Alex straightened his cravat a trifle nervously before opening Vice Admiral Hutchinson’s heavy door. As a bluff captain more than a dozen years earlier, Hutchinson had been one of the board members who had examined Alex for promotion from midshipman to lieutenant, and he had left an impression of bullheaded ferocity. As one of the three professional sea lords of the Admiralty, Hutchinson was now one of the most influential men in the navy, and it was a shock when the admiral greeted him with an affable “Come in, my boy. Would you like a bit of sherry while I examine your dispatches?”
Alex loathed sherry but politely accepted a glass along with a comfortable wing chair in a corner of the large office. After Peter Harrington had certified him for travel, the viscount had been sent back to England on the first available ship. As was customary in such cases, he had also been entrusted with a case of dispatches for the Admiralty. Alex posted up to London as soon as he arrived in Portsmouth and had arrived before the Admiralty offices closed for the day.
After skimming through the official papers, Admiral Hutchinson then questioned Alex on his opinions of how the war was progressing in the Mediterranean. He occasionally made notes himself, apparently preferring not to have a secretary present. After nearly two hours had passed, the admiral leaned back in his own chair and said, “For someone who barely made lieutenant, you’ve acquitted yourself very well.”
Alex colored a little. “When action is required, I have no problem, but I’ve always done badly with oral exams, Admiral. My brain seems to disconnect from my mouth. Even if I know the answer, I can’t find the words for it.”
“I noticed,” the admiral said dryly. “You also reverse numbers in your calculations. Fortunately for you, I once had a captain with the same problem. He was a brilliant officer in spite of that, and I learned to trust his ability. You had a good enough record in action that the other board members were persuaded to give you the benefit of the doubt.”
Alex blinked in surprise; Captain “Cannonball” Hutchinson had been legendary for his toughness. It was remarkable to think he had been Alex’s advocate. “Then I must thank you for my naval career. If I had had to rely on examinations, I would still be a midshipman.”
The admiral waved his hand deprecatingly. “Part of an officer’s job is to recognize talent, and you’ve amply repaid my faith. Anyone who can capture a hundred-gun French blockade runner with a frigate the size of theAntagonistis a credit to the navy. How are you feeling?”
“Very well, sir.”
The admiral tapped the pile of papers on the table next to him. “According to your medical report, that’s not quite true.”
Alex shifted in his chair, uneasy at having attention focused on his injury. Admiral Hutchinson noticed his movement and said, “I have a legitimate interest. The navy is going to need all of her experienced captains in the years ahead. I think you’re ready for a ship of the line.”
Alex straightened up, his attention engaged, but he refrained from comment. One of the first things one learned in the navy was not to volunteer conversation.
Pulling a pipe and tobacco pouch from a drawer in the side table, the admiral said, “What are your plans? You’ll be off active duty until next year, but what then?”
Alex paused, uncomfortable with having to make even a tentative commitment. “Sir, I really don’t know. My father has died, and I have a good deal of personal business to take care of here in England.”
He halted as a vision of the Harringtons’ household flashed before his inner eye. He had found himself envying the warmth and companionship his friend had found. The viscount considered remaining silent but decided to make a clean breast of it. “I may not want to return to the navy. There is a part of me that finds the idea of a settled life on land appealing. The navy is a world of its own, compelling, but also very strange.”
The admiral gave a short bark of laughter. “I always found I missed the land when I was at sea, and now that I’m permanently docked, I miss the sea. I realize it’s early days for you to be making a decision, but I wanted to talk before you disappeared into civilian life. If you do return to active command, we should be able to find you a ship very quickly.”
The admiral paused and drew on his pipe, attempting to improve its feeble glow. “My personal belief is that we may be at war with the French for a long time to come. This citizens’ army of theirs is like nothing else in Europe. They’re fighting for something they believe in, not as mercenaries, and there is great power in that. Look at what the American colonies did.”
Hutchinson inhaled a deep lungful of smoke, then let it out with satisfaction. “That’s two things the Americans do well—fight in the woods and grow tobacco. But to return to the subject at hand. If I’m right, we will need all our resources.”
He looked at Alex’s carefully neutral expression. “I think it unlikely that you will wish to return to sea since you are a peer and have numerous responsibilities, and you need the prize money less than most. But if you stay ashore, there are times the Admiralty might want to call on you for some advice—you are one of the best tacticians I’ve ever seen. Can we do that?”
Alex stammered, “Yes, sir. Of course, sir!” This was one of the most surprising interviews of his life—it was distinctly unnerving to hear that the august Lords of the Admiralty might value his opinion.
Admiral Hutchinson stood and extended his hand in farewell. “You will want some time to get your land legs, but please keep in touch with me. I can always be reached through this office.”
Alex was in a daze as he walked out of the Admiralty into the mild May evening. The great ships of the line were Britain’s finest fighting vessels, carrying twice the guns of a frigate like theAntagonist, and to command one was the dream of every young naval officer. Hutchinson’s offer was a tremendous compliment, and the prospect appealed in spite of Alex’s nascent yen for a settled life. He mentally kicked himself back to reality; there was no point in thinking much about it since he would get a ship of the line only if he didn’t expire as Peter had so gloomily suggested. At the moment, dinner and a place to sleep were of much greater relevance.
Unable to face his family quite yet, Alex bespoke a bed at a snug inn called The Anchor that was a nearby favorite of naval officers. Over a leisurely meal he considered his tasks for the next day. First, visit the family lawyers and announce that he was finally taking the helm of the Kingsley interests. Then, a visit to Kingsley House to see about opening it again. Several of the servants had been kept on after his mother died. The longtime family butler, Morrison, should be able to get the place staffed properly without much delay.
Then would come the hard part: he must go to Aunt Agatha’s to find Annabelle. Jonathan was at Eton, so he’d go there later. Alex flinched at the thought of the scorn he would see in their faces, their justified anger at the way he had run away from his responsibilities.
But there was no help for it. Without being able to express the thought in words, Alex knew there was a flaw in his maturing that could only be healed in service to his family.
When he retired, he had trouble falling asleep in a bed that wasn’t moving.
* * *
Like many greatly feared confrontations, Alex’s homecoming turned out to be far easier than expected. He had steeled himself before raising the heavy brass knocker at his Aunt Agatha’s Portman Square house. When the footman admitted him, there was scarcely time to hand over his hat and request the presence of Miss Annabelle before he heard an excited voice from the top of the stairs leading into the wide vestibule.
Alex looked up to see his sister calling to a maid behind her, “Quickly! Find Jonathan and tell him Alex is home!”
Then she was flying down the stairs—her light slippers moving so quickly he feared for her safety—and into his arms, hugging him fiercely. Alex looked into the huge blue eyes swimming with tears and realized with awed humility that she didn’t hate him at all—by some miracle and for reasons he couldn’t fathom, she loved him.
Annabelle blinked back her tears and said shyly, “I’m sorry to be such a watering pot, Alex. But . . . but will you be staying this time? For at least a while?”
