The Dukes of Vauxhall
Page 34
“It’s a talent.” She glanced out the window as they pulled into Kensington Square. “Confound it, we’re almost to my house. I forgot to tell the driver to stop before we got here.”
When she started to pound on the ceiling, he grabbed her arm. “That won’t be necessary.”
“Are you mad? I’ve got to sneak through the back garden and up to my room without anyone seeing me.”
“Have you forgotten Richard?”
She winced. “Maybe he has yet to arrive. I can keep an eye out from my room and whistle if I see him coming down the street, to warn him off.”
When the carriage rolled to a stop, he opened the door and handed her down. “It doesn’t matter, because I’m coming in with you.”
She dug in her heels in front of the Barnett family’s elegant-looking house. “Papa will kill you.”
“That is a chance I will have to take.” He nudged her up the steps.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked in an almost panicked tone.
“Because I’m going to ask for Captain and Mrs. Barnett’s permission to court you. Formally. No more getting abducted or sneaking about in dirty grottos.”
When she gaped at him, Roman took the opportunity to give the doorknocker a smart rap.
A black-garbed butler opened the door, his eyes widening as he took in Antonia’s outfit. “Oh, miss, thank the good Lord,” he said in a relieved voice.
“I’m absolutely fine, Preston,” she said.
“Of course. May I take your, er, cap?”
With a commendable degree of insouciance, she removed her disreputable headgear and handed it over. “I take it Richard is here.”
“Yes, miss. He arrived—”
“Antonia!”
Captain Barnett charged down the stairs like an enraged bull. Roman was about to yank Antonia to safety when she mounted her own charge, running straight into her father’s arms.
“It’s all right, Papa.” Her voice was muffled against his coat. “I’m fine.”
Barnett hugged her back. “Are you sure?” he asked in a choked voice.
“Perfectly sure.”
He put her at arm’s length. “What the devil were you thinking to place yourself in such danger? And why didn’t you stay with Richard when all hell broke loose?”
“We got separated in the crowd. Roman…Captain Cantrell…found me and was kind enough to escort me home.”
Barnett finally seemed to register Roman’s presence—with a scowl, naturally. He looked at his daughter again, his gaze turning suspicious.
“He simply looked after me, Papa. Truly.”
“He didn’t take advantage of you in any way?”
She patted her father’s chest, as if trying to calm an excitable guard dog. “Indeed not.”
Roman had to admire her talent for prevarication. But something had happened, and he had every intention of taking advantage of it.
“Is that true?” Barnett asked, glaring at Roman.
“For the most part,” he replied. “Of necessity, we were alone for several minutes in a grotto in the woods.”
Antonia looked ready to shoot him. “It was nothing,” she said through clenched teeth.
Barnett followed her look. “I’m going to kill you, Cantrell. That’s a promise.”
“I hope not in the entrance hall, my dear,” Mrs. Barnett said from where she’d quietly stationed herself at the foot of the stairs. “Good evening, Captain Cantrell.”
He bowed. “Ma’am, it’s a pleasure to see you.”
She gave him a slight smile. “We’ll see about that.”
“How can you be calm about this, Marissa?” Barnett said. “Antonia could have been killed. Or worse.”
“Oh, good Lord,” his daughter muttered.
“Not according to Richard,” Mrs. Barnett replied. “He told us the captain had secured Antonia, did he not?”
Roman glanced up to see Richard sidling down the stairs. He edged his way around the group and made his way to the door.
“Well, I’ll just toddle off,” the young man said in a dementedly cheerful tone. “Now that Tony’s safely home, all’s well that ends well.”
“No thanks to you,” Barnett said. “Our discussion is not finished, Richard. And I will be talking to your father.”
Richard deflated like a punctured soufflé. “Yes, sir.”
Antonia scowled at her friend as he hotfooted his way out the door.
“As for you, miss,” her father started.
