The Duchess (40 page)

“Is he familiar with the territory into which we are venturing?” Quinton Hunter asked his friend.

Marcus Bainbridge smiled. “He knows a hidden cove right near the town of Harfleur. We will anchor there.”

“And just how is he aware of such an ideal anchorage?” Lord Walworth wondered aloud.

“Damn me, Adrian, where do you think that fine French wine you like so much comes from?” the earl chuckled. “You surely don't think the damned French can cut off an Englishman's supply of good wine? When I don't need the yacht, and frankly nowadays, I don't use it a lot, I allow Grant to make little trips for his own amusement. If he brings me back some wine, so much the better.”

“In other words, Marcus, your captain is smuggling,” Lord Walworth said. “This situation becomes more dangerous by the moment. If your yacht is recognized by the authorities, could we not all be in terrible peril? I do not like it at all.”

“Grant has only done a wee bit of smuggling, Dree, and he has never been caught. Not even pursued. The Froggies are too busy killing each other and destroying their society to worry about an English captain out for a bit of wine. It is perfectly safe.”

“If this were not Caroline's relation,” Lord Walworth said, “I should not allow it.”

“You are free to remain here,” the duke told his friend.

“No. I value my marriage too much, Quint. Caroline would never forgive me, I fear,” Lord Walworth said, resigned.

“You'll feel better after a good supper,” the earl told his friend. “I always feel better after a good supper.”

“You'll become as stout as Prinny one day,” the duke teased his friend.

“I need my food, Quint. Eunice may look like a cool and elegant little countess, but she's a wildcat in our marriage bed. I need my strength to keep up with her.”

“What we need is heirs,” Lord Walworth said. “After this little adventure, if the almighty God allows us to return to England unscathed, we had best settle down to getting 'em. I want a son I can take up on my horse with me. I want several for that matter. One for the title, one for the church, one for the army, and one for the navy.”

“What does Caroline say?” the duke asked dryly.

“Why, she agrees with me, of course,” Lord Walworth said. “Why wouldn't she? Damn me, Quint, only a year ago we were discussing finding ourselves wives, and look at us now. Old married men, by God!”

His friends chuckled, and then the duke said seriously, “I hope we live to be old married men, lads. If it were not for the Bellinghams I should not be here in Brighton today, but rather on our way home to Hunter's Lair. I'm sorry Ocky can't be with us, but Sirena will whelp her young 'un any day now.”

“He's going to be mighty jealous when we tell him what we did,” chortled the earl. “Ocky has always liked a good adventure, and this one, gentlemen, is likely to be our last.”

“I think,” Lord Walworth replied, “that from now on I can do without adventure. I'll be happy to settle down to a comfortable and dull existence at the hall with Caroline and our children.”

“Agreed,” the earl and the duke said in unison.

The sea breezes of Sussex's coast had drawn the fashionable crowds to Brighton since the mid-1780s when Prinny arrived to spend a summer. Three years later he
had purchased a simple farmhouse on the west side of the Steyne. Of course, unable to restrain himself, he had hired an architect and remodeled his dwelling into what became known as The Royal Pavilion. For the next thirty years Prinny continued to remodel, expand, and renovate his Pavilion. Fashionable London followed him to the seaside each year. The height of the season was always on August twelfth, the prince's birthday.

Early March was not a time when fashionable people visited Brighton. Most of the houses on the Steyne were shut up tight. The two chief hotels, Old Ship and Castle Inn, were open, but barely. The theatre on the New Road with its large gallery and two tiers of boxes was closed for the season. The race track was deserted. Very few fashionables were in residence except those too poor to keep a London house, or those who claimed they preferred living at the seaside for their health. The King's Arms was not a watering place for the ton, but their brief stay there would not attract the attention of any who by chance might know or recognize the three couples, and wonder why on earth they were here in Brighton at this gloomy time of year.

Hawkins pulled Honor aside just before they left. “Now, listen, old girl,” he said to her, “don't go taking any chances for some foreign lady you don't even know. I want you coming back safe and sound.”

