Peregrine's Prize Read online

  Evernight Publishing

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2013 Raven McAllan

  ISBN: 978-1-77130-648-5

  Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs

  Editor: JS Cook

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  As ever, to Doris, Paul, and Evernight Publishing. With a special mention to JoAnne my lovely editor for her continued help and enthusiasm.

  PEREGRINE’S PRIZE

  Behind Closed Doors

  Raven McAllan

  Copyright © 2013

  Prologue

  The rumblings and grumblings of his offspring were growing louder and Gerard knew he couldn't put this moment off any longer.

  Glancing over at his secretary, Martin Nelson, he asked, "Are they all here?" The man tilted his head to the side as though assessing the sounds outside the locked study door. Cecilia's pert voice was easily discernable as she bantered with her brothers.

  "Miss Cecilia is there, and if she's giggling it's a certainty that Mr. Randall is teasing her. I saw Mr. Harold with his nose buried in a book in the library, so he's present. Peregrine wouldn't miss a scheduled meeting if the Regent himself tried to hold him up, and as for that youngest lad of yours, those are his dogs and where he goes, they go. I'd say they're all present."

  Steepling his hands together, Gerard eyed the papers on his desk. Was he doing the right thing? "You will stay on and assist Peregrine? Make sure the others have all they need?"

  "I am in your employ, My Lord, until such time as you terminate my employment. I will do my utmost to follow your instructions."

  Gerard sighed and nodded. It was time. "I did my duty. I married, I sired children." Nelson's chuckle interrupted him. He quirked an inquiring brow in his secretary's direction. "You find my plight amusing?"

  "No, not at all. It's your children; you say it so prosaically, as though they were not... Well, you know your children as well as I do!"

  Gerard regarded the fond smile on his long time friend and employee's face. Martin Nelson had been with him since before his marriage to Penelope, since his father's death when he'd realized just how disastrous the old man's spendthrift habits had been to the family fortunes. Side by side they worked to rebuild the Brigstock family coffers, to pay off debts, and to rebuild the family position in society. "We've worked hard. We deserve our reward. When I have found him, when you decide Perry can handle the situation on his own—"

  "You mean when he's learned not to act like such a lordly prick toward his brothers and sister?"

  Gerard nodded again, hiding his smile at his oldest friend's assessment of his eldest son's character. "Even as you say. When it's all sorted out, you'll hire your successor, and come join us?'

  Nelson rose from behind his smaller desk. "If things work out, I may join you. If ... your friend's situation is as it appeared when last you met him."

  Gerard understood Nelson's meaning clearly. The secretary spent years putting his best effort into furthering Gerard's causes, but he had his own interests to pursue as well. At this point, neither of them could tell if their courses would continue in the same traces. "Well, let them in then. We'll neither of us discover our futures until it's all set in play."

  Nelson didn't hesitate. The children's voices rose as he pulled the heavy door open, and then fell into silence. Nelson slipped out as the tide of Gretton children trooped into the room. Five handsome children with dark hair and piercing blue eyes, aristocratic noses, and the characteristic Gretton ear lobes. Gerard sighed. He'd done his best to establish each of his progeny on a path that suited his temperament, but the thought of leaving them to their own devices for the indefinite future didn't quite rest easily. "Please, be seated." He held up a hand to forestall the explosion of sound. "I have a matter of grave importance to discuss with you. I regret summoning you all in such a pompous manner, but it seemed prudent to speak to you all at once." He paused to look around the circle of chairs.

  Perry sat stiffly, lips compressed in a thin line. Next to him sat Randall, perfectly at his ease in his scarlet uniform, knees crossed, tasseled Hessians gleaming, eyes twinkling. Harold sat next to his brother, and from the dreamy expression in his eyes, he either contemplated some scholarly inanity, or dreamed up some bit of mischief. Cecilia perched on the very edge of her chair, toe tapping impatiently as she twisted a handkerchief to shreds in her lap. Cecilia. He had somehow failed in his duty with her. Girls her age should have been long since married and providing heirs for their husbands, but Cecilia hadn't taken, as it were, and though she appeared quite popular, had inexplicably not received any acceptable proposals.

  You did your best, he reminded himself. Seven seasons, a tour of the continent, visits to Brighton and Bath, and house parties innumerable. In another year the girl would be twenty-five and she could take up residence in the house her mother left to her on her death. To Cecilia's disgust the residence was in Tunbridge Wells. He'd provided the same allowance for Cecilia as for his sons in order to cover just such an eventuality.

  His attention was drawn from his musings about Cecilia's fate as a spinster when a minor scuffle ensued between his youngest son, Nash, and Cecilia that apparently involved some kicking and flying elbows. "Children!" He scolded. Nash was such a scamp, always getting into mischief of one kind or another. "This is serious business. Save your bickering for later."

  "Perhaps, Father, if you would..." Perry paused meaningfully.

  "Yes. Of course. I'm leaving." He announced boldly and waited for responses. They exchanged bewildered glances. Again, it was Peregrine who broke the silence.

  "Would you like us to accompany you to the country, father? It isn't exactly convenient right now."

  Gerard waved him impatiently to silence. "No. I'm leaving the country. I've some old friends I want to look up, and many places I've never been. I sent each of you on a Grand Tour, but when I was of the age for it, my family hadn't the funds to send me. Now, everything here is in order, and you are all well. You don't need me. Each of you is independent, and none of you wants me interfering in your lives. So, I'm going to travel, look for my friend, and enjoy myself." He cast a glance over each stunned face in turn. "Cat got your tongues, eh? I've done my duty by this family since I was nineteen. I'm turning fifty soon, and I think it's my turn to enjoy life. Perry, I'm leaving you power of attorney to run the estates."

  He forestalled Perry's moment of triumph by continuing. "Under the direction of Nelson. He has my authority to naysay anything too outrageous. The rest of you, I've set up your allowances to be paid quarterly. If there is a problem, you may direct correspondence to me through Nelson. I advise you to do your best to live within your means, because neither he nor Perry will be able to bail you out if you take a swim in River Tick. That's all. You may go now." He held his breath as they rose, and pretended to study the papers on his desk. It was too much to hope that the lot of them would just troop on out and let him get on with finding Jonathon.

  "When?"

  "Pardon?" He glanced up at Nash, his youngest child, the jack-a-napes who courted scandal assiduously in the tradition of younger sons everywhere.

  "When are you going?"

  Was that regret or sorrow in the boy's eyes? "In the morning." Good boy, that Nash. High-spirited as hell, but a heart
of gold.

  "And when will you return?" Harold piped in, focusing his gaze on his father for the first time since entering the room. Gerard hadn't been at all certain that his dreamer son even understood that he was leaving.

  "I’m not certain. It depends on whether I find my friend, and once I find him, whether I can convince him to return with me." He caught Randall's startled look of cognition. "Yes." He knew Randall understood the significance of his words. "Yes, exactly, Randall. I had no choice, you understand, as I had no brothers to take my place. You're fortunate in that Perry and Nash are so eager to propagate the family name."

  "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 lon
g 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.