The Caress of a Commander

by Linda Rae Sande

  “Father!” Will said with a broad grin as he moved to embrace the marquess.

  But William Slater’s attention was bouncing back and forth between the two brothers. “Jesus. I thought it would be easy to tell you two apart, but...” He allowed the sentence to trail off as he wrapped an arm around one of Will’s shoulders and indicated Stephen should join him with the other.

  Stunned at the welcome, Stephen moved to shake his father’s hand. “Stephen Slater, my lord. It’s an honor to finally make your acquaintance.”

  The marquess completed his hug with Will and regarded his bastard son. “I do believe the honor is mine,” William replied with a nod. He stilled himself before taking Stephen’s hand and pulling it—and Stephen—into a bear hug. “I once loved your mother, but damn I could have throttled her for keeping you from me,” he murmured.

  Stephen’s eyes widened at this bit of news. Having always been curious as to how he would be accepted—or not—by his real father, he found himself rather surprised the man seemed happy to meet him. Happy to acknowledge his existence.

  “Had I known you would be this welcoming, I would have called on you years ago, my lord,” Stephen said with a nod.

  “They’ll be none of that ‘my lording’,” William countered as he gave Stephen a quick nod and turned his attention back to Will. “Looks like you found the scotch,” he added with a wry grin.

  Will shrugged. “Uncle makes the best I’ve ever tasted,” he replied. “And trust me, we’ve tried enough scotches in our time to know. Should I pour you one?”

  The marquess regarded his older son for a moment. “Of course,” he agreed. He took a look at the invitations and notes scattered about his desk and in the hands of Stephen, who had reached down to pick up the ones that had fallen to the carpet. “Your stepmother has been telling the entire ton you were on your way back to London. She wanted to be sure you would have a full schedule, I suppose,” he said as he angled his head toward the salver.

  “She did an excellent job,” Will remarked. “I do hope some of those will include Stephen, though.”

  His father glanced back and forth at both his sons. “Even if they didn’t, no one would know which is which unless you were in the same room, and even then, I rather doubt they could tell you two apart,” he stated with a grin. “Rather like Norwick and his brother, although David is no longer with us.”

  Will frowned. “He wasn’t that old, was he?” he countered. “Or did he lose a duel?” he added, remembering the earl had at one time owned a brothel and a gaming hell. Perhaps something from his past had taken away his future.

  It was William’s turn to frown. “He died in a traffic accident in Oxford Street,” he said with a hint of warning. “Broke his neck. His twin brother, Daniel, is the Earl of Norwick now.” He accepted the tumbler of scotch Will offered him. “Will you two be at dinner this evening?” he asked.

  Will nodded. “Dinner sounds great.”

  The marquess turned his attention to Stephen. “I do hope you plan to take a room here at Devonville House. At least, until you have a place of your own?” he added.

  “Thank you for the offer,” Stephen replied. “And, yes, I will take you up on a room. I’m hoping to find employment as a clerk or...”

  The marquess grinned at him. “All in good time, my son. I’m sure the War Office could use a man with your knowledge, but in the meantime, there is a Season to be experienced. Let’s see if we can’t get you two married off, now shall we?”

  The brothers stared at one another and then at their father. “Married?” they repeated in unison.

  William Slater chuckled. “Nothing like the word, ‘marriage’ to strike fear in the heart of a young buck, is there now?” he teased.

  Exchanging glances again, Will and Stephen nodded. “Nothing like it,” they agreed.

  Unless you’ve already found your true love and she’s no longer willing to marry you, Will thought with a grimace.

  Chapter 4

  Marriage on the Mind

  The next morning

  “I wondered if I might have a word?”

  William Slater looked up from his newly ironed copy of The Times to find his oldest son peeking into the breakfast parlor. “Aye,” the marquess responded as he waved Will into the room. “Come on in. Have some breakfast.” When he realized Will wasn’t necessarily there to eat, he added, “What is it?”

