by Lee Rowan
“No, but he might at any time. He will be insufferable. If Virginia’s child is a boy—”
“She’s still expecting?” he interjected.
“Yes. And very near her time. If she bears a son, Ronald will be furious. If the baby is another girl… we’re in for trouble.”
Of that, David had no doubt. “I’m sure Father will keep him in line.”
She shook her head slightly. “I hope so, if he is able. But he—you have not seen Father lately.”
David could not bring himself to believe what she was suggesting. “Is he truly so different, then?”
“Yes. It is… I expected to see him grow old—that is, I knew he would—but I never imagined this. He has aged twenty years in the past week. I cannot bear to see him so diminished.” She squeezed his arm, and he returned the pressure.
He had come home with the expectation of everything as it had always been—much of it not to his liking, but solid and established. Now, nothing was the same. It was strange and unsettling to have Amelia looking up to him. In his childhood, she had been just enough older to stand as his champion against their bullying elder brother. To have her seeking his aid gave David an inkling of how badly the situation in their home had altered. As the eldest daughter still living at home, he guessed Amelia had been required to shoulder the burden of their aging parents’ sorrow, as well as her own.
The children reappeared suddenly, tugging at Amelia’s skirts, and the two newcomers were swallowed up in a cluster of female relations. David could see the confusion on his shipmate’s face; Will was ill at ease around women at the best of times, never good at remembering names until he had become acquainted with their owners. This little deficiency mattered not at all aboard ship, with its seldom-altered masculine society. An officer who did remember his men’s names was a cut above most, and Will could give the name, function, and sometimes even length of service for all the 300-plus men who’d lived aboard the frigate Calypso on which they’d both served. But he’d had years to learn, and this was a very different situation.
David made the introductions as briefly as possible. Anne—Mrs. Clive Gilliam, mother of the twins and second of the family’s four daughters—and Eugenie, the youngest of his sisters, looked as though they might be mother and daughter, both fair-haired and poised, with wide-set blue eyes. Though David was fond of them both, he was ten years Anne’s junior and eight Eugenie’s senior; the gap meant that he’d never had a friendship with either of them like the one he shared with Amelia.
The one brunette among the ladies was his cousin, Jane Winston, daughter of his mother’s elder brother, who had come to live at Grenbrook a year or two previously. Though Amelia had mentioned family troubles, she had not gone into detail in her letters. Jane was pleasant-looking rather than beautiful, with dark brown eyes that seemed to see everything in depth. She was also very quiet, unlike the cheerful, ebullient girl David remembered from his childhood. Her hair was dressed neatly, and she wore a simple gray gown, appropriate garb for mourning a cousin. Jane seemed happy to see him, though, and put in a word now and then—when his sisters were quiet long enough to give her a chance.
Anne had been married the year Eugenie was born, and her Army-Major husband was, as David had thought, presently stationed in India. A skilled hostess, she engaged Will with the sort of polite interrogation that ladies used to draw gentlemen out. For Commander Marshall, bold in battle but shy in social settings, this was a very good thing.
David noted with mild amusement that little Genie, though he would not be so unkind as to call her that to her face, was studying Will as though he’d been ordered up for her approval. Amelia had mentioned in her last letter that Eugenie, still the baby of the family at fifteen, was chafing at her schoolgirl status. But Will was surely safe from her feminine wiles; Amelia said that Genie had set her cap at a title. Since she was still too young to be brought out at the next Season, she would have plenty of time to decide how she might achieve that goal.
As he sat there, with baby Catherine on his knee and Marianne similarly situated on Will’s, David considered one of the things he had missed most about his home—the wonderful food. Tea, piping hot, fresh-brewed, and served with real Devon cream, the fresh bread—“soft-tack” was how he thought of it, now—the thin, tangy slices of ham cured in their own smokehouse instead of salt pork of indeterminate age, laden with brine.
He had been so long at sea that he had lost the habit of ordinary meals until he had been wounded the previous year. The months of convalescence at his cousin’s home in Jamaica had ruined his appreciation for shipboard rations, and even that had not been the food that said “home.” Slowly, though, as his mind continued to worry, his body relaxed in the familiar atmosphere.
