Page 4 of A Marriage for the Marquess (Barrington’s Brigade #1)

“I think you are correct.” Barrington settled into the chair and set the tone. Glenraven could feel the military edge seep into the conversation.

“Your father’s past brush with gamblers and his rehabilitation, with your assistance, went exceedingly well. Everyone thought he was a duke who—”

“Had a bad gambling problem,” Glenraven remembered that mission very well. That was a difficult assignment, one that, if he wasn’t careful, could have cost his father his life.

“You handled the situation well.”

“My father found the scoundrel who preyed on those young men. Once the matter was resolved, Father put his cards away. Although, he plays at White’s every so often to keep his hand in the game, to say nothing of his private games with Quinto. In case his skills were needed again.” He took the ace of hearts from his pocket and stared at it. “But that was seven years ago before I left for Spain.”

“The situation we have is one in which gentlemen of the ton are targets, the ones who need blunt and are willing to take great chances. They are drawn into a weekly game with high stakes. They may win at first, but their luck runs out as well as their money.”

“And my father answered your call.” Glenraven put the card back in his pocket.

“No. I didn’t call upon your father. He was the person who came to me with the problem. An acquaintance of his had lost more than just their money. Determined to get to the bottom of the scheme and find justice for his friend, he decided to intervene. With his reputation, no one would suspect him of being anything other than a wealthy man enticed back into gambling.”

“Are you saying that he did this all on his own?” Glenraven raised his voice with each word. What was his father thinking? He rubbed the back of his neck and glanced at his father laying still in bed. “This is my fault.”

“Hush. Lower your voice,” Barrington cautioned as he glanced in Glenraven’s father’s direction.

“Or what? I’ll wake him up. It would serve him right.” Glenraven quieted down. “This is my fault. I should never have involved him in any of my work for you. He must have tried to employ the same tactics we used when he helped me with the situation several years ago.” He glanced at Barrington. “We both knew that I was too young, unknown in gambling circles to infiltrate that game. But Father? Everyone knew of his gambling luck and was more than eager to sit at a table with him.” Glenraven’s fingers tapped on the arm of his chair in a steady rhythm. “He had no idea what you and I did to make that all work. I kept him far away from all that.” He let out a short mocking laugh. “If I fully included him then, he would have known he couldn’t work this alone.” He shook his head in frustration. “How could you let him take such a risk alone?”

“Aurington didn’t tell me about this until after Quinto’s death. By then, he was deep into it.”

Glenraven didn’t say anything.

Barrington leaned forward. “I didn’t want to get you involved. You had enough to contend with in Paris. We thought we had everything under control. But now, with your father’s accident, and another gentleman at the gambling table committing suicide, this has become a priority. It’s too reminiscent of the past.” Barrington leaned forward. He stared at the carpet seeing another time. “We missed something when we took down that organization. This is all too familiar.

“You know your father’s contacts. They will never suspect you. They will only think you are trying to win back what your father lost.”

“What do they think about his accident? Does anyone know he is with you here at Barrington Hall? Do they think he’s with your brother, a member of Parliament? Or perhaps they believe he’s staying with one of Enrico Quinto’s acquaintances?”

“Your father’s current condition is widely known, as are Manning’s visits twice a day.”

Sanderson entered quietly and set a decanter of wine and glasses on the table before retiring from the room. Barrington poured them each a glass.

Glenraven swirled his wine, watching the deep red liquid catch the light. “About the deck of cards. Do you know what the symbol is?” Glenraven’s tone was more urgent than curious.

Barrington quietly put down his glass and gave him his full attention. “Just an old superstition, some say. But in our world, symbols often have deeper meanings,”

Glenraven’s eyes narrowed, his mind racing. “What kind of meanings? And why would my father have such a thing in his possession?”

Barrington hesitated as if choosing his words carefully. “It’s often associated with secret societies and organizations that operate in the shadows, wielding power and unseen influence.”

Glenraven sat back, his grip tightening on the glass. “So this isn’t just some old card deck. It’s a message… or a warning.”

Barrington nodded slowly. “It could be. We need to tread carefully. This might be connected to much more than we realize.”

