Free Never Doubt I Love by Patricia Veryan Page A

of—of a comedy of errors, Perry,” he said, his brain racing.
    â€œIs what you get for wagering jewels,” purred Cranford. “It was jewels you spoke of, no?”
    Furlong saw the glint in the blue eyes and tightened his lips.
    Morris said brightly, “Fools, dear boy! League of Fooled Men, we called ’em.”
    Cranford set his untouched wine aside. With a determined effort he managed to stand in a swift, smooth movement, and not to wince when his weight came down awkwardly on the abominable new foot. His head high and his voice chill, he said, “I’ll be off, gentlemen. My apologies for having intruded upon a private conversation. Gad, where ever are my manners gone to?”
    â€œNow don’t be a gudgeon, Perry,” urged Glendenning, slanting an unhappy look at Furlong. “’Tis only—”
    â€œA personal matter between you.” Cranford bowed. “And none of my bread and butter. I spoke out of turn. I’ll leave you—friends—in peace.”
    Furlong groaned.
    Glendenning said, “We’ll have to tell him, Owen!”
    Aghast, Morris protested, “Tio, you’ve known him forever! I’d think you wouldn’t want—”
    It was the last straw. “Good day,” said Cranford, starting to the door.
    Furlong leapt in front of him. “Oh, go and sit down, you uppity fire-eater! I vow you’re as hot-at-hand as August Falcon!”
    â€œOh, no he ain’t,” argued Morris. “Perry may be quick to take umbrage—”
    â€œThe devil!” exclaimed Cranford, trying to detach Furlong’s hand from his arm.
    â€œâ€”but he don’t go around challenging half the men in England to duels,” finished Morris.
    â€œI may, ” said Cranford furiously. “If you don’t stand aside, Sir Owen—”
    â€œHeaven help us,” moaned Furlong. “He’s flinging my title in my face.”
    Glendenning sighed. “Next he’ll be ‘my lord-ing’ me, which I simply will not bear. If Ross cuts up stiff, I’ll take the responsibility. Perry, you recall when Sir Mark Rossiter’s banks and shipyards failed, and he swore ’twas a conspiracy?”
    Resisting Furlong’s efforts to restore him to his chair, Cranford said frigidly, “I believe Sir Mark cleared his name, my lord. Sir Owen, if you will be so kind as to—”
    â€œYes, but he was right, ” Furlong persisted. “It was a conspiracy, Perry. And part of a much larger plot.”
    Cranford’s eyes widened. He ceased to resist, and sat down.
    â€œGideon Rossiter uncovered the ugly mess when he come home from the Low Countries,” put in Morris, abandoning his attempt to protect Cranford. “We were both sent back to England on medical grounds, you’ll remember, and I got into it with him.”
    In a typically rapid change of mood, Cranford asked eagerly, “What ‘ugly mess’?”
    Glendenning picked up the wineglass and thrust it at him. “Sit there like a good boy, and we’ll tell you. As briefly as possible. Some wealthy gentlemen have banded together in what we call the League of Jewelled Men. An extreme secret society, that has set about to ruin and disgrace many of our most highly respected and influential citizens.”
    â€œAnd to acquire their estates,” said Morris.
    Cranford took a sip of his wine and argued, “But most such estates would be entailed and unable to be— Oh! I see! You said ‘disgraced.’ Do you mean by major crimes? ’Gainst the State?” His eyes gleamed with excitement as Glendenning nodded. “Zounds! In which case I believe the estates could be confiscated and sold for debt! Is that how they go about it?”
    â€œIn such instances, exactly so,” said Furlong. “We’ve discovered that they’ve also purchased estates that were not entailed. If the owners don’t