Lord Of The Privateers. Stephanie Laurens
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carriage slowed and drew up outside a town house in a typical Mayfair street. Royd glanced out. He didn’t have to check the house’s number—the door stood open, and as he looked, Robert and Declan appeared in the doorway.
They hadn’t known he was on his way; he had to wonder what had brought them to the door—with, he noted, papers in their hands. He glimpsed Edwina beside Declan, and a lady with hair of a brassy shade that suggested she was a Hopkins peering over Robert’s shoulder. “It appears we’ve arrived at an opportune moment. For some reason, we have a reception committee.” He leaned forward, opened the carriage door, and stepped down to the pavement.
He looked up at his brothers and their ladies for a second, then turned to the carriage and gave Isobel his hand. She put her fingers in his—such a simple, mundane thing, yet he felt possessiveness surge as he closed his hand about her slender digits and assisted her down the carriage steps.
Once on the pavement, she straightened. With her hand still in his, she, too, looked up at the group filling the doorway. Then she smoothly drew her hand from his and turned to look up at the postboy and direct him to hand down her bandbox.
By the time the postboy had retrieved the box, three footmen had emerged from the house. Isobel consigned the box into the hands of the youngest, along with Royd’s traveling bag. Leaving the two older, burlier footmen to wrestle with her trunk, she turned to Royd, just as, having paid off the coachman and postboy, he turned to her.
He met her eyes, offered his arm, and quirked a brow. “Shall we?”
Shall we operate as a couple? Shall we try it again and remind ourselves what it feels like?
She looked into his gray eyes and read the challenge therein. Given that they would pursue his mission together—given the decision they would face when the mission was over and they returned to Aberdeen—seizing the opportunity to see how well they managed in this more social sphere was arguably wise. She arched a brow back, then, sternly suppressing her leaping senses, calmly laid her hand on his arm.
Side by side, they faced his family, then she raised her skirts, and they climbed the steps to the narrow front porch.
Swiftly, she surveyed the “reception committee”; she maintained a serenely assured expression, but inside, she couldn’t help but grin. While Declan and Robert were glad to see Royd, they were uncertain how to interpret her presence. They’d been at sea for most of her and Royd’s handfasting; she had no idea what they thought was the reason for the failure of the relationship. As they, of all people, knew, Royd rarely failed at anything. Yet knowing him, she sincerely doubted he’d explained anything at all about her; in the few seconds it took to reach the porch, she decided to assume that Robert and Declan knew nothing beyond the bald facts.
In stark contrast to the wariness evident in the men, the fairylike blond beauty peering around Declan and the brassy-haired lady by Robert’s side appeared intrigued and keen to make her acquaintance.
“Royd.” Declan held out a hand.
Royd smiled, and the brothers clasped hands and buffeted each other’s shoulders.
“Robert.” Royd and Robert repeated the process.
Isobel struggled to suppress a grin; both Lady Edwina and Miss Hopkins were all but jigging with impatience—not to meet Royd but to be introduced to her.
Declan turned to her. “Isobel.”
She smiled and held out a hand. “Declan. It’s good to see you again.”
He bowed over her fingers, then turned to his wife. “My dear, this is Isobel Carmichael, of the Carmichael Shipyards in Aberdeen. Isobel—my wife, Lady Edwina.”
Lady Edwina’s cornflower-blue eyes widened fractionally as she made the connection; she would have heard of the shipyards when she’d visited Aberdeen. She beamed and held out her hand. “Miss Carmichael. Welcome to London and to our home.”
Isobel clasped Edwina’s fingers and returned her smile. “Lady Edwina—it’s a pleasure to meet you. And please, call me Isobel. I understand we’re throwing ourselves on your hospitality, at least until Royd learns what Caleb has found and receives his orders.”
Declan blinked, then he turned to Royd and Robert, who were exchanging news.
Edwina brightened even more. Rather than release Isobel, she tugged her forward. “Do come in—you must meet Aileen.” She glanced frowningly at the trio of males, but they’d moved sufficiently to allow Isobel to slip past.
She stepped into an elegant front hall.
The brassy-haired lady had fallen back and stood waiting to offer her hand. “I’m Aileen Hopkins. I met Robert in Freetown, and I returned to London with him on The Trident.”
Isobel clasped Aileen’s fingers. “I’m delighted to meet you, Miss Hopkins.”
“Aileen, please. It seems we all have an interest in what’s been happening in Freetown.” The statement was a poorly disguised question, a transparent invitation to share.
Apparently, neither Edwina nor Aileen was at all slow in observing and deducing. Isobel sobered. “Indeed. I’ll be traveling there with Royd in pursuit of one of my cousins. I understand both of you have been in the settlement, so I’m particularly keen to speak with you.” She glanced from Aileen’s hazel eyes to Edwina’s encouraging blue gaze. “I need to learn everything you can tell me about a Miss Katherine Fortescue.”
“Miss Fortescue!” Edwina’s expression grew concerned. She put a hand on Isobel’s arm. “I greatly fear, Isobel, that Miss Fortescue has been captured by slavers. Possibly taken to work in a mine.”
She compressed her lips and nodded. “Royd and I agree that her disappearance is very likely linked to his mission.”
Edwina and Aileen swung their gazes to the men, still standing on the porch.
Isobel looked, too; the three brothers were holding various papers and notes, shuffling, reading, and exclaiming.
“You’ve arrived at the perfect moment,” Edwina said. “Hornby—one of Caleb’s men—arrived not five minutes ago with that satchel Robert’s holding. It’s full of reports and maps.” Edwina met Isobel’s gaze. “It seems Caleb has found the mine and has remained to keep watch over the captives.”
“He might have sent a list of said captives.” Aileen narrowed her eyes on the three men. “But we haven’t had a chance to see.”
Edwina exchanged a steely glance with Aileen, then looked at Isobel. “Do you need to go up and refresh yourself and rest or...?” She gestured toward the men.
Isobel met Edwina’s eyes. “I’m not the wilting sort. Let’s get those papers and see what Caleb’s sent.”
Edwina nodded once. Her chin firming, she bustled forward. Aileen followed in support.
Isobel nodded to the butler, who was supervising the footmen as they ferried her and Royd’s luggage inside. She removed her hat, laid it on a side table, and pulled off her gloves. By the grace of God, she’d fallen in with like-minded women. Edwina might be a slip of a thing, a petite, delicate-looking, golden-haired damsel with bright-blue eyes, but she possessed a great deal of energy and—for Isobel’s money—a spine of steel. Like recognized like, and Aileen Hopkins seemed of similar disposition. Isobel watched with approval as, with a ruthless efficiency the Frobisher brothers had no hope of resisting, Edwina and Aileen herded the three off the porch, into the hall, and into a cozy drawing room.
Tucking her gloves into her skirt pocket, Isobel joined the women as, bringing up the rear, they swept into the room. Edwina paused on the threshold to instruct the butler—Humphrey—to prepare rooms for Isobel and Royd. Isobel grasped the moment as they arranged themselves on sofas and chairs to exchange greetings with Robert—like Declan, he viewed her with wary trepidation, but cloaked it better—then she sank onto a sofa beside Aileen.
Royd claimed the armchair to