A Matter of Duty (15 page)

S
outhampton quay was extremely busy as Kit’s traveling carriage drove smartly over the cobbles. The ancient city’s medieval walls rose almost out of the water, the towers and gateways little changed since the day Henry the Fifth’s army departed for Agincourt. At the head of its seven-mile-long tidal inlet, where the rivers Test and Itchen flowed together, the port enjoyed an unrivaled situation that protected it from invasion and made it a perfect haven for shipping. Until the rise of Brighton, it had also been a fashionable spa, both for sea bathing and the mineral springs, but now it contented itself with being what it had always been, one of England’s most important ports.

The carriage drew up at the
Spindrift
’s mooring, and Kit alighted, turning to hand Louisa down, and then Pattie, who’d traveled with them. He avoided Louisa’s eyes and released her hand almost immediately. She hid her unhappiness by shaking out her cream muslin skirt and retying the ribbons of the wine velvet traveling cloak that had originally been intended for Mrs Siddons. The brisk sea breeze tugged at the wide brim of her straw bonnet and ruffled the long dark-red curl tumbling down her back from the knot Pattie had pinned up at their inn in Winchester earlier that morning.

She glanced around the quay, where the cobbles were littered with sacks, wooden boxes, upturned boats, fishing nets, lobster pots, and every other article always associated with such places. The ring of sea boots was everywhere, and the rattle of hooves and wheels. Men talked in many languages, and there was a rather rowdy meeting in progress before an ancient warehouse that was evidently now used to keep French prisoners-of-war. Ships of all kinds were moored alongside the wharf, and the Isle of Wight packet was just coming in.

Kit was supervising the unloading of their luggage from the carriage and seeing that it was carried carefully aboard the
Spindrift
. She watched him. He hadn’t mentioned Geoffrey or the locket again, but both were ever present. Things hadn’t improved at all; in fact, if anything, they were worse, for now he’d heard from his mistress and she sensed that something had changed.

The letter had been delivered the night of the opera-house visit. She’d been lying in her bed trying to sleep when she’d heard someone ride up outside and knock at the front door. After a while a grumbling Miller had answered, and as the caller rode quickly out of the square again, the butler had come up to Kit’s room, passing her door on the way. She’d been curious about it all and had peeped discreetly out as he went by. She’d seen a sealed letter lying on the silver tray he carried. She’d listened as he knocked at Kit’s door. The brief exchange of words were as clear to her now as if she’d heard them but a moment before.

‘My lord?’

‘What is it?’

‘There’s a letter for you, from the Isle of Wight. You told me to be sure to disturb you at any time if …’

‘Yes. Bring it in.’

She’d closed the door then.

The following day she’d felt that his manner toward her had been subtly different, as if she’d assumed a lesser place; but perhaps she’d imagined it, because she knew instinctively from whom the letter had come. What had T written? What had she said to the man she loved and who loved her?

She looked away from him. What point was there in torturing herself like this? He’d never promised her anything more than his name, and she was a fool to want more.

Their journey from London had been taken at a leisurely pace, with an overnight halt in Winchester, where they’d slept in separate rooms. That side of their marriage hadn’t changed; there was still no intimacy, and no sign of its approach. In public he was attentive enough, but in private …

The thirteen-mile journey to Southampton from Winchester had been accomplished in virtual silence, and now, as they’d alighted, he’d been so quick to release her hand that she’d felt even more strongly that she was of no importance whatsoever when placed beside his beloved T.

Her glance was drawn farther along the quay, where the Isle of Wight packet had now come alongside and was preparing for its passengers to disembark. A stout, gray-haired gentleman on the deck had noticed Kit and was trying to attract his attention.

‘Highclare! I say, Highclare!’

Kit turned. ‘Damn,’ he muttered under his breath, ‘it’s Glenfarrick.’ But he smiled and returned the man’s salute. ‘Good morning, Glenfarrick.’

The gangplank in place, the man was one of the first to come ashore. He was dressed fashionably, but was a little too rotund to look elegant. His tall beaver hat sported a fine silver buckle, and his silver-handled cane looked very expensive as he strode toward them, using it to flick aside some straw strewn on the cobbles. He was about fifty years old, and rather soft and pink. Louisa immediately disliked him.

