Moon and Stars

by Elizabeth Johns

  David unhooked Gulliver’s reins from the post and led him away before the men turned around. He walked two streets away before mounting and heading west. If they were planning a big run for Sunday night, they had to have the goods stored nearby. He only had three days to find them.

  There was little but farmland during the few miles to Brighton. The King’s Pavilion, with its odd architecture, stood out amongst the growing seaside resort. It was a shame, from the looks of the King recently. It did not appear he would be enjoying this extravagance much longer.

  He left Gulliver at a posting house, and proceeded on foot the rest of the way. The town was flourishing, with new construction of terrace houses, and the streets were teeming with people shopping, merchants and vendors. Ladies and gentlemen were strolling along the promenade and pier—a smaller version of London, it seemed. He could only imagine how crowded it would be in the summertime.

  The English Channel was full of ships, both merchant and naval, and it was difficult to clearly determine the intended purpose of each. He descended the steps from the pier, walking along the pebbled beach as though out for a stroll. Fishermen were hauling in their catches and cleaning their nets; gulls squealed and squawked as they soared through the air.

  He stood with his hand shielding his eyes as he surveyed the various boats and ships, trying not to cover his nose while he acclimated to the stench from the dead fish. At last, he spotted Yardley’s schooner—unsurprisingly named The Jolie—which bobbed in the water, anchored with furled masts, indicating it was abandoned for the winter or whims of its master. Most of the others were in obvious use, as he suspected his quarry would be. He thrust his hands in his pockets. What would he do if it were his operation?

  “’Oo ye lookin’ fer?”

  David looked down to see a weathered old man whom he had overlooked, sitting amongst some rocks.

  “Just checking on my master’s ship while I was passing through town.”

  “The Dook’s?”

  “Aye. He had word that it was being used without his knowledge.” David risked being unmasked to make up a plausible excuse.

  “Tha’s right. I seen it makin’ runs to Shoreham an’ back. Even east ’o here a time er two.”

  “How often have you noticed it?” David tried not to appear too anxious for information.

  The man scrunched up his face to think, revealing a mouth devoid of his front teeth. “Mebbe once er twice a month ’te past several.”

  David considered this man very likely saw a good deal and was overlooked as being unworthy of notice. He handed the man a gold sovereign. “There is more where that came from if you happen to see who is using his Grace’s ship.”

  He was not surprised when the old man bit down on the coin in appreciation.

  “’An ’ow am I s’posed ’te tell ye ’iffin I see sumptin?”

  David handed him another coin. “Leave a message with Mr. Attree, the solicitor on Ship Street.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  David inclined his head and made his way back to Gulliver, pondering just who he might be dealing with; who would be bold enough to appropriate his Grace’s private yacht for nefarious purposes. It had to be either someone very sly or very stupid.

  Chapter 10

  Whoever would think knowing horses would be of benefit in torturing unwanted suitors? I wonder how much more fun I could have had this past decade if I had been so carefree?—10 Feb

  A few days later, while dressing for the dinner party, Charlotte donned one of her new gowns and had to admit she did look as though she had an hourglass shape. The new style favoured the natural waist and she no longer resembled a large potato from the neck down. Though daily rides were making her stronger, she could not quite mask the abundance of bosom with which she had been blessed, nor the bottom to balance it out—regardless of whichever body-contorting corset the modiste recommended. She was now old enough to wear bolder colours, and Jolie had wasted no time in helping her choose darker hues. Tonight, she picked the cerulean blue, which made her eyes a vibrant blue-green rather than their usual resemblance to dirty Channel water. The décolleté left much to be desired, in her humble opinion, and also left little to the imagination. It was only family and friends there tonight, regretfully.

  “There you are!” Jolie exclaimed as she waltzed through the door, dashing all of Charlotte’s thoughts of her own pleasing appearance in comparison. Jolie wore a violet gown that made her exotic eyes of the same colour more striking. She was eyeing Charlotte with approval and that was enough to satisfy her. “Are you pleased?”

