by Meara Platt
He did not see how they would have the means to capture such a prize, much less get their hands on explosives to blow it up.
“No,” Lord Peckham said. “Fortunately, this rebellious uprising has been contained to Tilbury thus far.”
Yes, definitely angry fishermen. Ronan doubted they had captured this battleship at all. But they might have surrounded it with a flotilla of fishing boats.
And by rebellious, did Lord Peckham mean they’d been throwing eggs and rotted vegetables at the ship?
Lord Liverpool turned to the Lord Admiral. “Sir William, I do not know that you are well enough to ride to Tilbury. Would you have any objection to my placing Captain Brayden in charge?”
“No, my lord. Indeed, I have every faith he can bring a peaceful end to this unfortunate conflagration.”
Lord Liverpool turned to Ronan. “Then the task is yours, Captain Brayden. Take one of our regiments with you on the chance matters get out of hand.”
He nodded. “I’d also like two barges and all the rope I can commandeer. The ship has run aground, has it not?” He’d asked the question moments earlier but had not received a straightforward answer.
“Yes,” said Liverpool with a sigh. “You have my authority to take whatever materials you need. Get started at once.”
He strode out with the Lord Admiral, slowing his step to accommodate the older man. “My brother, Joshua, still commands a regiment of dragoon guards. They were the soldiers who cleared out the criminal element in Oxford a few months ago. These are disciplined men, not likely to do anything foolhardy and make matters worse.”
“Yes, take them with you. Bah! That Peckham, what an arse.”
“Who is the idiot in command of The Invictus?” Ronan asked. “He ought to have known better than to risk one of our finest ships.”
“Have you not figured it out yet? It is Peckham’s brother, Viscount Hawley. I’ll have him under court-martial if there is so much as a blemish found.”
Ronan’s expression turned grim. “She’ll have scratches along the length of her hull for certain. Let’s hope it is nothing worse. I don’t want to be the one standing in front of Liverpool and his cabinet ministers informing them the costliest ship we’ve built in this century just sank at the mouth of the North Sea.”
While the Lord Admiral returned to the Admiralty building, Ronan called on Joshua. “I need your help, Josh.”
Fortunately, his brother and Holly were still awake. They settled in Joshua’s study, and he quickly explained what had happened. “This is why I need you to muster your regiment as fast as possible.”
Holly turned ashen. “How dangerous is this mission?”
The two brothers exchanged glances. Ronan spoke up since he was the one most familiar with the situation. “I think Oxford was far more dangerous. Lord Liverpool would have heard from the Tilbury magistrates had this uprising been more than a group of angry fishermen pelting cabbage at a stranded battleship to vent their frustration.”
She clasped a hand to her throat. “I pray this is all it is.”
Ronan nodded. “I’ll watch over my big brother.”
He knew Holly had lost her first husband toward the end of the Napoleonic Wars when the ship carrying his regiment had been attacked and destroyed. Now newly wed to Joshua, she was not keen on losing him just yet. “Holly, will you do me the favor of letting Dahlia know what is happening. I was supposed to join her at Lord Fielding’s supper party, but there is no way we will be back in time. I expect we’ll be gone for three or four days at a minimum.”
She nodded. “I’ll tell her. Do you know if Wainscott has been invited?”
“I don’t, but it is likely he has been since the Fieldings are friendly with Lady Alexandra’s father. Will you alert Finn and Tynan? Let my brothers know the situation. I need them to protect Dahlia from that weasel if he decides to cause trouble.”
Holly nodded, but Ronan was not sure how much she was taking in. That Joshua was about to ride off to help him quell a local confrontation had her trembling and ashen.
“Holly, please. I’ll be mad with worry if Dahlia is left unguarded while he is anywhere close by.”
She nodded. “I will. Of course. I love my sister. I won’t let any harm come to her.”
Joshua rode off to his regimental headquarters while Ronan left to arrange for the barges and round up as much rope as he could gather. His hope was to tow the battleship out of the shallows and into deeper waters. This could be done if the river bed was soft enough. The vessel could be harmlessly pushed through silt and reeds.
