Peregrine's Prize (2 page)

"I wish you every success on your journey then,
father." Randall bowed deeply and followed his younger brother from the
room.


Cecilia crossed the room and pressed a
kiss to his cheek. He patted her head briefly. "Now then, my girl. No need
for you to be concerned. I've set things up for you. You'll have your pin money
as always, and the use of any of the houses. Perry will look after you. I don't
suppose you've found a husband yet?" he teased his only daughter.



"I’m afraid I'm not actually looking. You know, I'm quite
old enough to look after myself." The apple of his eye cast a disparaging
glance at her elder sibling. "Perry needn't trouble himself."



"It's done. There's no need to argue the point, puss. Perry
will look out for you until you turn twenty-five, and then you'll have all the
joy of looking out for yourself you could wish. A year isn't so long to wait.
And Perry," He frowned sternly at his eldest boy. "Will not be a
trial to you, will you my boy?"


Perry
grunted noncommittally and Gerard sighed again. "Go on. I've a lot of
packing to do. And you ...Yes, it is necessary to leave Nelson to help you.
You've a damned supercilious attitude and, frankly, I'm rather concerned that
you'd run roughshod over your siblings if I left it entirely up to you.


Oh, I know you wouldn't abuse them, but they aren't a stack of
blank canvasses to be repainted in your image, either."



"But..."



"But nothing, Peregrine. They are high spirited and lively,
and that's the way we love them. Help them, support them, and if they are in
true danger, rescue them, but otherwise let them live their lives. I intend to
at last live mine, and you, my serious son, I highly suggest you live
yours."




****

A barefoot, grimy–faced urchin delivered the letter to
Peregrine's London home. The major domo took the missive from him with two
fingers holding on to the edge with care and being sure not to touch the filthy
hand that held it. Then he'd questioned the ragamuffin, but more than, "it
be a toff guv, wif a tall hat and a coat
wif
so many
capes on it swept the pavements like," the lad couldn't—or wouldn't tell
him any more. Not even what the gentleman's features were like. The child had shuddered
and gone white under his dirt, and reiterated it was "just a swell,"
before he clammed up. Thomas was not inclined to try and prize any more
information from one so young, and, he decided, so scared of someone, probably
the sender of the letter. He'd handed him a penny and sent him on his way. Luckily
that the long serving major domo knew enough about Peregrine's secret work for
the government not to ignore any missive that arrived at the town house, nor
leave it unread until Peregrine appeared. Within the hour Thomas dispatched it
with a groom to the cottage on Hampstead Heath, where Peregrine spent most of
his time.

The five words written in an elegant script convinced Peregrine
to send his love away for safety and let it be known his association with the
lady ceased. That statement nigh on killed him, but he insisted she wouldn't be
harmed. Surely it was better to have loved and be loved and know your lover was
now safe than to be instrumental in their death? She of course disagreed and called
him all sorts of idiot, but Peregrine stood his ground and put the word out
that the cottage no longer belonged to him.

Instead it had to all intents and purposes been acquired by one
of his cronies—one who Perry trusted implicitly. Abraham Starkey, someone who
he'd previously trust his life to, and as it happened, his family.

Now, Perry intended to work fast and try to discover who attempted
to aid and abet Napoleon's supporters and undermine the fabric of British society.
To say nothing of having a personal vendetta against the Grettons.

Peregrine valued his country, but his family came first every
time. No one but no one threatened them. Already there had been attacks he
hadn't been able to prevent, and Peregrine’s heart ached at the hurt people
experienced. It must stop and soon. He immersed himself in his work, put his
love out of his mind as best he could, and serviced himself.

During that lonely time, where he dared trust very few people,
Perry gained a reputation for boring stolidness. He grinned to himself when he
heard the expression 'prosy old bore'. Little did they know that his true self was
anything but.