  Will moved into the parlor, glancing about as if he expected to find someone else in the room.

  “If you’re looking for your stepmother, she’s not yet up,” the marquess said. He motioned to the sideboard. “Help yourself to breakfast. Take a seat and eat, for goodness sake. I should hope my cook is better than your ship’s cook,” he added when he thought Will hesitated too long.

  Nodding, Will did as he was told, loading up a cream-colored bone china plate with a rasher of bacon, coddled eggs and toast. “Stephen will be down shortly. My valet is seeing to him,” he commented before taking a seat at the round table.

  “I can have Hatfield see to hiring another so you two don’t have to share Perkins,” the marquess offered.

  Will shook his head. “That may not be necessary.” At his father’s quizzical expression, he added, “I may need to take a trip, depending on what I learn in the next day or so.”

  The marquess let go of his hold on the newspaper and leaned back in his chair. “Go on.”

  Taking a deep breath, Will nodded. “I wondered if you knew what might have happened to Lady Barbara? Barbara Higgins?”

  William blinked and shook his head at the query. “Now there’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time,” he murmured. “Not since just after you left London,” he added. “What’s this about?”

  His shoulders slumping, Will thought about how much to admit to his father. How much he should tell him about Barbara. And if he should tell his father about his last night in London.

  His last night with Barbara.

  “I... I proposed marriage to her just before I left London,” he said in a quiet voice.

  The marquess straightened, one eyebrow arching in surprise. “Indeed? I had no idea you were courting her! Or anyone else, for that matter. Did Lady Barbara... did she accept your offer?”

  Will nodded. “She did. Promised she would wait for me. I received a few letters from her the first year after I left, and then... nothing. None of my letters to her found their way back to me, so I assumed she was receiving them—”

  “Never assume correspondence has been delivered as expected,” his father interrupted with a shake of his head. At Will’s look of surprise, the marquess added, “Letters to and from a naval officer are frequently intercepted,” he explained, his words curt. “Just ask Chamberlain. He deals with it all the time at Whitehall.”

  Matthew Fitzsimmons, Viscount Chamberlain, had been working at Whitehall for most of his life. Despite his rank as a peer of the realm, the man had devoted the time he wasn’t in chambers to the politics of war in the Foreign Office. Now that Napoleon had finally been defeated, William rather hoped the viscount could enjoy a more sedate life, especially now that his viscountess had just given birth to their first child in late January. Better late than never, he supposed.

  “Still, I would have expected to hear something from her. Is she... did she marry someone else?” Will asked, almost prepared to hear the worst.

  The marquess shook his head. “Not that I’m aware. I’m quite sure I would have heard if she had. Greenley attends all the sessions of Parliament, at least, he used to, but …” He paused a moment. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen Lady Barbara for... years,” he murmured. “Pretty gel, that one. I wasn’t aware you had a tendré for her.”

  Coloring up a bit at his father’s words, Will nodded. “More than a tendré, I should think. I am quite in love with her, and now that I’m home, I was hoping we could arrange our wedding.”

  William sobered and considered his son’s words. “It’s been a long time, son,”
he whispered in concern.

  “Almost eight years,” Will agreed. “Is her father in town, do you suppose? I think I should start there. Ask his permission and all.”

  His father frowned. “Truth be told, I haven’t seen Greenley at any of the early Season events. Heard some rumors suggesting he’s been gambling a bit too much, enough to land him in debtor’s prison if you believe everything you hear, but...” He allowed the sentence to trail off before he brightened. “His house is probably staffed, though. I should think the butler at Pendleton House might be of some help.”

  At that moment, the breakfast parlor door opened and Stephen leaned in. “Here you are,” he said, his face splitting with his grin when he spotted Will. The grin lessened when he realized his brother and father were in what appeared to be a rather serious discussion.

  “Ah, Stephen. Come join us,” his father said as he indicated a place at the table. “My bride isn’t yet up and about for the day, so you’ll have to settle for me and your brother for company,” he added.