  “I think it is an improvement, and that is agreeable,” Charlotte murmured with feigned indifference.

  “I invited Sir David,” Jolie said in an off-hand manner.

  “I beg your pardon?” Charlotte whirled around to face her. “You mean the new gamekeeper who everyone pretends they do not know?”

  “Oui. I told Benedict you would recognize him, but he insists we cannot call him by his name.” Jolie was half-French and it exhibited itself in her mannerisms and speech from time to time.

  “Did he accept the dinner invitation?” Charlotte asked, twirling a lock of hair, hoping her anxiety did not show.

  “No, and Benedict scolded me for asking him.”

  “Oh. Benedict could do with some scolding himself.” Charlotte could not mask her disappointment. “Do you know why Sir David is working here? Have his circumstances changed so drastically that he is reduced to seeking employment?”

  “Benedict spouted some rubbish about his needing a place until his pardon. I still do not see why we must call him Douglas and act as though he is a servant, especially when Letty and Lady Brennan are here.”

  “Did you see how they ignored him earlier? I do not understand! He also told me I must not acknowledge him!”

  “You spoke with him?” Jolie’s curiosity was written on her face.

  Charlotte knew she was flushing. “He happened upon me when Minerva went lame.”

  “And?” Her eyes widened with interest.

  “And nothing. He examined the horse's injury and then led her back to the stables.”

  “How disappointing.”

  “Indeed,” she agreed. “When I confronted him, he told me to forget him. Yet I would swear he did not truly mean it. Not that I am an expert in such matters.”

  “Well, I think him quite suitable. We will just have to convince Benedict.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, your stubborn sibling forbade Sir David to see you.”

  “He did what?” Charlotte felt a flash of temper. How dare he interfere? But of course he would—it was his birthright! Charlotte would need no rouge for her cheeks tonight!

  Jolie, seemingly not sensing the fire coursing through Charlotte’s veins, made her way to the door. “Oh, I almost forgot. Benedict invited a few of his acquaintances to dinner. He mentioned you might be interested. Something about an agreement?” She tilted her head curiously, then smiled before floating away with the ethereal grace the ladies in her family were born with.

  Charlotte stopped at Letty’s room to see if she was ready to go to the drawing room, but her chamber was empty. Continuing on down the stairs, Charlotte clamped her jaw as she pondered who her brother would choose for her, and resolved to be polite. Who would he think suitable? A forty-year-old widower with six young children? Or a jolly, balding, slightly pudgy man with ruddy cheeks? No, even Yardley would not think her that motherly. A scholarly type who collected artefacts from ancient Egypt? A tall, thin gentleman, perhaps, with spectacles and dishevelled hair when he was concentrating. Charlotte did not approve of concentrating too hard or taking anything too seriously, for that matter. He might be a possibility if he was independently wealthy, nevertheless. Benedict would not welcome a parasite only wishing funds for his projects.

  She stopped. Who would she think suitable? A tall, swarthy man who looked like a pirate and gave swash-buckling kisses, of course. She laughed
out loud and almost skipped down the stairs.

  A large smile still lightened her face as she entered the drawing room, to stop short when she met with three strange gentlemen. Three strange, handsome-enough gentlemen stood regarding her. They were all younger than forty, she suspected, but did they have all of their teeth? Her gaze searched the room for her brother, who was watching her with an unnatural gleam of amusement in his eye. Well, maybe it was natural for a brother who took pleasure in torturing a little sister. She gave him a slight narrowing of her eyes, a code between siblings meaning you will pay for this later. His response? A wink! He was fortunate there were strangers here or she would unleash her fury in unladylike terms!

  He took a smooth sip from his glass and made his way towards her. When confronted with young, handsome strangers, the old Charlotte’s palms grew sweaty and her tongue turned to jam. The new Charlotte would not allow it. She would pretend they were her nieces and nephews and be jolly. Heaven only knew, the shy, quiet lady had not worked well in Society.