His smile was too ready as he doffed his hat. ‘You sly dog, Highclare! Fancy springing this on us all!’

‘Springing what?’ inquired Kit with a polite coolness that would have deterred someone less thick-skinned, but not Glenfarrick, whose soft exterior concealed a malicious, scandalmongering nature second to none.

‘Why, your match, of course.’ The man’s watery blue eyes slid toward Louisa, rightly placing her as the astonishing new Lady Highclare. ‘Word reached the island yesterday, and to say we were all thunderstruck would be putting it mildly. First you dash off into the thundery night without so much as a word about returning in time to take Grantham on tomorrow, then we all learn that you’ve gone and got yourself tangled up in the bonds of matrimony. What on earth will you think of next?’

‘Tell me, Glenfarrick,’ said Kit dryly, ‘are you always thunderstruck when you hear of something as commonplace as a wedding?’

‘Commonplace? Dear me, Highclare, your match can hardly be termed commonplace! What can you expect when a fellow of your standing takes such an unexpected wife?’ asked the man, giving another sly grin. ‘Er, unexpected, but very lovely, of course,’ he added quickly, glancing toward Louisa. ‘Ain’t you going to introduce me, dear boy?’

‘Certainly. Louisa, allow me to present the Honorable Alistair Glenfarrick. Glenfarrick, my wife.’

She suppressed a slight shudder as with a plump, gloved hand he drew her fingers to his full lips. ‘Sir.’

‘Enchanted, m’dear. Enchanted. I confess, you’re a vision, and you’ll set Cowes by the ears.’

She smiled, slowly extricating her hand. ‘You’re too kind, sir.’

He studied her for a moment and then returned his attention to Kit. ‘You’ll find the island
en emoi
about you both, Highclare. There hasn’t been another topic of conversation since the story arrived. I don’t know if you’ve sent word to your grandfather, but—’

‘That’s my business, surely?’ Kit’s blue eyes were veiled.

Glenfarrick cleared his throat uncomfortably. ‘To be sure, to be sure,’ he muttered. ‘Well, one thing’s certain: you’ve even got royalty chitter-chattering on the matter. Last night the Duke of Gloucester and Princess Sophia were heard discussing you, and the princess expressed a fervent hope that you’d both be attending the forthcoming ball.’

‘Ball?’

‘In three days’ time, to belatedly honor Prinny’s birthday. It seems HRH was displeased with his cousins for not showing suitable respect on the appropriate date, and rather than risk incurring his continuing displeasure, they’ve hastened to arrange a grand ball. Anyone not attending runs the undoubted risk of being dispatched to the Tower, never to be seen again!’ He gave a slight chuckle. ‘I fear Lady Rowe will be among those, for she told me that if she heard one more mention of the Highclare match, she’d exterminate whoever uttered the words! I must say, she was in a decidedly poor humor yesterday; one couldn’t glance at her without she snapped one’s head off. The sooner Rowe gets here and takes her in hand, the better.’ His eyes slid quickly toward Louisa, for word of the duel had also reached the island. ‘Me condolences, Lady Highclare. I didn’t mean …’ His voice trailed away.

She didn’t respond, knowing full well that he
had
meant. He didn’t say anything by accident; he chose his words very carefully, seeking maximum effect. Kit’s gaze hadn’t wavered, not even when Thea was mentioned.

Glenfarrick cleared his throat uncomfortably, turning with some relief as a post chaise approached swiftly along the quay. ‘Ah, there’s my rattle wagon. I’m afraid I’ll have to tear myself away, my children.’ He made them both a rather extravagant bow and then climbed into the carriage, which immediately set off at a pace.

Kit exhaled slowly as the vehicle drew out of sight. ‘Damned gadfly,’ he breathed. ‘No doubt the air’s fresher at Cowes for his departure.’

‘I didn’t like him at all,’ said Louisa.

‘So I noticed,’ he replied dryly. ‘You have quite a way with you when faced with those you find repellent.’ He glanced along the quay to where a man was selling pepperment cordial. ‘Have you ever sailed before?’ he asked.

‘No. Why?’

‘The crossing to the island may not be all that long, but it can be quite choppy, even on a good day. I take it that Pattie hasn’t sailed either?’

The maid heard him and shook her head. ‘No, my lord.’ She’d been looking at the
Spindrift
with some trepidation, for she was terrified at the thought of going out on the sea in such a delicate craft.

