The Admiral's Daughter

by Francesca Shaw

  But she could not do it: it would be like throwing away all her memories of Adam; and that was all that she had, all she would ever have, he had made that plain enough the other day.

  With infinite care Helena took up a fruit knife and scored along the paper, excising the sheet. No, no one else would ever see this picture of the man she loved, but she could not destroy it. She was still holding it, wondering where the safest place to keep it would be, when Fishe appeared at the conservatory door.

  ‘Lady Wyatt’s compliments, Miss Helena, and do you intend accompanying her to Lady Faulkener’s?’

  Lady Breakey’s rooms were gratifyingly full for her At Home and the conservatory was also being pressed into use as a reception room.

  Sir Robert was doing his duty by chatting to a group of elderly dowagers, his ready charm and hearty manner keeping them enthralled. As one was heard to remark to his confusion, ‘It is so reassuring to know that the Tyrant Bonaparte is being held at bay by such British heroes!’

  Helena, observing him, smiled to herself. She had no doubt that her uncle, an enthusiastic but harmless flirt, would soon reward himself for his devotion to the dowagers with a little light conversation with the younger, more comely, matrons.

  Lady Wyatt came up behind her daughter and laid her hand on her shoulder. ‘Are you enjoying yourself, my dear? I must say, you are looking very well in that gown. You should wear blue more often, it becomes you so.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am. And you, too, look very fine, if I may say so. That new crop suits you—I told you it would.’

  Lady Wyatt put up one hand to pat her fashionably styled hair. ‘Yes, I surprised myself, but there is no persuading your aunt, she prefers never to cut her hair. Now, who is that arriving?’

  She moved across to the door to join her sister-in-law in greeting their new guest. ‘Lord Darvell, good afternoon.’

  Helena stepped back behind a potted palm, her heart thudding painfully, telling herself she had to take a grip on her emotions. She had known he had been invited and it was inevitable they would constantly meet in Society. She must stop behaving like a gauche schoolgirl.

  Consequently she squared her shoulders and greeted Adam with calm civility when she found him before her. Her resolve was shaken by the gleam of admiration in his eyes as he took in her stylish afternoon gown which showed off her figure to admiration. After an exchange of the merest pleasantries he enquired wickedly, ‘Will you not show me your uncle’s conservatory, Miss Wyatt? I hear he has a fine collection of orchids.’

  Adam offered his arm and, without appearing rude, Helena could do nothing but place her fingers lightly on the dark blue superfine cloth and allow herself to be conducted to the conservatory.

  Helena was painfully conscious of his nearness, the faint tang of his cologne touching her nostrils. She glanced at him, seeing the laughter lines at the corner of his eyes, paler against his still-tanned skin. The fashion for closely tailored trousers and coats suited his lean, rangy figure to perfection and Helena was sensitive to the envious glances from several other women in the room.

  As they reached the scented glasshouse he remarked, ‘What a pleasant structure. Does it open out direct on to the garden?’

  ‘You know full well it does,’ she hissed under her breath. ‘Do not tease me, Adam!’ At her use of his Christian name, his head turned and he smiled at her.

  ‘You blush so charmingly, I could not resist it. Forgive me.’

  ‘Certainly not. Come, I believe you have not met the Misses Turner. Miss Turner, Miss Anne Turner, may I make known to you Lord Darvell. Lord Darvell is very interested in orchids.’

  The two earnest young ladies, thus addressed, pounced on his lordship with exclamations of delight. ‘My lord, do come and see the cymbidiums. Do you not agree they are the most magnificent specimens outside Kew Gardens? There is to be the most interesting lecture at the Royal Society on Wednesday on the newest Oriental strains, will you be there? We find cultivation from the dormant bulbs a problem…’

  Satisfied with her revenge and ignoring the anguished glances Adam was sending her above the heads of the two blue-stockings, Helena turned to go back into the salon.

  But her way was barred by a tall figure in naval uniform. ‘Miss Wyatt, I do beg your pardon.’

  Helena, aware of the need to turn him from the conservatory, greeted Lieutenant Brookes with considerably more warmth than she should properly exhibit towards a man she had met only once socially. ‘Lieutenant Brookes, what an unexpected pleasure. Mrs Rowlett had given me to understand that you were engaged at the Admiralty.’