“Not in the hall, Anthony,” his wife said firmly. She herded Antonia up the staircase like an errant lamb, clearly expecting the men to follow.
“After you, Captain Cantrell,” Barnett said in a soft but lethal tone.
Roman followed the ladies, half-expecting Antonia’s father to plunge a knife between his shoulder blades.
Mrs. Barnett led them along a thickly carpeted hall to an elegant but comfortably furnished drawing room at the back of the house. There were flowers in pretty vases, several embroidery frames, and books piled on tables. It was a room that felt lived in by people who enjoyed each other’s company.
It was an unfamiliar concept to him. His mother had never truly recovered from the scandal of his birth, and for much of his youth, he’d been more of an embarrassment to his family than a blessing.
When they were seated, Barnett leveled a severe look at his daughter. “Start at the beginning, and tell us everything that happened tonight.”
Antonia proceeded to give a barebones and laughably mild version, making it sound as harmless as a stroll in Hyde Park. Mention of the grotto was noticeably absent.
“It was really just a lark with Richard,” she said, finishing up. “I’m sorry I made such a mess of things.”
“Naturally, we’re displeased, Antonia,” her mother said, “but it could have been much worse. We must be thankful that Captain Cantrell was at hand.”
“I suppose we must,” said Barnett. “But what about that blasted grotto? Something obviously went on there.”
“It was nothing, Papa,” Antonia said with a vague wave.
Roman was beginning to find that particular answer annoying. “I’m afraid I can’t agree. We were alone in there for at least fifteen minutes.”
Her wince was slight but noticeable. “Yes, but no one saw us.”
“Someone is not telling the truth here,” Barnett said sternly.
Might as well let it rip, old son. “Sir, although my primary goal was getting your daughter safely home,” Roman said, “I had another reason for wishing to speak with you and Mrs. Barnett.”
“And that is?”
“To ask for your permission to court your daughter.”
“That tears it,” Antonia muttered.
Her mother tried to cover a sudden smile, but Barnett ‘s jaw sagged open.
“What?” he finally managed.
“I’d like to court Miss Barnett, with the intention of marrying her,” Roman carefully enunciated.
Barnett leapt to his feet. “You must be joking! I’ll keelhaul you before I allow you to touch my daughter.”
“Papa!” Antonia exclaimed, also jumping up.
“Did you agree to this demented scheme?” her father demanded. “Have you said yes to this bounder?”
“Of course not.”
When Roman started to protest, she held up a restraining hand. “But I like Captain Cantrell very much, and I can’t think of any sensible reason why he should not court me. It’s not as if he has a lot of competition, you know.”
“Only because men are generally idiots,” Roman said. “I, however, am not.”
Mrs. Barnett applauded. “Good for you, Captain.”
Her husband groaned. “Please don’t tell me you agree with them, Marissa. You have no idea how bad this is.”
“Then why don’t you sit down and tell us, because the captain seems like a perfectly decent man to me.” She hesitated. “Although I cannot approve of that earring, I must say.”
“But I like it,” Antonia protested.
“You’re missing the point,” Barnett growled. “The man’s simply not fit for you.”
“Papa, I’m quite tired of such vague assertions,” she said impatiently. “You need to be clear if you want me to understand.”
“Very well, then. I wanted to spare you, but that’s clearly no longer possible.”
Roman braced himself for what was coming next.
“Cantrell is a ruthless killer,” Barnett said, “and I won’t allow you to marry a man who is all but a criminal. Also, I have little doubt he only wishes to marry you to get his hands on Nightingale Trading.”
Antonia, obviously stunned by the accusations, grimaced with pain at her father’s last comment.
“Anthony, stop,” warned his wife.
“I suppose it would never occur to you that a man should wish to marry me for my own sake,” Antonia said in a flat tone.
Now her father winced and shook his head. “That’s not what I meant, my dearest girl. Any decent, worthy fellow would be happy to marry you.”
“Apparently most fellows do not share your opinion.” She scrunched her nose, as if trying to hold back tears.
