“So…” She leaned into him again, sinking against him. “I agree we’ll need to spend some of our time working on our presentation of the facts.” She looked up at him through her lashes, the blue of her eyes aglow with the warmth of England’s summer skies. “Do you have any suggestions about how we might pass the rest of the next twelve days?”
The artful minx slid another of the buttons on his shirt free.
He licked his lips. “I believe I might have one or two…exercises you might like to try.”
“Indeed?” Her smile turned gloriously eager. “You’ll have to show me.”
He looked into her eyes, returned her smile, and happily resigned himself to untold hours being artfully managed by his wife.
CHAPTER 14
They sailed up the Solent and into Southampton harbor twelve mornings later. The sun was just rising, painting the scene in shades of pewter and rose. Against the dawn sky, the forest of masts stood like so many sleeping sentries, the first sunbeams glinting off countless brass fittings. It was early, the day as yet more anticipation than fact; the scene was drenched in silent splendor, with only the occasional caw of a swooping seabird and the soft lap of the waves against myriad hulls to say it was real.
Edwina stood at the starboard railing and drank in the sight. Nearer at hand, all was bustle and life—the now-familiar calls, the crack of flapping sails, the rattles and the clangs as the crew brought The Cormorant around and in—while beyond the wharf, neat ranks of slate roofs filled the still-sleeping town and straggled up the cliff, above which rolled the green fields of England.
She breathed in and felt her heart swell, buoyed by a sense of coming home to…not a new start but their next start, the beginning of the next phase of her and Declan’s shared life. She glanced back to where he stood on the bridge, legs braced, hands clasped behind his back as, with his gaze on his sails, he directed his men to furl this one, trim that one, and The Cormorant slid gracefully through the crowded lanes, making directly for the company’s wharf.
She studied her husband for several minutes more, seeing the concentration in his handsome face as he captained his ship. She also caught the swift glance he threw her; he knew she was there, just as he always seemed to know where she was at any given time.
That, she’d accepted, was important to him. It was something she was prepared to live with.
Looking back at the wharf, she leaned against the rail and watched as Southampton and the next stage of their lives drew nearer.
As they’d discussed, they’d spent the days of the voyage polishing their presentation to Wolverstone and Melville with an eye to ensuring that further immediate action was taken to locate and rescue the missing people. They’d also spent long, dreamy hours in the billows of the big bed in the stern cabin reassuring each other that they were hale and whole—and that on that level at least, nothing about their marriage had changed.
They’d also spent long hours talking. Walking the decks arm in arm, over the table while sharing their meals, and in the quiet of the evenings when Declan had taken the helm and she had stood, wrapped in her shawl, beside him.
In the instant in the Holbrooks’ drawing room when she’d realized she’d unwittingly played the fly to her ladyship’s spider, she’d understood—with a stunning clarity that had blazed across her mind—just how much, how very much, she’d risked.
But Declan had been there to save her.
She’d owned to her reaction, admitted it, spoken of her shock, of her leaping fear, and yet, against that, stood her resolution. As he termed it, her inherited noblesse oblige. Wherever it sprang from, she could no more turn aside from her need to right wrongs and act for those who could not protect themselves than she could turn back the sun. She wouldn’t be who she was without that deep-seated compulsion.
They’d spoken of it—considered that its intensity might in part stem from having had her brother act in the self-sacrificing way he had to save their family, leading to a consequent need in her to balance the universe’s scales.
Declan, in turn, had reached deep, searched, and found words to convey the hollow terror he’d felt when he hadn’t known what was happening—and the icy fear he’d experienced once he’d known she was in the hands of the enemy, the nearly paralyzing self-questioning as he’d plotted to seize her back.
They’d shared what they’d learned, not just about each other but also about themselves.
For hours, they’d walked, and talked, and shared all they were, down to their last, most closely guarded emotion.
They’d come to understand each other so much more deeply than they had before.