But the ladies’ conversation reminded him of those things he did not miss. Without being asked, Anne and Amelia provided an exhaustive catalog of the disposition of the rest of the family. No doubt it was meant to serve as a sort of social briefing for Will; it was thoughtful of them to consider that. And David needed to know such details as well—at least some of them.
Lady Virginia, Mark’s new-made widow, had suffered a collapse and was keeping to her rooms. Her three daughters were indeed staying in London with their maternal grandmother. There was some explanation of being fitted for mourning dress, but David had the uncharitable suspicion that Patience, Prudence, and Verity—ill-named, he had always thought—had been as happy to stay with their Stafford relations as the Archers had been to surrender them. The young ladies had always been keenly aware that their father had wanted a son and got them instead, and the knowledge had somehow spoiled their temperaments. It was unkind to think such things of fatherless girls, but David was relieved to know that the visit would be free of his nieces’ airs and pouts.
“Will we see Mary and her family?” he asked, when both his sisters paused for refreshment.
“Not unless you have time to pay her a visit in London,” Anne said. “She’s gone to be with her eldest, Susannah, who has just given birth to a son. You are a great-uncle now, as well as an officer!”
David fell back in the chair, as much as he could with the child perched on his knee. “Why do I suddenly feel so ancient?”
Anne smiled, and even the somber black of deep mourning could not dampen her genuine pleasure. “You should have seen Mama when she heard the news. She has always been so happy to be a grandmother, and now she would not change places with the Queen!”
“Don’t breathe a word to Mama,” Amelia added quickly, “but Father has arranged to have a miniature painted of the first great-grandchild—and a grandson, at that! It was before the accident, of course, but he knew it would be some time before Susannah and the child could travel. I hope the artist works quickly. Nothing can console Mama over losing Mark, but a new baby brings such hope.” She touched her elder sister’s hand. “I am so glad you brought your little ones, Anne.”
“As am I,” said Lady Anne. “Our Nurse is a treasure, but I’ll be pleased to see them coming to know their family… and friends.” She turned to Will, who was absently feeding Marianne bits of a currant scone as though she were some sort of featherless parrot. “Are you certain she’s not a bother, Commander?”
“Not in the least,” Will said gamely, wiping small sticky fingers with his clean handkerchief. “As long as she prefers the refreshments to my buttons. It’s kind of you take in a wanderer this way. If not for your hospitality, I’d have been cooling my heels in Portsmouth for at least a month. Thank you so much!”
“It is our pleasure. From all my brother has said, we’ve you to thank that he’s still among the living!”
“I can say the same of him, a dozen times over,” Will said. He looked embarrassed. “It’s not the sort of thing one tallies at the end of the day.”
“Not the done thing at all,” David said, trying for levity. “Even if one were petty enough to keep count, judging the value of one thing versus another would be tedious. Say Capta
in Marshall put a Frenchie to the sword just as he was aiming for my brisket, and I pulled him out of the way of a falling bit of yardarm, that’s one potentially serious wound balanced by one potential concussion or possibly cracked skull…. No. It would be too silly to keep score.”
“And after a few years, pointless,” Will added.
“My mind refuses to admit the hazards you gentlemen face,” Lady Anne said. “War is dangerous, of course, but to dwell on the details is more than I could endure. Although my husband writes to me of his successes, I know there must be much he never sees fit to share… and I am grateful for his discretion. I am content not to know too much.”
“But it must be so exciting!” Lady Eugenie leaned forward, fluttering her lashes at Will. “Did that really happen—the Frogs, the falling yardarm?”
“Any number of times, my child.” David received the expected glare for the endearment. “And eventually it ceases to be exciting and becomes just a part of the job. May His Majesty’s Navy be preserved from midshipmen who sign aboard for the excitement!”
“Indeed,” said Will. “Though it’s best that they come aboard with enthusiasm, for they have much to learn and they must learn quickly, but it’s a gallon of drudgery to every pint of excitement. For some of our young gentlemen, the most terrifying battles are with chalk, slate, and navigational calculations.”
