The Lady's Command (Adventurers Quartet #1)

  “Indeed.” Mrs. Sherbrook’s face lit, and she nodded encouragingly. “Obo Undoto’s services are all the rage. You must attend at least one—they’re so very entertaining.”

  Mrs. Hardwicke sniffed. “I fear I cannot summon quite the same enthusiasm for Undoto’s ravings. He might claim to have been ordained by some passing bishop and cloak his rhetoric in a veil of Christianity, but his sermons hold more theatrical bluster than piety.”

  “Now, Mona,” Mrs. Quinn interjected, “you know we all attend your husband’s sermons every Sunday, but there’s no denying Obo Undoto’s services fill a gap.” Looking at Edwina, Mrs. Quinn explained, “In lieu of any other form of theater, it’s no surprise that we make do with Undoto.”

  “Many of the Europeans in town—certainly the ladies—flock to his events.” Mrs. Robey, a pretty younger matron, smiled at Edwina. “If nothing else, they always leave us with something to talk about.”

  “Indeed.” Lady Holbrook set down her teacup and saucer. “If you have time while you’re here, Lady Edwina, you really should catch at least one of Undoto’s services. He’s a very…charismatic man.”

  “He’s quite handsome for an African,” Mrs. Hitchcock allowed.

  “And his voice!” Mrs. Quinn slapped a hand to her rather flat bosom. “Why, it quite gives one shivers.”

  Edwina wasn’t surprised to hear Mona Hardwicke softly snort. Edwina smiled easily. “I’m unsure at present how long we’ll be in town, but if time permits, perhaps I will attend.”

  “Undoto’s services are irregular.” Mrs. Robey exchanged a glance with Mrs. Quinn, then volunteered, “If you like, we could call and let you know when the next is scheduled, and perhaps you might like to accompany us.”

  Edwina let her smile brighten. “Thank you. That would be very kind.”

  While the priest’s services were unlikely to have any connection with Declan’s mission, the concept of church service as spectacle was curious enough to pique her interest.

  Footsteps sounded on the tiles of the front hall, then Declan and the governor walked in. Introductions followed; Edwina couldn’t help but notice that both Mrs. Robey and Mrs. Quinn preened rather girlishly under her husband’s gaze.

  When Declan suggested that they needed to leave, Edwina was content to fall in with his direction; she’d learned enough to be going on with, and caution urged her to think through what she’d learned before she pressed further. After exchanging farewells all around, they departed.

  As he handed her into the carriage, Declan murmured, “Did you learn anything?”

  She sat and settled her skirts. While Declan told Dench to take them home, then joined her in the carriage and shut the door, she allowed her mind to skate back over all she’d heard and, even more importantly, all the nuances she’d detected beneath the ladies’ words.

  When the carriage rocked into motion and she sensed Declan’s questioning gaze on her face, she nodded. “I learned several things, but exactly what they mean—how to interpret them—I’m not yet sure. We’ll be home soon—let me use the minutes to get my thoughts in order.”

  Facing forward, Declan was happy enough to give her the time; he had something he needed to ponder himself. From the moment back in London when he and she had argued over her accompanying him on this voyage, he’d realized that, where she was concerned, possessive protectiveness of a type he’d never harbored before—for anyone or anything else—would dog his every step were she with him.

  Now she sat beside him, and those compulsive feelings simmered just beneath his surface, appeased for the moment given she was within arm’s reach, unthreatened and patently unharmed. After an initial spike when he’d learned how she’d managed to stow away on The Cormorant, those unnervingly powerful instincts had settled; while she was on his ship, with him only yards away and surrounded by his loyal crew, she was safe, and both his conscious and unconscious mind accepted that.

  Since their arrival in Freetown, he’d been diligent in keeping her with him; even inside their bungalow, whenever she was out of his immediate sight, he still knew where she was. He still monitored her safety.

  The separation in the governor’s house had been the first his possessive protectiveness had had to endure. He’d told himself that nothing could possibly threaten her while she was sitting with the governor’s wife amid a bevy of local ladies. Regardless, as the minutes in Holbrook’s office had ticked past, he’d grown itchy, instinct prodding him with a need to check on Edwina, to reassure those irrational yet overpowering instincts that she was safe and well.

