A Very Brethren Christmas (Brethren of the Coast Book 10)

by Barbara Devlin

  A Very Brethren Christmas

  Barbara Devlin

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Copyright © 2018 Barbara Devlin

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Barbara Devlin

  The Brethren of the Coast Badge is a registered trademark ® of Barbara Devlin.

  Cover art by Lewellen Designs

  ISBN: 978-1-945576-74-4

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  About Barbara Devlin

  Also by Barbara Devlin

  Chapter One

  London

  December 20, 1816

  It all started with an insult. A perfect storm of haphazard societal blunders provoked by an honest mistake, which resulted in unforgiveable rudeness and a subsequent inexcusable slight, that helped Admiral Mark Douglas win the love of his life. Of course, he did not know it then, but the singular moment borne of ignorance would forever alter his destiny, in ways he could not have imagined at the time.

  To her credit and his inexpressible good fortune, Lady Amanda, his cherished wife, had been blessed with a charitable spirit and a wicked sense of humor, because she took pity on a lowly sailor, pardoned his transgressions, and gifted her most precious possession—her heart. With his inimitable society miss at his side, he rose through the ranks of the Royal Navy with heretofore unheard of haste, thanks to a lethal combination of his military prowess and her family connections.

  The fortuitous turn of events led him to where he sat, in the chamber of Robert Dundas, second Viscount Melville and First Lord of the Admiralty. Mark shifted his weight and peered at the world beyond the windows, as a light snow fell. In his mind he cursed, because he planned to depart the city for his country estate that afternoon, to arrive in time to celebrate Christmastide with his family, but the viscount’s fickle behavior waylaid Mark’s aim.

  “This is ridiculous,” whispered Admiral Frederick Maitland, one of Mark’s oldest friends and confidants. “We have been here all morning. How long is he going to study the same bloody documents and charts?”

  “Until he makes a decision regarding the open post.” Just then, the viscount glanced in Mark’s direction, opened and closed his mouth, and Mark held his breath, but Melville spoke naught. From his pocket, he pulled out his timepiece. “Hell and the Reaper, the hour grows late, and I am to leave for Kent for the holidays.”

  “Given the weather, that is not a good idea.” Maitland arched a brow. “You had better wait until tomorrow morning, because the roads may be treacherous, and you could injure a horse or break a wheel, in the dark.”

  “It is a risk I am willing to take, or I may miss Christmastide.” Mark tugged at his stock. “If that happens, Amanda will have my head or some other important part of my anatomy.”

  “That is why I never married.” Maitland snickered. “Although your woman is quite handsome enough to tempt me. Alas, she only has eyes for you, which calls into question her sanity.”

  “Very funny.” From his waistcoat pocket, he drew a miniature portrait. Framed in an oval gold encasement encrusted with tiny pearls and sapphires, the Cosway depicted Amanda’s beauty but failed to capture her fiery spirit. That, alone, belonged to Mark. “And I consider Amanda’s choice a sign of her uncommon intelligence.”

  “Well said, well said.” Maitland winked and slumped over the armrest. “Now, if we could only escape this den of inane tedium before I lose my patience and run amok. Then I shall be arrested and discredited, and you will have to vouch for my character, that I might avoid permanent institutionalization in an asylum, where I will spend the rest of my days gazing at nothing, in silent reflection, and drooling.”

  “You know, I believe you missed your true calling.” Mark snorted. “Because you could have been an actor on a stage.”

  Melville cleared his throat, and Mark and Maitland came alert.

  “Gentlemen, each of you were summoned for an expressed purpose, and I thank you for your forbearance as I weighed my decision.” The viscount closed a folder and rested his hands atop the blotter, and Mark sat at attention, hoping for a quick resolution and dismissal. “Before I announce the requisite promotions, I would have you know the process by which I came to certain conclusions.”

  Inwardly, Mark swore a blue streak.

  For the next twenty or so minutes, Melville detailed various useless bits of procedure, none of which interested Mark. He crossed and uncrossed his feet, as he twiddled his thumbs. He folded and unfolded his arms. He shifted left and then right. He gritted his teeth against a groan of frustration, and just when he could take no more delays, the viscount met Mark’s stare and smiled.

  “Admiral Douglas, it is my pleasure to promote you to the position of First Sea Lord. As you know, that makes you military head of the Navy.” In that moment, Mark could have swooned, as his ears rang, and the viscount said, “And Admiral Maitland, you are to be Second Sea Lord. My hearty congratulations, gentlemen.” Melville stood, walked to a side table, lifted a crystal decanter, and poured three balloons of brandy. “Let us celebrate with a toast and, perhaps, dinner, as the hour is late, and I am famished.”

  “Bloody hell.” Mark swore under his breath and clenched his fists, as he rose from his chair. “Er—thank you, sir.” Of course, he could not decline the invitation. “It would be my honor.”

  “Then I shall offer a toast.” Melville held high his glass, and Mark and Maitland followed suit. “To the Royal Navy and the Board of Admiralty. Long may we reign in service to the Crown.”

  “Hear, hear.” Maitland glanced at Mark and arched a brow. “By all means, let us eat, else I may gnaw on my boot leather, because I am so hungry I could eat the arse end of a dead elephant.”

