Chapter Fourteen
Greyson lay on his back, awake long before Dalton entered the room through the dressing room door and threw open the curtains, letting in the sunshine. He swung his arm up and covered his eyes, which didn’t enjoy the sudden brightness of the room.
“Good morning, my lord,” Dalton said as he went back into the dressing room and returned carrying a breakfast tray.
The strong aroma of coffee made him smile as he inhaled his favorite morning scent.
He placed the tray by his favorite overstuffed chair, facing the hearth, where the embers had long since died.
No need for a fire this morning, with the sun’s rays filtering in through the windows. Tossing off his covers, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat up, clearing his throat. “Please have Whisky brought around at half twelve.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Greyson stood, picked up his buckskin breeches from last night, and stepped into them. He moved to his favorite comfortable chair and sank into it, picked up his coffee with a dash of sugar, took a sip, and relaxed back with a moan. “That tastes good.”
“I’m glad. Would you like me to lay out your riding clothes?”
“Please.”
“There is hot water and clean linens for washing. Is there anything else I can do for you, my lord?”
“One thing, Dalton. Send a note to Heartstone’s Hothouse and have two dozen red roses delivered to Lady Rutherford.”
“Right away, my lord.”
When the door closed behind Dalton, Greyson savored his coffee, picturing Letitia’s face as she found her pleasure. The soft moans escaping her lips, the wonder in her soft blue eyes. The vibration of her body as her legs wrapped around his hips. Magical. They’d experienced magic together.
His hand pressed against the bulge in his breeches, and he decided a change of subject was in order if he was to prepare for his upcoming meeting.
Once he finished his coffee, he picked up his breakfast plate of poached eggs on toast and sausage.
He devoured the food. He returned the empty plate to the tray, stood, raised his arms over his head, and stretched his tight muscles to prepare for a long day with many more to come, given his assignment to Bristol.
He prayed all would go well and that no one would be hurt.
He often wondered if Prinny had any idea how hard it was to keep the peace.
He pitted the Black Knights against his seasoned Dragoons, yeomanry, or infantry soldiers.
Not to mention the local militias, who inevitably showed up trying to keep their towns safe.
Greyson didn’t understand why the Prince Regent didn’t tell all of them to stand down and let the Black Knights take control.
He supposed it must be because the Black Knights didn’t exist, and he wanted to keep it that way.
And he hated leaving town now that he was courting Letitia most seriously.
He felt as if he were deserting her again.
Knowing there was nothing he could do about it, he washed up and dressed in his riding clothes.
He tied his own cravat in a simple knot and tugged on his boots.
He would be lost without Dalton, but he preferred to dress himself when he could.
Making his way down to the entry hall, he greeted his butler. “Good afternoon, Henderson.”
“Good afternoon, my lord. Whisky is waiting for you.”
“Lord Warren is due at three today. If I’m late, have him wait in the drawing room.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Greyson enjoyed the ride on Whisky to Club Knight, but what he and his horse really needed was wide-open space to stretch their legs.
That would have to wait. He wasn’t taking Whisky to Bristol.
He was taking Thorne. Thorne had better stamina for the long trek to Bristol.
Hopefully, they would cover fifty miles a day, with stops every ten miles or so for feed, water, and rest for the horse. Thorne was the better horse for this.
He arrived at Club Knight with several other Black Knights and handed his reins to one of several young stableboys, who would take Whisky to the mews.
The four men made their way to the back door, where Greyson knocked the secret knock.
The door opened, and they filed in one by one, then down the cellar stairs into the secret room, where, as usual, eight chairs sat in a circle. Four were vacant, but not for long.
“Thank you for coming,” Knight said, handing out brandy glasses. As far back as he could remember, they had opened every meeting with a glass of brandy. Knight was a superstitious fellow. Most sailors were. He had also learned that from Knight.
“Does everyone know their jobs for tomorrow?”
Seven yeses ricocheted through the small room.
“I’m still awaiting intelligence from our spies on the ground in Derbyshire, Nottingham, and Bristol.
