Alerted by the sudden lift in speed, more crew members scrambled up from below. They recognized The Prince, immediately understood the game afoot, and waited eagerly for orders. Soon they, too, were scrambling into the rigging or set to one of the innumerable winches. As Aileen understood it, the aim was to glean every last ounce of power possible from the wind while maximizing support from the currents and simultaneously minimizing drag.
The Trident steadily gained on The Prince. Those on The Prince noticed the closing ship, recognized her, and then the race was truly on.
Caleb—Aileen had little doubt it would be he at the helm of his ship—tacked to block Robert’s onward rush.
But Robert had already anticipated his brother’s response, and even as The Prince veered, The Trident was already tacking to take up a new and unimpeded line.
It was a game, of course, but both brothers played to win, and their crews threw themselves wholeheartedly into the tussle.
There was plenty of laughter and good-natured scoffing and jeering, and not a few insults were hurled over the water as the ships drew close, then closer.
Nevertheless, as the Solent opened before them, Caleb’s The Prince still held the lead—but The Trident’s prow lay just off her stern.
Caleb’s crew laughed and whooped in triumph as Robert, still grinning hugely, conceded and, now at the helm himself, brought The Trident into line behind The Prince.
Both brothers and their crews then turned their attention to navigating the more crowded shipping lane leading to Southampton Water. Sails were progressively furled, and the ships both slowed.
They were among the larger vessels coming in, and the tide was running their way. Other craft moved aside to give them clear space to smoothly sail on.
Eventually, they glided into the glassy reaches of Southampton Water. Aileen looked up at the masts, at the sails, and with a surge of something akin to pride, imagined how both ships would appear if viewed from the cliffs—a pair of graceful beauties gliding effortlessly and majestically over the almost mirror-like water.
In the end, The Trident had to hold just inside the mouth of Southampton Harbor to allow The Prince to dock first at the company’s wharf. The sun was well up, and the typical morning bustle filled the air by the time The Trident finally tied up and the end of the gangplank thumped down on the dock.
Ten minutes later, when Robert took Aileen’s hand and assisted her onto the gangplank, he wasn’t the least surprised to see Caleb waiting at the end of the plank, an insouciant smile on his handsome face.
His youngest brother was nothing if not insouciant.
He was also insatiably curious. Caleb’s entire face had lit at the first sight of Aileen. As she reached the end of the gangplank, he reached for her hand to assist her down the last step. “Hello.”
Aileen beamed. “Good morning. I’m Miss Hopkins.”
“Caleb Frobisher.” Caleb swept her a bow. As he straightened, his gaze shifted to Robert’s face, and his grin returned. “How, now, brother mine?”
Robert answered with a cynically raised brow and a studiously uninformative nod. “Caleb.”
Caleb searched his face, glanced at Aileen, then looked at him again and asked, “So—are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
Robert gripped Aileen’s elbow and started them walking along the dock. He and Caleb needed to report to the company’s office to sign their ships back into harbor and authorize payments to their crews.
Caleb fell in on Aileen’s other side, but kept his gaze trained on Robert’s face.
Robert knew well enough that Caleb wouldn’t let go but would keep badgering, and if Robert didn’t give him something, his little brother was only too likely to start pestering Aileen—in his usual, thoroughly charming way. But how much was it wise to reveal? “What makes you think there’s anything going on?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Caleb thrust his hands into his breeches pockets and sauntered along. “Perhaps the fact that The Trident came into the Channel from the south, rather than the west and your usual hunting grounds.”
Robert inwardly winced. He’d hoped Caleb hadn’t seen The Trident early enough to notice that.
“Or,” Caleb went on, “perhaps it was the sight I got of Declan running south under full sail a month or so ago, and now you return in much the same manner from the same direction. Or maybe it was Declan pretending he didn’t see The Prince at all as he flew past—but of course he did.” Over Aileen’s head, Caleb met Robert’s eyes. “It’s obvious something’s up—that some unusual operation is under way. So...what is it?”
