The Landlocked Baron (The Six Pearls of Baron Ridlington Book 1)

by Sahara Kelly

  “Would that I were here as a guest, Ma’am. I’m sure it would be delightful. But, unfortunately, I am here on government business.”

  “The exercises, you mean?”

  He sipped his tea, then returned the cup to the saucer and put it on the little table. It remained standing, thus relieving Rosaline of one worry at least.

  “The exercises are, if you’ll forgive me, Ma’am, merely an excuse for our presence.”

  His expression had turned serious, his mustache was no longer jaunty but resolute, and he gave her a look which boded no good.”

  “Oh. I see.” She paused for a moment. “Can you enlighten me as to the real purpose of your visit?”

  It was his turn to pause. He looked around the room, rose and went to the door, making sure it was tightly closed. “Is this room secure?”

  “Um…I think so?” Rosaline wasn’t quite sure how to answer that.

  “Our words can’t be overheard elsewhere? The garden, or a room upstairs?”

  “Not to my knowledge, no.”

  “Very well.” He returned, but instead of to the couch, he pulled a small chair close to Rosaline’s and sat, putting them knee to knee. “This information has to be kept in the strictest confidence, Ma’am. Your husband will know when he returns, of course. But my superiors would prefer that the number of people privy to it remain at a minimum.”

  “Well…I…of course…” She stared at him, wondering what on earth he was blabbering about.

  Mansfield leaned even closer. Close enough that Rosaline could see his mustache whiffle with his next breath.

  “Your husband’s cargo, Lady Ridlington. We’re here for the cargo.”

  She kept her jaw from dropping with an effort. “The cargo?”

  He nodded and glanced around again, as if three maids might have crept up behind him to take notes. Reassured that they were indeed alone, he continued. “The cargo is a personage of great importance to some other people of great importance.” He leaned back. “In London.”

  “Great importance, you say?”

  “Indeed, Ma’am. Great importance. So great is their importance that I cannot speak the name of any such person of whom we might be talking.”

  “Ah. Um…of course.”

  “And now you know why we’re here.” His chest rose and fell with a breath of relief and he rose, moving back to his position on the couch, and his waiting tea.

  “Er…blackberry tart?” Rosaline held out the tray. Since the revelations had apparently concluded, she hadn’t a clue what else to say or to do.

  “Most thoughtful.” He accepted one, bit into it, and a look of sublime bliss crossed his features. She could have sworn the very tips of his mustache quivered with delight. “I say.” He munched and swallowed. “I say, m’Lady.” He finished the tart and gave the plate a longing glance. “I would not be exaggerating if I said that that was the best blackberry tartlet I’ve ever tasted. And that’s including the ones my Gram used to make.”

  “I…I’m overwhelmed by your praise, Lieutenant. And I shall be sure to pass your words along to our Cook.” She noted his gaze. “Perhaps you might have room for one or two more?”

  *~~*~~*

  “How many did he eat?”

  Letitia was having a difficult time holding back her laughter as she and James listened to Rosaline’s tale after dinner. Hecate had decided on an early night so it was just the three of them before the fire.

  “All of them,” pronounced Rosaline. “And I was hoping for one or two this evening.”

  “Well he was probably hungry after his day’s march from wherever they came from,” said Letitia. “Although I did spy a cooking fire over in the field just before dark, so I suppose they’re making themselves comfortable.”

  “Getting back to the point, though,” mused James, “it would appear that Edmund is collecting a person of great value to someone in London.”

  “Someone of great importance, James. Don’t forget that,” added Rosaline dryly.

  “I’m not forgetting it…I’m trying to think who it might be.”

  “Do you know many people of great importance, James?” Letitia asked.

  “Tons,” he replied absently.

  “He’s thinking,” Letitia observed. “You can tell by the way his nose wrinkles at the tip.”

  “Does it really?” Rosaline peered at James. “My goodness, it does.”

  “What?” Jerked from his reverie, James pulled back and stared at the two women who were peering into his face. “What?”

