‘Might be some prize money,’ he tossed over his shoulder before striding towards the First Lieutenant standing at the helm.
‘Aye and I’m Nelson’s long-lost bastard,’ was the derisory answer. Chuckling, Christian Stanhope didn’t respond, instead continuing to pick his way forward.
Nearly two weeks had passed sincethe Phoenixhad been dispatched into the Mediterranean by Vice-Admiral Earl St. Vincentto join Nelson's squadron in his hunt for the French, but so far, they’d had little luck in locating the British fleet.
Reports had come through of Napoleon’svictory in Malta, and there remained little doubt that the upstart General’s intention was to invade theTurkish Khediviate of Egypt, providing support to the Sultan in his fight with the British in India and thus restoring French influence in that subcontinent. The government in London and the East India Company were naturally panicking at the prospect.
Nelson was almost certainly now on his way to Egypt hunting desperately for the French fleet. Unfortunately, due to a vicious storm scattering the British fleet a month earlier, HMSVanguardwas without the support of any frigates, leaving the Admiral seriously disadvantaged, which madethe Phoenix’ssearch all the more urgent. In truth, they could ill afford to waste time chasing a lone French frigate sailing in the opposite direction.
∞∞∞
Present day
‘I do believe your Mr. Stanhope to be a complete enigma,’ Grace commented as she swept unannounced into her husband’s study. ‘Even the Viscountess appeared to know very little about him other than…’
‘The fact that he recently inherited the Cottesmore title,’ Nicholas interrupted drily, putting down his pen.
‘Damn and blast, I really thought I’d got one up on you this time,’ Grace grumped, sinking into a large, winged chair with a sigh. The Duke frowned. ‘You’re looking uncommonly pale, my love. Are you well?’
‘I’m perfectly fine,’ Grace responded dismissing his concern with a wave of her hand. ‘I take it Malcolm uncovered the information about the title?’ Nicholas nodded, still eying her with concern.
‘Well, nobody I spoke to this afternoon seemed to know anything about him at all other than he was the last earl’s cousin a good few times removed. So his past has not yet caught up with him as you feared.’
‘I have no concerns for the man,’ Nicholas snorted. ‘If his murderous activities become common knowledge, then it’s no more than the bastard deserves.’
‘But it will not be via your loose tongue,’ Grace guessed.
Nicholas sighed and leaned back against his chair. ‘I will not gossip,’ he agreed, ‘but neither will I hide my dislike. Let us hope we do not have occasion to meet in public.’
‘Do you intend to speak with him privately then?’
‘I will warn him to stay away from me and mine,’ was her husband’s tight-lipped response. ‘Other than that, we have nothing whatsoever to say to each other.’
There was a sudden knock on the door. ‘Come,’ the Duke yelled in case it was Bailey on the other side. The elderly butler was almost completely deaf. Fortunately, it was Mrs. Jenks. ‘Will you be taking tea in here, your graces?’ she smiled.
Grace looked over at her husband who shrugged. ‘No, we’ll head upstairs to the small drawing room. Have you seen my father this afternoon, Mrs. Jenks?’
‘I believe he and Mr. Percy are currently packing,’ the housekeeper answered.
The Duchess raised her eyebrows. ‘Has he given any indication of when he intends to leave?’ she asked.
‘Well, he asked for a cold collation to be put together for tomorrow morning, so I believe his intention is to leave at first light, your grace,’ the housekeeper answered, ‘though I’m not sure they’ll be going anywhere if this keeps up.’ She nodded towards the flurries of snow beginning to settle against the window.
Sighing, Grace climbed to her feet. ‘I think you might well be right, which is unfortunate as I know he’s anxious to return home. Bring enough tea for six.’ She paused before adding, ‘And some of that chocolate tart if you have any. My father is excessively stubborn when he makes up his mind about something, and if I’m to persuade him that venturing forth in a blizzard trusting solely in the Almighty’s benevolence is not in his best interest, then I’ll need all the help I can get.’
∞∞∞
By early morning, the ground was entirely white over. The temperature had plummeted, and Freddy was only persuaded to go out and do his business with half a knob of leftover cheese the Reverend had found in his dressing gown pocket. Augustus Shackleford nibbled on the other half as he shivered on the kitchen doorstep watching the hound speedily cock his leg up at the nearest bush.
In contrast, the townhouse kitchen was a warm hive of activity, and hurrying back inside, both dog and master were more than content to linger in front of the roaring fire and enjoy some fresh bread and honey washed down with hot tea.
Whenever Augustus Shackleford was in London, both he and Freddy were regular visitors to the kitchen. As the Reverend piously pointed out - the Duke’s servants here in Town were simply an extension of his flock back home in Blackmore and as such were every bit as entitled to his spiritual guidance. In truth, the clergyman enjoyed the hustle and bustle as well as the sweet treats the cook frequently slipped him, and while Freddy might not share the same enthusiasm for the spiritual side of things, he was equally passionate about the treats.
And as for the kitchen staff–well, since Reverend Shackleford wisely kept his sermonising for those times he was accompanied by Percy, choosing to devote the rest of the time to the latest and most entertaining gossip, he was naturally a favourite of everyone below stairs.
It also meant that he was very often the first person to find out if any trouble was brewing.
‘Yer goin’ to ‘ave to ‘ave a word wi’ yer boss up there if you be wantin’ to get on the road today, Revren,’ commented the Cook, Mrs. Pidgeon, as she handed the Reverend his second piece of bread dripping with honey.