Finding the rope proved to be a fairly simple task. One of their biggest suppliers of rigging for their battleships had a warehouse at the London docks.
It took Ronan another hour to summon the owner, one Lord Stonehurst. In turn, Lord Stonehurst sent word to his foreman for his workers to start loading the ropes onto the barges immediately. Once this was underway, Ronan rode to the Admiralty to gather whatever maps he could find that charted the Thames seabed around Tilbury.
Shortly before dawn, he watched the barges pull out of their slips at the London docks. He then rode in the graying light to Joshua’s headquarters to travel overland with his brother’s regiment while the supply-laden barges sailed to Tilbury.
He was exhausted.
But now was not the time to rest. He would catch a few winks while in the saddle. He glanced up at the sky, hoping for good weather. Getting that leviathan back into the North Sea would be a Herculean task. He had no wish to do it with snow and ice pelting down on them.
Having to work in icy waters was bad enough.
He couldn’t send divers down to assess the damage, for they wouldn’t survive more than five minutes in those frigid depths. Also, the Thames was murky. Very little light would filter down to the lower depths of the hull. The divers would be exploring in the dark.
No, he would simply have to rely on the maps and pray hard they were accurate.
“Ronan,” his brother said, grabbing his arm as he was about to slip off his mount. “Are you all right?”
“Fine, Josh.” But he wasn’t really, and his brother knew it. The political storm the navy would have to face over The Invictus stranding itself on the Thames was going to be bad. He was now in charge of this thorny operation. Being a mere captain, it was more than likely his name would be put forth as the one to blame if it failed.
More damning was his role as naval liaison to Parliament. He was the face these politicians saw every day.
Yes, they would have a merry old time kicking his arse.
Perhaps the true incompetents would be disciplined eventually, but he doubted they would ever be seriously touched. Viscount Hawley, the obvious culprit, had powerful connections to see him through this incident more or less unscathed.
Ronan thought no more of the headaches he was facing.
He would deal with each problem as it arose.
His greatest concern was for Dahlia. Would she make it through Lord Fielding’s dinner party on her own? Lord Stoke was going to have her seated beside him. She had handled the duke brilliantly at Lady Broadhurst’s party. Would she be as successful tonight?
And what of that weasel, Wainscott?
Did he have more humiliation in mind for Dahlia?
Or was he plotting something more sinister?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Holly, do you think I can send my regrets to Lord Fielding?” Dahlia was dismayed to learn Ronan had left for Tilbury. The hour was early still, but Holly had wasted no time in stopping by to fill her in on all that had happened after Ronan and the Lord Admiral departed Lady Broadhurst’s musicale.
The two of them were now seated in Aunt Sophie’s parlor, chatting alone. Neither Aunt Sophie nor Heather had come down yet. Hortensia was awake and somewhere in the house, but she never liked to engage in conversation before having had her morning coffee.
Her sister frowned. “No, you cannot send your regrets to Lord Fielding. His party is ton
ight. He will be terribly offended if you back out.”
She sighed. “I suppose you’re right. Then Ronan will think I am a coward. I need to show him that I can stand on my own.”
Holly reached over to give her hand a squeeze. “You have more spirit and independence than I ever had at your age.”
Dahlia laughed. “You are only three years older, but the way you talk sometimes, one would think you were thirty years older.”
“Well, I never had your effortless charm. Until Joshua came along, I was on my way to turning into a younger version of Aunt Hortensia.” She made a wrinkled prune face, then glanced around. “Oh, dear. I hope she didn’t catch that. But I’ve gotten off the point. Ronan is very proud of you. He knows you are no simpering debutante prone to the vapors. However, he cannot help but feel protective of you. This is who he is. But enough about him. Now for the next important issue...”
“What is that?”
Holly grinned as she came to her feet. “What are you going to wear tonight? Come on, let’s go upstairs and wake Heather. Did Violet sleep over?”