  “Charlotte, you remember Captain Harris, of course.”

  Lady Olivia’s husband. No, she had not recognized the younger Captain Harris out of uniform, but his dark good looks were familiar. She held out her hand to him. “A pleasure to see you again, sir.”

  “Likewise, Lady Charlotte.”

  One down, two to go. She turned to the next gentleman. He was average in appearance—much like any other English aristocrat, with his thinning blond hair and pale blue eyes—but he had a very kind smile and his demeanour instantly put Charlotte at ease. He was introduced as Mr. Davenport, the shipping magnate, and an old school friend. Even she had heard of Davenport Shipping.

  “Mr. Davenport.” She inclined her head. He bowed in acknowledgement.

  The third gentleman was as tall as the Duke but more intimidating. That was because she did not know him, but his height was equal to her brother’s and his dark eyes and dark hair made her think of the devil.

  “And this, sister dear, is the renowned Colonel Prescott.”

  Well, she had never heard of him, but that did not mean much.

  “Delighted, Colonel.”

  “Charmed, Lady Charlotte,” he said with a scowl that appeared to be a permanent feature from the deep lines etched on his face. Perhaps it was his normal look, but she pitied his soldiers. She stood to the side, allowing the men to continue their conversation.

  No, she still did not feel instantly at ease as she had with Sir David. She smiled and tried to be amiable to the new gentlemen, but the whole time her mind was swirling with possibilities of how to make Sir David eligible. If her brother was the main obstacle, then he would have to be overcome.

  What was Sir David doing instead of having dinner with them? She envisioned him down at the Black Horse, slicing into a slab of mutton and being fawned over by a serving girl. Feeling her face assume a frown, she forced her features back to neutral.

  There had to be more to the story than she was being told, she decided, as she twirled one of her new short curls. It was becoming a habit, she noticed, dropping her hand away again. It simply did not make sense for Sir David to approach Yardley for help when he had his own powerful relatives to assist him, or would he feel too much shame? Charlotte would have to find out the answers. It seemed she must take her future in her own hands or her brother might put it in the hands of someone like Prescott.

  Lord and Lady Wyndham were announced, followed shortly by the newly wedded Duke and Duchess of Cavenray. Langborn had not held this many visitors in decades.

  “Maili!” Charlotte welcomed her friend.

  “We came to visit after our wedding trip, and arrived at Wyndham to visit Lady Brenham only to hear the sad news,” the Duchess replied, kissing her cheek.

  “Yes, indeed. Now I wish to know every last detail,” Charlotte said, linking arms with Maili and keeping her engrossed until the butler announced dinner was served.

  Dinner was not overly tedious, despite Charlotte being seated between the two new gentlemen. She almost felt sorry for them, but Benedict had probably bribed them with mating a horse or lured them with her obscene dowry, which he kept increasing. Letty was seated next to Davenport and her brother, Cavenray, so at least she was spared flirting for part of the time. Thankfully, the food was superb, she reflected as she sipped on white soup. She first turned to the partner on her right, Colonel Prescott.

  “What brings you to Langborn, sir?” Charlotte barely managed to keep a straight face as she pondered dinner topics. If she was going to be uncomfortable, then so were her perspective suitors. She was loath to make small talk with him, though she was tempted to try to wipe his perpetual scowl from his face.

  He cast an uncomfortable glance toward Yardley, then met her gaze. “Your brother invited me for a visit, of course. A tedious business; nothing to interest you, I am sure.”

  “Have you come to look over the stock? Does it meet with your approval?” She would not be deterred so easily.

  He raised his eyebrows in shock. What had she said?

  “It is much too soon to comment. Choosing…stock is very personal.”

  Did he mean horses or mates? Amused, Charlotte persisted. “Oh, the stock here is quite above average, sir.”

  “So your brother has intimated,” he replied pompously, taking a sip of wine.