Robert shrugged and looked ahead. “You’ll learn soon enough.”
“Yes, but I want to know now.”
They’d reached the end of the wharf proper. Crossing the busy street gave Robert a moment to think. He caught the curious—intrigued—gaze Aileen threw him as they gained the opposite pavement and started toward the row of shipping company offices farther along the street. He glanced at Caleb, now rather moodily keeping pace. “I have to get Miss Hopkins to London with all speed. What’s The Prince’s next voyage?”
Caleb shrugged. “I don’t know.” He waved back at the wharf. “I just ferried a bevy of merchants and diplomats—the usual trade mission—home from Lisbon.” He looked ahead. “I’ll have to see if there’s anything waiting at the office.”
They reached the office of Frobisher Shipping, and Caleb held the door for Aileen. Robert steered her through, then followed, leaving Caleb to bring up the rear.
The clerk behind the counter recognized them and immediately beamed. “Captain Frobisher. Both of you. It’s good to see you both back.” Higginson had been with the company since Robert and Caleb’s grandfather’s day and stood on no ceremony with any of the family. Higginson directed a circumspect bow Aileen’s way. “Miss.”
Then Higginson hauled first one heavy ledger, then a second one from beneath the counter and set them down. His eyes bright behind round spectacles, he looked from Robert to Caleb and back again. “So—who’s first?”
Robert glanced at Caleb and arched a brow.
Caleb waved him to the counter. “I seriously doubt I’m in any hurry.”
“Thank you.” Robert leaned on the counter. To Higginson, he said, “He got in first by a whisker, but I need to get Miss Hopkins here to London as soon as possible.”
“I see.” Higginson hid a smile. “Right, then. So...”
Robert had to focus his attention on completing the usual paperwork and details. That left Aileen to Caleb and his wiles. At first, Robert listened with half an ear, but while Caleb was quick with his questions, Aileen had by then taken his measure—and Robert had already warned her of his youngest brother’s daredevil streak. Trusting in her to continue to evade Caleb’s inquisitive forays, Robert gave his full attention to signing off on his voyage.
Aileen had retreated to the front of the small office. She stood before a window on which was emblazoned a logo of a ship under full sail, along with the words “Frobisher Shipping.”
Caleb, of course, had joined her. She had to give him credit for not even attempting to hide his intent to interrogate her. He simply smiled, a smile full of what she suspected was his hallmark cheery charm, then peppered her with questions.
She found herself battling a grin even while she was forced to think quickly to avoid letting slip anything about Robert’s mission. In many ways, Caleb reminded her of Will; he was persistent like a tick, but so engaging one couldn’t hold it against him, and the devil-may-care glint in his bright blue eyes was nothing short of an invitation to recklessness.
To join him in whatever harebrained scheme he might concoct.
She considered Robert a handsome man, but his style was more polished, more sophisticated and debonair. Caleb was equally attractive—almost the same height, with similar clean-cut
, faintly austere features, and much the same broad-shouldered but lean and somewhat rangy build, plus that ineffable male strength both the Frobishers she’d encountered seemed to ooze—but in a more flamboyant, histrionic, basically younger way.
Robert was a mature version, shaped and polished by his experiences; Caleb had yet to face the same trials, the same level of challenges—had yet to be forged in that degree of fire.
That conclusion firmed as, denied any of the information he sought, Caleb heaved a huge, put-upon sigh. “You’re not going to tell me, either.”
His melodramatic despondency made her smile. She laid a hand on his arm. “Truly, it’s too serious to be lightly or widely shared.” She glanced at Robert as he bid the clerk goodbye, then straightened and turned from the counter. “I’m sure your brother—brothers—will share the tale with you eventually.”
Just as Will would have done, Caleb replied with an entirely ungrateful grunt.
Robert shot Caleb a warning look as he joined them. He retook Aileen’s arm and said to Caleb, “We’re going to take a fast coach to London. The Trident’s remaining here for the nonce, so most likely, I’ll be back. If you’re still here, I’ll tell you what I can then.”
