Griffin had ever seen. “Lady A is much too fine for the likes of me, sir. I’m an odd-looking fellow with my pale skin and hair.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Why, most folks don’t realize I have eyebrows and eyelashes! A fellow like me could never do Lady A justice. She should walk on the arm of the finest and most handsome gentleman in England.” Hughey met Griffin’s gaze. “I should not have joked about such a thing. For it’s quite plain that Lady A is your match in every way. I’m honored to have your friendship, sir. It was wrong of me to joke about coveting your wife.” Hughey stood up and saluted Griffin. “I won’t let you down tomorrow, sir.”
“Hughey…” Griffin got to his feet and returned the salute. “Lieutenant Hughes…”
“Sir?”
“My wife is as honored by your admiration for her as you are by her gift of friendship to you. She would be a lucky woman indeed if so fine and loyal a fellow as you relieved her of a burdensome widowhood.”
“Thank you for saying so, sir.”
“I only spoke the truth, Lieutenant. Remember that, if tomorrow’s battle proves unfavorable and I fall.”
“You won’t fall, sir,” Hughey promised. “You’re protected by Saint George, by Lady Alyssa’s prayers, and by Lieutenant Nolan Hughes.” He winked. “Good night, Eastman. Good night, sir. Bay is waiting for me to turn in.”
“Good night, Hughey.”
Griffin watched until Hughey disappeared around the corner. He and Hughey and Eastman had spent a companionable evening meal.
As Hughey and Eastman said their good nights, Griffin took out Alyssa’s letters and read them once again, saving the most recent for last.
15 April 1811
Abernathy Manor
Northamptonshire, England
Dearest Griffin,
Congratulations! You are now the proud godfather of a litter of very fine foxhounds whose parents, Fancy and Prince, are quite enjoying the spoiling that goes along with the accomplishment. You aren’t, I’m afraid, the recipient of the pick of the litter. That honor went to Lord Weymouth, who is quite overcome by the gift. You were offered second pick of the litter. Papa pressed me to choose, but I declined by saying that a man should pick his own hounds. A sentiment I am certain you will appreciate.
However, I did not decline the offer of first pick of the foals Apollo has bred upon the mares he covered. Nor did I allow my father to retain ownership of all the others. You will be happy to know that on this point, I stood quite firm. Papa was most unhappy with the bargain, saying the mares belong to him and therefore the foals, but I pointed out there would be no foals without the loan of Apollo, and although you did not attach strings to the loan, you did not expect Apollo to be used to cover all of Papa’s broodmares. Since that was the case, I felt you would derive some profit from Apollo’s exertions.
If all goes well with the foaling, we shall increase our stables by twelve over the course of the spring. Papa will have to absorb the loss should any of the foals not be born whole and hardy. I was quite put out with him for taking advantage of your generosity in such a way, although he assured me that Apollo was none the worse for wear and that he quite enjoyed the duties placed upon him. But for Papa to enhance his stock in such a manner… Suffice it to say that Papa is, at present, not on speaking terms with me. In his estimation, I am nowhere near the worth of twelve foals and Fancy’s second pick of the litter. But your father was very pleased with my bargaining ability and says I am worth much more despite our unfortunate setback in producing an heir. I hope you feel the same.
At any rate, please accept my best wishes and my offering on the first anniversary of our nuptials. I know the date on my letter does not correspond to the date of our actual wedding, but I am putting this in the dispatch pouch early in hopes that it will reach you on the appointed day. I never thought to ask if you wanted to celebrate the day of our nuptials. I’m afraid I simply took it for granted that you would choose to do so. I am enclosing this letter along with my anniversary gift to you. A not too very subtle reminder of me. I’m afraid, but I beg your indulgence, for I am married a year and yet barely a bride, and as such, I believe brides are entitled to a bit of sentimentality.
Shepherdston and Grantham continue to pay brief visits on your behalf. They never stay the night and have been the most circumspect of gentlemen and loyal friends. Thank you for asking them to look out for me in your absence.
I pray God and Saint George will keep you safe.
Your devoted wife, Alyssa
PS: Please give my best regards to Eastman and Lieutenant Hughes and assure them that the gardens are beginning to bloom and I will soon have a batch of fresh rosemary and sheep’s milk soap to send. It sounds repulsive, I know, but it does wonders for the complexion. Oh, and I remembered to enclose the gold braid Lieutenant Hughes asked me to send.
Griffin had opened the folds of the letter the first time he’d read it, but there was no sign of the gold braid that should have been enclosed.
This time Griffin reached into the bottom of the dispatch bag and discovered it lying there. He hadn’t discovered the braid earlier because he’d been too busy reading the other four letters to stop and look for it. And afterward, he and Hughey and Eastman had been so engrossed in studying his new watch they’d forgotten to look for the braid Hughey needed to refurbish his uniform coat.
Griffin fished the length of gold braid out of the leather pouch and placed it in his coat pocket. He would give it to Hughey tomorrow after the battle when Eastman would certainly elect to make repairs to all of their coats.
Griffin carefully refolded the letter, then opened the drawer of his portable writing desk and removed the packet of letters he kept there. He untied the blue ribbon holding them together and added the five new letters to the packet, briefly stopping to inhale the faint scent of roses each one carried. He painstakingly retied the blue ribbon and gently deposited the packet back inside his escritoire.