‘I strongly suggest that you both take some peppermint before we set sail,’ said Kit, beckoning to the man, ‘for it’s a sovereign remedy for seasickness.’ He gave the man some coins and took two of the little glasses, giving one to each woman.

When they’d drunk it, he escorted them on board the cutter, ushering them to the hatch at the stern and down into the tiny cabin. The window allowed the sunlight to pour in, and water reflections dappled the walls and ceiling. Outside, Louisa could see the Isle of Wight packet and a small fishing boat slipping in to a narrow berth, accompanied by a flock of excited sea gulls.

Kit left them immediately to go and assist on deck, and Pattie sat down nervously on the bunk, evidently quite convinced that the peppermint cordial wouldn’t do her any good at all.

‘You’ll be quite all right, you know,’ said Louisa soothingly.

‘I prefer my feet to be well and truly on solid ground,’ replied the maid, staring uneasily out of the stern window at the swaying prow of the packet.

On the deck Louisa heard Kit calling out commands. The
Spindrift
trembled a little as the ropes were loosed. She began to move. Her prow swung away from the quay and her limp sails began to fill. Pattie closed her eyes, still gripping the side of the bunk. It was obvious that she intended to sit there like that until they reached Cowes, and as Louisa didn’t want to be cooped up in the bright but stuffy cabin when she could be in the fresh air on deck, she left the maid and went back up the steps.

The quayside was slipping away behind and the vessel was moving smoothly past the fishing boat. Louisa went to stand by the rails, looking back toward the city’s medieval walls. The Pilgrim Fathers had looked back like this, and seen those same walls.

There was clear water ahead now, and Louisa turned as she heard one of the crew calling out to Kit. ‘The wind’s ten degrees on the weather quarter, sir.’

‘Keep her steady,’ Kit replied. ‘With luck we’ll run before it all the way.’

‘Aye, aye, sir.’

The sails were filling all the time and suddenly seemed to catch the breeze properly. The yacht sprang forward, the water rushing and hissing along her flanks. Southampton began to slip away astern. Sea gulls wheeled excitedly against the blue sky, sometimes swooping low over the water, and their cries echoed all around as the
Spindrift
sped south along the inlet of Southampton Water toward the Solent, some seven miles ahead.

The land rose gently on either side, clad in the soft green of oak woods. To port Louisa glimpsed the ruins of Netley Abbey rising among the trees, while to starboard there was the unbroken splendor of the New Forest. Glancing back, she saw the spires of Southampton standing against the sky, and clustered below them the tangle of masts from the many ships using the port.

Merchantmen plied their way toward the city, moving slowly against the wind, and a swift revenue sloop was coming about a little way to port ahead, close to the mouth of the beautiful Hamble River. The
Spindrift
skimmed toward her, barely altering course as she passed, her wash creaming against the sloop’s stern.

Louisa remained at the rail, her bonnet ribbons flapping wildly in the breeze. Her traveling cloak billowed, and she could taste salt in the air and on her lips. It was an exciting taste, filling her with anticipation for the moment when they emerged into the Solent and more open water.

The land continued to slide past, and her attention was drawn to the starboard horizon, where a castle jutted out into the water on a narrow spit of land. It was Calshot Castle, one of the many defensive forts built in the reign of Henry the Eighth. Beyond that spit of land lay the Solent.

Above her head, the sails cracked and strained as the
Spindrift
altered course a little, to take in the gentle eastward curve of the inlet. A flock of wading birds rose as one from the shore, their cries vying with those of the sea gulls that had followed the yacht from the moment she’d set sail.

It seemed that they were quite suddenly in the Solent; one moment the inlet had them in its clasp, the next the shores had splayed away and the
Spindrift
was on wide water, with the Isle of Wight directly ahead. The island stretched magnificently across the horizon, a patchwork of summer color, of fields and woods, hills and bays, with Cowes itself clearly visible at the mouth of the Medina estuary.

There were many ships, some making for Southampton, but others set for Portsmouth or London. A Royal Navy frigate was beating east toward Spithead, where a small flotilla lay at anchor, waiting for her to join them. Tan-sailed ketches plied between the island and the mainland, outpaced by the swifter, more graceful wherries; and a small fleet of fishing boats was moving westward.