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“Which,” Melville said, returning his gaze to Declan, “is why we have such urgent need of you, sir. We need someone we can trust to go out to Freetown and learn what the devil’s going on.”
Wolverstone stirred, reclaiming Declan’s attention. “We should clarify that, in part, our urgency is fueled by wider considerations.” Wolverstone caught Declan’s gaze. “I’m sure you’ll recall the case of the Black Cobra, which ended with a public hanging just a year ago.” When Declan nodded—who hadn’t heard of that episode?—Wolverstone continued, “The Black Cobra cult, controlled by a trio of English subjects, caused significant harm to our colonial peoples. That the cult was able to spread so widely, and act for as long as it did, was an indictment on the British government’s ability to manage its colonies.” Wolverstone’s lips thinned. “The government—the Crown—does not need another similar incident raising further questions about our ability to rule our empire.”
Declan didn’t need further explanation. He now fully understood that the pressure on Melville to find out exactly what was going on in Freetown, to resolve the matter and re-establish appropriate order, was coming from a great deal higher up the political pole. “Very well.” He glanced at Wolverstone. “Do you know when The Cormorant is due to reach Southampton?”
“Royd said it sailed…it would be the day before yesterday.”
Declan nodded. “They most likely left late, so the earliest into Southampton would be tomorrow morning, but allowing for the winds and the tides, it’ll probably be later. The crew will need a day to fully provision the ship from our stores there. I’ll use the next two days to see what information about doings in Freetown I can glean from the London docks, then I’ll leave for Southampton the following day and sail on the evening tide.”
“How long do you think it’ll take you to reach Freetown?” Melville asked.
“With favorable winds, The Cormorant can make it in fourteen days.”
“There’s one thing both Melville and I wish to stress. Indeed,” Wolverstone said, “you can consider it a part of your orders—an instruction not to be ignored.”
Declan arched his brows.
“The instant you learn anything—any fact at all—we want you to return and bring that fact back to us.” Wolverstone’s voice had assumed the rigid tones of absolute command. “We cannot afford to lose more men while continuing to have no idea what is taking place down there. We need you to go in, winkle out a first lead—but we don’t, specifically do not, want you to follow it.”
“We need you to come back and tell us,” Melville reiterated.
Declan didn’t have to think too hard to understand that the political pressure for some answers, any answers, would be mounting by the day.
Wolverstone’s tone was dry as he remarked, “I realize that, as a gentleman-adventurer, you would prefer not to operate under such a restriction. That is, however, what is needed in this case. The instant you learn anything—and especially if, subsequently, you sense any opposing reaction—you are to leave immediately and bring that information home.” He paused, then, in a quieter tone, added, “We’ve lost too many capable men already, and for nothing. That cannot go on.”
Although he hadn’t personally received orders directly from Wolverstone before, Declan knew enough of the man’s history to know that last stipulation was a very un-Dalziel-like stance. The man had been renowned for giving his operatives objectives as orders, allowing said operatives to execute their missions largely as they saw fit. Dalziel had always shown an appreciation for flexibility in the field. And an expectation of complete success.
Which, more often than not, had been met.
That he was being so very cautious—indeed, insisting on such rigid caution—Declan suspected was more a reflection of the seriousness of the situation rather than any indication that the leopard had changed his spots.
He didn’t like the caveat, the restriction, but… “Very well.” If all he was required to do was learn one fact, that would probably take him no more than a day. In effect, his unusual orders would reduce his time away from Edwina; he decided it behooved him to be grateful rather than disgruntled. He glanced at Melville, then looked at Wolverstone. “If there’s nothing else…?”
“I’ve penned a letter giving you the authority to call on the West Africa Squadron for any assistance you might need,” Melville said. “It’s with my secretary—you can pick it up as you leave.”
As Declan rose, Wolverstone, too, came to his feet. “Short of a compelling need, however, I would suggest you keep that letter to yourself. Use it only as a last resort.” He met Declan’s eyes. “Were I you, I would trust no one. Not with the details of your mission. Not with anything they do not need to know.”
The cool incisiveness in Wolverstone’s words told Declan very clearly that neither Wolverstone nor Melville trusted Governor Holbrook or Major Eldridge, or Vice-Admiral Decker, presently in command of the West Africa Squadron. And if they didn’t trust them, they didn’t trust anyone.
There was something rotten in Freetown, and it had spread and sunk its roots deep.
Declan exchanged a nod with Melville.
Wolverstone extended his hand, and Declan gripped it and shook.
“We’ll expect to see you in a month or so.” Wolverstone paused, then, releasing Declan’s hand, murmured, “And if you’re not back inside six weeks, I’ll send Royd after you.”