  The Lieutenant, somewhat taken aback by his reception after Miss Wyatt’s lacklustre response to him at Almack’s, was more than willing to return to the salon.

  Mr Brookes could scarcely believe this was the same rather vapid young woman who had mumbled monosyllabic replies to his questions at Almack’s. Miss Wyatt outshone any other young woman in the house: her violet eyes were sparkling, her face was alight with animated interest in him. Her slender figure, clad in a periwinkle blue gown, was delightful and her glossy brown curls gleamed in the afternoon sunlight streaming through the long west-facing windows of the salon.

  Daniel Brookes was a very careful man: at the start of his career in His Majesty’s navy he had drawn up a plan of campaign designed to steer him from midshipman to admiral in the shortest possible time. His connections and social standing were good, but none of his relatives had naval ties or—more importantly—influence at the Admiralty. The right marriage into a naval family would make good this deficit.

  Securing an introduction to the Wyatt-Breakey clan had been a coup he was very anxious to consolidate. At Almack’s he had reconciled himself to paying court to a pretty but colourless debutante as a means to achieving his ends: now necessity would be a positive pleasure.

  ‘May I pour you a cup of tea, Lieutenant?’ Miss Wyatt asked charmingly. ‘And then you must tell me all about your ship—are you with the Channel fleet?’

  ‘Thank you.’ He accepted the proffered cup and sat beside her on the sofa. He was very ready to talk of his career and impress her with his achievements, but his discourse was slightly distracted by the little glances she kept casting over his shoulder as if she were anxious to avoid someone. Perhaps her mama, a strong-minded woman by all accounts, would not approve of her daughter setting up a tête à tête in this way.

  Helena realised she must be sounding particularly vapid. She was prattling, she knew. In her nervousness she was in danger of overplaying her hand and giving Lieutenant Brookes entirely the wrong idea. She wanted to distract him from Adam, but she had no desire to cast him any lures.

  ‘…at the moment I am seconded to the Excise,’ he was saying. Helena jerked her eyes back from the conservatory door, wondering when Adam would escape the Misses Turner and what she should do if the two men came face to face.

  Without thinking, she said, ‘That must be so exciting, boarding smuggling vessels!’ Oh, no! Why had she said that instead of turning the conversation to more neutral matters?

  There was a slight, uncomfortable pause. ‘More dispiriting than exciting, ma’am. You would be amazed how many so-called gentlemen support this infamous trade in defiance of His Majesty’s laws.’

  ‘I am sure the loss of revenue is very shocking…’

  ‘It is not the revenue, it is the intelligence that passes that is the danger.’

  ‘Intelligence, Mr Brookes?’ A slight flush rose to Helena’s cheeks and her heart began to thud uncomfortably. Her conscience was still uneasy about the part she had played and she could not exorcise from her mind Adam’s meeting with the Frenchman in the Godolphin Arms or his evasion in the face of her questioning.

  ‘In many cases no harm is meant, but smuggling crews landing in French ports are free to come and go as they please by direct order of the Emperor Napoleon. He knows how much is let slip over a bumper too many of brandy. And then,’ he added evenly, ‘there are those who tr
ade in secrets. They are the true traitors, Miss Wyatt, for they know exactly what they are doing and who they are betraying.’ In her present state of guilt it seemed as though he were making a direct reference to Adam.

  ‘But from what motives, sir?’ Helena asked with such concern Daniel’s attention was caught.

  ‘In a few cases they espouse the French cause. In most it is for money and a few—most often idle gentlemen—do it for devilment.’

  Her face had gone so pale he was fearful he had said too much and alarmed her delicate feminine sensibilities.

  ‘Do not worry yourself, Miss Wyatt; these villains will not prevail. Very soon we will overcome the tyrant. I am sorry, I did not seek to alarm you.’

  ‘Oh, no, Mr Brookes, you have not alarmed me,’ she hastened to reassure him. ‘It is just that the day has turned out unaccountably warm—do you not think so?’

