Free The Reluctant Earl by C.J. Chase

walked in silence along the road until they reached the river’s edge. The stink of the Thames, only partially subdued by the winter wind, tickled Julian’s senses with reminders of his past. Ships moored along her shore. The same gusts that whipped his cloak also tossed the ships’ rigging and moaned amongst their furrowed sails. He lingered. Watched. Remembered.
    Two decades ago when his thirteen-year-old self—a gangly youth all knees and elbows and anxiety—had boarded his first ship, he’d never guessed he would someday miss that life. The months of endless watches. The hours of boredom. The minutes of thrilling terror.
    The camaraderie.
    “My lord?” Harrison interrupted his reverie.
    Julian drew himself back to the present, to the problems that seemed so incredibly complex compared to the simplicity of youth. “I’m seeking someone to work for me. I’ll pay you, and well.”
    “Jobs that pay well at such a time as this are usually dangerous or illegal.”
    “Not illegal.”
    “How dangerous?”
    “I’m not certain.” Though someone had credited one murder to the radicals already. “And it requires travel.”
    “Dangerous and requires travel.” Harrison’s brown brow arched over amused blue eyes. “Sounds as if you’re conscripting me for the navy.”
    “Not that much travel. Only as far as Northamptonshire. I don’t know what you did for our government during the war—”
    “And you never shall, my lord.”
    “And that is precisely why I wish to hire you. I believe you have some...special talents I lack.” Julian’s brother had shared precious few details of what he’d done during the war, only that he’d worked as a spy. With Lawrence Harrison. Imagining the oh-so-mundane Harrison in dangerous, clandestine work almost lifted Julian’s lips into a smile. The man was perfect for the part—unremarkable in every way. “You know what happened at Spa Fields?”
    “The riot?”
    “I recently learned the incident may not have formed spontaneously.”
    Harrison blew a low whistle through his teeth. “You think there is a conspiracy to foment unrest? That is a serious charge.”
    “Aye, treason,” Julian agreed quietly. A half-respectable tavern perched along the street. Julian waved at its facade. “I have a long day yet ahead of me. Let’s continue this discussion over a meal. I’ll pay, of course.”
    Harrison followed Julian into a dim interior that smelled of grease and hard labor. But the fire radiated warmth and the harsh wind didn’t buffet them with cold. The day was yet young enough the taproom held few people. Once they’d settled themselves in a quiet corner, Julian retrieved the anonymous note from his pocket and slid it across the table.
    Harrison pulled off his gloves and examined the page. His brows drew together as he perused the words. “When did you receive this?”
    “The morning of my father’s funeral.”
    “Have you enemies? It could be a deception.”
    A serving girl brought them bowls of watery stew. “I considered that. But I had to inquire further, so I traveled to Northamptonshire.” Julian fished through the broth for an elusive vegetable or cut of beef.
    “I thought Lady Sotherton was estranged from the rest of her family. Have you reconciled?” Despite the meal’s poor quality, Harrison gulped his food hungrily all the same.
    “Sadly, no. I spoke with her husband—the Home Office undersecretary—and he claims my father did indeed have a relationship with some of the petitioners.”
    “So we can’t rule out the allegations of murder without more information.” Harrison set down his spoon and examined the note again, his lips pursed with concentration. “The parchment is of high quality and the phrasing suggests the writer studied rhetoric. The lines are fine, implying a new or freshly sharpened quill. But some of the letters fluctuate, suggesting your anonymous author is a person of means and education who tried to disguise his