  Stephen glanced between the two men. “I apologize. I think I may have interrupted—”

  “Nonsense. We were just discussing lost loves,” William said with a nod to Will.

  The younger brother stilled himself before giving a nod of disappointment on Will’s behalf. “So, she’s married then?” he half-questioned.

  William’s brows arched up. “Not that we know for certain,” he replied, rather surprised Stephen would know about Will’s choice for a wife, although, after giving it some thought, he realized the two probably had discussed it at length. What else would two brothers talk about whilst on a ship if not their futures?

  “Well, that’s something, I suppose,” Stephen said with a nod to his brother. He helped himself to a plate at the sideboard and began piling the various foods onto it, trying to ignore the sense he was being watched.

  “Coffee, my lord? Or tea, perhaps?”

  Stephen stilled his movements when he realized he was being addressed by a footman.

  My lord.

  He rather liked the sound of the words, even if they didn’t apply to him. Much simpler than lieutenant.

  “Coffee, thank you,” he responded with a nod. He took the seat his father indicated and tucked into his breakfast, oblivious to the stares of his father. When he glanced up at his brother, he regarded him for a moment. “So, where are we off to today?”

  Will suppressed the urge to laugh. “I’m off to Pendleton House. You’re welcome to join me, but—”

  “I would like to tag along, if that’s all right. I need to learn my way ’round London, and I’ve a letter to send off to my mother.”

  Will gave a shrug. “Hatfield will see to your correspondence,” he replied. He gave his father a quick glance just as Cherice Dubois Slater, Marchioness of Devonville, breezed into the room. The men all stood up in haste and bowed in her direction.

  “Here you all are!” she said with a happy smile and a quick curtsy. “I suppose I should have guessed that growing boys could be found where the food is,” she added as she moved first to allow her husband to place a peck on her cheek and then to her place at the table. “I want to hear all about your plans for the day,” she went on as she allowed a footman to hold a chair for her. “Please, sit down. Eat!” she encouraged. A footman quickly saw to her breakfast, placing a slice of toast and a single egg on her plate. “Tea,” she said before the footman could offer.

  “Good morning, my lady,” Stephen offered with a nod, rather stunned at how the woman changed the atmosphere of the breakfast parlor from that of a quiet, somber retreat to a whirlwind of activity. Even the servants seemed to move about more quickly.

  “Now, sweeting, they’re hardly boys,” William said before holding out his cup so a footman could refill it.

  “No, they aren’t, are they?” Cherice agreed with an arched eyebrow. “By the end of tonight’s soirée, I rather think one of you will be in love, and the other will be betrothed. Am I right? Oh, do say I’m right.”

  Stephen glanced over at his brother, finding Will displaying a look of shock. “Or one of us will be both,” he offered when he realized Will was too tongue-tied to respond to the woman’s demand.

  “Oh! I do like how you think!” Cherice replied with a wink. “Now, have you clothes appropriate for a soirée? For a ball? Or do I need to join you in a trip to the tailor’s shop?”

  At Stephen’s sudden look of doubt, Will said, “I’m quite sure I have something he can wear, my lady.”

  When Cherice’s expression went from joy to disappointment, Stephen realized she was hoping for an excuse to go shopping. “I rather think I should at least look for an appropriate waist coat,” he said carefully. “Although, I was just telling my brother here that I don’t yet know my way ’round London.”

  The joy returned to the marchioness’ face. “I’ll accompany you,” she said brightly. She suddenly turned her attention on her husband. “It is all right for me to be escorted by your son, is it not?” she asked, acting as if she required her husband’s blessing for a shopping trip.

  “Of course, my sweeting, but do be sure to introduce him as your stepson. I shouldn’t want you to be the on dit in next week’s Tattler,” William warned with an arched eye brow.

  Her eyes wide, Cherice looked as if she was trying to decide if she should be offended by her husband’s remark or glad for it. “Of course, I will,” she finally replied, turning to give Stephen a quick grin. “I can be ready to leave in a half-hour. That is, if I’m able to secure some pin money from your father. I don’t want to put everything I buy on credit,” she claimed as she gave her husband a suggestive grin.

