Free Never Doubt I Love by Patricia Veryan

but I met my man outside. Been searching for me. M’sister’s coach was crowded off the road and overturned. Niece and nephew inside. Nothing worse than cuts and bruises, thank the Lord, but I’m going into Surrey as soon as my fellow brings the coach around. What a beast of a week! Emerald Farm; Mr. Falcon; now, m’sister! It’s a damned disaster epidemic!”
    Glendenning said grimly, “It’s that damned League, rather! They’re chastising us again, Jamie.”
    His jaw dropping, Morris gaped at him.
    Furlong nodded. “’Tis to be expected, I suppose. We’ve set ourselves up in opposition to a murderous group of aristocratic traitors, and although they’re much more powerful than we are, we’ve managed to upset their plans several times.”
    â€œSo now,” said Glendenning, “they’re coming after us.”
    Furlong muttered, “Or after our loved ones, heaven help us!”
    Shocked, Morris exclaimed, “If ever I heard of such a thing! I mean, ‘a lion don’t roar at a butterfly!’”
    Furlong stared. Familiar with Morris’ maxims, Glendenning said, “I think he means that in a war the soldiers fight one another. They don’t go after the enemy’s innocent families. Is that it, Jamie?”
    â€œWell, of course it is,” said Morris. “Deuce take it, whatever else they may be, they are gentlemen, and they must know that sort of thing simply ain’t done! I mean—it’s not fair play! I mean—is it?”
    Furlong said slowly, “Do you think the League of Jewelled Men observes the rules of fair play? I do not. Unless I mistake it, we’re under siege!”
    Those ominous words came clearly through the open door to the ears of Peregrine Cranford. It was three years since the Battle of Prestonpans had claimed his right foot, but there had been major setbacks, and stairs were still difficult for him. His friends knew better than to offer assistance, that privilege being reserved solely to his twin, Piers, wherefore James Morris, beset by his own anxieties, had paused only to mutter an incoherent apology before galloping up the steep flight. Following slowly, hating his clumsiness, refusing to acknowledge that he would do so much better with the peg-leg that Florian had carved for him, Cranford had fumed and struggled and, when he at last reached the upper landing, had leaned against the wall for a moment to catch his breath.
    Now, his dark brows twitching together, he pushed himself clear of the wall, and walked more or less evenly into the room.
    Horatio Glendenning was saying, “We must really have hurt them in the Cornish business, but if our families are at—”
    Furlong interrupted heartily, “Hello, Cranford! You didn’t say Perry was with you, Jamie.”
    There was no criticism in the voice, but Morris flushed scarlet and with a look of schoolboy guilt stammered, “Oh—so I didn’t! Forgot! I do beg pardon.”
    Assuming the apology to be directed to himself, Cranford advanced to shake hands. “Never scold the clunch, Owen. I forgive him for not announcing my regal presence.” He limped over to the chair Furlong drew forward and asked easily, “What’s all this about jewels and a siege?”
    He anticipated a light-hearted response and was astonished to see stark consternation in Morris’ honest eyes. Furlong, who had started to the credenza, checked for a hair’s-breadth, and Glendenning shot a taut glance at his back.
    Morris gulped, “Oh—that. Just a—er, joke y’know, dear boy.”
    In the same instant, Glendenning said, “Cricket!”
    Cranford stiffened. “A match you played in Cornwall?” he asked sweetly.
    â€œRight!” said Morris, relieved.
    â€œNo!” said Glendenning simultaneously.
    Furlong swore softly, and carried a glass of wine to Cranford. “’Twas something