With any luck, it will all be for nothing, just rumors of more unrest. However, the closer we get to November, when the leaders of the Pentrich Rebellion are due to be executed, the more unrest we may see. ”
The Black Knights dispersed to prepare for their assignments. Greyson and Cooke were to meet at Club Knight an hour after dawn the following morning.
Greyson made it back home with ten minutes to spare before Warren was due to arrive.
He sat at the desk in his father’s study, sipping brandy to settle his nerves, not about the upcoming conversation and negotiations with Warren, but about Letitia.
They hadn’t had a chance for a proper goodbye when he’d dropped her off, not with Mr. Henry staring warily at him from his perch inside the entry.
He hoped the flowers made up for the hasty way he’d left that morning. Perhaps he should send a note as well.
With a trembling hand, he raised the glass to his mouth and drained every last drop. He wanted another but didn’t think it wise, since he was already feeling the effects of the two glasses he’d had at the Black Knights’ meeting.
Leaning his elbows on the desk, he reflected that he should start thinking of the desk as his. His father would likely never sit at it again. He rested his head in his hands and exhaled, trying to purge his worries about Letitia and his father before Warren arrived.
A footman entered the study and announced, “Lord Warren to see you, my lord.”
“Thank you. Please close the door on your way out.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Warren,” Greyson motioned to a chair. “Have a seat. Since we both know why you are here, let’s get on with it.” He opened the middle drawer, pulled out Aurora’s marriage contract, and slid it across the smooth surface of the mahogany desk.
“Thank you for seeing me,” Warren said as he picked up the sheet of paper. Greyson watched as he meticulously read every detail. He would be disappointed if the man didn’t. This was a binding contract that would affect the rest of the man’s life and his sister’s as well.
“May I use your pen to change a few things?”
“Yes, of course.” Greyson set the inkwell and quill within reach of Warren, watching his every move. When Warren was done, he pushed the contract back to him.
“Please look over the changes and let me know if you are agreeable,” Warren said, looking a little flushed.
Greyson glanced down at the contract and noticed a few changes.
So Warren’s wealth wasn’t as large as he had thought.
Still, he had plenty to care for Aurora and their children from the income drawn from his estates.
“On behalf of my father, I accept the changes and will have a new contract drawn up tomorrow for you to sign.”
“No need to have it redrawn since I know your father is ill and he has already signed this one. I initialed all the changes, so it should be legal and binding.” Warren pulled the contract toward him, dipped the quill in the inkwell, and signed his name.
“Wonderful,” Greyson said. “All you need to do is propose to Aurora.”
He cleared his throat and tugged at his cravat. “We have discussed marriage, and I plan to propose after this Friday’s indoor garden party hosted by the Earl and Countess of Barstow.”
“Perfect. Aurora does love a garden party theme.” He frowned.
Had he heard back from his cousin yet? Who would chaperone his sisters at the garden party if she were unavailable?
Just another thing to worry about. How he hated leaving his duties and letting the people he cared about most down.
But he loved his work with the Black Knights as well.
Managing all his responsibilities and obligations was causing him great strain.
Warren stood and bowed. “Thank you again for seeing me, Lord Greyson.”
“Aurora will make you a fine wife. She is kind and gentle, with a big heart. I know you will be a good, kind, and faithful husband in return.”
The man looked ready to lose his lunch. “Y-y-yes,” he stammered. “I will.”
“Good day to you then.”
“Good day.”
Greyson chuckled to himself as Warren left.
He hadn’t meant to make him uncomfortable when he called him “good, kind, and faithful husband.” The earl needed to relax.
However, he meant every word. He hadn’t said that to Hunter, but Hunter knew him, and he knew Hunter, so those words didn’t need to be spoken.
Hunter knew how he felt about marriage and what was expected of anyone entering the sanctity of it with his sisters.
It was no less than what he expected from his own marriage.
His hand found its way to his chest and rubbed at the ache radiating from his heart. He so wished his wife were Letitia.
Even though he planned to propose, he wanted to wait.
His sisters deserved their time as they prepared for their wedding day, and he didn’t want to take it away from them.
If the banns were posted this Sunday, they could have their double wedding in three weeks.
Anastasia expressed wanting the nuptials to happen quickly.
Would that be what Aurora wanted as well?