“No, she’s in her own home.” Which was only next door, so she did not have very far to walk if she was inclined to join them. “Romulus is due back any day now, and she did not want him returning to an empty house.”
Holly smiled. “She must be eager to see him. As for you, show me your gowns. Not that I will be any help whatsoever in choosing what you or Heather should wear this evening. You were always the one who helped me with my wardrobe.”
They ultimately chose a rose silk gown for her and a silvery blue one for Heather. The silk fabrics were from the Farthingale mills. As Dahlia cast a final critical eye over their choices, Dahlia recalled her Uncle Rupert’s stories about his travels east, the mulberry trees and silkworms. The gowns were beautiful, but also of special significance now that she knew the tales behind the origins of this fabric.
Holly’s eyes were sparkling as she gave them a final inspection. “You will both look stunning.”
They had rustled Heather out of bed to choose their gowns. She stifled a yawn, not yet fully awake. “I hope so. I need to make a good impression on the Marquess of Tilbury.”
“Tilbury?” Dahlia’s thoughts immediately shot back to Ronan and his miserable assignment. She was not yet wise to the workings of politics but knew someone would have to take the blame for this glaring mistake.
She curled her hands into fists, determined to start garnering favors that could be called in to protect Ronan, if necessary. She’d start with the Duke of Stoke. If he wanted her to befriend his daughter, then she would ask him to help Ronan. But only if there was no other recourse. She knew Ronan would not appreciate her interference otherwise.
“Has Lord Tilbury given you any indication he is interested in you, Heather?” Holly had asked the question, bringing Dahlia’s thoughts back to her sisters.
“I think so. Nothing obvious yet. But he sought a dance with me last night and asked if I played whist and would partner him once they set up the card tables at Lord Fielding’s party.”
Dahlia smiled at her sister. “Oh, Heather. That is exciting. I shall discreetly inspect him and give you my opinion...that is, if you’d like my opinion. I’m hardly a good judge of character.”
Heather frowned. “Of course I do. Stop kicking yourself for Gerald’s deceit. He had all of us fooled.”
The rest of the day passed swiftly for Dahlia.
Before long, she and Heather were climbing into the carriage with her aunt and uncle. Shortly afterward, they were on the receiving line, waiting to meet Lord Fielding and his wife as they stood by the grand staircase of their elegant home. The light of a thousand tapers guided their way, casting a magical glow about their home. “It feels as though we are entering a fairy kingdom,” Heather whispered.
Dahlia nodded, wishing Ronan could be by her side.
Lady Fielding was a formidable woman who wielded quite a bit of power among the ton. Dahlia was surprised by the warmth of the greeting she received from her and Lord Fielding. “It is a pleasure to be here. Your house is exceptionally lovely.”
“Why, thank you, Miss Farthingale. That’s quite a compliment coming from you. The Duke of Stoke tells me you are very talented in matters of design.”
She shook her head and laughed. “He exaggerates. But I am delighted to have won him over.”
“He was raving about your talent,” her husband said. “I hear you are going to help his daughter redecorate their home.”
She was?
“It’s just an idea tossed around at the moment.” She wasn’t certain how much to say about it. Dear heaven, she and Lady Melinda had never even spoken.
Lady Fielding’s eyes were gleaming. “Well, I have been bothering Lord Fielding for years now about his study. It is old and ugly, but he claims it is comfortable.”
“It is comfortable,” he insisted in good nature.
“It is old, just as we are,” said his wife, gently berating him.
“You, my dear? Why you are as youthful and lovely as the day I met you.”
Dahlia sighed. “Beautifully said, my lord. Well, I shall be happy to offer my suggestions whenever you are ready.”
She and Heather moved on to the parlor since they’d noticed one of their Chipping Way neighbors, the kindly dowager countess, Lady Eloise Dayne, seated there. She was in a corner with one of her elderly friends, Lady Withnall, the two of them settled in the most comfortable chairs in the room.
