Lord Of The Privateers. Stephanie Laurens
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would you?”
Royd swallowed the bark of laughter that nearly escaped him. There was absolutely no possible answer Declan could make, other than...
Declan shifted in his chair. “No, of course not.” He concentrated on peeling the pear on his plate.
Shortly after, in sunny good humor, Edwina rose, and the company adjourned to the drawing room. The room had a pleasant ambiance; Royd approved of his sister-in-law’s taste, which apparently ran to comfort rather than the latest fashion.
The women sat on one sofa and the nearby armchair. He claimed the armchair he’d previously occupied, leaving the other sofa for Robert and Declan. They sprawled, relaxed and at ease. Isobel asked Edwina if she had any social engagements planned over the next days, and from there, talk turned to more general topics.
Royd learned that, on their ultimate return from Africa, Robert planned to visit Aileen’s family in Scarborough. Royd asked about Aileen’s brothers, which led to a discussion of the situation in the Americas. Royd contributed to the debate, but for the most part, remained focused on Isobel. He listened to her opinions—which, of course, she had; she knew nearly as much about global shipping as he did. What he learned suggested that the past eight years, while not altering anything fundamental about either of them, had nevertheless expanded their knowledge and experience in ways the other might not yet appreciate.
That was a point he decided to bear in mind.
The ringing of the doorbell was, minutes later, followed by the entrance of the butler, Humphrey. He bore a silver salver on which resided a letter opener and a white envelope. Humphrey paused by Royd’s chair. “For you, Captain.”
Royd lifted the envelope, glanced at the writing, and straightened in the chair. “Wolverstone.” He picked up the letter knife, slit the envelope, then returned the knife to the salver. “Thank you, Humphrey.”
Humphrey bowed and departed.
From the envelope, Royd drew out a single sheet. He unfolded it and read.
“Well?” Robert asked.
“We have an appointment with Melville at Wolverstone House tomorrow afternoon at two o’clock. Apparently, that’s the earliest Melville can absent himself from the Admiralty.”
“Excellent!” Edwina looked at Isobel and Aileen. “That means we’ll have the morning free to further our own plans.”
Royd looked at Edwina, then at Isobel’s and Aileen’s faces—and deduced that the males of the party weren’t included in Edwina’s “our.”
Which suited him. He had arrangements of his own to make, and his brothers would have, too.
Against that, of course, lay the undeniable fact that the three women were fast connecting in a way that would forge them into a formidable supportive force; Royd knew all about the power that females in plural could bring to bear—witness Isobel’s grandmother and her largely female clan.
Yet when he considered what the outcome would likely be, it wasn’t concern he felt but an odd form of contentment. Anything that helped bind Isobel into his family was to be encouraged.
He sat back and smiled at Edwina. He was appreciating his sister-in-law more and more.
Early the following afternoon, Isobel found herself seated on an elegant sofa in the large drawing room of Wolverstone House. Beside her sat Minerva, Duchess of Wolverstone, who had welcomed them and, somewhat to Isobel’s surprise, had remained to hear Caleb’s report; although Minerva was only a handful of years older than she, Isobel hadn’t expected the calmly serene duchess to have any involvement in her powerful husband’s intrigues.
In that, she’d erred; judging by Edwina’s response to the duchess, Minerva was of a similar mind to Edwina regarding a wife’s role in her husband’s business, which left Isobel feeling unexpectedly at ease. Edwina had introduced her to the duke and duchess, blithely explaining that she hailed from Aberdeen and was sailing with Royd to Freetown in pursuit of a cousin they now knew to be among the captives held at the mine. Both duke and duchess had accepted the explanation at face value, but Isobel had seen Minerva’s gaze divert to Royd in a considering fashion—Royd on whose arm Isobel had arrived.
He was seated in a straight-backed chair to her right; Edwina sat on Minerva’s other side, and Declan, Robert, and Aileen were in possession of the sofa opposite.
The two key figures sat in armchairs angled away from the hearth to face the company. Wolverstone wielded stillness like a weapon; with coloring much like Isobel’s own—dark hair, dark eyes, pale skin—neither his expression nor any movement of hands or body indicated his thoughts, much less his feelings.
In sharp contrast, Melville, a corpulent figure with his corsets over-laced and his balding head sheening, fidgeted and fussed, his pudgy hands rarely still. He had the pasty-pale complexion of someone who spent all his life indoors. Despite his ancestry, his features were coarser than those of any other in the room, and the expression on his face was overtly fretful. The expression in his washed-out brown eyes was, Isobel considered, closer to hunted.
She listened while Royd presented Melville, Wolverstone, and Minerva with a concise summary of Caleb’s findings. He concluded with “Armed with Caleb’s and Lascelle’s information, as well as the reports from Dixon and Hillsythe, we have all we need to seize the compound.”
His fingers steepled before his face, Wolverstone nodded. Although his gaze remained on Royd, Isobel got the distinct impression it was Melville Wolverstone addressed when he said, “To adequately lay this matter to rest, we need to achieve three distinct objectives. The first must be to rescue the captives, to preserve their safety and return them to Freetown, with whatever compensation is feasible. We also need to dismantle the mine and subsequently ensure such an enterprise cannot flourish again—the latter will require changes to the settlement’s governance, along with consequent oversight, neither of which is of immediate concern. Of more relevance to all here is the capture of those involved—the three local instigators and, through them, the mysterious backers.”
Wolverstone finally glanced at Melville. “I believe we’re in agreement that the backers are almost certainly English and of an ilk that means their exposure will provoke considerable scandal.” Wolverstone’s voice didn’t rise, but his tone hardened. “In the current circumstances, it’s imperative we gather sufficient evidence to convict the backers—identifying them alone will not be enough to take them down, and unless we do, the populace will howl.”
The First Lord’s expression had grown almost petulant, his fingers agitatedly plucking his sleeve. When Wolverstone spoke again, his voice was milder, yet his tone remained implacable. “I suggest that the government’s best way forward will be to give Captain Frobisher whatever he needs to successfully complete this mission.”
Melville frowned peevishly and irritatedly waved. “Yes, yes—whatever is necessary. We have to have this settled—have to have those damned backers in our hands with evidence enough to convict—before the infernal news sheets learn of it.”
Royd and Wolverstone exchanged a glance, then Royd calmly stated, “I need a directive from you to Decker.”
Melville’s frown turned confused. “I gave a letter to your brother here.” He waved at Declan.
“Caleb kept that letter in case of need—the correct decision in the circumstances. But even if he’d sent it back, it wouldn’t be enough.” Royd met Melville’s gaze. “I don’t need a letter directing Decker to give me all assistance. I need a directive placing Decker under my command. In order to complete this mission, it’s imperative that I be able to give Decker orders that I can have confidence he will obey without question.”
Melville looked aghast. “You’re asking me to give you—a privateer—command of a naval squadron? Over a vice-admiral?”