  The relief he’d felt when he and Holbrook had joined the ladies and his gaze had found Edwina transparently unharmed, focused and engaged, had been acute; given the circumstances—of course, she’d been safe—the feeling’s intensity had left him wary.

  He was accustomed to command; the role of captain fitted him like a glove, a natural consequence of his character. He expected to be in charge, not just of his men but of himself.

  First and foremost of himself.

  He didn’t like, much less approve of, being subject to a compulsive, well-nigh overpowering need.

  Especially one evoked by someone else.

  To a man like him, that loomed as the ultimate weakness.

  One he’d apparently invited when he’d married Lady Edwina Delbraith.

  After a moment, he glanced at her.

  She felt his gaze and turned her head to meet it. She searched his eyes, then she smiled and bracingly patted his hand. “Here we are.”

  The carriage halted; he looked out to see the gate of their bungalow.

  He assisted her from the carriage, then he trailed behind her up the path and into the house. Henry met them in the front hall with the news that he had a cold collation ready for their luncheon.

  Edwina cast Declan a questioning glance.

  He waved her to the dining room. “We can share what we learned while we eat.”

  Once they’d settled at the table and helped themselves from the platters Henry arrayed before them, Declan stated, “I may as well go first, as I didn’t get far. Holbrook is aware that several men have gone missing, but he clearly believes that they’ve gone venturing into the jungle in search of riches. I couldn’t question him more closely without alerting him to our specific and particular interest.”

  “Hmm.” Edwina had popped a section of fresh fig into her mouth. She chewed, swallowed, then said, “Lady Holbrook’s reaction with regard to the missing men mirrored her husband’s. Mrs. Quinn and Mrs. Robey echoed her stance, and given what I sensed of those two ladies, I suspect that means that view is the one to which most in local society subscribe. However, Mrs. Hardwicke—she’s the minister’s wife—was rather more forthcoming. I got the distinct impression that she, for one, doesn’t agree with the generally held view—and not just with respect to the men’s disappearances.”

  She caught Declan’s eye and arched her brows. “Did you know that young women, and some children, too, have also gone missing? From what I gathered, missing in the same way as the men, without word, much less explanation.”

  He frowned. After swallowing a mouthful of roast kid, he asked, “Did you get any idea of how many women and children have vanished?”

  “No.” For emphasis, she prodded the air with the leg bone of a guinea fowl. “But I did get the impression that two of the other ladies—Mrs. Hitchcock and Mrs. Sherbrook—know more on that subject than they felt comfortable sharing in the face of Lady Holbrook’s and the others’ dismissiveness. I believe it would be helpful to speak with Mrs. Hitchcock and Mrs. Sherbrook in private, as well as with Mrs. Hardwicke. Being the minister’s wife, she might well be my best source of information, and she was certainly less inhibited over speaking her mind.”

  He pushed away his plate and folded his arms on the table. “I have to admit to being rather surprised at the somewhat cavalier attitude toward the missing men. Then again, perhaps men do go prospecting in the jungle all too readily, and t
he local authorities have grown weary of reacting, much less sending out search parties.” He paused, then added, “From Holbrook’s attitude, I believe we can conclude that no attempt of any sort to locate the missing men has been made. Or, indeed, is likely to be made.”

  “So what’s next?” Wiping her fingers on her napkin, she looked at him questioningly.

  “At this point,” he replied, “I suspect I should avoid asking questions of any of those on the governor’s staff. Questions in that quarter are clearly going to lead to some level of consternation and possibly ruffled feathers. I rather think I’ll get further faster by focusing on the first three men who disappeared—Dixon, Hopkins, and Fanshawe. Knowing the caliber of Wolverstone’s agents, I doubt anyone here knew much of Hillsythe—certainly no facts on which I can safely rely. The other three, however, will have had friends and close acquaintances among their peers here. Someone must know something—Dixon might have mentioned what he was about, or Hopkins or Fanshawe might have mentioned where they intended to search for him.” He frowned. “It would be truly bizarre if three men had vanished and none of them had left any trail.”