Chapter
One

London
England. March 1816

Peregrine, Lord Corby’s eldest son and heir to the
Brigstock Dynasty turned the letter from his papa over and over in his hands.
Really, he wondered how any man could cover two pages with tiny writing and essentially
say nothing. No details of where he resided or whether his search brought him
any nearer his goal, just platitudes, and the inevitable, 'do not ride
roughshod over your siblings. Listen to Martin, and take care'. It wasn't even
dated just the number '5' at the top to show it was the fifth letter he'd
written. Letters one, two, and four were tucked safely away in a locked drawer.
Letter three never arrived.

Perry sighed and folded the sheets carefully. He
missed his father more than he would admit. It wasn't until the Earl of Brigstock
left to try and find the love of his life, that Perry realized just how his father
kept the family together, and reduced their bickering to a minimum. It tended
to be mostly good-natured bickering, but Perry now understood why his papa said
it wore him out.

At least Cecilia seemed settled and Randall almost
so. Nash and Harold? He shook his head, whoever knew about those two? They
seemed to be, but Nash, although he should be cuddling up to his bride and
enjoying newly married bliss, seemed worried about something, and wouldn't say
what. As for Harold? Well, Harold was Harold and sometimes he pitied any man
involved with him. His loyalty could not be faulted, and he assured everyone he
was in love, no doubt about it. But when an experiment hit him, everything else
would be ignored. It took someone special to accept that. Thank goodness Martin
Tillman, the American seemed to understand, and love Harold. Such a pity, he
mused, there seemed no option but to embroil the man in his equations. However Perry
remained philosophical. Martin—damn, it was complicated with two Martins to
think about—
the American,
became
embroiled even before he met Harold, and hopefully would soon be in the clear. Perry
thought that if only his life—regarding both love and work—could be even a
quarter as settled he'd be a happy man. At least he no longer thought he might
end up wed to the wrong woman. Nash and the lady in question solved that
dilemma by marrying. Felicity was perfect for Nash, and they meshed, which was
something he and Felicity would never have done in a month of Sundays. It took
every ounce of any acting skills Peregrine possessed to act as if his marriage
to Felicity was a fait accomplis, even though he had no intention of following
through. Felicity had not been best amused when, well after her marriage, he'd
confessed his reasons for pretending.

He tapped his quill on his teeth as he considered
the machinations of Felicity's father. Even though the man acted under duress
it still irked Perry to see how they could have been manipulated, and how the
implications resounded on innocent people. Sometimes he detested the route he
had to take.

A knock on his study door made him lift his head,
and Martin Nelson, the
other
Martin,
his father's—and now his—secretary
entered. Perry looked at him and smiled. Although it irritated Perry when his
father to all intents and purposes left Martin in charge of him, now, after all
these months he realized what sense it made. Martin possessed the ability to
calm any explosive situation with a look or a murmured word. Lord knows how
many times in the past, when without Martin, calamity would not have been
averted, and Perry would have found himself ostracized by his siblings.

Martin gave him a long and considering look.
"You've read your news from Gerard?"

Perry snorted. "If you can call two pages of
nothing, news, then yes. I suspect you will have heard differently?"

Martin inclined his head. "Gerard tells each of
us what he thinks is necessary for us to know. It has always been thus."

Perry harrumphed. How on earth could he answer that?
"Did letter three ever appear?"

Martin shook his head and a frown line showed on his
forehead. "No, although I have put enquiries into place. It could be that Gerard
numbered the missives wrongly though I hardly think that is likely, not
him." Nor did Perry: his father's methodological and orderly mind went
before him.

"I also have a letter from Aitken at Marsh
Hall," Martin told him. "He would like your advice on several things
regarding the estate. Shall I let him know you'll visit?"

Perry groaned. He considered Marsh Hall in March the
worst thing possible. One of his own, more modest properties, it was situated in
the North Riding of Yorkshire. A ride of several days, unless you were Dick
Turpin the notorious highwayman, who purported to do the ride from York to
London in a matter of hours. Perry distrusted that declaration because the
situation of his property, several hours further north than York, meant a long
and arduous journey. The road in that direction would be in a poor state after
a hard winter. He ran his finger over the smooth wood of the desk, enjoying the
sense of time the desk portrayed. The desk had been brought to London from
Marsh Hall. It previously belonged to father and his grandfather before him.
Perry was very conscious of the past and the history in it and the other
furniture in his study. It represented all things good and great, and positive
about his beloved country. Marsh Hall in its own way symbolized the same thing.

