The Hawk and the Dove

by Virginia Henley

  “I dare anything, Bess.”

  “You have been away overlong, my Adonis—six months, was it not? I demand equal time.”

  “Your Majesty, my father lies near death. If aught happens to him I shall have to beg your permission to leave court.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “A few days only. I want you to join our summer progress in July.”

  Although it was the farthest thing from his heart he said, “I shall be honored, Your Majesty.” He bowed low and she offered him her hand to kiss, but before he could depart she threw out the question he had been expecting. “What is my share of the profits?”

  He hid a grin and said, straight-faced, “Forty thousand pounds, Your Grace.” She half smiled, and he added, “And I’ll throw in the galleon for good measure.” Then she smiled fully and the effect was dazzling.

  Back on board he changed out of his peacock garments and got on with his other business. By nightfall he had unloaded all the cargo into his own warehouses, which were guarded twenty-four hours of the day. Tomorrow he would tally up forty thousand pounds’ worth of silver and other rare goods and have them transferred to the treasury.

  He then sought out Jacob Goldman at Gray’s Inn, the preserve of all London’s lawyers. “Good evening, Goldman.”

  “Not so good, Captain Hawkhurst. Though I traced the owner of the land you wanted, I was not able to procure it for you.”

  Hawk uttered an oath, then advised, “Try again—raise our offer.”

  Goldman nodded his understanding and Hawkhurst waved it aside. “We’ve more pressing business. Draw up marriage contracts.”

  Jacob Goldman’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Who is the lucky bride, m’lord?”

  “Ah, that’s the tricky part, Jacob. You must find one for me.”

  Jacob Goldman thought his dealings with the Hawkhurst empire had inured him to surprises, but as he listened to his client he could hardly believe what was being asked of him.

  Hawk finished, “So you see, I gave my word to my father. God knows, he’s asked little enough of me.”

  “So, what are your requirements for this wife?” Silently he wondered, Where in hellfire do I even begin?

  Hawkhurst helped himself to a mug of ale from a jug on the sideboard and paced the room. “My requirements are few. First, she must not be from London. A young lady from a small country place would be best, I think. Within reason she should be of marriageable age. Someone too long in the tooth would be set in her ways; I’ve always found girls more amenable than mature women. She need have neither beauty, wealth, nor title, so long as she is from an impeccable background.”

  Jacob Goldman looked at him blankly. “Is that all? Surely, m’lord, you will be more selective than that?”

  “Jacob, I have no time to be selective. Good God, man, I’m not picking a mistress. I need a girl who is willing to marry in less than a month’s time, say June fifteenth, and in view of the unseemly haste I’ll settle five hundred pounds on her and another five hundred on her family.” He put down the empty tankard with a thud and demanded, “Do you think you can help me?”

  Silence hung on the air, so that in the far distance a dog could be heard barking. Then Jacob Goldman began to laugh. For a moment he couldn’t talk and tears of laughter rolled down his cheeks.

  Hawkhurst glowered at the solicitor and demanded, “What is it, man?”

  “You won’t believe this, m’lord,” he said, taking out a linen handkerchief to wipe his eyes, “but I’ve got a wife for you!”

  Shane felt relief and dismay in the same instant.

  “The land in Ireland you need for sea access to your own lands belongs to a young woman in Cheltenham. She would not sell the land because it is her only dowry, bequeathed to her from her Irish father. Her stepfather is a reverend of the English church in Cheltenham—impeccable family background. So you see, if you offer for her …”

  “I get a wife and I get my land,” finished Hawkhurst.

  “Exactly! When can you arrange to travel up to Cheltenham to see the young lady?”

  “I can’t,” he said flatly.

  “But surely you wish to see her, speak with her?” insisted Goldman.

  “I trust your judgment implicitly, Jacob. Draw up the contracts.”

  “You wish the marriage arranged for June fifteenth, then?” he asked, pushing all his doubts aside. Would the girl agree? Would the stepfather? He thought he’d have little problem with the latter because of the settlement involved, but what of the girl? His only hope was that the animosity between her and her stepfather was so great that she would accept the marriage as a means of escape. He must succeed in this mission, for if he failed Hawkhurst in this he knew he could say good-bye to any future business dealings.