  Daniel Brookes was watching the play of emotions on her face. ‘Forgive me, Miss Wyatt, but I have suddenly had the most unaccountable notion. Have we ever encountered one another before? Perhaps at some reception or ball where we had not been introduced…’

  For one awful moment Helena feared he knew the truth and was playing with her. Then she saw the puzzlement in his eyes and knew he was genuinely baffled. ‘Perhaps, sir. My aunt and uncle have a very wide circle of friends and acquaintances, many of them connected with His Majesty’s navy. Doubtless it is as you say and you have seen me at some gathering. Will you take more tea?’

  The Lieutenant, satisfied for the moment by her response, accepted the offer of another cup. Helena began to relax again, then from behind where they were sitting she heard her mother’s voice and that of the person to whom she was speaking.

  ‘A delightful afternoon, ma’am. I thank you for your hospitality.’

  At the sound of Adam’s voice Brookes’s back stiffened. He put down his cup with some emphasis and rose to his feet. ‘Good day, Lord Darvell.’

  ‘Lieutenant Brookes: good day to you, sir. I see the Admiralty has been able to spare you this afternoon.’ It was perfectly pleasant; perhaps only Helena’s sensitive ear caught the underlying dislike.

  ‘Indeed, my lord, as you say. I shall be glad to get back to sea to do my duty, however: there are many rogues to be apprehended. And they appear in the most unlikely settings.’ His neutral tone masked the barb which Helena knew was aimed straight at Adam.

  His lordship bowed slightly. ‘Your vigilance reassures me, Lieutenant. I am sure we may all sleep easier in our beds for knowing that every bottle of brandy and every yard of lace has its full duty paid.’

  Brookes’s face tightened at this palpable hit, but only Helena caught the glimpse of pure hatred that blazed briefly in the hard eyes. ‘I do my humble best to serve my country, my lord,’ he responded stiffly. ‘I could not endure a life of selfish pleasure spent idling in ladies’ drawing rooms—however delightful the company. Nor do I take any pleasure in mischief-making at the expense of those who are only trying to do their duty.’

  Helena realised that she was clenching her fists so tightly that her nails cut into the palms. She forced herself to relax her hands, but she could not bring herself to look up. Her mother with her usual tact walked towards the door, continuing to talk to Adam and thus obliging him to follow her.

  Lieutenant Brookes, white to the lips, bowed to Helena. ‘Excuse me, Miss Wyatt, I had promised myself a glimpse of your uncle’s famous orchids.’

  She made no attempt to accompany him but sank back on the sofa, legs weak with reaction. The hostility between the two men had almost flared into the open. That, combined with Daniel Brookes’s feeling that he knew her from somewhere, left Helena feeling quite sick.

  It was a few moments before the giddiness passed and she could cast round to see where the Lieutenant had gone. He was just inside the door to the conservatory, his pocket book in his hand, an expression she could not read on his face. He stood, as though deep in thought for several seconds, then decisively snapped shut the book and thrust it into the breast of his coat. As though he had just recalled an appointment, he made his way over to his hostesses and bowed his leave of them without a backward glance at Helena.

  This abrupt departure, however, did not mark the end of Lieutenant Brookes’s interest in Helena. Quite the contrary, as Lady Breakey observed over luncheon a week later.

  ‘Mr Brookes is becoming most attentive to Helena, is he not, my dear? Quite the most persistent of her young men.’

  Her sister-in-law, thus addressed, gave the matter some thought. ‘Well, I believe you are correct, Celia. Now you come to mention it, scarcely a day has passed when he has not called upon us here.’ She turned to her daughter and enquired, ‘Is he taking you riding again this afternoon, Helena?’

  ‘Yes, Mama,’ Helena replied colourlessly.

  Lady Breakey was unexpectedly sharp. She put down her cup with some emphasis. ‘I am beginning to lose patience with these languishing airs, Helena. Lieutenant Brookes is an entirely acceptable young man: good connections, a fine career which your uncle would be in a position to advance, and most personable. The other young men of your acquaintance are all well connected, but none, I fancy, are quite as suitable.’

  ‘I go riding with him, and receive him when he calls,’ Helena protested.