  “How appetizing.” The viscount grimaced, set his glass on the desk, and retrieved his hat and coat from a wall peg. “Then let us away to Gunderson’s, as I fancy their pork roast.”

  “Well this is a fine mess.” At the rear, Mark huddled with Maitland, as they navigated a maze of halls. “I suppose I have no choice but to depart tomorrow. And what of you? Where will you spend the holidays?”

  “Like you, I travel to my estate in Kent.” Maitland shrugged into his greatcoat as they stepped outside, and a cold wind whispered and thrummed. “But I have no angry bride awaiting my arrival, so I am unhurried.”

  “Why don’t you journey with me?” Mark signaled his coachman. “I would enjoy your company, and Amanda will only be vexed if I am late for Christmastide, but I submit she will forgive me when she hears of my promotion.”

  “If it is not too much trouble.” As usual, Maitland thrust two fingers into his mouth and gave vent to an earsplitting whistle. “And Melville could not have chosen a better man for First Sea Lord, my lord.”

  “The title is used only when I act in official capacity, and I will thank you to remember that, because I was not to the manor born.” Mark shook his head and frowned at the grey clouds and now heavy snowfall. “Do me a favor. Be at my home at dawn, because I would depart, posthaste.”

  Despite the relatively early hour, the foyer posi
ted a dark cavern, as Lady Amanda Douglas lit a candle and peered out the window. To her dismay, the world beyond the glass manifested a winter wonderland, as snow blanketed the earth beneath an angry sky. Normally, she would pass the time abed, with her husband, but Mark had yet to come home, and she fretted for his safety, given he was overdue to arrive.

  Shivering, she pulled her Norwich shawl over her shoulders and lamented the absence of her naval man, because Mark possessed a particular flair for keeping her warm, and she longed for his strong embrace and soul-stirring kisses. Never should she have let him talk her into departing for Kent without him, a fortnight ago, because they always traveled together. But their youngest, Horatio, waned in town. Much like his father, he preferred the country, and Mark fretted for his son’s health. However, in the future, she would remain at Mark’s side. On the entry table, she spied an envelope and a small box addressed to her, and she snatched both items.

  “Good morning, my lady.” Hamilton, the butler, bowed. “Breakfast is served in the back parlor, per your wishes. And I had Cook prepare a pot of the tea you favor so much, as we received a delivery yesterday.”

  “Hamilton, when did this letter and parcel arrive?” she asked, as she tore open the note and unfolded the parchment. “And my thanks, because you are attentive, as always.”

  “Before dawn, my lady.” Hamilton scrutinized a misplaced vase of hothouse roses, a gift from Mark, which was delivered the previous day, and adjusted the blooms. “Given it was not marked as urgent, and the messenger did not indicate it was an emergency, I did not think it wise to disturb you.”

  “But it could be important, as we are expecting the entire family for Christmastide.” Franked in London, the missive bore telltale script, and her fingers shook. “Oh, it is from the Admiral.”

  December 17, 1816

  My darling Amanda,

  I hope this note finds you well, even as I am grievously wounded by our continued separation and pining for your sweet face, which haunts me every moment we are apart. While I planned to depart London on the eighteenth, and gave you my word I would do so, I am delayed by order of the First Lord of the Admiralty, Viscount Melville, and duty calls, my lady. Thus, I shall quit the city on the twentieth, after the morning meeting. Please, know that this news hurts me far more than it does you, as I am tormented by your absence in our bed, which is so very cold without your loving and oh-so accommodating presence.

  When we are reunited, sooner than later, if I am lucky, I shall endeavor to express the depth of my suffering—like fifty men, my Amanda. By now, you know what that means, and you had better brace yourself, because I am coming for you, my girl. Until that happy time, I offer a modest token, which harkens a resemblance to your eyes but pales in comparison to your beauty, in the expressed hope that you might take pity on a poor seaman and wear it, and it alone, for my delectation, when I am again sheltered in your unyielding embrace.

  All my love,

  Your Mark

  “Felicitous tidings, I pray?” The butler, whose service to the family began on Mark and Amanda’s wedding day, stretched tall and shuffled his feet. “Is the Admiral well, my lady?”

  “You could say that, and the Admiral is in fine fettle.” Married thirty years, and the man could still compose a billet-doux that gave her gooseflesh. With a smile, she resolved to add his latest composition to her rather impressive collection, which dated to their courtship. “And according to his message, he should have left London sometime today, when I had anticipated he would be home.” Biting her lip in anticipation, as her thoughts ran wild, given Mark’s salacious habits, which she adored, she tore the brown paper from the box and lifted the lid. Inside, resting on a bed of pristine cotton, sat a stunning necklace of gold, with diamonds and sapphires. “Oh, Mark.”

  Although she wore a simple morning dress of blue muslin, she unhooked the clasp and fastened the precious bauble about her neck, to honor her husband. When he returned, she would fulfill his request, as well as a few unspoken others, because his desires were many, and she would enjoy every minute of the seduction.