Looking out at the wharf as it neared, hearing her husband’s crisp orders and Grimsby’s yells as crewmen battled to furl the last sails while others leapt to the rails with ropes and still others manned the anchor, she remembered how she’d viewed their married life as she’d been carried aboard in her trunk—such a simple, naive view.
She thought of how she now saw that same thing—their shared life, their marriage, their future—and marveled at how dramatically her view had expanded, had taken on depth and detail.
She would never regret stowing away for her first voyage on her husband’s ship.
They had gained so much. Had learned so much. About each other, but even more about themselves.
About the reality of their weaknesses and how they could counteract or work around them, about leaning on each other, and having confidence in the other, of knowing how each other would react.
About their marriage—the reality of what that living entity was and how best to make it work.
Beneath all lay an acceptance, recognized and voiced by them both, that together they had achieved, could achieve, and likely always would achieve more than either might alone. Together, they were more—more powerful, more effective, stronger.
Better able to be the people each of them wanted to be.
Better able to create the life they wanted for them and their children.
They’d spoken of that, too, and decided on some of the details. Neither wished to raise their children in London; they’d settled on finding a small manor somewhere not far from Southampton, that being the principal port from which The Cormorant sailed. Perhaps on the outskirts of the New Forest. They’d also discussed his father’s hopes that Declan would be the one to take responsibility for the London office and oversee contact with the government. Out of that, they’d accepted the need for a London base and had elected to exercise the option to purchase the Stanhope Street house, which, all in all, had suited them.
Future voyages was one arena they’d agreed would need to be negotiated step by step—voyage by voyage. But Edwina had learned that Declan’s youngest brother, Caleb, had been born at sea, so she felt confident she would have Declan’s mother’s support should she need it. Regardless, Declan had agreed that, in the main, there was no good reason she couldn’t accompany him on his voyages—and, indeed, as they’d proved in Freetown, there were sound reasons why, if at all possible, she should.
Yet if that practical aspect of their marriage was still a work-in-progress, so much more had now locked into place. Their appreciation of each other’s strengths, their understanding of how best each could support the other, the comprehension of just how completely their paths—their desires, their hopes, their dreams—were aligned. All those aspects were now settled, recognized, and acknowledged between them.
Sensing Declan’s approach, she glanced to her right as he strolled up to stand alongside her.
He looked out at the town, then he raised his gaze and looked further. After a moment, he glanced down and met her eyes. The light in his—challenging, amused, understanding, and loving—made her heart leap. His lips gently curved. He arched a brow. “Ready?”
“Yes.” She knew he wasn’t referring to them leaving the ship.
His gaze locked with hers, he closed his hand about one of hers and raised it to his lips. Brushed a kiss across her kn
uckles. “Prior to this voyage, I would never have imagined I would ever say these words, but thank you for caring enough—about me, about us—to stow away.”
Her smile bloomed; she had to blink to clear her eyes, but she didn’t take her gaze from his face as they clung to the connection for a moment more.
Then, as one, they drew breath and looked across the wharf to the town.
“Where first?” she asked, as the ship bumped against the wharf.
“I have to call at the company’s office to register the ship’s return and arrange for the crew’s wages to be paid. Once I’ve done that”—he shifted his hold on her hand, lowering it and engulfing it in his—“we’ll take a fast carriage to London.”
He glanced at her. “Do you want to go to a hotel to wait?”
She looked up and smiled into his eyes. “No. I’ll go with you.”
He grinned, grasped her hand more firmly, and turned her to where the gangplank waited.
* * *
They reached Stanhope Street shortly after midday. A note sent to Wolverstone at his London residence, mentioning Edwina’s integral role, resulted in a summons to attend a meeting with Melville and the duke at Wolverstone House in Grosvenor Square later in the day.
Rather curious as to the chosen venue, Declan and Edwina duly presented themselves at Wolverstone House at four o’clock. The butler, as imperturbable as any of his kind, bowed them inside and escorted them into a well-appointed and distinctly sumptuous library.