Declan grinned at the threat, which was no real threat at all; he and his big brother might butt heads all too frequently, but he couldn’t think of any man he would rather have at his back. “I’ll return as soon as I can.”
With a salute, Declan made for the door, already thinking of the preparations to be made—and the news he now had to break to his wife.
CHAPTER 3 (#litres_trial_promo)
Knowing that Edwina would already have left the house for her morning’s engagements, Declan went on to the Frobisher and Sons office, located off Burr Street between St. Katherine’s Docks and the London Docks. There, he set in train various inquiries, dispatching several of the company’s retired sailors to quietly ask questions in the inns and taverns scattered about the area. He doubted they would hear anything specifically relating to his mission, but if there was some wider scheme afoot that might impinge on it, he would prefer to know of any potential complication before he set sail from England’s green shores.
The rest of his day went in gathering all the information he could about the current state of commerce and industry in the West African colonies from those in the office, as well as from his peers and contacts in the nearby offices of other shipping companies.
He was an adventurer at heart. As he was going to West Africa anyway, he might as well be alert and aware of any emerging possibilities.
He returned to Stanhope Street in the late afternoon. Taking refuge in the small library, he waited for Edwina to return. He spent the minutes pacing before the fireplace, rehearsing the words and phrases with which to excuse and explain his sudden and impending departure.
When he heard Humphrey’s heavy tread cross the front hall, then Edwina’s voice greeting the butler as she swept into the house, Declan drew in a deep breath and walked to the door. He opened it and looked out.
Edwina saw him and halted.
Going forward, he reached for her hand. “If you have a moment, my dear, I have some news.”
She surrendered her hand. Her eyes searched his face. Whatever she saw there sobered her. “Yes, of course.” She handed her bonnet to Humphrey and allowed Declan to usher her into the library.
After shutting the door behind them, he led her to the space before the fireplace. Unable to resist, he drew her to him and bent his head for a kiss. Stretching up, she met him in her usual eager fashion. She tasted of honey-cakes…
Before the engagement could spin out of hand, he broke the caress, then released her and waved her to the small sofa facing the hearth.
She glanced at his face, then, in a rustle of silk skirts, complied. He remained standing to one side of the hearth—instinctively assuming the stance of a captain addressing his crew. He was conscious of the nuance, but as the stance gave him confidence that he knew what he was doing and would accomplish the task before him, he pushed the question of its appropriateness from his mind.
She sank onto the sofa and locked her gaze on his face. “Don’t keep me in suspense. What is it?”
He’d debated how to phrase his news and had decided that brevity would serve them best. “I’ve been called on to do a short run to the capital of the West African settlements. It won’t take long—I’ll only be away for a few weeks—but for business reasons, the voyage has to be made immediately. None of my brothers or cousins is available. They’re at sea and not due back in time or, in Royd’s case, unable to set sail due to other commitments.”
For several silent seconds, she stared up at him. Then in a perfectly equable tone, she asked, “How dangerous is this voyage likely to be?”
“Not dangerous at all—or, at most, only minimally so.” Given his orders to cut and run the instant he learned anything, he couldn’t imagine he would face any real danger. He didn’t want her worrying. He summoned a reassuring smile. “I’ll be home safe and sound before you know it.”
“On that route, is the weather favorable at this time of year?”
“Generally speaking, yes. I don’t expect to run into any storms.”
Again, she stared at him as several seconds ticked by. Finally, her gaze fixed unwaveringly on his face, she stated, “In that case, I should like to accompany you.”
His mind seized. His wits froze. Blindsided—knocked entirely out of kilter—he simply stared down at her.
Apparently not noticing his stunned state, she blithely rattled on, “Given we’ve accomplished the most important goal we came to London to achieve, and as all else here is running smoothly, there’s really no reason I need to remain in town over the next weeks.” Her eyes warmed and her lips curved with eager enthusiasm. “And I would so like to sail with you—to see the world by your side.”
He finally managed to find his tongue. “No.”
She blinked, then clouds gathered in her sunny blue eyes and a frown drew down her brows. “Why not? Is there some reason you haven’t yet told me that makes it inadmissible for me to travel with you?”
Yes. He opened his mouth, then shut it. He couldn’t tell her any details. She moved in circles that might easily include connections of the Holbrooks, Decker, or Eldridge; one loose word and she might unwittingly place him and his crew in danger—a danger they would not otherwise face. He couldn’t tell her about his mission, and he certainly couldn’t take her with him. Lord above! He’d only just recognized how incredibly precious to him she now was, how central to his future life, to his future happiness, and she wanted to accompany him on a flying visit to one of the roughest settlements in the empire?