  By nine of the clock that same night Shane Hawkhurst, resplendent in pale blue, was lifting the queen high in the gavotte in the music gallery at Greenwich, and stayed dancing attendance on Her Majesty and her ladies until past midnight, as he had been commanded to do.

  By one o’clock his clothes had been exchanged one more time for the serious business of his first night in London. He and the baron, garbed head to foot in black and heavily cloaked and daggered, made their way from the docks down Gracechurch Street toward the corner of Threadneedle, where they slipped unseen in the back door of a brothel. From the street it was shabbily nondescript, for the London night house operated behind a blank face. It was to his credit, or discredit, whichever your view, that he did not go there to whore.

  Chapter 4

  Sabre had reached such a low point that if she could have reversed her decision about selling her land, she would have done so. She realized the money would have enabled her to escape even if she had forfeited it to Reverend Bishop in return for her freedom.

  Reverend Bishop also wished he had acted differently when the solicitor had interviewed his stepdaughter. Perhaps if he had treated her with kid gloves and showed her some fatherly affection, he could have altered the little hellcat’s decision. So when Jacob Goldman once more arrived at the large rectory house in Cheltenham, he was ushered in with the greatest deference, introduced to Mrs. Bishop, and served refreshments.

  “Reverend and Mrs. Bishop, the man I represent is Captain Hawkhurst, heir to the great Hawkhurst shipping enterprise. His father, Lord Devonport, is gravely ill and in the event of his death his title will be passed on to Captain Hawkhurst.”

  Reverend Bishop was suitably impressed to be dealing with the nobility. Therefore, when Goldman broached the subject of marriage, the reverend’s mouth fell open.

  “I bring an offer of marriage from Lord Devonport’s heir to your daughter Sara, providing the wedding can take place June fifteenth.”

  His youngest daughter, his precious Ann, jumped into the reverend’s mind, but as soon as he proposed her name for the brilliant match, he realized that of course the girl who owned the coveted land would get the noble husband.

  “Captain Hawkhurst sends his apologies for the un seemly haste, but I have drawn up the marriage contracts and he has most generously agreed to a settlement for Sara’s family as well as herself.”

  Mrs. Bishop was effusive in her praise for her child. “I always knew Sara would marry well. She’s special, you know.”

  “Then you don’t forsee any objection on her part to this proposed union?” asked Jacob Goldman, feeling most uneasy about broaching the matter to the beautiful young woman they were discussing.

  “Objection?” demanded her stepfather irritably. “I shall overrule her objections, sir. It is my place to accept or decline offers of marriage for my daughter—she has nothing to say in the matter!”

  “Ah, Reverend Bishop, that of course is true,” agreed Goldman tactfully, but don’t you think perhaps if Sara thought it was her decision to make, we would stand a better chance of a speedy and mutually beneficial conclusion to this matter?”

  “Yes, George, you do have a tendency to make Sara do exactly the opposite of what you wish, although I h
ave no idea why that is so.” Mary Bishop sent him a look that beseeched him not to spoil their chance of being connected with the nobility.

  “Very well. Just to please you, my dear, we will have her down and ask her, rather than tell her.”

  When Sabre had heard the whole story, she couldn’t quite believe that this was happening to her. She looked from one to the other, hoping that she wasn’t dreaming the whole thing. She realized she had received the offer because of the land, but that was what it was intended for —her dowry. To marry a stranger was frightening, but it was also exciting, and the prospect of going to court was like a dream come true. She realized that if she didn’t grab this chance, she might never have another. When offered two alternatives she had always chosen the bolder course. When she smiled at Jacob Goldman, his heart lurched. “May I sign the contract now?”

  Her mother was making a great fuss over her and even her stepfather looked fatuously pleased. Mr. Goldman directed her to read everything carefully and showed her where to affix her signature, and she signed Sara Bishop in triplicate, but all she was aware of was the bold, dark name already on the bottom of the contracts—S. Hawkhurst.

