When the Perfect Comes (The Deverell Series Book 1)

by Susan Ward

  “Uncle Andrew returned near midnight,” Merry said, “but has not spent a moment with us, since his return. He’s locked away in the study with my father. Something very serious is afoot, I think. Do you know what your father is about, Kate?”

  Kate shook her head. She knew nothing of what business drew her father away from Bramble Hill so often. Not that she faulted her father for being away so much. He was an important man, and with his wife long dead, had no reason to ground himself in Cornwall.

  “It is best not to question my father on his activities,” Kate said properly.

  “They’re putting their heads together trying to find one man, in all England, cork brained enough to wed my sister,” Philip put in mockingly. Merry stuck her tongue out at her brother. “Charming.”

  “Do you think that Captain Morgan is the reason for your uncle’s preoccupation,” Rensdale asked, expertly masking his anxiousness to discover if that were the case. “I heard a rumor in Falmouth, yesterday, that the Corinthian was in Swansea a fortnight ago. And now, Lord Andrew has returned so suddenly and mysteriously. More than a coincidence I think. Is that the urgent business your uncle has been about?”

  “Corinthian?” Merry piped up excitedly. “THE Corinthian?”

  Rensdale was clearly surprised by her interest. “You’ve heard of Morgan?”

  “Of course,” Merry countered indignantly, shaking her dark head anxiously. “Just because I am a woman doesn’t mean that I know nothing of the world. Who hasn’t heard of Morgan? His exploits live in the Times. I would rather read about Morgan than our ghastly war with America. One is a fascination. The other intolerable.”

  Morgan. Merry turned the name over in her brain, feeling a nervous bubble of excitement swell within her. Of course, she had heard of him. What a foolish question. Rensdale was so condescending in his opinion of what should occupy a lady’s mind.

  Morgan was one of the most vicious pirates who had ever plundered the sea. She had spent years following his exploits in the Times, reading every tidbit she could find on him. His mystery and villainy, caused a fascination that bordered on obsession with her. He’d been committing atrocities against Britain for nearly a decade. The man was a legend.

  “What did Morgan do in Swansea?” Merry asked eagerly.

  “Damn, Michael, you should know better than to bring gossip back for Merry. We don’t need to have her pretty head filled with more nonsense. Her politics are scandal enough. I doubt strongly that my father would approve. Uncle Andrew’s flying trips have nothing to do with Morgan, or anything else of such serious import. It’s the deuced lack of entertainment in Cornwall that sends Uncle Andrew off, not pirates and their petty intrigues. Let’s discuss the matter no further.”

  “Don’t listen to Philip,” Merry ordered, her brows lowering in a frown above her blue eyes. “With Uncle Andrew gone for the past two months and now playing least in sight, things have been deadly dull around here. I am so bored... but, Rensdale, you must tell me everything you heard.” She planted her elbows into the lush green, setting her chin on her open palms. “I promise to hang on every word,” she assured him. Those sparkling blue eyes stared at him. Rensdale felt both anger and desire rocket through him, simultaneously.

  Merry was so confident of her power over him. He relished the day he would no longer play the besotted fool, when he would hold the whip. The Merrick haughtiness and pride would not save her once she was his wife.

  “There’s little to tell,” Rensdale began, his interest gone, now that he realized nothing would be learned from bringing this matter before the Merrick younger ranks. “A fortnight ago, Morgan’s ship was seen in Swansea. Sailed it right into the harbor as if he belonged. The Corinthian was filled from bow to stern with smuggled goods from the colonies. He stayed for three days. Bought off the customs officials, so no one would know he was there until he was gone. Like in Bristol, he just disappeared in the night.”

  Merry glared. “There’s more, isn’t there, My Lord. I want to hear everything. Did he ransack the village? Burn the village to ash? Carry off the women? What mischief was he about this time? Don’t worry about Kate. She is used to being shocked.”

  “What nonsense,” Philip stated brusquely. “He’s a pirate. A criminal. You prattle on about his exploits as if he’s one of those heroes in those ridiculous novels you read.”