The duke rose from one of the armchairs angled before the Adam fireplace. He came forward to greet them. “Frobisher. Lady Edwina.” Sharp dark brown eyes studied her, then as if content with what he saw, he bowed over her hand. “I am very glad to see you both. I had no idea you had planned to accompany Frobisher south.”
Edwina had met Wolverstone socially on several occasions; she was aware of his somewhat exalted position and had learned from Declan that during the wars, under another name, Wolverstone had commanded many men on dangerous missions, and so many still viewed him as having some undefined authority. But she knew nothing of that for fact, and as someone who knew a great deal about façades, she decided to ignore his. She smiled sunnily at him. “It was our honeymoon, after all, and I couldn’t see why Declan should have all the excitement of an adventure while I stayed at home.”
Wolverstone blinked.
A light laugh drew Edwina’s attention to the lady who had risen from the sofa; she recognized Wolverstone’s duchess, Minerva.
“I believe you’ve rendered my husband momentarily speechless, my dear.” Minerva’s eyes danced. “Quite a feat.” As they were already acquainted, she touched fingers and cheeks with Edwina, then, with a wave, invited her to join her on the sofa. “I confess I am dying to hear of your adventure, but we should wait on Melville—he shouldn’t be long. In the meantime, perhaps we can have tea.”
The duchess looked at Wolverstone, who obligingly crossed to the bellpull and tugged it. Then he glanced at Declan. “I believe Frobisher and I, and most likely Melville as well, will require something stronger.”
Minerva acquiesced with a regal nod. While she gave her orders to the butler, Wolverstone and Declan repaired to the sideboard and returned with cut-crystal glasses in their hands.
Wolverstone waved Declan to one of the pair of armchairs facing the sofa before resuming his seat in the armchair a little way from his wife.
Declan sipped the amber liquid in his glass, then asked, “Why here?”
Wolverstone calmly replied, “Given that we cannot, at this juncture, be certain of our trust in Governor Holbrook, Major Eldridge, or Vice-Admiral Decker, Melville agreed that all future meetings on this matter will be better conducted outside Admiralty House.”
Declan’s brows rose, but before he could comment, the door opened, and the butler announced Melville.
The First Lord joined them. He was plainly disconcerted by Edwina’s presence, and if he harbored any wariness toward Wolverstone, it was as nothing to what he felt over Wolverstone’s wife.
After Melville had bowed to the ladies and shaken hands with the men, and Wolverstone had supplied Melville with a much-appreciated glass of brandy, Minerva directed Melville to the second of the armchairs facing the sofa. As the others resumed their seats, she said, “Perhaps we might start at the beginning, Mr. Frobisher, when you and Lady Edwina arrived in Freetown.”
Declan was happy to oblige; together, he and Edwina delivered their carefully constructed report, detailing their findings day by day. They submitted the list Mrs. Hardwicke had compiled and otherwise restricted themselves to stating facts, and studiously avoided drawing any conclusions.
Melville grew increasingly agitated with every fact they advanced. The instant they fell silent, he exclaimed, “Holbrook’s wife? Great heavens!”
His dark gaze acute, Wolverstone asked, “What is your assessment of Holbrook himself?”
Declan shook his head. “Based on what we know, it’s impossible to say whether or not he’s involved.”
After a second, Wolverstone shifted his gaze to Edwina. “Lady Edwina?”
“I did not spend sufficient time with the governor to get any real feel for his character. However, although he is the one most people cite as being dismissive of all attempts to focus official scrutiny on the missing people, I do wonder if, in that, he might not have been greatly swayed by his wife.”
Melville frowned. “How so?”
“Well, I can readily imagine Lady Holbrook emphasizing the social and commercial ramifications of officially acknowledging an epidemic of missing people occurring in the settlement.” Edwina raised her hands, palms out. “Panic would ensue, and all those who could leave would flee, which would create a political furor. In addition, those missing came largely from the lower classes, and I understand the governor has a blindness in that regard.”
