by Merry Farmer
“You know, Peewee,” began Uncle Theo as they negotiated the stairs side-by-side, “I’m so grateful that I also managed to save my letter of introduction to Governor Farquhar from Dr. Boyer—”
“Peewee?” A deep male chuckle at her back made Calliope freeze on the landing.
Oh no. She knew that voice and mocking tone. Turning her head, she aimed a frosty glare at Captain Townsend over her shoulder. “It’s rude to eavesdrop, sir,” she said in the haughtiest tone she could muster. How dare he laugh at her uncle’s pet name for her! It was none of his business.
“My apologies, Lady Calliope.” The captain inclined his head but the roguish twinkle in his eye put paid to the idea that he was the least bit contrite. “However in my defense, voices do carry in the confines of a stairwell.”
“Yes, the acoustic properties of a space such as this do make one’s voice resonate quite loudly,” agreed ever practical Uncle Theo. “Especially when the walls are constructed of bare stone.”
“Quite,” Captain Townsend agreed and they all began to descend the steps again. “I take it you are both joining Captain Pickering for dinner as well?”
As well? Calliope closed her eyes momentarily. Could this day get any worse? Apparently, it could because at that particular moment, the toe of her half-boot got caught under the edge of the Turkish runner at the bottom of the staircase. As she stumbled and plummeted toward the floor, Uncle Theo cried, “Egads,” but then an arm as strong as a steel bar shot out and caught her about the waist.
As Captain Townsend righted her, Calliope found herself pressed against his rock-hard, lean frame. “Are you all right, my lady?” he murmured, his warmth breath coasting along her ear.
Calliope drew a shaky breath. “I… I think so, Captain Townsend,” she replied huskily. Her heart was racing and she knew the reason wasn’t entirely related to the fact she’d almost hit the floor. Indeed, the captain’s distinctive masculine scent enveloped her and Calliope was hard pressed not to swoon again. What was it about a man’s spicy cologne, the smell of his freshly starched cravat, and something else that could only be described as ‘warm, vigorous male’ that was so delicious?
Delicious? Captain Townsend was not delicious. Mentally berating herself for being such a henwit, Calliope cleared her throat and added, “Thank you for catching me.”
“You’re most welcome,” he said. Was it Calliope’s imagination or did his large hand and muscular forearm linger at her waist a little too long before sliding away, as if he were reluctant to relinquish his hold? How odd. Although, perhaps not for a rakish sea captain…
Uncle Theo cleared his throat. “Yes. Thank you, Captain Townsend.” He offered Calliope his own arm. “My word, Peewee. You’ve had more than your fair share of near misses today, haven’t you, my dear gel?” He patted her hand. “That fall would have been almost as spectacular as the one you had at court that time in front of Queen Charlotte and the who’s who of the ton.”
Calliope nodded as a tidal wave of scalding heat flooded her face. As if she needed reminding of that awful incident? She loved her uncle, but because he was a tad eccentric, he was sometimes quite socially oblivious. “Yes. Well,” she said tightly, noting that Captain Townsend was regarding her with more than a little curiosity. Pasting a bright smile on her face in an attempt to try and hide her embarrassment, she tucked a dislodged curl behind her ear and added, “But thankfully it wasn’t, thanks to the good captain here.”
Calliope blushed again. She couldn’t believe she’d just described Captain Townsend as ‘good’, especially now that she could detect an entirely wicked gleam of amusement in his eye.
“It’s a pity he wasn’t at your debut then, eh what?” chortled Uncle Theo as they all crossed the vestibule toward a wood paneled hallway. “Then you wouldn’t have earned that dreadful name?”
“Do you mean, Peewee?” asked Captain Townsend as he opened a polished oak door for them at the end of the corridor.
Calliope bristled at his words, but before she could summon breath to warn Uncle Theo not to divulge the name the ton had given her, he emitted a huff of laughter and said, “No, no. She likes Peewee—it’s a type of lapwing also called a peewit. It’s the moniker Lady Calamity that she dislikes.”