  “You have to admire the man for his audacity,” Merry said in quick defense. “There’s not another pirate who has been more successful against mighty England. I doubt he’s the evil villain you purport him to be.”

  “What an idiotic child you can be,” Philip countered grimly. “The man is a pirate. He would as soon murder you as look at you, if it suited his fancy. Don’t let yourself be carried away with fanciful notions of romantic heroes, Merry. Morgan is a criminal. It won’t be long before he hangs from the gibbet.”

  “They’ll never catch Morgan,” Merry rebuked harshly.

  “Morgan’s villainy, like his fame, is soon to expire,” Philip flung with brutal force. “You would do better to occupy your mind with thoughts of a husband, rather than pirates.”

  Merry stared at him, the picture of wide-eyed sisterly concern as she said, “And you would do better to stay out of the gaming-halls in Falmouth and Molly Saunder’s arms. You should go about finding a wife to breed an heir, so they would have less worry about me. Or, was that not your discussion with Papa, last night?”

  Philip’s entire face reddened. “You go beyond the limit, Merry. To skulk around the house spying is shameful enough, but to make mention of your petty eavesdropping before Michael and Kate is beyond tolerance. I can’t imagine why Michael puts up with you. ‘Tis no wonder you’ve become a scandal and you’re not married.”

  “‘Tis no wonder you’re not,” Merry countered sweetly.

  “Please, Merry, don’t ruin this lovely day with your temper,” Kate suggested quietly. “Your brother has every right to be displeased with you.”

  “You can’t mean to take Philip’s side.”

  “I am on the side of these delicious blackberry tarts. I can’t enjoy them if you two are scowling at one another.”

  Philip choked on the laughter he tried to subdue. Kate, as always, was simplicity and sweetness itself. Smiling at his sister he said, “Come on, Pet, smile at me so Kate can enjoy her feast. It’s terrible of us to fight in front of the good viscount. We are giving him a terrible impression of your sweet and docile nature.”

  “You were hateful and you know it,” Merry said peevishly.

  “Yes, I was,” Philip agreed generously, “but only because I am deuced uncomfortable in this coat. Now smile, Sweeting. I am sorry I lost my temper with you.”

  Reluctantly, Merry smiled. She could never stay angry at Philip. “Whatever will we do when Rensdale leaves us? We won’t have a reason to end our quibbles.”

  “You should have no worry then, Merry,” Lord Rensdale said with steely determination. “I thought you would come to accept that I have no intention of leaving.”

  Her blue eyes sparkled. “Ah, but of course you are leaving, Rensdale.”

  The trotting rhythm of hoof beats pushed their discussion from Merry’s mind.

  Lifting a hand to shade her eyes, she looked toward the narrow gravel drive, to see Lord Warton making his way toward the simple brick cottage.

  “It’s Warton. How marvelous,” she announced unnecessarily, charging unceremoniously through a lilac bush.

  She gathered her silk skirt into her hands, mindless that in doing so she revealed her slim ankles and bare feet, and jogged lightly across the green meadow to the road.

  “Lord Warton. Hallo. Greetings,” she cried excitedly, smiling brightly up at her father’s friend. “What brings you here from London?”

  Grinning, Warton slipped from the saddle, doffing his hat from his graying tawny mane. “I came to see you, of course. The sight of your pretty face is the only thing in England worth braving the wilds of Cornwall to see.”
>
  “If that is true, then why do you not join us more often,” she accused lightly. “Surely you know that you’ve been missed.”

  “Missed? With the elegant Rensdale to keep you occupied?” He smiled down at her, knowing very well how his comment irritated her. “Am I finally to be replaced in your affections by our gallant young viscount?”

  Merry fairly bristled at the question. “Rensdale is a conceited oaf. For the life of me I can’t understand why my parents would agree to a match with him. Or, why he persists in this courtship.” Dismissing Rensdale from her mind, she asked, “Why have you come to Bramble Hill?”

  “To see how our poor Rensdale fairs, of course. I can think of no greater amusements than watching you torture him while putting him through the paces.”

  Only urgent business of the Foreign Office could force the genial Warton from the comforts of London.