Entirely sober now, Caleb met Robert’s gaze. Caleb held the contact—direct and just faintly accusing—long enough for Robert to start to wonder if perhaps it was time—
“Caleb?” Higginson called from the counter—very likely sensing that a confrontation was brewing and seeking to head it off.
Caleb held up a staying hand. He didn’t shift his gaze from Robert’s eyes. “How,” Caleb said, his voice low, the conversation clearly just between the two of them even though Aileen stood near enough to hear, “am I ever going to prove I can be trusted with more than ferrying merchants when Royd will never give me a chance?”
Robert held his brother’s gaze. He pressed his lips together, knowing the question was honest and heartfelt. After a moment, he murmured, “You have to earn his trust.”
And earning that was never going to be easy, not for the youngest—the most flippant and carefree—of their brood.
Not when it was Royd they were speaking of.
“And how,” Caleb replied, his tone rough and laced with resentment, “am I supposed to do that when Royd will never trust me?”
And that, Robert had to admit, was a very good question. As he searched Caleb’s face, his expression—the latent anger in his eyes—Robert wondered if, perhaps, Royd, Declan, and he had failed to pay sufficient attention to the fact their little brother was now twenty-eight years old with more than five years of captaining his own ship under his belt.
Robert felt the tug of wanting to take the time to explain more to Caleb then and there, but others had even more claim on him. He glanced at Aileen, then looked back at Caleb. “We have to get going, but I’ll come back and answer your questions.”
Caleb’s lips twisted in a faintly disbelieving expression, but then he wiped it from his face and smiled at Aileen. He took her hand and bowed. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Hopkins.”
Aileen, bless her, smiled back, and with a teasing light in her eyes, replied, “I suspect we’ll see more of each other in the future, sir.”
Caleb’s eyes widened. He looked from her to Robert. “Really?”
Robert clapped him on the shoulder. “Later.”
He steered Aileen out of the office. On the pavement, he wound her arm in his and started them walking toward the posting inn his family favored. “Thank you for distracting him.”
“Will it work, do you think?”
“For about three minutes.”
Fifteen minutes later, after sharing a pot of tea while the horses were put to and their bags, fetched from the ship, lashed on, Robert handed Aileen into their hired carriage. He followed her in, shut the door, then sat back and held her hand as they rattled out on the road to London.
* * *
Caleb finished with Higginson, then headed back to the wharf. His hands in his pockets, he strode along, his thoughts churning. So Robert had found his match in Miss Hopkins—who, in Caleb’s view, possessed a certain martial gleam in her eye, the sort of gleam of which their mother would approve.
Good for Robert. Caleb found he had it in him to wish his brother and the intriguing Miss Hopkins well—even if Robert had refused to divulge what new mission he and Declan had been drawn into. That it was a secret suggested it was one of those endeavors the family undertook for the government or the Crown, and one thing Robert hadn’t denied was that both Declan and he had been involved—it seemed consecutively.
And that was distinctly intriguing.
Caleb drew level with The Prince. He halted at the foot of the ship’s gangplank. Hands still sunk in his pockets, his gaze fixed on the worn timbers before his feet, he stood and thought of what he’d sensed in Robert.
Had the mission ended completely?
Or had Robert merely successfully completed a part of it—as, presumably, Declan had before him?
After a moment, Caleb murmured, “It’s the latter.” The more he thought of Robert’s attitude—his insistence on racing to London, no doubt to report—the more Caleb felt sure that there was yet more to be done. That the mission—a highly secret and therefore exciting one—was ongoing.
Slowly, Caleb raised his gaze to the ship docked behind his. Robert’s. Caleb was well known to Robert’s crew.
Caleb knew of Robert’s habit of recording everything bar his sexual exploits in his journal.
Caleb also knew where Robert kept his current volume.
Caleb’s lips curved. Then he smiled broadly, drew his hands from his pockets, and strode along to The Trident’s gangplank. He swung onto it and climbed. As he neared the deck, he saw Latimer and grinned. “Permission to come aboard, Mr. Latimer.”