  “Have you come up with an answer?” Rosaline smiled at his confusion.

  “Several.” James stood and walked to the sideboard where he refilled his glass from the decanter. “Which is unsettling, to say the least.”

  “Why?” Letitia asked the question, her head tilted to one side.

  “Because, dear girl, if Edmund is indeed picking up any of the people I’m considering, he might be in great danger.”

  “What?” This time it was Rosaline’s turn to ask the question, and she blurted it out loud over the sensation of her heart trying to leap into her throat. “James, sit down and explain what you just said. And please keep it simple because for some reason there’s a roaring in my ears and I might not be able to fully comprehend your meaning if you start pontificating.”

  James sat.

  “I’m sorry,” he began. “I chose my words poorly. Great danger is probably over-exaggerating the situation, because I’m dealing with so many unknowns. What I do know is this. For the last six months or so, some very pertinent information has been finding its way back to Whitehall and has considerably assisted our government in the war effort.” He rubbed his head as if trying to stir the contents. “Military information, political discussions, and the like.”

  “You mean we have efficient spies,” observed Rosaline.

  “Yes. Very efficient. All I’ve heard are whispers and rumors. If they’re saying how good the information is, then I’d be inclined to believe that the actual facts are much more impressive than anyone is revealing.”

  “Makes sense,” agreed Letitia. “And it’s not surprising. My reading of history tells me how vital each side finds such information.”

  “So what you’re suggesting is that Edmund is, as we speak, in the company of a spy?”

  Rosaline wasn’t surprised to hear those words coming out of her mouth. She and Edmund had touched on that very topic, albeit with a sense of incredulity.

  “I am,” answered James. “The presence of the 10th Hussars practically in the Ridlington kitchen garden all but guarantees it.”

  “Why, James?” Letitia’s face was a little paler now.

  He touched her hand lightly, a comforting gesture not lost on Rosaline, but she kept silent, wanting to hear the answer to the question as much as Letitia did.

  “The 10th Hussars are a royal regiment, for lack of a better description. Yes, they’re one hell of a fighting force, don’t mistake me, and they’ve distinguished themselves in pretty much every battle they’ve fought. But they’re also the Prince’s Own Regiment now. Our Prince Regent can command them as he wills. Within reason, of course.”

  “Goodness. The Prince’s Own soldiers in our kitchen garden.” Letitia blinked. “It boggles the mind.”

  “But I begin to see a picture here.” Rosaline glanced at James. “They’re either here to take Edmund’s cargo into custody and transfer him to Whitehall, or they’re here to escort Edmund’s cargo to the Prince.”

  “And then probably Whitehall. Or even the other way around, because Whitehall has to be a part of this somewhere. Even the Prince would have a hard time dispatching a regiment off to the wilds of Southern England without a damn good reason.”

  “Excellent point.” Letitia frowned. “So until we know who Edmund is bringing back to England, we have no idea if the Hussars will greet them with handshakes and smiles or drawn bayonets.”

  Rosaline’s skin crawled at her subsequent thought. “James.
Could this event, this trip to France…could it result in Edmund being charged with treason?”

  “I doubt it.” James tugged at his lower lip in thought. “Edmund’s a Baron. He has no reputation as any kind of a smuggler…in fact he’s well known as a naval hero. So I would think such a charge most unlikely.”

  Calmed a little by his words, Rosaline released her breath. “Well that’s something.”

  Letitia, however, was now quite white. “But James. Even if there is nothing to concern ourselves with from this side of the channel, what about in France?”

  He looked back at her. “I cannot lie, my dear. If this passenger is indeed any kind of important personage with any kind of link to spying on the French, then it is a very dangerous business for all concerned, including Edmund.”

  “They’ll be looking for them.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “I can only guess, Rosaline,” answered James. “And that will not serve any useful purpose at this point. But logic does dictate that the French aren’t blind or stupid. So yes, I would think that there might be some kind of surveillance in action.”

  “And therein lies the threat.”