  ‘Yes, and show him about as much distinguishing attention as you do the curate! I had great hopes that he was just the man to take your mind off that unfortunate connection with Lord Darvell.’

  ‘Well, he at least is no longer calling,’ Lady Wyatt remarked. ‘Which is doubtless a good thing.’

  ‘Yes, Mama,’ Helena concurred meekly. And common sense told her her mother was right: seeing Adam only hurt her broken heart the more, reminding her of what she had willfully rejected. How bitterly she regretted that now! And yet, how humiliating to be married to a man who had offered for her merely out of duty!

  And it was safer for Adam not to be seen with her. Daniel Brookes was a shrewd and intelligent man—it would not take him long to make the connection between Helena and Adam Darvell if he saw them together. The memory of the blazing hatred in his eyes when he looked at Adam kept her awake at night. She had no doubt that if he could have done he would have run Adam through, so goaded was he.

  By continuing to encourage the other young men who squired her to galleries or receptions—Mr Seymour, Lord Hilton, even Mr Yates the curate—she hoped to obscure the close attention she paid to every nuance of Mr Brookes’s behaviour.

  Helena knew she only had two options: she could tell Daniel she no longer wished to see him or she could allow his visits to continue with her family’s active encouragement. Seeing him was a constant danger in case he recognised her, yet instinct told her to keep him under her eye, engage his attention. And if Daniel was feeling welcome and flattered he would not be brooding on ways to get even with Adam.

  But it was a fine line she was treading: she had to keep him close enough to watch him, yet not encourage him to the point where he made a declaration. Surely Daniel would receive his orders and go back to sea soon? Every day she expected him to call and say he was about to depart.

  She had even resorted to asking her uncle. ‘I am surprised that Lieutenant Brookes is still in London,’ she had remarked with a feigned degree of unconcern one evening when they found themselves alone.

  ‘Eh? What?’ Sir Robert had put down his paper and twinkled at her, misinterpreting her interest. ‘Anxious in case your beau ups and leaves you?’

  Helena blushed. ‘No, of course not; he is not my beau.’

  ‘Well, you need not fear, I cannot say too much, but I believe our friend will be in London for a few more weeks yet. You will not mention this to anyone, of course, but his experience with the Excise has led the Admiralty to think about what possibilities for gathering intelligence that branch of the service might have.’

  Her kindly uncle, in his attempt to please her with news of the young man’s possible advancement, could not
have said anything worse. Helena, unable to sit still, crossed to refill the Commodore’s glass. ‘I will not say a word, naturally, but do you mean that the Lieutenant is to become an intelligence officer?’ Her hand shook as she poured the port, the edge of the decanter clinking against the rim of his glass.

  ‘Careful, my child, you will spill it! Thank you.’ He took a sip and regarded her sombrely over the top of the glass. ‘Yes, that is what I meant. But do not fear for his safety, he is an experienced officer and intelligence work is not necessarily more dangerous than any other branch of the Service. I must confess I am pleased with that young man, he is living up to my expectations.’

  Helena almost missed it, then the significance of what he was saying struck her. ‘You have drawn the Admiralty’s attention to him!’

  ‘Well, one is always on the look out, don’t you know.’ Her uncle sat back, stretching his legs out in front of him comfortably. ‘I had a word with one or two people and there was no difficulty in finding him useful occupation which will keep him in town for a little longer.’

  It was all Helena could do to keep her temper in the face of her uncle’s benevolent belief that he was giving her the best of news. It had to be Aunt Breakey’s doing: she could not resist matchmaking. And she had so taken against Adam that she would regard any stratagem to detach Helena as fair.

  But the anger soon turned to dismay, edged with fear. She had counted on Daniel going back to sea very soon. Going out and about with him, she hoped, would ensure that his memories of her were all of the here and now. There had been no repetition of that uncomfortable moment when it had seemed to Helena that he was within an ace of recognising her.

  Familiarity was breeding another danger, however: Helena was uncomfortably aware that Lieutenant Brookes’s manner towards her was verging on the proprietorial, despite her best efforts to behave with cool decorum towards him, and never to dance more than once of an evening with him, however much he pressed her.