“Antonia, I’d want you even if your father disowned you,” Roman said. “You’re beautiful, both inside and out.”
“You have no idea what she needs, Cantrell,” Barnett snapped.
“No, but she does. She’s smart enough and sensible enough to think for herself.”
“Thank you, Captain,” she said with a glimmer of a smile. “And since I can indeed make up my own mind, I would be grateful if you could respond to Papa’s accusations.”
Well, he’d walked right into that one. “The one where he all but called me a murderer?”
“Yes, let’s hear about that,” Barnett said sarcastically.
“Papa, please be quiet. And do sit down.”
When her father subsided with a mutter, Antonia nodded at Roman.
“I already told you that I captained a privateering vessel during the war,” he said.
Barnett scowled. “A pirate vessel.”
His wife whacked his shoulder. “Be quiet, Anthony. Please continue, Captain.”
“Thank you, ma’am. You also know that privateers and manned merchantmen are bound by the same rules of war as British naval ships.”
“Yes, if you capture an enemy vessel, its crew is entitled to decent treatment as prisoners of war,” Antonia said.
“If the captives are not treated humanely, then the Admiralty Courts can revoke a ship’s letter of marque and refuse to award any prize money. In the most egregious cases, monetary damages can be leveled against the ship’s officers and crew.”
“Or they can be hanged if found guilty of murder,” Barnett said in a hard voice.
“Yes,” Roman said. “But I was cleared of such charges.”
“Only because your father is a bloody royal duke and an admiral,” Barnett said.
“No, because the charges weren’t true.”
“Details, please,” Antonia said impatiently.
Roman kept his voice level, even though he loathed what he had to say. “Two years ago, we captured an enemy ship off the coast of Africa. It was a French merchantman, well armed. The crew was no match for us, but in the fighting several of my men died, including my first mate and my surgeon.”
“That’s awful,” she said softly.
“It was. Afterward, my crew was stretched thin, and that led to an incident on board the merchantman after it had been secured.” He pressed his lips together for a moment, but there was no sugarcoating it. “A few of my men killed several of the French officers.”
“Slaughtered them, you mean,” Barnett said.
Antonia and her mother exchanged distressed glances.
“It happened during an escape attempt, although that hardly excuses their actions,” Roman said.
“Where were you when all this occurred?” Antonia asked.
“Sick as a dog in my cabin. I’d been felled by an infection a few days earlier. My second mate was in command during the incident on the French ship.” Sam Wilson, an intelligent but hot-tempered man, had led the killing himself.
She sagged in her chair with relief. “So, it wasn’t really your fault.”
“Everything that takes place on a ship is the responsibility of the captain,” said Barnett. “You know that.”
“But—”
“Your father is correct,” Roman said. “I gave my crew the order to attack the enemy ship, even though I couldn’t supervise the battle or the aftermath.”
He’d done it because the prize was too rich to pass up. And he’d been sure his crew was up to the task.
He’d been wrong about them, especially Wilson.
Antonia’s grimace was sympathetic. “It sounds terrible, but I still don’t understand why anyone would think you personally guilty of murder.”
“Partly because of what came later,” Barnett said grimly. “Shall I tell them?”
Roman ignored him to focus on Antonia. “I became aware of the magnitude of the incident when I came out of a bout of fever. When I relieved my second officer and ordered him confined to quarters, he challenged my order.”
“What did you do?” she whispered.
“We fought and I killed him.” With a desperate knife to the throat, something he’d never forget. He’d been so weakened by illness that he still wondered how he’d managed to save himself.
When Antonia went deathly still and pale, Roman had to resist the impulse to snatch her into his arms to comfort her. She’d probably push him away if he did—or Barnett would toss him through the window.
“I had no choice,” he went on. “It was either that or lose control of my ship.”
And lose his life. Almost half of his crew had sided with the mutinous second mate.