  Silence fell as Rosaline spoke those words, broken only by the crackle of the fire in the hearth.

  Finally, James finished his brandy and rose. “We can do nothing by worrying ourselves into knots, my dears. Let us keep faith in Edmund, because there isn’t a better man or sailor for this particular voyage. He’s strong, intelligent and there is no doubt in my mind that if trouble raises its head, he’s the one to hit it soundly with a belaying pin.”

  “If you mean knock it out with a large stick, I agree.” Letitia squared her shoulders. “Edmund is certainly strong enough for that.”

  Rosaline felt a modicum of comfort. “Indeed.”

  “But you’re going to worry anyway,” inferred James.

  “Of course. He’s my husband.” Rosaline’s emotions bubbled over. “I will not rest properly until he’s back here where he belongs. Yes, I’ll be worrying every second he’s out there on the ocean—every second that I cannot know what is happening to him. This is out of my control. It’s what happens when you love someone.” She froze as her eyes stung with tears.

  Letitia hurried to her side and twined their fingers together. “Oh, Rosaline. You have no idea how happy that makes me. You love him.” She lifted their clasped hands to her cheek.

  “Of course I do.” Rosaline sniffed away the unexpected outburst. “In the usual way of things it would have happened before we wed. But given our circumstances, it was the other way around.”

  James smiled. “In that case, I have no doubt about Edmund’s safe return, my dear. With your affections thus engaged, how could any man be anything but protected by a shield much stronger than any Frenchman’s devious actions?”

  “God, you’re long winded sometimes, James.” Letitia threw him a scornful glance, then turned back to Rosaline. “What he means is that your love will guard Edmund through thick and thin.”

  “I did manage to gather that, you know.” She managed a smile for Letitia. “But I agree, he is damned long winded. Too many hours in London salons, and not enough in the country where our conversation is more to the point.”

  “Damned right,” said Letitia boldly.

  James shook his head. “I’m off to bed. You ladies may engage in a contest to out-swear each other, but I’ll take my leave before it gets too ripe for my tender ears.”

  And thus the evening concluded on a mostly civil note, but nothing could ease the ache in Rosaline’s heart. She knew it would be there until Edmund returned…but all she could do was pray that happened soon. Very soon.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Edmund woke before dawn in response to some inner clock that had always chimed for him half an hour before it needed to. Perhaps it was being on the ocean again, or perhaps the gentle rocking of his boat signaling the changing tide caused his eyelids to open. Whatever it was, it was still there and sent him from his brief rest below decks to the freshness of a new day.

  The rest of the crew slumbered on, and he’d wake them in good time. Their anchorage was secure and their cargo should be arriving with the sun.

  He discovered a small packet of bread and cheese tucked into the overcoat he needed against the damp and chill pre-dawn air, which brought a blessing down on his wife’s head. He could have eaten the entire loaf, but the portion he had—along with a draft of water from the barrel they’d filled—well, it was a sufficient morning meal for a man on the high seas.

  Or on the low seas, as it turned out. It was low tide, probably the lowest of the day. Edmund could barely make out the white foaming ripples of the waves as they gently washed their way along the shoreline. A wispy fog had settled overnight, and even though there were minute glimpses of a morning sky above the masts, on the surface of the water visibility was poor.

  No lights were showing yet in Mauve-sur-Mer, but he didn’t doubt that before too long the villagers would be up and about. As in England, country folk could not afford the luxury of laying abed when there were chores to be done.

  Suddenly his attention was caught by a soft sound rhythmically breaking the still air and clearly audible over the slight susurration of the sea itself.

  A boat. Oars in the water.

  And coming toward the Rose from the sound of it. Could this be his cargo?

  He held his breath, waiting as the sound grew louder. Yes, whoever it was closed the distance between the rowboat and the side of the Rose.

  “Ahoy, Capitaine, êtes-vous là?” A low voice called a greeting, barely more than a whisper.

  “Oui.” Edmund whispered back.