  As if a magic wand had been waved over her, her life changed dramatically. Suddenly she had become the center of attention. As well as being the pivotal figure of the family’s fevered activity, she was the focus of great curiosity and envy from all the aunts and cousins, and word was spreading throughout the congregation and beyond to all the townspeople of Cheltenham and Gloucester.

  Sabre basked in her moment of sunshine. At every opportunity she emphasized, “My husband-to-be is a great favorite at court, you know; I will be spending much time there.” Her excitement grew daily until she could not sleep at night, and she could not resist sending smug little smiles in her half sisters’ direction when she was being fitted for her wedding gown.

  Finally she was having her choice honored and she had chosen a cream-colored satin embroidered all over with pearllike beads. She would have a cream lace half-ruff, so she could wear her glorious hair down in display for her bridegroom, and when she tried it on and preened in front of the looking glass, the copper curls sat on the ruff as pretty as a wedding cake!

  Sabre could not help rubbing raw the nerves of her sisters and cousins when she saw their mouths tighten with envy. She laughed when their whispers reached her ears; it would take more than their venom to ruin her wedding day; in fact, she believed nothing on earth could spoil it for her.

  She walked about in a dreamlike trance thinking of the bridegroom who would come to claim her. Her thoughts were obsessed with him as she envisioned his height, his hair, his eyes, his mouth, his hands, and then she would shiver with excitement. His manners would be courtly, for he was used to the company of the glorious queen of England, another magnificent being her imagination gifted with all the graces. Someday in the not-too-distant future he would become Lord Devonport and he would transform her into Lady Devonport. She was breathless at the thought of it, though it saddened her that his dear father must depart this earth before it became a reality.

  She displayed her small trousseau of busks, petticoats, night rails, slippers, and one traveling outfit to her cousins, and when they pointed out how meager it seemed, she waved her hand airily and explained her husband would provide her with a whole new wardrobe in London, for the fashions of the court were far ahead of anything that Gloucester could provide. The styles were so daring at court, she told them, that worn elsewhere they would create a scandal. Each and every female was consumed with envy, for they knew Sabre Wilde was quite capable of creating a scandal, daring fashions or no.

  Hawkhurst and Drake sat on the balcony of the Grapes in Narrow Street. It jutted out over the Thames, affording them a clear view of the river and its traffic.

  “I can confirm the rumors of Philip’s Great Armada. It is being built at Cadiz,” said Hawkhurst in low tones.

  “Of course! Cadiz is so well hidden,” said Drake, his eyes flashing with the intensity of his feelings for the subject. “I scouted the Bay of Biscay from San Sebastian to La Coruña, then all down the coast of Portugal to Lisbon, and found nothing!”

  “Philip is raping Mexico and Peru of silver and gold and is pouring it into ships to conquer England.”

  “Have you told the queen?” asked Drake.

  Hawkhurst shook his head. “Pointless, Francis. You know she has a woman’s fear of war and accuses us of inciting Philip’s hatred for our own glorification. Essex gets the full force of her wrath each time he brings up the subject of war. She disassociates herself from our pirating Spanish treasure, pretending ignorance of our actions, though she is quick enough to hold out her hand for the profits.”

  Drake nodded his agreement. How many times had he argued with Elizabeth until he was blue in the face? All to little or no avail. “We’d do better to furnish the information to Walsingham and Cecil,” he said decisively.

  Hawkhurst inwardly blanched at the mention of the queen’s secretary, Walsingham, then replied, “You see Walsingham and I’ll talk with Cecil.”

  The two men operated quite differently. Hawkhurst believed you should always cloak your real desires, think twice before you spoke a word, and never ask directly for what you wanted, while Drake, the son of a country parson, was respectably married and honest and open to a fault. On the other hand, he was a genius at sea and Hawkhurst would choose his company over any other when a Spanish man-of-war was firing cannonballs up your arse!