  “Dear heart, I’ll give you enough so that you needn’t put anything on credit,” the marquess said, lifting up the copy of The Times and turning his attention to it.

  Stephen boggled at his father’s words, wondering how much his stepmother intended to buy. “I shall be waiting in the vestibule, my lady.” When he noticed Will motioning with his fingers, drawing what appeared to be some kind of conveyance in the air, he added, “And I’ll see to the... equipage to get us there,” he added, giving his brother a look of confusion.

  When Cherice had finished her bit of breakfast and taken her leave of the table and the men had retaken their seats, Stephen leaned over the table. “What was...?” He motioned in the air with his fingers, much like Will had done. “That?”

  His attention was diverted to his father when he heard the man chuckle from behind his newspaper. “That was a town coach, my son. Had he done this,” he stopped to place the tips of his forefinger and middle finger on the table so he could walk them a few steps. “He would have meant a horse. But Cherice will only ride during the fashionable hour, and since you’re going shopping, she’ll insist on being taken to Bond Street in the town coach.”

  Will had to suppress a smile. “If she’s anything like Mum, you’ll be glad for it, as I expect you’ll be the one carrying all her purchases.”

  Stephen nodded his understanding. “She sounds just like my mum,” he replied with a grin.

  Although my mum always had her own funds for shopping.

  Chapter 5

  In Search of a Missing Woman

  Later that day in Mayfair

  Although not located in the more fashionable Park Lane, Pendleton House had the distinction of being closer to Grosvenor Square, and of being the only house on the block adjacent to it. Will knew its bright white Portland stone exterior was meant to intimidate. At least, that’s what he thought it was designed to do as he dismounted one of his father’s horses, Thunderbolt, and regarded the front doors of the mansion. Although no one seemed to be home, a stableboy soon took his horse and the front door opened to reveal an older butler.

  “Good morning, sir,” the portly man said as he regarded Will. “May I be of assistance?”

  Will gave the man a calling card. Although old—he’d had them printed when he returned from Portsmouth and the Royal N
aval Academy but before he had received his orders to report to the HMS Drake for his first assignment, the information on the card was still correct. “I am in search of Lady Barbara. I wondered if she might be in residence?” he asked, deciding he needn’t beat around the bush with the servant.

  The butler’s reaction had Will realizing that not all butlers kept an impassive expression on their faces when in the presence of visitors. “She is not, my lord,” the butler replied with a shake of his head. His eyes took on a look of worry, though. “I have not seen her ladyship for... many years now.”

  “Why ever not?” Will asked, his own expression displaying his sudden concern. He had expected the man to tell him where he might find the chit, not act as if she might be dead.

  The butler seemed to consider his response before daring a glance outside. He stepped aside. “Perhaps you would be more comfortable discussing this inside, my lord?” he offered.

  Will nodded and made his way into the vestibule. Unlike most entryways into the newer Palladian mansions along Park Lane, this vestibule was dark, its ceiling low and free of embellishment. The walls were also unadorned. No paintings or embroideries graced the surfaces, no gas-lit torches illuminated the space. Even the marble beneath their feet seemed darker than most.

  He was prepared to stand in the vestibule to hear the butler’s comment, but the man continued on his way into the house. At the first door on the left, he paused and indicated Will should precede him into the room.

  “I take it Lord Greenley is not in residence today,” Will said carefully.

  Shaking his head, the butler waved to an overstuffed chair. “He is not. And, in fact, there is some thought that he will not be returning to London for the Season. My master is... not well.”

  Will blinked. Maxwell Higgins, Earl of Greenley, always seemed younger than his years. Although he gambled and imbibed as much as any of his fellow lords, he did so knowing his limits. And his purse’s limit. At least, he used to. From what his father had said that morning over breakfast, Will now wondered if maybe that had changed.