“Of course. Totally understandable.” Captain Townsend nodded gravely but as Calliope passed by him to enter the dining room, she detected an even brighter glimmer of mirth in the man’s deep blue eyes as their gazes met briefly.
If he dared to call her Peewee or Lady Calamity, just once during dinner, he’d be the one meeting with an unfortunate accident tonight, she decided as she swept past. She’d like nothing more than to dump a tureen of soup, or at the very least, a gravy boat, over his head to wipe that smug smile off his face.
Captain Pickering and his first mate, Mr. Holloway rose and greeted Calliope as she entered. A surly looking Mr. Lucas also stood as a manservant stepped forward to pull out a chair for her. Mr. Lucas’s head dipped slightly in lieu of a greeting or bow, but she wasn’t offended. There was no love lost between her and the reserved Oxford scholar. As long as he did the work required of him for Uncle Theo, she really didn’t have a cause for complaint.
Over an expanse of pristine linen set with fine china and cutlery, Calliope snuck a glance at Captain Townsend as he flicked out the coattails of his black superfine jacket and claimed a seat on the opposite side of the dining room table. He’d shaved away the dark stubble he’d been sporting, revealing the smooth, bronze planes of his cheeks and the strong line of his square jaw. The shape of his perfectly chiseled mouth. Her fingers twitched with the desire to sketch such a fine countenance. And then he winked at her and Calliope hastily looked away.
Goodness, was the captain actually flirting with her?
But then again, why would he? Calliope reminded herself sternly as she busied herself with arranging her skirts and her napkin across her lap. He was probably just trying to make her blush bright red again for his own perverse entertainment. Or it might just be that he couldn’t help himself. Flirting was probably as natural and inconsequential as drawing breath for a worldly man like him. Even though she was not the sort of woman that men generally flirted with given her diffident nature and altogether unfashionable complexion and red hair, she’d observed—albeit from afar—the antics of rakish gentlemen like Captain Townsend during her one and only London Season. And she was not impressed.
When she eventually looked up, Captain Townsend was conversing with Captain Pickering about the weather forecast and the logistics of organizing a salvage attempt tomorrow. A small sigh of relief escaped her at the realization she was no longer the object of the impudent man’s interest.
Mr. Lucas, who was taciturn at the best of times, was addressing Captain Townsend. “But what if the captain of the Orpheus returns to finish what he started?” he asked in a tone that clearly indicated he was skeptical of the whole enterprise.
“That’s a fair point, Mr. Lucas,” conceded Captain Townsend. “But what you don’t know is that I’ve asked the Intrepid, a British frigate, to patrol that particular area for the time being. The captain of the Orpheus would be foolhardy indeed if he decided to show up again.”
When Captain Townsend turned his attention back to Pickering, he missed the sour look Mr. Lucas sent his way. Calliope frowned, confused as to why her uncle’s assistant had a bugbear with the captain too. Had Townsend also slighted him in some way? Or was Mr. Lucas simply irritated by the captain’s cocksure manner just like she was? She really had no idea and considering she and Mr. Lucas never spoke about anything beyond the most mundane of matters, she was unlikely to find out.
By the end of Captain Townsend’s discussion with Pickering, it had been decided that the Andromeda would set sail again on the earliest high tide with the crew of the Vestal in attendance. After retrieving as much as they could from the stranded East Indiaman, the Andromeda would continue on to Port Louis. Fortunately for Captain Pickering, his ship had been
insured with The Society of Lloyd’s in London, so he wouldn’t lose his entire livelihood.
During the first course—a delightful cream of oyster soup—conversation turned to Uncle Theo’s reason for visiting Mauritius: to definitively prove that the dodo bird had once existed given there was a decided division amongst academic scholars. Some suspected the bird was extinct because it had been so long since anyone had reported seeing one—in fact, the last known account of one was from the late seventeenth century—whilst others believed the creature was nothing but a myth.
“I’m hoping that Governor Farquhar will be able to assist me with my inquiries,” explained Uncle Theo. “Dr. Boyer—he’s a botanist who worked on the gardens at the governor’s residence, Le Réduit—well, he informed me that a Mauritian Scientific Society has lately been established, and that Governor Farquhar would be most amenable to hearing about my proposed Oxford University study.”