“A good captain never loses control of his vessel,” said Barnett. “That the situation developed in the first place was your fault.”
“I do not disagree with that assessment.” Roman had failed to see how ragged his crew was, and how close they were to the edge after months at sea. At war.
“Then you agree that you are neither a fit captain nor a fit husband for my daughter.”
Antonia came back to life. “Papa, that’s for me to decide, at least when it comes to the latter.”
Her father rose, his expression hardening into relentless determination.
Oh, hell.
“No, it is not,” said Barnett. “You have only one choice, Antonia. It’s him or us.”
“What?” Antonia and Mrs. Barnett echoed, their tones equally aghast.
“You heard me. It’s Cantrell, or your family. You cannot have both.”
“Anthony, have you gone mad?” exclaimed his wife.
He flashed her an impatient look. “Marissa, I’m trying to save our daughter.”
Antonia jumped to her feet and grabbed her father’s arm. “I cannot believe you would force such a choice on me. It’s cruel, Papa.”
“It shouldn’t be a difficult choice,” Barnett said impatiently.
She stared up at her father, looking so wounded and lost that Roman swore someone had just slammed a fist into his heart.
With a weary sigh, he stood. “It’s not a choice I would force you to make, either, Antonia.”
He took her small, cold hand. She clutched at him. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I never wished to cause you such distress. I hope you can forgive me.”
“Roman,” she whispered.
He let go her hand and quickly left the room.
Chapter Six
* * *
Antonia’s father and the Duke of Clarence sat side by side in the spacious Vauxhall supper box that overlooked the extravagant grand ball closing out the Regent’s birthday festivities.
“They don’t look happy,” Antonia said to Justine Steel
e, who sat with her on the opposite side of the box.
“Stupendously disgruntled I’d say, but that is often the case when receiving a lecture from Sir Dominic Hunter,” replied Justine. “Although beneficial, it is rarely enjoyable.”
Antonia had never been formally introduced to the powerful magistrate before tonight. But thanks to his wife’s urgings, Sir Dominic had agreed to intervene on Roman’s behalf. Unfortunately, Papa had dug in his heels, and she doubted anything short of an Act of Parliament would budge him. Since it seemed the duke was equally opposed to any talk of marriage, the situation seemed hopeless.
“It’s awkward, isn’t it? Of course, it’s an honor to spend an evening in one of the royal boxes, but…”
“Awkward describes it perfectly,” Justine said dryly.
The duke had given Antonia a stern inspection before responding brusquely to her curtsy. Papa had bristled in response. He might not want her marrying Clarence’s son, but no one snubbed his daughter, not even a prince. The duke obviously struggled with a similar dilemma. He was opposed to the marriage but annoyed that anyone, especially a commoner, should find Roman lacking.
If Antonia wasn’t so dreadfully upset by the events of the last few days, she might even find amusement in the ridiculous situation.
“I’m sorry His Grace was so short-tempered with you,” Justine said. “He’s normally quite the friendliest of all the King’s sons.”
Antonia tried to pretend it didn’t matter. “He was very nice to Mamma, though, and I know he’s always gotten along well with Papa, since they’re both sailors. But I honestly don’t know why he invited us tonight, since he clearly disapproves of me as a potential wife for Roman.”
“You can thank Sir Dominic. It was his suggestion.”
“It was kind of him, but I’m not sure why he would go through all the trouble.”
“Because Chloe approves of you.” Justine smiled. “As do the rest of us, I might add.”
“Except for the fathers,” Antonia said.
“Sir Dominic hopes to effect a positive change.”
“Good luck with that. Even Mamma can’t get through to my father.” She heaved a sigh. “Not that it matters, since Roman has no intention of courting me after all.”
Antonia still couldn’t believe he’d given up so easily. But perhaps he’d seen it as an opportunity. After their unexpected and torrid encounter in the grotto, he’d probably felt duty-bound to make an offer for her. Papa’s grandiose threat had then opened the door for him to walk away.