  Edwina tapped a fingertip on the polished surface of the mahogany table. “That young women and children have also gone missing, and that that, too, is being dismissed—just shrugged aside…” She met his eyes. “Lady Holbrook suggested that the young women had followed the missing men, presumably like camp followers. As for the children, it seems they hail from the lowest classes, and the consensus is that they’re not really missing but have just run away and are somewhere in the settlement.”

  Lips firming, she held his gaze. “There seems to be something going on here that’s rather more widespread than just four missing men. While you look for clues as to what’s happened to them, I believe I should see what more I can learn about the women and children who’ve gone missing, too.”

  He—certainly his instincts—would be happier if she remained safely in the bungalow. Studying her face, seeing the determination in her expression, he asked, “How do you propose to go about that?”

  “Mrs. Hardwicke, Mrs. Hitchcock, and Mrs. Sherbrook. They all know more about this situation, and I’m sure I can persuade them to confide in me.”

  “Perhaps you could invite them to tea.” Here, where his men could keep a protective eye on her.

  She tipped her head, considering it. “Perhaps. Or—”

  A bell jangled loudly outside and was echoed from somewhere deeper in the house.

  Startled, Edwina looked back and forth. “What’s that?”

  “I think it’s the bell at the front gate.” He pushed back his chair and caught a glimpse of Henry hurrying toward the front door. Declan rose and drew out Edwina’s chair. “It seems we have visitors.”

  That proved to be an understatement. Arriving in twos and threes, sending Henry constantly scurrying for the gate, a small horde of ladies and gentlemen streamed into the drawing room. Together with Edwina, Declan found himself standing before the long windows leading to the terrace and effectively holding court.

  Within ten minutes, they were besieged.

  Edwina hadn’t erred in thinking that her title would attract attention, but from the brief private glances she exchanged with him, it seemed that she no more than he had fully comprehended its impact. Ladies gushed and gentlemen jostled to be introduced, to bow over her hand. The noise in the drawing room escalated as those who had succeeded in gaining their objective gave way to those who followed and drew back to congregate in small groups to exchange speculation and comments.

  Declan saw more than one assessing female glance travel down his wife’s svelte figure, followed by eager exchanges behind raised hands. Luckily, Edwina seemed unperturbed by the attention; on looking more closely, he realized her social screen was back in place.

  Initially, all he was called on to do was to stand by her side, smile charmingly, and return the customary polite greetings. However, once the first wave of ladies with their husbands in tow had flooded into the room, more gentlemen arrived. Associates from the past along with men whose interests competed with those of the Frobishers rolled up, and it was he they had in their sights.

  “So what brings you back to this godforsaken place, heh?” Charles Babington eyed Declan shrewdly; his gaze shifted to Edwina, then returned to Declan’s face. “Whatever rumor you’re pursuing, it must be significant to divert you from what I understand is your honeymoon with the lovely Lady Edwina.”

  Others employed different words, but the crux of their inquiries was much the same. While Declan deflected their questions with noncommittal nonchalance, he inwardly cursed. He hadn’t foreseen the implications of the juxtaposition of the two independent halves of their cover story; he hadn’t realized what taking time out of his honeymoon with a beauty like Edwina would imply in terms of the spurious rumor he was supposedly pursuing. Now all those who knew him, even if only by reputation, had concluded that not only was his fictitious rumor true but also that it concerned some major find.

  The last thing he needed was for his peers to start to trail him or, more likely, to send men to track his every step in the hope of learning what find he’d heard of and, if possible, beating him to it. But there was nothing he could do about that now. All he could do was grin and do his best to ameliorate the outcome.

  Edwina hadn’t expected anyone, much less such a crowd. While their number and the obsequious interest they displayed were no doubt flattering, she could have done without the interruption. As an hour ticked past, then another, she grew increasingly impatient.

