Moreham looked down at her. “Dearest, you cannot dwell on what was said in there. Remember, Philly’s mantra. Nothing is ever as it seems.”
She could not stop the words from pouring out of her mouth. “What if that man is correct and I am French? Maybe someone in my family was an aristocrat secreted out of France during the Terror. A member of the aristocracy to give him a credible claim to the Crown would be more valuable than gold to Napoleon. You know I speak the truth. Say something, Moreham,” she muttered. “Tell me everything we heard was a nightmare and we will wake in our bed and laugh at the absurdity of it all.”
“I’m sorry dearest, but I fear we are awake and we are truly in a nightmare. Do you trust me?”
“You know I do. I would not be here with you if I did not. I would say the more meaningful question is do you trust me?”
Moreham jerked at her question. He kissed her forehead. “My dearest, of course I trust you above all others.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t. If what we heard is true, an association with me will bring dishonor upon your name. I may be innocent, but Uncle and Percy Arnold have involved me in their dastardly conspiracy. I am the last person in Britain you should have faith in at this moment.”
Gillian took the lead in the ride back to the house. Thankfully, Moreham did not try to reengage her in conversation. She knew what they must do. The question was would Moreham agree? To her surprise, they were met in the stable yard by Cross.
“I lost him,” Cross ground out. “He headed for the village but disappeared in that forest at the edge of the estate. Not knowing the lay of the land, I decided to return with the hope one of you may know of a hidey hole in the woods.”
Gillian shook her head. “No, those woods are for hunting only, even the gamekeeper's house is in the village proper. The only possible place he could be is the old gatehouse. Uncle didn’t feel the original lane’s approach showed the house to its best advantage. About ten years ago he had a new road and gatehouse constructed. The old road is indistinguishable anymore. If you found the abbey a trial the gatehouse is worse. Covered in vines and overgrown bushes. One must know where to look to find that pile of bricks.”
Moreham dismounted and held up his arms to help her slide to the ground. Cross took the reins of her horse. They followed the somber earl into the stable. No one spoke another word until their horses were back in their stalls.
Gillian took Moreham’s arm for the walk back to the back of the house and through the French windows of the library. She stepped into the room only to find her uncle sitting behind his desk. Waiting.
“My dearest Gillian, I should have known. Moreham had recruited you. I wanted your marriage to be real so badly, I refused to believe otherwise. I am an old fool looking for easy answers.”
Gillian looked at Moreham before stepping in front of her uncle’s desk. She felt rather than saw the men line up behind her. She was not alone.
“Uncle, I refuse to believe what I heard tonight. You cannot be associated with such people. You have always esteemed the king and loved this country. I know you have reasons for what you are doing.”
The man buried his head in his hands and cried. Moreham pulled her back against his chest. There was nothing she could do. Her uncle had to be the one to act.
“Uncle, please tell us what is afoot. Please tell us the truth. Who is that man? What hold does he have over you? Did you know Percy Arnold traveled to Portugal to kill General Lord Wellington?”
The duke’s head shot upward at the mention of the general’s name. “Percy is going to kill the general?”
Moreham’s voice rumbled. “No, we have agents in Portugal to keep that deed from becoming a reality. Your Grace, as Gillian said, we were at the abbey. We saw and heard you talking to a stranger. We heard him speak of Gillian and a connection to Napoleon. Cross followed the fellow but lost him in your woods on the edge of the village.”
The duke sighed deeply and looked up at them. “I wish I’d never started this journey. None of this would have happened if I had returned to Whitings and spent my evenings sitting by the fire with a good book.
“An associate introduced me to Percy Arnold. Said he was a friend. Percy is the one who introduced me to the gentleman you saw in the abbey courtyard tonight. Although, introduce is not correct since I still have no notion who the man really is. I do know I have never seen him in a society setting.”
Moreham stepped forward. “Where did you meet him?”
“Percy asked me to join him for drinks at a fencing club in Mayfair. This fellow joined us in a private room. He was all that was proper. Talked about this and that before bringing Gillian’s name into the conversation.” He reached out to Gillian. “He was most interested in your mother’s family. Your mother was a cousin of Napoleon’s wife Josephine.”
Gillian couldn’t believe her ears. She had never heard one word of any connection to a French family. Her knees wobbled as the shock of her uncle’s words robbed her of feeling in her body. She felt around for one of the two chairs in front of his desk and sat. Moreham stood by her.
Gillian swallowed hard and tried to slow down the frantic pace of her breathing before she swooned. Moreham stepped closer and rested his hand on the nape of her neck. His gesture was welcomed, and