Lady Eugenie frowned at that, and David grinned. “Not your sort of study, Genie. And you would not enjoy a battle. You would be tucked away belowdecks, as safe as might be, with naught to do but endure the cacophony above.”
She frowned prettily. “Very well, then. I promise I’ll not run away and join the Navy.”
“I am sure His Majesty would be all gratitude if he but knew,” he responded.
“His Majesty would not think well of a young lady who entertained such hoydenish aspirations,” Lady Anne said with a quelling look at her youngest sister. “Really, Eugenie, such foolishness is unbecoming.”
“I think the gentlemen knew that I was speaking in jest,” the girl said with excessive dignity.
The situation was shaping in a direction David had seen a score of times before—Anne waxing heavy-handed in what she considered to be her duty in their mother’s absence, Eugenie feeling obliged to point out that Anne was not, in fact, her mother, nor was her opinion required or desired.
Amelia intervened before things came to that pass, as was her right since she was the one most often tasked to keep her younger sister in hand. “Well, I think our brother and Captain Marshall have their fill of tea and gossip, don’t you? Your rooms will be prepared by now, gentlemen. Would you care for a bath and a rest before supper?”
“Yes, Lia, thank you,” David said quickly, and transferred Catherine to Eugenie’s lap, while Anne retrieved her other daughter from Will’s. “Am I in my old room?”
“Yes, of course. Captain Marshall—it is Captain, is it not?” She looked to Will. “My brother said that when you have your own ship, you are addressed as Captain, not Commander. Which do you prefer, sir?”
Taken by surprise, Will actually blushed. “Oh…. Either will do, my lady.”
“Call him Captain,” David advised. “There’s not a sailor afloat who doesn’t wish to be called Captain, no matter what he may tell you to the contrary.”
“Captain, then. Your room shares a dressing-room with my brother’s, so you will not feel cast adrift in this strange backwater.”
“Not strange, my lady,” Will said. “Only unfamiliar. But I thank you. And I wish that I were not imposing on you at such a difficult time.”
Amelia flicked a glance at her brother that spoke of approval as they took their leave of the other ladies and left the room. “Captain, I am sure that your presence, and my brother’s, will make us all more comfortable. Tobias should be here to show you—yes, here he is. Please let him know if there is anything you require.”
Tobias’s face was not one David remembered, but some of the servants had been getting on in years when he’d last lived at home, and the younger ones often went off to work in London, so change was to be expected. So many changes…. He hardly needed a guide; the courtesy was mostly for Will’s sake, so he followed the footman through the main hall and up the right-hand staircase, excusing himself at the door of his own room while Will was shown to the following one.
A fire had been lit, taking the chill off the air and inviting him to approach. A moment later, the connecting door to the dressing room swung open and Will poked his head through, tentatively. “That footman—Tobias, wasn’t it?—has gone to order a bathtub.”
“That should be pleasant. Not so fine as the one we shared on the way to London, though.”
“Much finer, I imagine,” Will said. He came the rest of the way into the room but stopped a foot or two away. “I don’t suppose we shall have the privacy to enjoy it, and even if we did….”
“We shan’t. I wish it were otherwise, but we dare not take the chance, here in my father’s house.” He studied Will’s solemn features. “Are you sorry you came?”
“Oh, not at all. I’ve often wondered about your home, and your sisters have been very kind. Is everything as you remember it?”
“Nearly so,” David said, moving about the room, exploring what had once been familiar. His books were still here, that was the main thing. He had been unsurprised to find his sea chest unpacked—obviously, Tobias had been busy while they were visiting the ladies—but his toiletries were now set out upon a mahogany shaving-stand that had not been in the room when he’d left. He ran a finger along the smooth, polished wood. “This is new, or perhaps it was moved in from another room. When I last slept in this room, I was not quite old enough to shave.”
Will was gazing around him, looking back at David from time to time.
“Will, what is it?”