Captain Townsend put down his glass of claret. “And how do you plan on getting to Port Louis, Dr. Bell?” he asked. “Le Réduit is very close to the town.”
“Well, I supposed I’d hire a few horses and a cart,” replied Uncle Theo. “And a local guide. I understand the roads are quite rough in places but the journey is only twenty-five miles, give or take a few.”
Captain Townsend quirked a brow. “Or you could dispense with all that fuss and bother and I could sail you, your lovely niece,” he flashed a smile at Calliope, “and your assistant, Mr. Lucas, there in a fraction of the time.”
“Oh, that would be most generous of you, Captain. I… I mean we would be much obliged to you.” A bright smile split Uncle Theo’s weathered cheeks. “Especially considering you’ve already rescued us once today. Or twice,” he winked at Calliope, “in some cases.”
Why on earth was Uncle Theo drawing attention to her mishap on the stairs again? Was he trying to matchmake in his own clumsy way by casting Captain Townsend in the role of ‘hero’? Calliope was suddenly tempted to upend the soup tureen on her uncle.
The captain might have rescued her, but he wasn’t a hero in her eyes. He was a too-handsome scoundrel. No doubt he had a woman in every port. Ha, a well-dressed woman in every port, she mentally amended. Why else would he have armfuls of fine gowns and flimsy unmentionables in his possession? She wanted nothing to do with a philanderer, no matter how heroic his endeavors.
Or how delicious he smelled.
“I am more than happy to do it,” replied Captain Townsend. “And if we’re able to recover some of your belongings from the Vestal, you shall have them restored to you straightaway.”
His gaze drifted over Calliope as he took another sip of his claret.
Was that deceptively casual look implying he wanted the turquoise gown back sooner rather than later? Calliope’s cheeks heated with indignation rather than mortification this time.
When conversation around them resumed, Calliope caught Captain Townsend’s eye. “I’ve been remiss in not thanking you for loaning me this,” she said in a low voice as she gestured at the bodice of the gown. “I’d assumed that you’d given your cabin boy permission to share it with me. In any case, I’ll have it back to you by tomorrow morning. The inn’s laundress should have returned my own garments to me by then.”
But Captain Townsend shook his head. “Keep it,” he murmured in a low, smooth voice. His eyes were dark with an emotion she couldn’t quite place. “The style and color suit you.”
“I…” Calliope frowned. “Thank you… But I…” Drat it. Another red-hot blush was blazing a path along her cheekbones. “Forgive me, but such a gift…” She swallowed and started again. “The gown is lovely, but I suspect it was intended as a gift for someone else. Under the circumstances—and at the risk of sounding ungracious and altogether indelicate—I’d rather not keep it.”
The captain shrugged a wide shoulder. “Your assumption is correct. The gown—and all the other garments Tom probably showed you—were originally intended for someone else. And at the risk of sounding ‘indelicate’ as well, that particular woman exited my sphere of existence some time ago. In actual fact, I never wish to see her again. So if you do not take the gown, it is highly likely that one of my crew will end up using it to swab the decks of my ship.”
“Oh… Goodness. I had no idea.” Calliope’s gaze dipped to the table. Captain Townsend hadn’t been able to disguise the bitter note in his voice or the hard light in his gaze.
“Forgive me, Lady Calliope. I should not have spoken so harshly or so frankly about such a sensitive subject,” he murmured, pulling her attention back to him. “I’ve made you feel uncomfortable and that was inconsiderate.”
Calliope blinked, confused by the man’s apparent change in demeanor. She’d expected another ungentlemanly comment, not an apology. “It’s all right. I… I was the one who brought up a personal topic which is undoubtedly a source of discomfort for you too. I should not have.”
He gave a tight smile. “I’ve been at sea for many years, my lady, and I would be a fool to believe that long periods of absence would heighten affection. Such is the life of a mariner.”
“I must confess, I have never considered what it would be like to be at sea for so long. Why, our particular voyage aboard the Vestal has only taken three months and I’ve been dying to set foot on dry land for weeks and weeks.” As Captain Townsend continued to regard her with interest, she ventured a smile and added, “If you don’t mind me asking, how long have you been roaming the high seas?”