“No—or rather, yes.” He resisted the urge to rake his fingers through his hair. “There are any number of reasons that make it impossible for you to sail with me.” His tone made the declaration unequivocal. “And I’m sorry, but I can’t explain. It’s entirely untenable for you to travel with me in this instance.” Probably in any instance; he rarely traveled but for business, and his business was rarely without some risk.
Indeed, sailing on the high seas was never devoid of risk. Ships wrecked. He might survive, but she was so small and weak, he doubted she would.
Edwina’s heart sank, but she told herself that this obstacle had always been lurking somewhere along their path. She’d already decided that it was time to move forward, time to focus on establishing the daily ins and outs of how their marriage would work. Here was her first challenge. They would have come to this at some point; there would always have been a first time for her to convince him to take her sailing with him.
That said, she hadn’t expected this particular hurdle to appear quite so soon. Clasping her hands in her lap, she fixed her gaze on his face. “Declan, I realize we haven’t specifically discussed this, but I knew you spent at least half the year on your ship when I accepted your proposal. I married you in the full expectation that however many months you spent on the waves, I would be able to spend, if not all of those months, then at least the majority of them by your side, on the deck of your ship.”
She couldn’t be sure but she thought his eyes widened; it seemed her revelation had come as a surprise. Yet surely he hadn’t imagined that she was the type of lady to remain snug and safe at home by the fire, oblivious to whatever dangers or threats he might be facing halfway around the world?
She fought to stifle a snort.
Studying his expression, she frowned more definitely. “You cannot possibly be surprised by that. By the notion that I want to be a part of your life—all of it—rather than being relegated only to the land-based part.” Leaning forward, she made her eyes, her whole expression, as beseeching as she could. “Please, Declan. I would so like to go on your ship and sail the seas with you.”
For a moment, he held her gaze, then his chest swelled as he drew in a deep breath. For one instant, she hoped… But then his chin firmed; she saw his jaw harden.
“I have to admit that I did not quite appreciate your interest in sailing. If you like, I’ll take you on The Cormorant, perhaps to Amsterdam, and then down the coast of France and Spain and into the Mediterranean when I return from this trip.”
She considered the offer—clearly an olive branch of sorts—for half a minute before firming her own chin. “I would enjoy such a trip, but it fails to address the issue before us, which is that I wish to, and expect to, share all of your life and not just some of it.”
He held her gaze; the sky blue of his eyes seemed somehow flatter, less alive—less open, his emotions screened. “I cannot, and will not, take you on this particular voyage.”
She narrowed her eyes. “So I am to be allowed to share some of your life—the parts you deem appropriate—but I am to be excluded from those business ventures, those adventures, you wish to keep private, to yourself.”
She paused to give him a chance to respond, but although his nostrils pinched as he drew in a long breath, he refused the unstated invitation to correct her.
Taking that as a sign—a negative one—she evenly continued, “I have already stated that such boundaries are not what I expected in our marriage—one I wish to be based firmly on the concept of shared enterprise. As I understand your mother has always sailed with your father, I had not realized that you might think I would be happy being left at home.”
His lips thinned. “My mother’s case is different.”
She arched her brows. “How so?”
“She—” He stopped. His eyes remained locked with hers as his expression turned openly exasperated. “My mother is not you,” he eventually stated, his tone clipped and hard. “She’s my father’s responsibility, and you are mine.”
She returned a terse nod. “Indeed. Our marriage is as much your responsibility as mine. And I will go further and definitively state that I am not prepared to accept the restriction of not sailing with you, short of there being sound reasons and a compelling argument against it. I am not prepared to acquiesce to such a limitation being put on our sharing—on our marriage.”
She’d concluded on a belligerent note. She knew what she wanted, what she needed, and she was as certain as she could possibly be that—granite-headed though he clearly was—he, too, would gain enormously from a sharing union. The entire point was to support each other through no longer being alone. By no longer having to face life and its challenges, threats, and dangers alone.
That meant they had to share their lives.
He could argue until he was blue in the face, but she was not going to back down.
Declan looked into her face, saw the stalwart determination infusing her features, and understood that, entirely unexpectedly, he stood on very thin ice.
He wished it was otherwise—wished he’d comprehended her vision of their marriage before they’d reached this pass, so that he might have known which way to tack to better avoid cutting across her bow. He wished he could convince himself that this was a temporary whim of hers, that she couldn’t possibly be truly serious, that her statements of direction and intent were not rooted in sincere belief…but he couldn’t. She was the least whimsical female he’d ever met. And while he hadn’t foreseen her direction regarding their marriage, he had unshakeable faith in her honesty, especially when it came to what lay between them.
That was why wooing her had been so damned easy. She’d wanted him as much as he’d wanted her, and she hadn’t been backward about letting him know.