With a rueful smile, Will shook his head. “The middies’ mess and a hammock must have come as a terrible shock to you, Davy. This is so… so very grand. So far above anything I would have expected. Though I suppose your cousin’s estate in Jamaica should have given me a hint.”
David looked around him, trying to imagine how the place must seem to Will’s eyes. The high, carved bed with its heavy curtains was certainly more elaborate than anything Will had likely ever slept in, but David rather wished they were still back at the coaching inn in Teignmouth.
And he suddenly realized why Will seemed so uncertain. “Yes, it is very nice,” he agreed. “But it’s not mine, Will, and I never expected it would be. This is all entailed… well, there’s some property that isn’t, and I know my mother would never let the Earl leave me out of the will completely—which he wouldn’t do in any event, because it would cause talk, and neither of them would stand for that. But in this family, I’m insignificant. If Virginia bears a son to Mark, as I hope she does, the title and estate will go to that child. If not, it goes to Ronald. Which, I admit, I should hate to see, because I don’t think he will care for it as Mark would have.”
“You could live here, though.”
“Perhaps, if I had nowhere else to go. But really…. Oh, for heaven’s sake, Will, let us sit down.” He led his friend over to a set of chairs placed near the windows, and shifted one a little closer to the other. “You must stop worrying about where I shall live, and how. I’ve told you—I have the London house, or the rent from it, and that will be enough for us to keep a nice set of rooms. Sharing expenses on half-pay, we shall do very well. There’s no sense in borrowing trouble.” They’d have quite enough trouble as things stood, once Ronald showed up.
But for the moment, the only immediate question was where to put the bathtub, and Tobias answered that by having it brought into Will’s room, since it was less drafty. A parade of maidservants brought in sufficient heated water, and then they were left alone, after assuring the footman that they were quite accustomed to bathing unaided. Tobias bowed and departed, but not before appropriating the coats of their dress uniforms so that any li
ttle evidence of their journey might be cleaned and pressed away.
“I should have remembered that this room was always warmer,” David said, once their privacy was restored for at least a little while. Seeing Will hang back, he stripped off the rest of his clothes and stepped into the tub, a high-backed hip bath with room to sit comfortably. “This room was where my cousin Kit would sleep when his family came to visit. I think my mother put him here beside me so we would not disturb anyone else with our games.”
“What sort of games?” Will asked.
“Oh, the usual sort of things boys play at.” David soaped himself up quickly so Will would have at least some of the heat. “Adventures of one kind or another. Sometimes our toy soldiers were explorers and one of the beds was Australia or India or the New World. Sometimes they were smugglers or pirates, and we’d pretend there were caves under the beds, and hide treasure there.”
Will’s dark eyes were on him. “I wish we could pretend we were at some little inn, Davy, where no one knew us and we could lock the door.”
Even though he knew they could do nothing, David smiled back. “And no chance of a servant coming in unexpectedly? So do I. But for now—would you pour some water so I may wash my hair?”
“Of course.” Will was a gentleman and did exactly as asked, and if his free hand happened to rest briefly on his shipmate’s shoulder, not even the most curious onlooker would have thought it was for any reason other than to steady his aim with the pitcher.
By the time Will had taken his own bath, the daylight had begun to fade outside the windows. When he had finished toweling himself dry, David handed him a dressing gown. He wrapped it around himself and frowned. “Davy, when will your footman bring our coats back?”
“Soon enough.” He didn’t want to patronize Will, who was wandering around the room with a puzzled look on his face. When they’d stayed at Kit’s estate in Kingston, the circumstances had been far less formal, and David did not want Will embarrassed by ignorance of family customs—or by calling in a valet to see that he came up to the mark. “We shall need to dress for dinner, of course, everything fresh from the skin outward. It takes a bit of getting used to, after shipboard life. A laundress in residence, no need to wash our linen in salt water and wear everything for days on end… I’ve extra shirts and neckcloths here in case you need to borrow any, but I expect yours have been unpacked and put away.” He opened the armoire that Will seemed to be avoiding. “Ah, just as I thought—here they are.”