Latimer moved to meet him and gripped the hand Caleb offered. “How are you, you graceless scamp?”
“Excellent, thank you.” Caleb turned his most guileless smile on Robert’s lieutenant. “Robert’s off on his way to London. Apparently, he forgot a book he wanted—he asked me to fetch it from his cabin and send it on to him.”
Entirely unsuspecting, Latimer waved Caleb to the aft companionway. “You know your way around. Just let the watch know when you leave.”
“I won’t be long.” Walking backward in the direction of the aft hatch, Caleb continued, “I have to get reprovisioned as soon as possible. I believe we’ll be off again, more or less immediately.”
Latimer laughed and waved him on. “No rest for the wicked.”
Caleb swung to face the hatch, his grin growing darker. “Indeed.”
Opening the hatch, he swung down the ladder and headed for Robert’s cabin.
* * *
The carriage drew up outside a fashionable town house in Stanhope Street.
Aileen looked up at the pleasant façade and wondered whether she should renew her argument that she should put up at a hotel. But Robert had insisted that his brother and sister-in-law would never forgive him if he let her slip away, so here she was...allowing Robert to hand her down and escort her into the home of a duke’s daughter.
She stood on the porch, looked at the door, then looked at Robert. “Are you sure—” She broke off as the door opened.
A supercilious butler regarded them both—then broke into a welcoming smile. “Captain Frobisher! We’re delighted to see you back.” The man’s gaze touched Aileen, and his smile widened. He stepped back and held the door. “Please, come in—come in.”
“Thank you, Humphrey.” With a hand at the back of her waist, Robert steered her over the threshold. “Are my brother and Lady Edwina in?”
“Indeed, they are, sir.” The butler looked down the front hall. “And here they are.”
“Robert?” A fairylike l
ady in a blue gown, her pale blond hair piled on her head, came rushing forward. “Thank heavens you’re back.” The lady pulled Robert down to her and hugged him, but her inquisitive blue eyes had already fixed on Aileen.
As the lady released him and he straightened, Robert said, “This is Miss Hopkins.”
“Please—just Aileen. I’m honored to meet you, Lady Edwina.” Aileen started to curtsy, but her hostess caught her hands.
“No, no. No formalities here.” Lady Edwina squeezed Aileen’s hands, then held them for a moment as she looked at Aileen—met Aileen’s gaze with one equally direct—then Lady Edwina beamed. “Oh, I believe we’ll get on famously. Do call me Edwina.”
Meanwhile, a tall gentleman Aileen had no difficulty placing as another Frobisher, presumably Declan, had followed Edwina into the hall. He’d grinned, and he and Robert had clapped each other on the back, then turned to watch Aileen and Edwina.
“And this”—Edwina waved negligently at the gentleman—“is Frobisher...no, that won’t do, not when there’s two of them. My husband, Declan, Aileen, but first, have you and Robert had luncheon?”
Edwina opened her big blue eyes wide, but before Aileen had a chance to reply, she rattled on, “No—I can see you haven’t. You must be famished. Humphrey?”
“Indeed, ma’am.” The butler turned from directing several footmen carrying Aileen’s and Robert’s bags up the stairs. “If you will go through to the dining room, I will have Cook assemble a cold collation.”
“And if you will excuse me for a moment”—Declan shared a glance with Robert—“I’ll send word to Wolverstone and Melville that you’re back.”
“Excellent!” Edwina looped an arm about Aileen’s waist and drew her down the hall. “Come and sit, both of you. While we feed you, you can tell us all.”
Aileen expected to feel overwhelmed, but by the time they reached the end of what proved to be a substantial and quite excellent meal, she felt thoroughly included, embraced by both Declan and Edwina without reservation.
Then again, very little conversation—very little of their telling of their tale—had been needed to demonstrate that she and Edwina shared quite a few traits, as did Robert and Declan. Edwina’s assessment hadn’t been wrong; they would get on famously.
A Buccaneer at Heart Page 37