  Slipping her arm through his, they climbed the stone steps toward the main entrance of the house.

  “I wish it were a social call that has brought you to Cornwall. Uncle Andrew only recently returned from his latest mission. I should hate to see him leave again, so soon. If only the Americans and the French would stop making war. Kate sees little enough of her father. Can’t Whitehall give him even a moment’s peace? Is it serious?”

  “Nothing to trouble your mind about, Merry.”

  Regardless of his denials, Merry wasn’t diverted. For Warton to have traveled such a great distance, something important must be happening, maybe peace with America? Had the peace talks finally become un-stalled? The Merricks were unified in their opposition to the war with America. Warton was here for only one reason, to deliver information from the Foreign Office to Uncle Andrew. Andrew was one of Whitehall’s best agents.

  A thought came to her, out of nowhere, arousing her curiosity despite its absurdity.

  “The Corinthian. Is that why you’ve come? Is Uncle Andrew now trying to root out pirates, instead of spies? We heard that Morgan was in Swansea a fortnight ago.”

  Warton laughed to hide his shock. “What a fanciful mind you have, Merry. Pirates, indeed. There isn’t a pirate within two hundred miles of Falmouth. As for a blackguard like Morgan, he’s not Lord Andrew’s interest.”

  “Then whose interest is he? Surely Whitehall has set someone to the task of capturing this man.”

  “Of course they have. Never doubt it. But it would hardly require one of England’s best operatives to capture a common criminal, especially during this time of war. There is nothing for you to be frightened of, Merry.”

  “Frightened? You should know better than that, Warton. My father believes I haven’t an ounce of fear in me, or sense for that matter.”

  “And have you?” Warton teased affectionately.

  “Sense? Don’t doubt it. But fear, no I can’t say that I do. How could anyone be afraid with such gallant men as you and Uncle Andrew protecting England?”

  “Don’t work your flirtations on me. I am on to your tricks. I have learned from experience they only mean trouble. What is it you want, Merry?”

  “A chance to choose my own fate,” Merry admitted softly.

  Wharton laughed quietly. “As if anyone could force your hand.”

  “Can’t they?” Merry’s wide blue eyes searched Warton’s face.

  If her father was making plans for her future, Warton would surely know.

  “Has my father grown weary of me and decided to settle my future himself? Do you think he intends to marry me to Rensdale, though I have expressly told him that I don’t wish it?”

  “Really, Merry, what has your father ever done to make you distrust him?”

  “Nothing,” she admitted, though she could not shake the feeling that something was about to happen.

  “Then, your suspicions do him a disservice. His Grace is one of the finest men I have ever known. Stop your worrying, Kitten. He only wants your happiness, as do we all.”

  It wasn’t until much later that Merry realized that Warton hadn’t answered her question, at all. But by then, it was too late. He was locked away in her father’s study and the chance to press him for the truth was lost.

  ~~~

  Rensdale’s sharp gaze fixed on the heavy double doors Merry disappeared through. Her cool dismissal of him was intolerable.

  “Staring at the door won’t make her return,” Philip said glibly, pushing away from the wall. “Let’s ride to Falmouth. We can share a few glasses of ale and you can tell me your woes.” A wicked grin twisted his lips. “Or better still, a bottle or two of Grave’s End’s famous Blue Ruin? That will grant you a moment’s peace from your courtship of my exasperating sister. You did wish to go there as I recall. Though what amusements Jack Shelby and his rough lot can afford, is beyond me.”

  Michael forced his thoughts behind an expression of lovesick woe before turning to face Philip. “I doubt even Jack Shelby’s Blue Ruin could push your vexing sister from my mind.”

  Philip’s laughter was low and amused. “We will try, my friend. And if not, I know a place in Falmouth where...” his voice died off as they made their way toward the stables.

  Kate stared after them as her cousin and the viscount disappeared across the lawn. What she had seen on Rensdale’s face made the pit of her stomach grow cold. For a moment, she had caught sight of something in the viscount’s eyes, as he stared after Merry, which she had never seen before. A hint of malevolence mingling with his annoyance. It was not the look of a man hopelessly in love. It was a look that boded ill and suddenly she was very afraid for Merry.