  “Fine teeth,” She smiled. “Deep girth.” She demonstrated with her hands. “Fine legs with sufficient bone for the purpose…” She thought he would have a spasm as his face turned a deep shade of red.

  “Impeccable lineage, of course.”

  She inclined her head. “And the price is…right.”

  “And disposition?” he asked. Was he catching on?

  “Oh, nothing placid, to be sure,” she said with a saucy grin. “And the ride, you will have to judge for yourself.”

  She turned to her other side before he had time to react, trying not to burst out laughing.

  Mr. Davenport and Letty appeared to be getting on well, Charlotte noticed with relief as she waited for him to turn to her. If rumours were true, he had no need of her dowry and Letty was sister to a duke as well, if connections were his aim. Charlotte had no interest in connections or either of these gentleman for matches.

  Neither of them made her feel the way Sir David did.

  Selecting a fillet of fowl a la bechamelle, she was still feeling a bit devilish from her conversation with Prescott as she turned to Davenport.

  “How are you enjoying Sussex thus far, sir? Are you also here to peruse the breeding stock?” She could not help but grin mischievously.

  Davenport caught on quickly. “Ah, I could not help but overhear some of your conversation with Prescott,” he leaned in and murmured in a low voice. “I fear the poor man boasts no humour.”

  “He had no warning, I am afraid. It was badly done of me,” she said, unrepentant. “I really ought not take out frustrations with my brother’s marital schemes for me on the unsuspecting.”

  “You would be quite unappreciated with him.” Davenport agreed, his eyes twinkling.

  “Pray, tell me what my brother lured you here with,” she asked, hoping her fellow conspirator would indulge her curiosity.

  “Only excellent company, I assure you.” His lips twitched.

  Charlotte sent him a glance of exasperated amusement. “Should you ever desire a future in politics, sir, I happen to know a well-connected duke.”

  Davenport laughed. “I will keep that in mind, my lady.”

  “Do return your efforts to Miss Dickerson. She is well worth your trouble.” Charlotte turned her attention to the trifle being placed before her, wishing she could have such easy conversation with men she had true interest in.

  Once the covers were removed and they left the gentleman to their port, Charlotte decided it was time to get some answers.

  But how? Everyone was determined to be so secretive! Was she a child to be sheltered from the truth? If it was so horrid she would rather hear it
now than after her heart was irreparably damaged.

  The night was clear and cold, and the moon was waxing, but bright enough to scare away any smuggler who feared the Revenue. With little shelter and a backdrop of white chalk, this was not an ideal place for the free trade, with officers on your heels, yet David knew something large was happening here. He had just left the Black Horse, where he had been welcomed warily and instructed on the next run of gin and tea. Not that he expected to be told all their dark secrets at the beginning; he must earn their trust. He was growing impatient, however, to have this ruse over and be freed.

  There had been talk about diversions for the Revenue Officers, which was the usual game played. David only listened with half an ear to that part. Dummy ships were sent out, lots of false information was spread, and often bribes were paid. It sounded harmless enough that they were planning to move the trail markers the new officer had placed about to guide his way. There were several good laughs and toasts drunk to foolish Excisemen. Hopefully, the officer was clever enough not to place his markers right along the cliff’s edge. David waited for any hints of other places they might be storing munitions, but he heard nothing he did not already know. Disappointed, he finished his ale and left.

  He and Gulliver walked slowly back from the village. He was not looking forward to returning to his cold, lonely cottage. There were still lights on at the main house, and he reckoned the dinner must still be going on. Would he rather be there, wining and dining with the nobility, than doing this? A difficult question, as he preferred neither. He did not belong in either place now. He did wish to be with Lady Charlotte, however, which was why this adventure needed to move faster. He was unable to bear the pleading look in her eyes much longer.

  He laughed out loud. If she felt half the attraction he did, it was dangerous to be in the same Shire! He should leave for Barbados as soon as this was finished. He must see this through for his own self-worth, but he could not see a good end to it, or at least not one that would allow him to be the husband Lady Charlotte deserved.