She paused, then added, “If, as my husband and I believe, Lady Holbrook was instrumental in selecting those who would subsequently vanish, then knowing of her husband’s prejudice, she would, of course, favor those whose disappearance was least likely to provoke him to action.”
“And given the tension between Holbrook and Eldridge,” Declan put in, “if Holbrook wishes to ignore the disappearances, then as the majority of those missing are civilians, there’s little Eldridge can do.” He paused, then added, “I can’t comment on Decker—he wasn’t there while we were.”
A short silence ensued, then Wolverstone steepled his fingers before his chin, his expression harsh and unyielding. “I believe you’ve brought us enough solid facts to reach several conclusions. First and foremost, there is, indeed, something very serious going on in Freetown. Some villainous scheme the authorities cannot ignore or, as happened with the Black Cobra cult, it will blow up into something much worse.” He slanted a sharp glance at Melville. “In other words, Melville, you have no choice but to act quickly and decisively.”
Melville grimaced; he shifted in his chair, but didn’t disagree.
Minerva humphed. “If this has reached the point where the governor’s wife has been suborned, then that is unarguable proof that whatever is going on, there’s a great deal of money, or power, or both involved.”
Wolverstone inclined his head in agreement. “Just so.”
Melville looked as if he was sucking a lemon, but he, too, nodded. “Indeed.”
“Secondly,” Wolverstone continued, “as to the details of the plot, such as we know them, an unknown number of men of working age, including Dixon, Hopkins, Fanshawe, and Hillsythe, plus at least four young women and seventeen children—all thus far identified being British—have vanished from the settlement over the last four months. These disappearances are not random, but rather as if those taken have, for some reason or reasons we haven’t yet determined, caught the eye of the villains—there is certainly a suggestion that those taken were selected rather than being arbitrarily or opportunistically captured.
“In that respect, Captain Dixo
n being one of those taken early, perhaps even being the first to vanish, might be pertinent. As an expert sapper, managing tunneling and explosives is his acknowledged strength. For someone starting a mine, his talents would be attractive. But why young women and children might be required for such an enterprise is more difficult to discern. Without further information, our villains’ purpose remains undefined.”
Wolverstone paused, then went on, “Given your questions to Lady Holbrook and her responses and actions, we can accept as fact that she is involved in some capacity, possibly through selecting the victims, and is in contact with those orchestrating the disappearances. And, further, that attendance at Obo Undoto’s services is in some way necessary. How, exactly, we do not know. However, the vodun priestess Lashoria—whose evidence has proved accurate in at least one respect, namely that all the missing adults had attended Undoto’s services—has specifically implicated Undoto himself. At this point, we should regard Undoto as one of our villains, possibly the one with whom Lady Holbrook interacted. He is also thought to be working with slave traders, although whether slave traders are directly involved with the disappearance of our missing people remains to be established.”
Lowering his hands, Wolverstone looked around at them all, but while they’d followed his careful summation, no one had anything to add. “Very well. In light of the foregoing, let’s turn to our next step.” He looked at Declan. “In your opinion, who in the settlement can we trust?” Wolverstone’s lips twisted wryly. “Alternatively, who might we consider allies?”
Declan acknowledged the qualification with a tip of his head. “Lashoria, for a start. Captain Richards at the fort, and possibly others there, too, might be willing to help.”
“Mrs. Hardwicke,” Edwina put in. “And also most likely her husband—at least in terms of information. There’s also Mrs. Sherbrook, although I doubt she knows more than she’s already told me.”
Declan nodded his agreement, then looked at Wolverstone. “There’s one other I wish I’d had time to question more closely. Charles Babington. He’s concerned about one of the missing young women—I don’t know which one. Charles would know a great deal about what goes on in the settlement, and he has the ability to find out more if he so chooses. He might well be willing to help.”