  ~~~

  There was quiet from the study. Merry waited anxiously in the small day room beside her father’s study, huddled beside the open window.

  “Something has happened, hasn’t it, Warton?” Lucien Merrick asked. “Your message stated it was urgent.”

  “Yes, Your Grace. I would not have come otherwise.” The voice belonged to Lord Warton. “I knew this matter was of particular interest to you, Andrew.”

  There was a rustling of paper, and then her uncle’s voice said in a calm tone, “Yes. I have chased after the bastard, the length of the Atlantic many times over. How accurate is this information?”

  “From Castlereagh, himself,” said Warton.

  “Who knows of it?”

  “No one,” Warton assured Lord Andrew in a determined voice. “We thought it best to keep the information among ourselves. Castlereagh trusts no one. We’ve not discovered the identity of the spy in the Foreign Office. The information Morgan is receiving comes from very high up. How else would the blackguard know our every move? Sails in and out of British ports as if he belongs. He’s giving intelligence fits.”

  “My Kate could give British intelligence fits,” Andrew put in sardonically. “It’s been damn poor, lately.”

  “Morgan’s spies have infiltrated at the highest levels,” the duke agreed blandly. “It does not take luck when one knows exactly which ports to avoid. Have we made any progress in finding out who our traitor could be?”

  “No,” Warton informed him unhappily. “That is why I could not trust this information by courier. We thought it best to meet here.”

  There was a heavy silence. “How will you precede, Andrew?” the duke asked.

  “What do you know of Sir Atterby, Lucien?”

  “Impoverished. Desperate. The perfect makings for a traitor. I could never understand how anyone on Wilbrook’s staff could find use for the wretch.”

  “Then, you have confidence that this information is accurate?” Lord Andrew asked of his brother. “You think Sir Atterby might well be a spy? That he is selling information to Morgan, and will assist him to land his cargo on his lands tonight?”

  Merry’s eyes widened in shock. Morgan!

  “I haven’t a problem believing that Atterby is selling information to Morgan,” the duke said. “You’ve only scratched the surface. Atterby has not the position to unearth as much information as Morgan possesses. I should think that much
of it is coming from higher up than Atterby. Much higher.”

  “Atterby is a good start,” her Uncle Andrew stated in displeasure.

  “Only a start, Andrew,” the duke said with quiet certainty. “Morgan. He seems a man of great capabilities. He wouldn’t trust a man like Atterby with knowledge of himself.”

  “Then, I had better make sure that nothing goes awry and we capture Morgan tonight,” Andrew stated arrogantly. “No outsiders, Warton. I don’t trust anyone these days. Morgan seems to be aware of what my next move will be, even before I have plotted it.”

  “With your permission, Andrew, I would like to ride with you as well,” Warton said.

  Lucien Merrick and his brother laughed heartily.

  “Like old times, eh, Warton,” the duke murmured in amusement. “I wish I could join you both.”

  “There is much we must accomplish before nightfall,” Andrew Merrick announced, rising from his chair. “My men, thankfully, are all in Falmouth awaiting new orders. They should be in fine form for this adventure. They were most frustrated by our last failed attempt to bring Captain Morgan to justice. How we missed him at Swansea...”

  His words trailed off with his thoughts. He would never know how Morgan managed that.

  “I wish that I could join you both on this rout,” the Duke of Dorset said ruefully. “Morgan reminds me much of myself. I can’t help but wonder if England would not be better served by turning this man to her side, rather than to settle for his death.”

  “You sound as if you admire the man,” Warton exclaimed incredulously.

  “He’s been a worthy adversary. How can I not admire a man who has had the three of us running in circles for over a year?”

  That comment naturally brought Merry to Warton’s mind. Grinning, he exclaimed, “Ah, Your Grace, I almost forgot. In London I acquired a dispatch to be delivered to you.”

  “Morgan?” Andrew asked, studying his brother.

  The Duke of Dorset smiled. “No. Whitehall has their problems and I have mine.”

  “But yours grows more beautiful each day, Your Grace,” Warton said in amusement.