Lord Of The Privateers

And if he was any judge, Aileen Hopkins was another cut from the same cloth.

Which meant the last leg of this mission, run according to his plan, looked set to be exceedingly interesting for the three oldest Frobisher brothers. He wished Robert and Declan luck; he was going to have his hands full leading the mission and dealing with Isobel.

Neither Declan nor Robert had discovered any further comment they wished to make on the subject of Isobel. While Royd appreciated that a significant part of their concern was driven by a wish to support and—yes—protect him from a woman they believed had run roughshod over his heart, there was far more between him and her than his brothers knew. Than he wished them to know. The time for revelations—including Duncan—was not yet.

Declan stirred and threw him a puzzled look. “One thing—you don’t seem overly perturbed by Caleb filching the reins as he did.”

Royd shrugged. “Given he’d learned of the ongoing mission, I wouldn’t have expected him to do anything else. And for once, he seems to be behaving with the gravity due command.”

Robert snorted. “Taking on Kale and his men like that?”

“It was a bold move, but a highly strategic one.” It was almost certainly what Royd would have done had he been in Caleb’s place. “And judging by Lascelle’s comments, Caleb behaved with the right blend of caution and forcefulness. He covered every contingency and had everything in place before he went in.” Royd shrugged. “Our little brother is finally growing up.” His lips twitched. “Thank God.”

“Amen to that,” Declan murmured.

Robert still looked unconvinced.

But Royd had been waiting for just such a sign of evolving maturity in his youngest brother; he felt vindicated that his faith in Caleb was proving well founded. Aside from all else, he had a strong suspicion he was going to need a more mature Caleb in order to steer his own future in the direction he wanted.

Robert glanced at the clock. “Edwina said seven, didn’t she?”

It was just after six.

Declan sighed and rose. “We’d better get ourselves washed and brushed.”

It was an old saying from their childhood. Royd grinned, rose, and joined his brothers on the trek up the stairs.

* * *

The conversation over the dinner table was revealing. Seated at Edwina’s left with Royd beside her, Isobel ate, listened, and learned.

She wasn’t surprised by the assessing glances Robert and Declan directed her way when they thought she wasn’t looking. Both knew her temper—and Royd’s—well enough not to directly engage her on the point, but they were clearly wondering what was going on between her and Royd. She took a certain delight in pretending to be oblivious to their curiosity.

As she’d expected, she’d got on well with Edwina and Aileen. The pair had accompanied her to the room Edwina had assigned her. Declan and Edwina’s bedchamber lay to the left of the upstairs drawing room, which faced the head of the stairs. Aileen had mentioned that she and Robert had rooms along the corridor to the right of the stairs. The room to which Edwina had steered Isobel lay to the left of the stairs, had a lovely view over the rear garden, and, as Edwina informed her, was next door to the room she’d given Royd.

Isobel hadn’t reacted, but Edwina hadn’t appeared to expect her to. Her hostess had sat in the chair by the fireplace, Aileen had sat in the window seat, and while Isobel had prowled the room, checking to see where her things had been put, the pair had engaged in a quick-fire exchange, not about Isobel and Royd but about the mission, the likely weather, and the necessity of commencing their packing forthwith.

Isobel had found it impossible to keep a straight face. She had a strong suspicion that Robert’s and Declan’s views regarding their ladies’ involvement in the mission did not match that of said ladies. She knew whom she favored to win the upcoming arguments.

When Edwina had declared they would leave her to change and had pushed up out of the chair, Isobel had realized her hostess was pregnant; until that telltale move, the fall of Edwina’s gown had hidden the evidence.

“Five months,” Edwina had confirmed, with a smile the quality of which would have made her condition plain to the most undiscerning eye. “But I’m entirely well, and if I wasn’t ill on the way back from Freetown—and I wasn’t—then I doubt I will be on the way down again.” She’d nodded at Aileen. “And we think Aileen might be increasing, too, but she’s decided not to tell Robert yet.”

“I daresay he’ll want to wrap me in wool like some delicate porcelain, which I am most definitely not.” A militant gleam had shone in Aileen’s eyes. “No power on earth will keep me from getting to that compound and finding Will.”

Isobel had bitten her lip against the impulse to share that she’d largely ignored the supposed restrictions of pregnancy, too, at least until she’d grown too heavy to easily move; thankfully, Duncan had had the good sense to make an appearance two weeks later.

She had grown up in what was essentially a matriarchy; she was accustomed to having other women—cousins of all degrees and others Iona drew under her wing—about her all the time. She had many women she would class as friends, yet none had had the freedom to chart her own life that she had had, and that factor in many ways set her apart.

She wasn’t entirely sure how the freedom she enjoyed had come about; certainly, being the only child of James Carmichael had been a critical factor, but if she hadn’t seized the opportunities that status had afforded her and pushed—hadn’t been such a tomboy and scrambled all over the shipyards and fallen in with Royd Frobisher—she would never have attained the uniquely unfettered position she now held.

That was a point to ponder. Would taking up with Royd again change anything—anything critical to her work, to who she now was?

They’d reached the last course.

“Having experienced the climate in Freetown once, I must have a closer look at my wardrobe.” Edwina popped a grape into her mouth, chewed, and swallowed.

Isobel helped herself to several nuts, then passed the platter to Royd.

“I was glad of my half-boots when we were trekking through the jungle,” Aileen added. “And while bonnets or hats are to be recommended in the settlement—certainly if one is going anywhere on foot during the day—there’s really no need for them in the jungle. The trees block well-nigh all the light.” She glanced at Robert. “From Caleb’s and Lascelle’s descriptions, it seems the mining compound is in jungle of a similar type to Kale’s camp.”