While such emotional honesty—such emotional clarity—had been a boon earlier, it made what he had to do now very much harder.
He hauled in an unsettlingly tight breath, held her gaze, and quietly, evenly, said, “I regret, my dear, that in this instance, I cannot take you with me. I would if I could—I would lay the sun, the moon, and the stars at your feet if that was what you wished and it lay within my ability. While not fraught with danger, this journey is not one I can allow you to share.”
He paused, then—deciding that he might as well be hung for a wolf as a lamb—he added, “There will always be some voyages like this. With others…perhaps we can reach some agreement when I get back. However, for now, my decision stands. I am the captain of The Cormorant, and I have absolute authority over who boards my ship. I cannot, and will not, take you with me.”
He expected her to erupt, although, truth be told, he’d never yet seen her lose her temper. He’d seen her annoyed, irritated, but never truly furious. But he now comprehended that this issue meant a great deal to her, and he knew she was stubborn, someone who would fight for what she believed… Instinctively, he braced for her anger.
It never came.
Instead, she studied him through narrowed eyes, glinting an unusually hard, bright blue from beneath her fine lashes. Gradually, her expression grew pensive.
After several moments of fraught silence—of him waiting for some high-flown denunciation—in a relatively normal tone, she asked, “Is that because, despite you saying there’ll be no real danger for you, you fear exposing me to even that low level of danger?”
He blinked. “Freetown—the capital of Sierra Leone—is no Bombay, or Calcutta, or Cape Town. It’s basic in every sense of the word and definitely no place for a duke’s daughter.”
“And that’s where you’re going?” When he nodded, she said, “I see. So your decision is driven by wanting to protect me.”
“Yes.” Exactly. He didn’t say the word but was quite sure she read his exasperation in his eyes. Why else would he deny her?
She studied him for a moment more, then—to his complete surprise—she gave a little nod, more to herself than him, and rose. “All right. That I can accept.”
Suddenly, he felt oddly unsure, as if some unexpected wind had blown up and was steadily pushing him off course. He tried to study her face, but she was looking down and shaking her skirts straight. “Just so I have this issue clear, as long as my intention is to protect you, then you’ll accept whatever decisions I make?”
She raised her head, met his eyes, and smiled—gently, reassuringly. Then she stepped closer, came up on her toes, and lightly touched her lips to his. Drawing back, her hand on his chest, she stated, “I accept that, in seeking to protect me, you will make such decisions.”
Sinking back to her heels, she watched him for a second, then her smile deepened. “Now.” She turned and walked toward the door. “As we discussed last night, we’re having dinner here, just the two of us, and then spending a quiet evening in the drawing room.”
He followed as if drawn by invisible threads.
At the door, she turned and, smiling, arched her brows. “Unless you would prefer to attend more events?”
“No, no.” He quelled a shudder. Reaching past her, he opened the door. “I’m looking forward to spending a whole evening in which I don’t have to share you with anyone else.”
Belatedly, he realized what he’d said—which word he’d used—but she only smiled sweetly and led the way out.
Feeling very much as if he’d avoided a cannonball to his mainmast, yet having no clear idea how he’d accomplished the feat, he followed at her heels. They’d got over that stumbling block and peace and harmony had—somehow—been maintained. He told himself to be grateful.
* * *
The evening following Edwina’s discussion with Declan in their library, she stood by the side of Lady Comerford’s ballroom and pretended to pay attention to the various gentlemen surrounding her. A few ladies were scattered among the ranks, but to Edwina’s dismay, for some ungodly reason, a sizeable cohort of gentlemen seemed intent on vying for her attention.
Even though the group included several she’d heard spoken of in hushed whispers by the racier of her peers—the young matrons of the ton—and even though she recognized the attraction several of those gentlemen possessed, she had no attention to spare even for such potent distractions.
Declan had informed her that he would be departing London sometime the next day; he had begged off accompanying her to this ball on the grounds of having to deal with last-minute preparations. Given she’d already declared their purpose in appearing together at such major ton events achieved, she’d had to accept his decision with a gracious smile. She’d hidden her welling consternation; she had yet to decide how best to respond to his decision to leave her safely in London.
She understood his motives, but equally, she knew that they would have to start somewhere—that at some point, she would have to press her case to accompany him on his business trips. In the circumstances, it was difficult to find a reason not to commence as she intended to go on. If she bowed to his fear for her now, if she gave it credence on what he’d assured her was an as-near-as-made-no-odds dangerless voyage, his attitude would only grow more entrenched, making her ultimate battle to change his mind that much harder.
On them both.
As she was beyond determined that, ultimately, she would prevail and would routinely accompany him on his voyages, then letting his decision stand, even this once, seemed an unwise path to take.