The captain’s wide, full mouth twitched with a half-smile. “Since I was a lad of sixteen. So fifteen years altogether. Eleven years with the British navy before I resigned my commission after the War of 1812 with the United States of America. And over the last few years, I have worked for the Crown in a more—shall we say ?— ‘informal’ capacity.”
Calliope frowned. “Informal capacity?” She was starting to feel like a henwit again.
Captain Townsend flashed a wolfish grin as he leaned forward. Amusement flickered in his cobalt blue eyes. “I’m a privateer, my lady.”
Oh. Calliope blinked in astonishment. “You’re a pirate?” she whispered.
“No. A privateer.” He cocked a dark eyebrow. “There is a difference, you know. For the most part, I hunt pirates. Unscrupulous men like the captain of the Orpheus, Michael Flint. Indeed, he’s one of the worst offenders I’ve ever come across. Aside from regularly plundering British East Indiamen just like the Vestal, he also continues to illegally transport and sell slaves. Indeed, Lord Liverpool the Prime Minister, the Colonial Secretary, and Prinny himself have tasked me with the job of capturing him and other curs like him. Hence my ‘privateer’ status.”
“Why didn’t you go after him today then?” Calliope asked. “After you rescued us?”
Captain Townsend held her gaze. “Because that would have put you, your uncle, and the other paying passengers of the Vestal in harm’s way again. Believe me, there will be other opportunities to snare the blackguard.”
“So, how long have you been chasing this Michael Flint?”
The captain grimaced. “Too long,” he said with a sigh and sipped his claret. His gaze grew hard. “But in reality, it’s been two years.”
“Two years. Heavens. This Captain Flint certainly sounds like a wily fox if he’s been able to evade you for that long.”
Captain Townsend huffed out a mirthless laugh. “You don’t know the half of it, my lady.” He beckoned a servant over to refill his glass then said, “And while he was once an officer in the Royal navy, I don’t think he deserves the title of ‘captain’. Scurvy dog is a more apt description.” His mouth twisted. “Or turncoat and cur.”
“He’s a traitor then?” asked Calliope. A shiver raised the hairs at the back of her neck. To think the Orpheus and a ruthless man like Captain Flint had been so close. What would have become of her and Uncle Theo if Captain Townsend hadn’t arrived? “Goodness, I never thought an Englishman would stoop so low.” She reached for her o
wn glass of claret.
“Yes, he certainly is a traitor,” replied Captain Townsend in a voice as hard as steel. “And mark my words, one day, he shall pay for his crimes.”
Captain Pickering directed a question at Captain Townsend, claiming his attention and Calliope picked at her plate of food—her roast chicken and palmito dauphinoise had gone cold while she’d been conversing. Captain Townsend might be a privateer, but before that he’d been a naval officer. The fact that he’d put her safety and that of others including her uncle’s above his desire to apprehend Captain Flint, spoke volumes about his character. Perhaps her initial assessment of the man had been too harsh and too hasty.
Time would tell she supposed.
Uncle Theo gave her a little nudge with his elbow. “He’s a viscount, you know,” he whispered.
“Who? Captain Townsend?”
“Yes, indeed.” Excitement glimmered in her uncle’s light blue eyes. “Captain Pickering mentioned it just now while you and Captain Townsend—or should I say, Jonathon, Lord Sandford?—were talking. Although he’s a privateer—yes Captain Pickering disclosed that too—and his manners might be a bit rusty, I believe that we can trust him to take us safely to Port Louis, Peewee. Just in case you were concerned. I noticed you didn’t look overly pleased when I accepted Townsend’s offer of assistance earlier.”
Calliope pressed her lips together to suppress a smile. Yes, her uncle was definitely trying to matchmake. But a gentleman privateer would not be in the market for a wife, of that much she was certain. And besides, she wasn’t at all sure she wanted a man like Jonathon Townsend—viscount or not—for a husband. He’d always be at sea. And he’d always be in danger.