Glenraven took a deep breath, feeling the gravity of the information. “Then we must find out exactly what it means and who is behind it. For my father’s sake.”

“For ours,” Barrington drained his glass dry.

They sat quietly for several minutes.

At last, Barrington broke the silence. “I’m glad you returned to Paris and got my message.”

“Return?” Glenraven looked puzzled. “I haven’t left Paris in months. What makes you think I was away?”

Barrington stared at him, his eyebrows knitted together. “Really? That’s odd. Hughes sent you several messages and never received an answer.”

“That is strange. I received your weekly messages and those from my father. Your last message included the letter from Hughes.”

“Good afternoon, gentlemen.” George Hughes hurried into the room. He took a seat and placed his folio on the table. “Glenraven. I am glad you are here. I was beginning to think something might have happened to you.”

“Barrington was just telling me you were having difficulty reaching me. He has also told me about my father.”

“I was giving you up for lost. For six months, I’ve tried to reach you. If you didn’t respond to my request through Barrington’s message, I was going to Paris myself.”

“I’ll make a note of that.” Glenraven smiled and sipped his wine.

“I wasn’t trying to reach you because of your father. At the moment, the issue may seem frivolous. However, in light of your father’s condition, it’s become an urgent one.” Hughes took a document out of his folio. “There is a stipulation set forth in the family trust regarding securing the title and all its holdings. You must marry before your thirtieth birthday to safeguard the family’s legacy. I believe that is in five weeks, May 1. It is a provision handed down in your family over the generations and deemed crucial for the continuity of the family and estate.”

Glenraven raked his hand through his hair. Of course, he knew about the stipulation. He’d known about it all his life. “I seem to have conveniently forgotten about it with the war and the issue in Paris. Five weeks, you say. That isn’t very much time. Is there anything you can do?”

“Lady Gladstone is giving a ball tonight. I took the liberty of seeing her before I came here. When she heard you had returned to London, she immediately gave me an invitation to deliver to you. It would be a great social coup for her if her ball were the first social event you attended after your return. It is just the place to be introduced to eligible women.”

“You mean the place for some hungry, title obsessed mother looking for a match for her daughter. Is that what you consider help, Hughes?” Glenraven looked to be in pain.

“Sorry, my lord, but five weeks is not enough time to woo a woman.” Hughes shook his head. “I’m not sure that six months would have been adequate.”

“Ah, an ally,” Glenraven threw his hands in the air. “I’m not sure which news is more dire, my father’s illness or having to marry. Whichever it is, I best go home.” Glenraven stood.

Barrington and Hughes walked him down the stairs to the foyer, where Sanderson handed him his hat and coat.

“I will be at Lady Gladstone’s this evening. To give you moral support, of course.” Barrington gave him a mischievous smile.

Glenraven glanced at his very clean coat and then at Sanderson.

“I would never let you leave without your clothes in the proper condition.”

“Thank you, Sanderson,” he said as the butler helped him with his coat. He turned to Barrington. “I’ll see you this evening at Lady Gladstone’s event.”

“One minute, I’ll walk with you.” Hughes turned to Barrington. “It is strange that the message I sent in your pouch reached Glenraven while all the ones I sent to you did not.”

Barrington’s brow furrowed in thought. “Indeed, it is peculiar. If that’s the case, something isn’t right. We should find out why.”

Sanderson stepped forward and opened the door with a respectful nod.

As they descended the steps, Glenraven paused, his gaze distant. “Hughes, we have much to prepare for. My father’s condition and the urgency of the marriage… it all feels overwhelming.”

Hughes placed a reassuring hand on Glenraven’s shoulder. “We will face it together, my lord. One step at a time.”

*

Inside, Barrington watched them depart from the window, his thoughts already turning to the next steps. He turned and made his way back upstairs to Aurington’s room.

“Is he gone?” Barrington looked into the eyes of a very awake, very clever Lord Aurington. “You’re lucky I didn’t start to snore. I hate to deceive the boy.”

“We already know that the bridge, as well as your carriage, was tampered with. That is why you are here, and the remains of your carriage are under lock and key. If anyone can get to the bottom of this,” Barrington looked at the closed bedroom door, “it is Glenraven.”