A Buccaneer At Heart. Stephanie Laurens
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of British West Africa
Holbrook, Lady, Letitia – Governor’s wife, now absent
Satterly, Mr. – Governor’s principal aide
Eldridge, Major – Commander, Fort Thornton
Decker, Vice-Admiral – Commander, West Africa Squadron, currently at sea
Richards, Captain – army, Fort Thornton
Hardwicke, Mr. – Anglican minister
Hardwicke, Mrs. Mona – Anglican minister’s wife
Sherbrook, Mrs. – local lady
Hitchcock, Mrs. – local lady
Winton, Major – Commissar of Fort Thornton
Winton, Mrs. – wife of Major Winton
Babington, Charles – partner, Macauley & Babington Trading Company
Macauley, Mr. – senior partner, Macauley & Babington Trading Company
Undoto, Obo – local priest
Sampson – old sailor
Lashoria – vodun priestess
Fortescue, Katherine – missing governess from the Sherbrook household
Wilson, Mary – missing shop owner-assistant, Babington’s sweetheart
Muldoon – the Naval Attaché
On board The Trident:
Latimer, Mr. Jordan – First Mate
Hurley, Mr. – Master
Wilcox – Bosun
Miller – Quartermaster
Foxby, Mr. – Steward
Benson – experienced sailor
Coleman – experienced sailor
Fuller – experienced sailor
Harris – experienced sailor
CHAPTER 1
May 1824
London
Captain Robert Frobisher strolled at his ease along Park Lane, his gaze on the rippling green canopies of the massive trees in Hyde Park.
He’d steered his ship, The Trident, up the Thames on the previous evening’s tide. They’d moored at Frobisher and Sons’ berth in St. Katherine’s Dock, and after he’d dealt with all the associated palaver, it had been too late to call on anyone. This morning, he’d dutifully gone into the company office in Burr Street; as soon as the customary formalities had been completed and the bulk of his crew released for the day, he’d jumped into a hackney and headed for Mayfair. But rather than driving directly to his brother Declan’s house, he’d had the jarvey let him down at the end of Piccadilly so that he could take a few minutes to drink in the green. He spent so much of his life looking at the sea, being reminded of the beauties of land was no bad thing.
A self-deprecating smile curving his lips, he turned the corner into Stanhope Street. Barely ten o’clock was an unfashionably early hour at which to call at a gentleman’s residence, but he felt sure his brother and his brother’s new wife, the lovely Edwina, would welcome him with open arms.
The morning was fine, if a touch crisp, with the sun intermittently screened by gray clouds scudding across the pale sky.
Declan and Edwina resided at Number 26. Looking down the street, Robert saw a black carriage pulled up by the curb farther along.
Premonition swept cool fingers across his nape. Early as it was, there was no other conveyance waiting in the short residential street.
As he continued strolling, idly swinging his cane, a footman perched on the rear of the carriage saw him; instantly, the footman leapt down to the pavement and moved to open the carriage door.
Increasingly intrigued, Robert watched, wondering who would descend. Apparently, he wouldn’t need to check the house numbers to discover which house was his goal.
The gentleman who, with languid grace, stepped out of the carriage and straightened was as tall as Robert, as broad-shouldered and lean. Sable hair framed a face the features of which screamed his station.
Wolverstone. More precisely, His Grace, the Duke of Wolverstone, known in the past as Dalziel.
Given Wolverstone was plainly waiting to waylay and speak with him, Robert surmised that Wolverstone’s status as commander of British agents outside of the isles had, at least temporarily, been restored.
Robert’s cynical, world-weary side wasn’t all that surprised to see the man.
But the gentleman who, much less elegantly, followed Wolverstone from the carriage was unexpected. Portly and very precisely attired, with a fussy, somewhat prim air, the man tugged his waistcoat into place and fiddled with his fob chain; from long experience of the breed, Robert pegged him as a politician. Along with Wolverstone, the man turned to face Robert.
As Robert neared, Wolverstone nodded. “Frobisher.” He held out his hand.
Robert transferred his cane to his other hand; returning the nod, he grasped Wolverstone’s hand, then shifted his gaze to Wolverstone’s companion.
Releasing Robert, Wolverstone waved gracefully. “Allow me to present Viscount Melville, First Lord of the Admiralty.”
Robert managed not to raise his brows. He inclined his head. “Melville.” What the devil’s afoot?
Melville curtly nodded back, then drew in a portentous breath. “Captain Frobisher—”
“Perhaps,” Wolverstone smoothly interjected, “we should adjourn inside.” His dark eyes met Robert’s gaze. “Your brother won’t be surprised to see us, but in deference to Lady Edwina, we thought it best to await your arrival in the carriage.”
The notion that consideration of Edwina’s possible reaction held the power to influence Wolverstone even that much... Robert fought not to grin. His sister-in-law was a duke’s daughter and thus of the same social stratum as Wolverstone, yet Robert would have wagered there were precious few who Wolverstone would even think to tiptoe gently around.
Curiosity burgeoning in leaps and bounds, at Wolverstone’s wave, Robert led the way up the steps to the narrow front porch.
He hadn’t previously called at this house, but the butler who opened the door to his knock recognized him instantly. The man’s face lit. “Captain Frobisher.” Then the butler noticed the other two men, and his expression turned inscrutable.
Realizing the man didn’t know either Wolverstone or Melville, Robert smiled easily. “I gather these gentlemen are acquainted with my brother.”
He didn’t need to say more—Declan must have heard the butler’s greeting; he appeared through a doorway down the hall.
Smiling, Declan strode forward. “Robert—well met!”
They grinned and clapped each other on the shoulders, then Declan noticed Wolverstone and Melville. Declan’s expression shuttered, but then he looked at Robert, a question evident in his blue eyes.
Robert arched a brow back. “They were waiting outside.”
“Ah. I see.”
From Declan’s tone, Robert gathered that his brother was uncertain whether Wolverstone and Melville’s appearance was good news or bad.
Yet with assured courtesy, Declan welcomed Wolverstone and Melville, shaking their hands. “Gentlemen.” As the butler shut the door, Declan caught Wolverstone’s eye. “The drawing room might be best.”
Wolverstone