  “My lady, we have visitors.” Hamilton narrowed his stare and stood at the ready. “Based on the various equipages, I suspect it is Lady Cara, Lady Sabrina, and perhaps Sir Ross and Lady Elaine. And I do not recognize the coat of arms on the last rig.”

  “Upon my word, but they are early, and it appears that coach carries my nephew George, when he never responded to my invitation.” Amanda clapped twice in mild panic. “Please, ensure their rooms are prepared, and I will greet our guests. Also, have the table set in the dining room, and we will take breakfast there, as I suppose they will be hungry.” From the hall tree, she grabbed her wool pelisse. “You had better warn Cook, because two eggs and a slice of toast will not feed seven additional adults and their small army of children.”

  Chapter Two

  December 21, 1816

  A violent jostle wrenched Mark from a naughty dream involving his delectable wife, specifically her sumptuous bosom, amid which he loved to bury his face, and a healthy portion of warm cherry compote, which he preferred to lick from her nipples. No matter how much time passed, it always surprised him that his desire for his lady never faded. And it was not that his love had diminished, because she was his life. But, despite the fact that she routinely filled his bed, he could not get enough of her.

  Rubbing his eyes, he sat upright in the squabs and pulled a lace-edged handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket, which Amanda gave him when he dueled with that clown Clarendon to restore her honor. After inhaling the subtle scent of jasmine, which she favored, he invoked a treasured image of his wife. A jarring noise tore him from his licentious reverie and he frowned at Frederick, who rattled the roof of the coach. With a yawn, he kicked his friend’s boot and groaned as Frederick stirred.

  “Did I disturb you?” Maitland wrinkled his nose and sniffled. “Was I snoring?”

  “Did you disturb me, and were you snoring? Oh, no.” Mark rolled his eyes. “Brother, you were not calling just one hog. You summoned an entire passel. Really, it is a blessing you never married, else your wife would permanently banish you to your study.”

  “But I am not so encumbered, so I am free to make as much noise as I please.” For a ghost of an instant, a hint of sadness invested Frederick’s expression, but he quickly recovered his wit. “And I follow my own orders, not those of an angry bride.”

  “You know, that reminds me of something.” Mark snapped his fingers. “Were you not engaged to a distant cousin or some such?”

  “A momentary lapse of sanity.” Frederick winced and peered out the window. “The snow is getting worse.”

  “As long as the lanes are navigable, and we can continue our journey, the weather concerns me not.” Although Mark would have much preferred to snuggle beneath the covers with Amanda. Again, he assessed his friend and noted the change in his appearance. Equal in height, they were often mistaken for kin in their prime, but now Frederick sported a gotch gut and a double chin. “So tell me why you never took a wife, because you are a good man, and do not deflect the question.”

  “I suppose you might say that war got in the way.” Frederick scratched his cheek. “And we are not all for the altar. Some of us prefer the easy friendships and superficial entanglements of a skilled courtesan.”

  “But you did not always sing that tune.” Mark folded his arms. “As I recall, on a night we shared the watch aboard the Seahorse, when we were naught but midshipmen on patrol in the Baltic, you lamented the long separation from your special lady. What was her name? Anne? Alice?”

  “Abigail.” Frederick pointed for emphasis. “And I was young and foolish then. Not so, anymore.”

  “I will grant you the young part,” Mark replied with a chortle. “As to the rest—”

  Another forceful jolt thrust them both to the floor, and then the entire rig pitched and heaved, as the team screamed in protest.

  “Bloody hell.” They swerved, and Frederick clung
to the bench. “Hold hard, Mark, because I think we are going to founder.”

  In that moment, Mark clutched the edge of his seat, as an anchor, and hunched on the floor, in the event they rolled. In silence, he uttered a prayer and pictured his family, as his life flashed before his eyes.

  Amanda shimmered as an ethereal creature, gowned in indigo velvet, with her black hair piled in curls atop her head, as he first saw her in the Northcote’s ballroom, more than thirty years ago. Cara and Sabrina, his daughters, smiled and curtseyed. And then there was Horatio, his son named for his longtime commander Vice Admiral Nelson.

  Gritting his teeth, he rudely plunged into the present. The coach listed sharply, lurched upright with an unholy crack, and keeled to the left, and he feared they might topple, but the driver brought them safely to a halt.

  “Well, that was close.” As he gathered his wits, he crawled to the squabs and settled his coat. Then he noted the pronounced droop of the rig. “But I wager we broke a wheel. Still, ours is not to worry, given I had a spare tied with our trunks.”

  As if on cue, the coachman opened the door.

  “Admiral Douglas, my apologies, sir.” He doffed his hat. “Despite my best efforts to temper our speed, due to the poor road conditions, it appears we broke the axle, and we cannot proceed at this time.”

  “Please, tell me you are joking.” Mark jumped from the coach and surveyed the damage. Squatting, he frowned. “And we lost a rear wheel and several spokes from another.” Standing, he shook his head. “Well, this is a fine mess. Now we will never make it home in time for Christmastide, and Amanda may never forgive me.”

  “Belay that.” Frederick slid on the ice and splayed his arms for balance. “Why don’t we take a couple of horses and ride to the nearest town for assistance? We can leave your man here, in the event someone comes along.”