Reluctantly, Robert agreed. After a moment, he shot a look at Declan, then said, “The jungle’s exceedingly oppressive. You really don’t have to venture into it. It’ll be much cooler waiting on board.”

“Oh no.” Aileen’s hazel eyes widened to a remarkable degree as she faced Robert. “I absolutely have to go to the compound. Quite aside from finding Will, I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t check on those five children—the four boys and that girl. We had to let them be taken for the greater good—that, I was forced to accept. But I won’t rest easy until I know they’re safe—and I see that they are with my own eyes. I have to be there when we get them out—you must see that.”

Robert pressed his lips tightly together, then dipped his head in a gesture that might be interpreted as agreement, and wisely declined to argue.

Having carried her point, Aileen happily returned her attention to peeling a fig.

Declan looked down the length of the table at his delicate, fairylike wife. He hesitated, but clearly felt forced to ask, “Am I to take it that you intend to march to the compound, too, despite...” With a nod, he indicated her expectant state.

Edwina grinned. “Yes, of course. I’m only increasing, you know—something women have done for millennia. Even Dr. Halliwell has said I may go about as I please—indeed, he quite recommends it.”

“I doubt he had the African jungle in mind,” Declan grumbled.

“Possibly not, but I’m accustomed to walking for miles at Ridgware, and even on the moors when we were in Aberdeen, so as long as I take care not to overexert myself, it will all be perfectly fine.” Edwina looked down the table and watched Declan’s jaw set. “Besides,” she continued, a note of steel sliding into her voice, “you wouldn’t want me to regret that I’m carrying your firstborn at this moment, 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.

CHAPTER 2

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?”

Royd let a heartbeat go past. “Yes.” When Melville huffed, Royd said, “It’s essential that I be able to give Decker one particular order, and that he obeys immediately and without question or alteration. If he doesn’t—if he vacillates—it will put the success of the entire mission at risk.”

At that, Melville’s gaze turned wary. After a second, he glanced at Wolverstone.

The duke met his gaze imperturbably and arched one dark brow as if to say: What did you expect?

Melville looked down, then he humphed. From beneath his pale brows, he shot a look at Royd. “Very well. I’ll have the orders prepared and sent over this evening.” Melville glanced at Declan. “Stanhope Street, isn’t it?”

Declan nodded. “Number twenty-six.”

Melville swung his gaze back to Royd. “Anything else you need?” The First Lord’s tone was sarcastic.

Royd nodded. “I’ll need a similar letter from the Home Office, sufficient to guarantee Governor Holbrook’s compliance with any orders given to him by whoever presents it, and another such missive from the War Office for the Commanding Officer at Fort Thornton. Don’t make the latter specific. We need to ensure whoever’s in charge at the time acts as required.”

Melville’s jaw had fallen slack. Again, he looked at Wolverstone; again, he received no support from that quarter, leaving him to shut his mouth, humph, and fidget, and ultimately agree with a terse, tight-lipped nod.

Wolverstone took pity on the First Lord and asked Royd, “When will you sail?”

“The Corsair will have reached Southampton this morning. She’ll already be provisioning. Once she’s ready, she’ll stand off, and The Trident and The Cormorant will provision as well—we’ll send orders down tomorrow. After that...we’ll need a day or so to get out further orders and complete our preparations.” Royd met Wolverstone’s dark gaze. “I’ll be taking at least two other Frobisher ships down in support—so, all told, five ships’ complements to join with Caleb’s and Lascelle’s. At this point, I anticipate departing on Monday’s tide.”

“Monday?” Melville grumped. “This is urgent. Can’t you set out sooner?”

“I could,” Royd calmly replied. “But because The Corsair is faster than the other ships, there’s no point me setting out in advance—after initiating Decker’s action, I would have to skulk close to Freetown, waiting for the others to arrive before going farther down the estuary, and the more prolonged that stage, the greater the risk of one of the instigators learning of our presence and guessing our intentions. I need Robert and Declan to get into Freetown as soon as possible after I arrive and deal with Decker. That timing works best if we leave on the same day.”

Melville’s face tightened. “Very well. The more important question is when you’ll be back.” His voice strengthened. “When can I expect this all to be over, everything resolved and finished with, heh?” Agitated aggression colored the demand.

Royd held the First Lord’s gaze for several seconds, then stated, “This will end when we have the backers in our hands and evidence enough to send them to the gallows.”

The meeting broke up after that. Melville left first. As Wolverstone walked with Royd and Isobel to the front door, he murmured, “As you saw, the prospect of political ramifications has the First Lord rattled. He knew this matter was a grave threat to the government the instant it came to his attention—that was why he called me in. For all his fluster and bluster, his instincts are sound. But he didn’t expect it to be this bad.”

Isobel leaned forward and, across Royd, fixed Wolverstone with her gaze. “Exactly how bad is it?”

Wolverstone slowed. The three of them halted a little way from the front door. Wolverstone held her gaze as he considered his answer, then said, “It’s not this incident in isolation but the compounding effect of this coming on top of last year’s disaster with the Black Cobra cult. While the Black Cobra and her associates were finally tracked and brought to justice—public justice—the ramifications continued long after. The government is struggling to maintain order—we have an ostentatiously profligate king, while the coffers are low, and the country as a whole has yet to emerge from the dark days after the war. Against that background, the demands for reparation from the colonies over the atrocities of the Black Cobra cult fueled anti-government fury on several fronts. In response, the government adamantly promised such a situation would never be allowed to occur again—and now they have this.” He paused, and they resumed strolling toward the door. “The only saving grace is that the news and scandal sheets have yet to get wind of it. If we can end the situation in the settlement and deliver the backers to public justice, it will avoid an incendiary public reaction and demonstrate the government’s resolve to no longer turn a blind eye to those of the elite who believe they are above our laws.”

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