"I suppose I'd better go, even though I think
I'd be better served staying in London." Unfortunately, not served in a
sexual way, that part of life was sadly lacking. Perry allowed himself a brief
thought about the one special lady he had to deny himself. Without her his desire
to couple vanished, and his hand sufficed to give him release whenever
necessary.

"Send a message. I'll be there as soon as I
can. At least the weather has not been inclement, and the roads should be
passable." He wasn't sure if he tried to reassure himself or Martin. "I'll
call in to Nash on the way." Whether his intention was wise, Perry had no
idea, but he decided to visit just to reassure himself that his lady stayed
safe. Indeed without Nash, Perry might not have the opportunity to discover if
he and his lady had a future, and he could only hope he hadn't jeopardized Nash
and Felicity's safety. First with Harold and Martin, and now Maggie. Peregrine sighed
and wondered if the food at the manor had improved over the months since Harold
left. Nash's chef, a volatile Frenchman has an unrequited passion for Harold. Harold
chose to ignore it—or more likely didn't even notice—much to Andre's chagrin.

Life, in all areas is
so complicated.

Peregrine was ever grateful he kept his private life
just that—private. It had been an annoyance to have to house the American in
his cottage on Hampstead Heath. Up until then Perry rather thought sure the
building hadn't been known to his family. Now Harold was privy to its whereabouts,
and the type of occupant it housed. Luckily no one who stayed there ever used
their own name, but he knew fine well Harry christened the bedrooms Abigail's
and Marietta's rooms. Why came up with those names Perry had no idea, but he
was happy his brother decided there were two female occupants. Once Perry
decreed the cottage no longer available for anything to do with his work, he
used it as his bolt hole. Therefore he would do anything to guard the identity
of the lady who shared the house with him. How Harry knew one of the occupants
was female posed no problem. Lavender or violet lotions and soaps were a sure
give away. Sadly, now as Harold was au fait with the usage of the cottage, it seemed
a certainty so were the rest of his siblings. Harry wasn't known for his common
sense in keeping quiet about things that didn't matter to him personally. Thinking
about Harry and Martin led to him pondering about Andre and his culinary
delights—or lack of them. Was it worth an upset stomach to go via Rutland as he
traveled north? Peregrine dismissed the thought as unworthy. He wanted to see Maggie,
who now resided as safe as possible in the guise of housekeeper, as well as his
brother and wife. Surely everything had been smoothed over, and the food edible
once more? If not he remembered the local inn did a fine line in Sirloins and
Pigeon pies.

Deep in thought, Perry shuddered as he remembered
how they almost lost Harry and his lover to the traitor. Martin saw the gesture
and raised one sculpted eyebrow.

"Harry and that traitor Gravesend's
cronies," Perry said. "You'd think now they declared him dead, things
would settle down. Sadly, no such thing. I still have nightmares about what
could have been. By all accounts, according to Harry, a woman helped to ambush
him and Martin. One that Harry says with his understanding of dialects, is from
Derbyshire."

"I remember, do you agree?"

Peregrine laughed. "I know better than to
contradict him. He is rarely wrong. Then when Felicity recognized Mortimer
Gravesend's widow as the woman, and confirmed Gussie Gravesend indeed hails
from Derbyshire I thought things might sort themselves out. However the Widow
Gravesend seemed to have gone into hiding, and no one can find a hint to her
whereabouts. The late but not lamented Gravesend hailed from Yorkshire, so
there is another reason to visit Marsh Hall. I may get some clues to her
whichever hole she is occupying." He didn't hold out any hope of finding
Gussie, but perhaps someone would know something of her situation. Not only
that, Perry had high hopes that he may find out who the man's cronies were.