  Both Mrs. Sherbrook and Mrs. Hitchcock were present, having accompanied their husbands, who’d been eager to meet Declan as well as herself, yet courtesy of the crowd, she’d no opportunity to pursue her questions. Mrs. Hardwicke and Reverend Hardwicke had more recently arrived, but again, the setting wasn’t conducive to private conversation.

  Keeping her most gracious smile to the fore and deploying the polished manners she’d learned at her mother’s knee, she drifted through the crowd, playing hostess. Henry had risen to the challenge, and he and the cabin boys, freshly scrubbed and in livery, moved through the gathering, offering beverages of various sorts.

  At the end of the second hour of what had transformed into an impromptu afternoon-at-home-cum-soirée, she found herself back by Declan’s side—just in time to face a fresh wave of callers.

  As if sensing the question in her mind, he murmured, “The offices in town close at four o’clock—the newcomers will be either from some area in the administration or from one of the trading or shipping firms.”

  “So possibly more useful?” she murmured back. Letting her smile brighten, she directed her gaze to the couple approaching.

  The man was in a red army uniform with epaulettes on his shoulders. He bowed low. “Major Winton, Lady Edwina. I’m in charge of the commissariat at the fort and also keep an eye on general supplies for the settlement. Permit me to introduce my wife.”

  Edwina drew in a fortifying breath, beamed, and concentrated on projecting the necessary image of a noble young matron with not a true care in the world.

  She was grateful when, as the latest callers mingled, the earlier arrivals started to take their leave. Gradually, the outgoing stream grew larger than the incoming, and the crowd in the house started to thin. People had spread throughout the reception rooms, but as the numbers dwindled, they recongregated in the drawing room.

  As she smiled and chatted, she increasingly appreciated the import of Declan’s earlier comment; the later callers were those who made decisions, who could make things happen. They were the wielders of power in the settlement.

  While the men presided over the settlement’s management, their wives ruled local society. Yet even there, Edwina’s nobility gave her an unassailable advantage, and in marrying her, Declan had, to some extent, donned a similar mantle. Certainly, in all the conversations to which Edwina was privy, Declan was accorded a degree of respect over and abov
e what she sensed had already been his due.

  Indeed, from all she saw, the older and wiser gentlemen had called precisely in order to reassess Declan and adjust their view of him in light of his marriage to her.

  Navigating social shoals was a skill she’d been taught from the cradle; noting people’s attitudes was second nature—as was knowing how best to manipulate the same to hers and now Declan’s advantage. Consequently, she found herself engaging more actively with the later callers.

  Finally, when the gathering had reduced to a mere handful of couples, all of whom seemed to know each other well, the oldest gentleman present—a Mr. Macauley, a large, heavily built, stoop-shouldered gentleman with sharp hazel eyes who was the local head of the trading firm of Macauley and Babington—imperiously rapped his walking stick on the stone floor.

  When everyone, including Edwina and Declan, looked his way, Macauley focused on them and smiled a shark’s smile. “My wife”—a handsome woman, she was standing alongside him—“and I would like to invite you all to dine at our house this evening.” With both hands clasped on the head of his walking stick, Macauley inclined his head to Edwina. “We wish to honor Lady Edwina and to welcome her to our small town.” Macauley’s gaze switched to Declan, and his smile deepened. “And I’d be greatly remiss not to congratulate one of old Fergus’s sons on his marriage.” Macauley looked back at Edwina. “I understand your stay here is likely to be short, hence I pray you’ll excuse the precipitousness of our invitation.” He arched one of his shaggy white eyebrows. “So what do you say, my lady? Dinner at eight?”

  As Declan had seized a moment earlier to whisper in her ear that Macauley and Babington held the monopoly on trade between England and Freetown, and that there was a long history, there and elsewhere, between Macauley and Babington and the Frobishers, and that Macauley was something of an unpredictable terror, Edwina was in no way caught off guard. A serenely happy smile on her face, she exchanged a look with Declan—read the resigned message in his eyes—then turned back and beamed at Macauley and his wife. “What a lovely idea! We would be delighted to accept your invitation.”