Page 2 of A Marriage for the Marquess (Barrington’s Brigade #1)

H e turned down Grosvenor Square. Barrington Hall was a few steps away.

Glenraven approached the door, raised the brass door knocker, and let it drop. Within moments, the door opened.

“Good afternoon, Lord Glenraven. It is good to see you.”

“Good afternoon, Sanderson.” Glenraven entered the spacious foyer. The floor was a smooth, glossy chessboard of large black and white marble tiles. To the left of the entrance was a marble fireplace with an oversized gilt-framed picture of the Barrington country estate in Sommer-by-the-Sea. To the right of the entrance was a mahogany console table with a large gilt mirror above it.

Deep green damask wallpaper covered the walls, its subtle pattern lending an understated elegance. The centerpiece of the foyer was an imposing curved staircase with railings crafted from polished mahogany. Tucked into the curve of the stairs was a round mahogany table with a porcelain bowl filled with fresh flowers.

The corridor to the rest of the house was to the right of the grand staircase.

He gave the butler his hat and coat. He couldn’t help but spot Sanderson holding his coat at arm’s length.

“I came directly from Dover,” he said, explaining his dust-covered garment. For a moment, he saw Juliet’s expression when she saw his coat and tried not to smile.

“Lord Barrington is expecting you in his study.”

Glenraven crossed the foyer, went down the corridor, and entered the first door on the right, Barrington’s study.

Mahogany carvings, intricate as the strategies once studied for war, adorned the buttercream walls. Polished mahogany bookshelves lined each wall with volumes of military history and classic literature but stopped short of the lofty ten-foot ceilings. In the generous space above, a gallery of painted landscapes offered windows to the serene countryside, reminiscent of the peace Lord Barrington sought after the tumult of the Peninsula War.

Jade curtains, as rich as the fields he once marched through, draped elegantly from matched cornices framed the grand windows. The room’s focal point was the hearth, ever ablaze with a welcoming fire as well as witnessing quiet evenings of reflection. Above it hung a painting of Barrington’s parents, the Duke and Duchess of Stirling, flanked by Reese and his older brother, Edward.

A table surrounded by chairs occupied one side of the room. Before the fireplace, a trio of comfortable chairs and a sofa invited conversations. The large bay window housed a pedestal desk and leather chair. Across from the fireplace, a cellarette stood ready to serve refreshments. Underfoot, Turkish carpets, as intricate as the battle plans Barrington once pored over, cushioned the veteran’s steps. Across from the bay window were the pocket doors that led to the dining room.

However, the study’s best asset was not its décor or furnishings. The room was comfortable and warm, used and enjoyed.

“Barrington,” Glenraven called as he entered the room.

His former commanding officer sat at his desk, his head down, reading a document. He looked up and gave Glenraven a large smile.

“I should have taken that bet with Hughes. He doubted you would come today the way you’ve ignored his messages.” Barrington came from behind his desk to greet him.

“I know I’m early. I wanted to return this to you.” Glenraven removed the gold coin from his pocket.

Barrington held up his hand. “Please, you keep the coin. Return it to me when the mission is completed.

“Very well.” He put the coin in his pocket. “What’s this about ignoring Hughes’ messages?”

“We can talk about that when he arrives. Come. Sit down.” Glenraven sat in one of the chairs by the fireplace while Barrington went to the cellarette and poured each of them a drink.

“I hope the journey was uneventful.” Barrington handed him a glass of brandy.

Barrington’s bravery was as legendary as the battles he fought. His daring rescue, at great personal risk, had saved him and the other men from defeat. That day, amidst the roar of cannons and the cries of the wounded, Barrington had solidified a bond with his comrades that no force could sever. But their rescue came at a significant cost. It wasn’t until every man was accounted for that their commander’s severe injury was detected.

Each of them helped with his months of recovery. Glenraven still remembered the day Barrington walked into the drawing room across the hall from where he stood, unassisted with his mother on his arm. His father, Lord Stirling, gave a toast.

“ With gratitude and humility, Lady Stirling and I thank you for all you have done. We never thought our son would walk again. He was right when he told me his men perform miracles. Please accept this small token as a remembrance of our gratitude.” Lord Stirling signaled the butler, and a small box was presented to each man.

“ Every man in our family is given a coin, a talisman of sorts. The custom has been handed down for centuries. It began as a way of identifying the carrier as an emissary from the family. While its use is obsolete, the tradition has continued. This coin has been made especially for you, the men of Barrington’s Brigade, and signifies you are part of a unique group of men.”

The men opened the small box. Inside, they found a gold coin embossed with a circle of laurel leaves. Inside the circle was the letters BB.

“ Gentlemen.” Everyone turned to their former commander.

He raised his glass. “To you, the men of Barrington’s Brigade.”

They toasted together.

Now, in times of need, the simple arrival of a gold coin rekindled that unbreakable bond. The coin, bearing the letters BB, was more than a piece of metal—it was a symbol of their shared history, a reminder of the oath they took to stand by each other. The coin was a silent call to arms, a request for aid that they would never ignore. For them, it was an honor to answer Barrington’s summons, repaying the debt of their salvation.

“Glenraven, there is no way to say this gently. Your father has been in a severe mishap.” His eyes shot up, the color draining from his face.