While Aunt Sophie and Uncle John were once again accosted by friends to slow their progress and distract their attention, she and Heather skittered over to the dowagers. “Good evening, Lady Dayne. Lady Withnall.”
Lady Dayne smiled at them. “Dahlia. Heather. How lovely you girls look.” She motioned to a footman to bring over chairs for them. “Do join us. How are you, Dahlia?”
She blushed. “Much better than a few days ago.”
“I should think so,” her diminutive companion intoned. “That toad, Wainscott, is never to be trusted. Lady Alexandra’s father is just catching on to this fact. Their betrothal will not hold, mark my words.”
“It won’t?” She leaned closer, eager to learn more. Dahlia had heard Lady Withnall was a gossip feared by all. But she and Heather had nothing to hide, and therefore, nothing to fear from her. “Truly? What has happened?”
“Wainscott has already been caught with another young lady, a duke’s daughter this time. I shall not name her, of course. Discretion forbids it.”
Dahlia refrained from rolling her eyes. This woman was dishing out the juiciest gossip most indiscreetly, and now she was worried about naming names? Someone would soon figure out who his new victim was, and she would become the object of whispers. Dahlia actually felt sorry for Lady Alexandra.
But a duke’s daughter? She worried that Lady Melinda, the Duke of Stoke’s daughter, was his latest victim.
No, Stoke would not be here tonight if that were the case. She’d noticed him standing near the entry doors as they’d walked in. He had been engaged in conversation with others and not looked up when she and Heather had been announced.
“Poor Alexandra,” Dahlia said, more to herself. Even though the girl had not shown much remorse or compassion to her, she did not find any satisfaction in her being hurt by that scoundrel.
Who was this as yet unnamed duke’s daughter?
“Of course, we won’t hear anything yet from Balliwick or Alexandra, not until she has started her monthly courses. Let’s hope they arrive on schedule. Once he is assured she is not with child, that betrothal contract will be burned to ashes.”
Dahlia gasped.
Lady Withnall was not at all remorseful for her crudeness. “Do not look so shocked, gel. This is how things work in this world. Wainscott’s ambitions will leave him with nothing in the end. If it is any consolation, I think in his weaker moments, he cared for you.”
Dahlia was surprised. “He was merely pretending all along. It is obvious
he cares for himself most of all. No young woman will ever capture his heart since he’s claimed it for himself already.”
Lady Dayne nodded. “I’m glad you see him now for what he is.”
“Oh, I do. I will be happiest if our paths never cross again. But I fear he will be in attendance this evening. I shall avoid him as best as I can.”
“Oh, no. He will not dare show his face here tonight,” Lady Withnall said with a comforting certainly. “Nor will Balliwick and his daughter.”
“That’s a relief. But Lady Withnall, why would you think he ever cared for me?”
“My dear, I would have thought it obvious. Because he did not touch you. He treated you as the lady you are.”
Dahlia emitted a mirthless laugh. “Until the moment he humiliated me.”
Perhaps there was a kernel of truth in the comment. Twice now, Gerald had been caught with his pants down about his ankles. Yet, he had never taken a step out of turn with her. It really was not any consolation. Even caring for him as she did, she would never have allowed him to seduce her.
Because there had been no spark between them.
It would not have torn her apart to deny him. She had never ached for his touch, and it never bothered her that they did not kiss on the lips.
But Ronan?
He set her in flames.
“A word of advice, Miss Farthingale.” Lady Withnall was now eyeing her as avidly as a bird of prey eyed a field mouse it wanted to eat. “Do not remain so caught up in what Wainscott did to you that you push away the right man when he comes along.”
Was she speaking of Ronan?
He had come straight out and told her that he wanted her in his life, and she had put him off exactly as Lady Withnall had just intimated. Heat ran up her cheeks. “Thank you. I will take your advice to heart.”
Heather’s eyes were as wide as full moons. “Lady Withnall, do you have any advice for me?”
She thucked her cane up and down on the polished wood floor. “Gel, what do you think I am? A fortuneteller?”