“I do not feel we should tell Striker of Pete,” I said with alarm. “We can let Pete tell him.”
My man frowned. “We do not know where Pete is, or if he is alive. How can we not tell Striker?”
“Oh,” I said with a sigh. “I thought you meant about Chris and…”
His eyes widened with alarm. “Non, we will not tell him of that. Oui, if Pete lives, he can tell him of that.”
I chuckled.
He sighed and flopped down to lie beside me with his hand on mine. “I have lain here all night thinking of what lies before us.”
I smiled. “I have dreamt of it: you at least had the solace of ordered thoughts.”
“I would not say that.” He rolled to me and met my gaze with calmer eyes. “We will make what we promised the Gods: what we promised Venus: a home filled with love. But I feel the road will never truly be level and I see ambuscades at every bend.”
“Oui, but is a life free of adventure worth living?”
“Non,” he sighed happily. “And I will do it with you.” He kissed me.
I savored it and was reluctant to part. “Well, come then, let us meet with this Whyse and take steps to assure ourselves it will be here. As much as I love the Gods, and appreciate all They have wrought here, I will surely not forsake you in accepting it.”
Fresh water and bread and jam arrived while we performed our toilet. Then we dressed in the clothes we had worn the day before. I fingered the soiled tunic and breeches in my bag with sadness. Even if they were clean and repaired, I could not go about town in them.
“I will not surrender my earrings,” I said as we strapped on our sword belts and baldrics.
“You had best not,” he agreed with a smile. “And I will not surrender my good weapons for shiny ornate ones.”
“Non, certainly not,” I agreed. “Men fear a lord with a serviceable sword.”
“We will still need to appoint someone to do Jenkins’ job.”
“Oui, as I do not trust Jenkins to serve us well. Pete had best make his damn way to England soon.”
Gaston chuckled. “That will be a thing for men to fear.”
Whyse was dressed all in red again, but his jacket and breeches were now of a different brocade. I wondered if I should choose a wardrobe in some color, or spread the misery throughout the rainbow. I would not dress in black as my father had. I thought Gaston would look fine always dressed in greens. Perhaps I should choose blues.
“Ah, there you are, good afternoon,” Whyse said effusively. “I trust you are well rested now.”
“Nay,” I said. “I feel it will take weeks for me to recover from recent events. I still do not believe this is all real.”
“Ah,” he said with sincere concern. “I can see where that would be the case. What—only two days ago you were chained on a ship? And then to see your father and—childhood friend?—die so suddenly, after… fearing meeting with them?”
“Aye, all of that,” I said and smiled. I could not dislike this man. Gaston and I took a seat on the settee again.
“Well, I will reluctantly try to keep this visit brief, then,” he said as he folded his long limbs into one of the chairs that still stood before the couch. “Though you are the first person we can reliably question concerning Morgan’s and Modyford’s actions; and the king is quite anxious to hear of it.”
“I am happy to oblige,” I said. “I will be quite happy to do whatever the king requires of me. However, there is a thing I seek assurance on—from the king.”
He raised an eyebrow but nodded.
I glanced at Gaston and found him smiling calmly. I looked back at Whyse. “This man here is more important to me than king or country, or gold or title, or anything other than perhaps the lives of our children—and even that, God forgive me, I would question in a moment of duress.”
“We have been given to understand that,” Whyse said with a knowing smile. “And, we understand your concern.”
“I am pleased to hear it, but pardon me my presumption, and I mean no disrespect to you, but I would hear it from him.”
Whyse smiled. “Of course, and he is anxious to meet with you as well. There are things he would hear only from your lips; despite your solicitor and…” He frowned. “How should the Marquis de Tervent be considered in relation to your person?”
“As my father-in-law, if only the law would allow it,” I sighed.
Whyse nodded and smiled. “I have been thinking of him as your father: he surely acts as if he is your father.”
“Unlike my own,” I said. “Aye, but he cannot speak for me. What would the king have of me?”
“The king is interested in having young lords in his court who have things to say and are willing to say them. He so seldom gets to hear the opinion of men who do not merely wish to curry favor.”
“Is he not concerned that my honest opinion will be tempered by the fear of earning his displeasure?” I asked.
Whyse grinned. “He is not concerned. It is a thing expected. He is, after all, a king.”
I chuckled, but the import of his words seemed unfathomable. “So the king does wish for me to join his court?”
“Aye, both of you.”
I glanced at Gaston and found him tense with alarm.
“Worry not,” Whyse said with a dismissing wave. “There are a number of avowed sodomites in His Majesty’s court. Several of them have lovers of long standing. And there have been a number of liaisons between men of title and station—some ending poorly. Surely it has been the same in every other court you have visited.”
“It has, and on occasion I have been the subject of both conjecture and scandal in that way,” I said with ease. “But not when my family’s title and livelihood have been involved.”
“Ah,” he said knowingly. “You are indeed a noble man. And yet so noble you would abandon your nobility.” He grinned.
“Just so,” I said.
Still, whether or not we would be accepted as a couple was but a small thing when compared with subjecting our Horses to court – or specifically, Gaston’s. I looked to him again and he met my gaze with a small, resigned smile.