“And just why is that, Peter Hawkins?” Honor demanded of him.

“You know why,” he muttered, shuffling his feet.

“No, I don't,” she replied.

“Don't we have an understanding, Honor Cooper?” he asked her.

“If we do, you didn't tell me,” she shot back.

“Well, we do, damnit, and I don't want you getting
yourself killed by those Froggies,” Hawkins said fiercely, and then he kissed her hard upon her lips.

Honor grew pink with pleasure, but then she said, “Now, don't you go confusing me, Hawkins. I haven't said we have an arrangement, but then I won't say we don't. I'll be back.” She gave him a kiss in return, and hurried out of the inn after the others.

The earl's sailing yacht was anchored at the end of a long stone quay. It was not a large vessel, but neither was it small. It stretched seventy feet from bow to stern, was twenty-three feet in width, and one hundred eighty tons. Although it was a pleasure craft, it carried several small cannons. Its sails were ketch-rigged. There was a sumptuous day cabin beneath the poop deck where they would shelter from the elements.

“Welcome aboard, your lordship, Your Grace, my lord,” Captain Grant greeted them. “Bobby will show you to the cabin. We'll be under way shortly.” He bowed to the gentlemen and to the ladies.

“I keep a small crew aboard,” the earl said. “This is Bobby, the cabin boy. He's a good lad, aren't you, Bobby?”

“Yes, my lord, I try to be,” came the earnest reply. The boy, about twelve years of age, hurried ahead of them, opening the door to the day cabin where they would be staying. “There's wine, and fresh biscuits, my lord.” He ushered them inside. Then with a tug on his cap, he hurried back out again.

“Where are we going to sleep, Marcus?” the Countess of Aston demanded of her husband. “It's all very beautiful, but hardly cozy.”

“It isn't meant to be, my darling. I used to race
Seagull
before we married. Quint, Dree, and Ocky have all been aboard before. You will sleep here, in these bunks
hidden behind the elegant paneling.” Pressing a hidden button with his hand, the earl smiled at their astonishment as the paneling slid back to reveal two tiers of narrow bunks.

“They are not very big,” Eunice noted.

“You'll be able to stretch out and rest, my dear wife,” the earl assured her.

“There are seven of us, and only six of those narrow little berths,” the countess noted.

“I shall get my rest on the settee,” the earl told her.

“Very well,” Eunice agreed. “I suppose we should all go to bed now. There seems to be nothing else to do.”

Wrapping themselves in their capes and cloaks, they settled themselves down for the night. Allegra awoke at one point to feel the roll of the sea beneath the vessel. It was very quiet. She could hear the wind outside just faintly. She had never been on the sea, and she wasn't certain if she was frightened or not, but everyone else seemed quite peaceful, except for some snoring. So she fell back asleep.

The next day dawned gray and damp. A light rain fell, but the winds were steady, and the seas relatively calm. The
Seagull
seemed to skip along the waves easily. Bobby brought them a platter of eggs, ham, and buttered brown bread. They ate gingerly, waiting to see if their food settled, but it did. They spent the day playing cards for imaginary stakes, except for Honor and the duke. Allegra's maid went over each garment Madame Paul had supplied, making certain every piece was ready to don come the morning. The duke walked the deck of the yacht as he considered what they were attempting to do for the hundredth time. It was madness, he knew, and yet friendship demanded that they help the countess and her children.

Captain Grant joined him at one point, saying, “If the
winds keep up, Your Grace, we should anchor some time tonight, late.”

“How far is it into the town?” Quinton Hunter asked.

“Only a mile and a bit, Your Grace.”

“You know the town?”

“Aye,” the captain nodded.

“We'll need a horse and a cart,” the duke told him.

“I know a man,” the captain offered, “but it will cost, and you must pay in French coin, not English.”

“Agreed. You will go with us?”

“Nay,” the captain said. “It is better that you not be seen in Harfleur, Your Grace. These days everyone watches, and strangers are easily and quickly ferreted out.”