  A Hawkhurst merchant ship arrived in London bringing messages from Georgiana and his brother Matthew, urging him to return to Devonport with all possible speed. He had accomplished so much in the quick trip to London that he felt he could afford to quit the court for a short time, and dusk that day saw him and the baron saddled up for the long ride to Devonport, almost two hundred miles across country.

  They rested a few hours only after the first hundred miles was behind them and reached Devonport House in the middle of the night. He had arrived barely in time to see his father breathe his last labored breaths, and by the time the red fingers of dawn reached up from the sea toward the sky, he was the new Lord Devonport.

  With his usual energy he saw to the details of the burial and the comforting of his mother, and made the myriad decisions concerning their shipping empire. Along with the title, he had inherited the queen’s lieutenantship for Devon, which meant he was responsible for supplying foodstuffs to the navy and overseeing musters of all able-bodied men between sixteen and sixty in case war broke out.

  Shane knew the first thing he must do was appoint a deputy lieutenant in his stead and toyed with the idea of bestowing the honor upon Matthew, but finally he appointed a younger brother of his father’s, another Hawkhurst and one of his best captains. He had other tasks for Matthew at the moment, and the sooner he laid the plan before his brother the better, for the days were galloping toward June fifteenth.

  He invited Matthew to dine with him in Devonport’s east wing, and his younger brother was sorely disappointed that Larksong was nowhere in evidence. The two men had large appetites and Shane let Matthew enjoy the hearty food before broaching his subject. Then he settled his brother with a large brandy and deemed him to be in a pliant mood.

  “I’m transferring ownership of the Devon Rose to you, Matt. You’ve had command of her for over a year, so now she’s yours.”

  Matt’s eyebrows rose in surprise. His father would never have taken a ship from the family company and given outright ownership of it to a family member, son or no. Shane had had to purchase his ships (or steal them), for none had been given to him.

  “It’s time you started making money for yourself as well as for the family.”

  “How can I thank you?” asked Matt, delighted with his good fortune.

  “Well, there is something I need you to do for me, Matt.”

  “Name it!” offered Matt wholeheartedly.

  “I’m to be married June fifteenth to a young woman fro
m Cheltenham. I want you to go up there and take care of all the details for me.”

  Matt let out a whoop. “God’s teeth, you’re a dark horse! When did you meet her? How long has this been going on? I’m honored to be your groomsman. When do we leave?”

  “We don’t,” said Shane shortly. “I’m commanded back to court in a few days time. I want you to go up there and marry her by proxy.” He observed his brother’s reaction through half-closed eyes.

  “You’re jesting!” said Matt with disbelief.

  “Not for a moment,” said Shane smoothly. “The young woman I am to marry is Sara Bishop; her stepfather is a reverend of the English church. The legal marriage contracts have been drawn up by Jacob Goldman and signed by all parties. You will simply marry her in my name. All quite legal and binding, I assure you.”

  Matt whistled through his teeth. “Christ Almighty, you’re being cool about this. Do you mean to say you’ve never even seen her?”

  “Nor do I intend to. After the ceremony you will convey her to Blackmoor Hall, where she will reside, and I will have fulfilled my promise to Sebastian. It is a simple legal arrangement.”

  “Blackmoor?” Matt gasped. “You’d send a young girl from the pretty Cotswolds to that bleak, lonely pile of stone near Exmoor Forest?”

  “God’s teeth, boy, you don’t expect me to have her dangling round my bloody neck at Bess’s court, do you?” demanded Shane.

  “Well, no—a bride is a secret you’ll have to guard well. But Blackmoor?” Matt protested. “That’s cruel, even for you,” he said bluntly.

  “Damn it all, Matt, this marriage brings her wealth and a title. What more could she want? She’s a simple country girl who will be amenable to my wishes. Blackmoor needs a chatelaine; its been run solely by servants for too long. She’ll have a free hand to practice her housewifery and there will be enough to do managing the estate to keep her from mischief. I can’t bring her down here and palm her off onto Mother, for two women under one roof would be hell for both. I think it is a perfect solution.”