Page 4 of A Marriage for the Marquess

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.

Chapter Three

“How severe?”God’sblood.Glenraven’s chest tightened as a hot, swollen lump grew in his throat. He sprung out of his chair, the brandy spilling from his glass. “Is he…”

“No, he is still with us, but we came close to losing him,” Barrington assured him, his hand resting on Glenraven’s arm to steady him.

Glenraven’s mind raced, the news of his father’s accident igniting a familiar fear. Paris. “I must go to him.” The memory of his past failure drove his need to be present and not let history repeat itself.

Barrington’s grip tightened gently. “We’ve brought him here, to Barrington Hall. It’s safer.” His eyes met Glenraven’s. “The accident, we believe, was no mere mishap.”

“Here?” Glenraven’s surprise quickly turned to disbelief. His breath came in spurts as flashes of the Parisian street, the flash of a knife, and the chaos that followed rushed through his mind. Life was so fragile, a lesson he’d learned all too well.

“Yes, and there’s more,” Barrington continued. “Your father’s valet and coachman acted swiftly.”

“Watts and Pearson are both good men. But tell me the rest.”

“I agree. Their quick thinking likely saved his life. It’s reminiscent of the night in Paris, isn’t it? When quick action was all that stood between life and death of the Duchess.”

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