“You are known then,” the duke noted.

“I am. I will fetch the horse and cart. My friend will think it is to meet the man who helps me smuggle certain items. I always leave the horse and cart at a set location afterward so I am not seen. Let me make the arrangements, Your Grace. The cove where we will anchor is just below the road you must take to reach the Countess d'Aumont. The d'Aumonts are well known in the region for their charity. The people were devastated when the count was executed in Paris. It would not have happened here. The man with the horse and cart has a sister who labors on the d'Aumont farm. When the earl told me who you were attempting to rescue, I was glad that I could be of help to you.”

“Thank you, Captain Grant,” the duke replied.

“I will ask my friend what he knows regarding the countess's arrest,” Captain Grant said.

“No, do not,” the duke advised. “This man is willing to deal with you because it puts money in his pocket in particularly hard times, but he is a loyal Frenchman
first. If you attempt to compromise his loyalties he may turn on you. Let him, as you have earlier suggested, believe you are merely here to smuggle wine and other goods as you usually do. Do not arouse his suspicions by even mentioning the Comtesse d'Aumont.”

“You are absolutely right, my lord,” Captain Grant said.

Just before sunset, although the entire day had been gray, they could just make out the outline of the French coast in the hazy distance. The duke explained to his companions that the captain would fetch them a horse and a cart for their journey. They would leave as soon after the dawn as they possibly could. They ate ham, bread, and cheese for their evening meal, drinking a rather good wine which warmed them and eased them all into sleep.

Bobby, the cabin boy, awoke the duke as soon as the captain departed the ship to row himself ashore. Awakened, the women stepped out onto the deck of the yacht into a chill and dank darkness, allowing the gentlemen to change into their costumes. They did not speak. The three men exiting the cabin some minutes later did not look at all like three English milords. The women returned to the cabin to change into their own garments. When they were dressed but for their mobcaps, Honor loosened their hair, tangling it, and rubbing dirt from a jar she had carried with her into their tresses. Then she passed the jar around, suggesting they dirty themselves on their faces and about the neck where their collars rested.

“Plain folk don't bathe as much as your fine ladies do,” she told them in her perfect French.

“She truly can speak French,” Caroline squealed.

“And you had better, lady, from now on,” Honor advised. “Sound carries over the water, and we don't know who is listening.”

As the maidservant's words died they all looked at one another, realizing the game, this dangerous game, was now truly on, and a careless slip of the tongue could destroy them all.

Eunice, Countess of Aston, swallowed visibly, suddenly shaken, but seeing Allegra's look of alarm, said calmly in her rather good French, “It is all right, Allegra. I am afraid, but ready to do my part.”

“We cannot call ourselves by our own Christian names,” Allegra said softly. “We will need simple French names. I will be Marie. Honor, you are the only one who can keep her name. Honneur. Eunice, you are now Jeanne, and Caroline, Prunelle. We must tell the men, and rechristen them as well.” She pulled her mob-cap over her long snarled black hair.
“Allons, mes amies!”
The four women exited the cabin.

The name change explained to them, the gentlemen became Joseph, the duke; Pierre, the earl; and Michel, Lord Walworth. Then they waited. When the captain returned they exchanged places with him in the rowboat.

“Gawd, your lordships, I wouldn't have recognized you, but that I know it is you,” he exclaimed softly. “You will find the cart and the horse at the top of the path. How long should I wait?”

“Until we return, Captain Grant, unless you find yourself and my yacht in danger,” the earl said. “I do not know how long it will take us to retrieve the comtesse and her family. With luck we shall be back by nightfall.”

“I'll keep a single light burning at the stern of the vessel, my lord,” Captain Grant said. “God bless you all,
and bring you safely back to us quickly, and madame countess with you.”

The duke rowed their little boat to the shore. Getting out, they pulled it up upon the beach, the sand crunching beneath their wooden shoes, then began the climb up the hillside. They were in France.
The game was indeed on!