  “Nous avons votre cargaison…”

  We have your cargo. “Je comprends.” Edmund moved a short distance along the deck to the lowest point of the boat. He needed the passengers to come aboard at this particular spot to avoid having to climb up the side. Not a chore to be accomplished in the murk of dawn.

  “Ici, apportez-le ici…”. He leaned over the side and found himself nearly nose to nose with a burly man wearing a massive woolly cap and an equally massive woolly beard.

  “Oui…juste un instant…”

  Willing to give him that moment, Edmund settled the small rope ladder into place and watched as not one but two hooded figures rose carefully from the prow. They allowed the sailor to assist them over the edge of the Rose and into Edmund’s firm grasp.

  They were slight figures, barely visible in the darkness, but nimble—the transfer was accomplished without incident.

  “Merci, mon ami.” A low murmur from one of the figures to the sailor.

  “Mon plaisir, ma Dame.”

  Good God. Just what he needed. A woman fleeing France. Shelving his irritation for later, he prepared to push the rowboat off from the Rose.

  “Méfiez-vous, Capitaine…”

  Caught off-guard, Edmund frowned and forgot he was supposed to be speaking French. “Beware of what?”

  “Les soldats ne sont pas loin. Dépêchez-vous. Comprendre?”

  “Oui. Merci, Monsieur. Bonne chance…” Edmund understood all too well. There were soldiers closing in, obviously on the trail of his cargo. He would certainly hurry up and leave.

  The rowboat made its way back toward the shore, taking advantage of the last moments of the low tide. As it turned, Edmund hoped to catch the swells he knew would grow along the coastline and let them carry the Rose of Ridlington out into the bay and open waters. And not too long after that—home.

  A grey light was trying to penetrate the fog as he turned to the newcomers.

  “Bonjour, Mesdames…” he began, guessing that a woman would not be accompanied by a male servant, but a maid.

  “Young man,” interrupted a sharp voice. “You may speak English with us—both of us. In the meantime, I suggest you do whatever it is you need to do to get us away from this godforsaken place. I’ve seen quite enough of it, thank you.”

  “W
e were delayed by a French blockade a few miles inland, or we would have been here last night. There was nothing we could do, but we’ve not slept for a day and a half, so…” The slender woman spoke, her voice low and strained.

  “Of course, Ma’am.” Edmund was nonplussed. “If you will be so kind as to seat yourselves here for a few moments, I will rouse the crew and shortly have you settled below decks where it is warmer and more comfortable.”

  The older woman looked around and then nodded. “Very well.”

  Her companion carefully assisted her to her seat and then whispered something in her ear.

  “I agree.” The hood turned back to Edmund. “We shall do here for the moment, so don’t shilly shally, man.”

  “As you suggest, Ma’am.”

  A chastened Edmund stalked off to wake his crew, wondering what mischievous turn of fate had dropped a damn battleaxe of a woman onto his deck and how quickly he could make his ship fly over the waves to dry land and Ridlington.

  Home. He couldn’t get there quickly enough.

  *~~*~~*

  At Ridlington Chase, Rosaline also woke just around dawn. But in her case, it was more the result of a restless night and a worry that gnawed at her even in sleep.

  She sighed, slid from bed and wrapped herself in her robe. Going to the window, she pulled back the heavy drapes to see a leaden sky hiding whatever light there might have been. It was certainly going to rain, which could be either good or bad for Edmund, depending on things.

  On what things? She had no idea. Her brain had managed to dance itself into a moderate level of insanity during the wee hours and thus she restricted her activities to those she could accomplish without thinking about them.

  She washed and brushed her hair, then gave up and summoned Jean.

  “It’s awfully early, Jean. I am sorry.” She stared at herself in the mirror as her maid entered.

  “Not to worry, Ma’am. I was up. Lot of us are below-stairs. We’re all thinkin’ about the Baron an’ hopin’ he’ll be back with us soon.”

  Rosaline gave her a brief smile. “Thank you. That’s good to know. Now if you can get me dressed, I will be most grateful. I didn’t sleep too well and for some reason I’m all thumbs…”