I sighed and turned back to Whyse. “We shall be delighted to oblige the king whenever it meets his pleasure—and we can be properly attired. Now, what would you have me say of Morgan?”
“The truth, I hope,” Whyse said with a laugh.
I told him all I knew of Morgan and Modyford, starting with the salient facts and working my way through the boring details. We were discussing the occupation of Panama and how it compared with Maracaibo and Porto Bello when Theodore, the Marquis, and to our surprise and happiness, Liam, Striker, and Rachel arrived. Seeing our excited greeting of these newcomers, Whyse left us with the promise of wishing to hear more of our adventures another day.
“How did you get here so quickly?” I asked Striker. “Rolland Hall is two days’ ride.”
“We were on our way,” Striker said. “Liam and I left when Theodore sent word you had arrived in Portsmouth. We rode straight through. Mistress Aurora was already here.”
At our frown, they all pointed at Rachel and she stepped forward to speak quietly as Theodore closed the study door.
“Mister Theodore and I have decided on a different arrangement,” she said quickly and quietly. “We are not married here. All must think that Elizabeth’s mother died in childbirth.” She held her hand up to stop our yet unspoken protests and concern. “It is for the best. Theodore will be no good to you or himself if he is married to a Jewess; and I have returned to my faith.” She turned and gave her husband a smile of great love and regard, which he returned. “We still love one another very much, and we will be as man and wife in all but name. But it is best if I am Mistress Rachel Aurora, his housekeeper, Elizabeth’s nanny, and the friend of his late wife.”
I looked from one to the other as Theodore stepped up behind her to embrace her happily. I glanced at Gaston, and he sighed with resignation and a bemused smile.
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“Who are we to complain about another’s arrangements?” I said. They laughed. “Truly, as long as it is not for my benefit; or the benefit of the damn title and all…”
“We could not know you would gain the title when we made this decision,” Theodore said. “On the voyage here, Mistress Aurora decided she wished to return to the faith of her birth. We discussed the matter at length, together, and with a rabbi once in Rotterdam; and we decided on this course. The rabbi here in London does not believe we are sharing a bed, however.”
I laughed. I was relieved to hear they were sharing a bed after his concerns of never being able to touch her again for fear of another tragic pregnancy.
“Mistress Aurora?” Gaston asked.
“Hannah, Mistress Doucette, and the Lady Dorshire helped me choose it,” Rachel said with pride. “To signify the start of a new time in my life.”
“Mistress Aurora it is, then,” I said.
“Now,” Striker said firmly, “do you truly not know where my matelot is?”
I suppressed a grimace. “We last saw him at the fortress of San Lorenzo before we marched on Panama. We did not have time to seek him before we were captured upon our return to that place. They were supposed to travel with Pierrot.”
He sat heavily with a sigh. He looked well. They all did: a little taut with worry, but not too thin or fat.
“They knew we were coming here,” I continued. “We cannot know if they saw or heard of our capture, though. It is possible they thought we escaped and departed in secret on another vessel. Cudro and Ash saw us last. We can only guess what any of them know.”
“He will come here?” Striker asked.
“He should. I would think that unless…” I did not wish to say that unless circumstances with Chris prevented it. Striker was watching me. “Unless he could not find a captain to sail them here. They had the money. I would think the four of them could find one another and come here. And this—England—is where we agreed to meet. There was no plan for them to go to the Netherlands.”
“The stupid girl was still with you?” Striker asked.
Theodore and the Marquis were frowning, obviously remembering some of what Gaston and I had said last night. I could only hope they would keep their mouths shut.
I sighed. “Aye, we passed her off as a youth, and… she actually made a good accounting of herself.”
“She saved Pete’s life,” Gaston added; and then seemed to regret it.
“Pete agreed to care for her,” I said. “Morgan recognized her, and was intent on using her as a pawn as he used us. Thus we could not keep her with us.”
“Pete was wounded, but it was not serious and he was healing well when we left them,” Gaston said.
Striker nodded resolutely.
“You have a good deal of storytelling to do,” Liam said.
“I feel you all do as well,” I said with a smile. “Is there any other arrangement of which we should be apprised?” I indicated Rachel.
“Madame Doucette and I were thinking we should maybe marry to…” Liam stopped when he saw Gaston tense.
“Is she still with Agnes?” I whispered.
“Of course,” Liam said.
“We have discussed her being married for reasons of propriety,” Theodore said.
“I would have her marry me,” Gaston said. “If she will consent to it.”
Liam threw his hands wide. “I was just trying to help.”
“You have a wife,” Striker said to my matelot.
Gaston and I looked to one another. He appeared guilty: I was trying to figure out how we would lie.
“What?” Striker asked in a tone that said I had best lie well if I were to lie at all.
I sighed and resigned myself to the truth. I was sure Pete would forgive me.
“Pete took Chris as matelot,” I said. Gaston winced and then he too sighed with resignation.
“So, that probably helped disguise her,” Striker said with suspicion.
“Squishy hole and all,” I said.
“No fucking way!” Striker proclaimed and stood.
“He asked me if I would mind if he married her,” Gaston said meekly. “Since there was never actually a marriage; and she has consented to not contest my raising the child…”
Striker collapsed back into the chair.
“You can both have wives,” I said.
He swore quietly and at last said, “I suppose so.” He looked up at me with worried eyes. “Did he say how he still considers me?”
I truly knew not what I should say. “He will always love you, but… I cannot say what he thought would happen when he came here. I believe his opinion on the matter changed as we journeyed to Cow Island. He… he did not seek Chris, but…”
“He punched me and put me on a ship with my wife,” Striker said without anger. “I’ve done a lot of thinking, too. I just expected…” He sighed. “I just expected I would have to explain a lot of what I was thinking when he arrived. Now I guess I don’t have to worry about him being as angry as I imagined.”
Relief trickled through me. “You will have much to discuss when he does arrive.”
The word ‘if’ hung over us all, but no one was fool enough to voice it.
“So you wish to marry Madame Doucette?” the Marquis asked.
Gaston frowned at his father with worry. “Oui. I know she is…”
“I think that a splendid idea,” the Marquis said and came to embrace his son. “She is a delightful young woman. And with things as they are, that will make your living arrangements considerably less complicated.”
My matelot regarded me with bemusement over his father’s shoulder. I laughed. The Gods were with us, and though I might have to bow before a dragon, nothing else seemed to stand in our path.
One Hundred and Fifteen
Wherein We Begin to Make Peace with Destiny
The rest of the day passed quickly. Rachel took command of the house. Striker and Liam met with Captain Horn and Jenkins and attended to matters of security. Theodore commandeered the study, and on Liam and Rachel’s recommendations, paid final wages to servants and negotiated wages with others. Jenkins and a number of his men left my employ; along with several older members of the staff including my father’s personal servants. We kept the cook; and any other person who expressed no dismay about serving a sodomite.
Gaston and I were spared almost any involvement in those proceedings. Instead, we were visited by Whyse’s tailor, Mister Winger. He measured damn near every dimension of our persons, and spoke at length on our preferences and how they related to current fashion. He was actually quite sensible, and had a great many suggestions on how we could be in keeping with the style of the court while still maintaining some degree of dignity, and, surprisingly, functionality in our attire. I was quite pleased to realize Winger catered to a number of gentlemen who did not carry a sword merely for show.
I did choose blues, and my matelot chose greens. The man promised us something suitable to wear by the next day—including boots—and something proper for the memorial service and the burial within three days, along with a number of other sets of clothing for attending court by the end of the week. I did not ask what this would cost: Winger spoke to Theodore about that.
Then we met with the undertaker. There would be a service here in London for family and my father’s friends and associates, and then his body—and Shane’s—would be taken to Rolland Hall and buried in the family plot. The final details of that would be coordinated with the clergy in the estate’s parish. I was pleased I would never have to actually look upon the bodies again. I was, however, dismayed I was expected to attend the London service and the burial.
We sent word of these arrangements to Whyse, and he assured us he would attend and insure we knew who we must promise to meet again and who we could politely dismiss. I was once again pleased I genuinely liked Whyse, else the coming months would be a chore indeed as he shepherded us through our first months at court.
While waiting for his reply, I wrote my sister Elizabeth, who was now the Lady Beaucrest. Though I had barely seen her when I returned to England five years ago, I thought it best she receive a letter from me concerning our father’s death and my assumption of the title; instead of receiving a formal notice of the funeral service from the undertaker, or hearing via noble gossip. Theodore had informed me she now resided with her husband, Baron Beaucrest, in Kent. They purportedly had one son. I kept my missive brief, conveyed my grief, and continued the version of events I had used with the servants: our father summoned me home, and Shane and he quarreled over the matter upon my arrival, and Shane shot him—truly, no one who heard that version of events seemed surprised; such had been Shane’s reputation. She would have to travel about as far as Sarah to attend the ceremony—and further still to attend the burial at Rolland Hall. I wondered if she would.
Then I wrote Sarah a personal note. I told her I would explain all that occurred once she arrived for the funeral. I was beginning to write Agnes and Yvette when Rachel called us to dinner.
That night, the house was finally free of interlopers and disagreeable servants, and we were able to sit for dinner with our friends. Rachel was cajoled into joining us, even though as housekeeper it was not her place. I decided this ruse of theirs might quickly grow tedious.
“Where do you feel everyone should live, my lord?” Rachel asked as she sat after the food had been served and she had shooed the other servants out. “We will have to organize Rolland Hall next. They probably just heard of their old lord’s demise.”
“Sarah will want her own house,” Striker said. “And I’d rather it be near a port—or at least the Thames.”
“The rest of us have not dared discuss it a great deal; as we have not known what the outcome of matters would be,” Theodore said and the Marquis nodded. “Gaston and you will obviously need to stay near the court.”
“Until the king tires of us,” I said.
Theodore shrugged. “And whenever the House of Lords is in session. I assume the ladies and children will live at Rolland Hall.”
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