Chapter 1
St. James’s Palace
London, England
April 1813
“All set to procure a wife, Bannock?”
“No,” said Luke Bannock, the truth.
“What of meeting the Prince Regent, then?”
“Also, no,” Luke said. Another truth.
“But what about—?”
“For God’s sake, Fernsby,” Luke bit out, “can we enjoy silent reflection on wives and regents? For five minutes. Please.”
Fernsby cleared his throat. “You’re not nervous, Bannock? Not even a little?”
“No,” said Luke, “not even a little.”
“Well. Good for you, sir.”
“Yes, good for me. Areyounervous, Fernsby?” Luke should make some effort. Fernsby was an ally, after all.
“Well, the Prince Regent is my second cousin,” Fernsby mused.
“Is he cousin enough to grant my reward? Did I fish you out of the Atlantic Ocean for no other reason than to be peppered with inane questions?”
“A joke!” Fernsby chortled. “Youarenervous. I may chatter, but you take the piss. Never you fear, Bannock. Prince George is cousin enough. He’ll wish to appease a grateful nation.”
Luke frowned. This was no assurance at all. Prince George, now the Prince Regent, would place national appeasement just above rewards for smugglers and second cousins, which was very low, indeed.
“I’m acquainted with the prince, obviously,” Fernsby boasted. They trailed behind a footman, winding through the dim marble corridors of St. James’s Palace. “Family gatherings and the like. He is a very dear friend to my mother.”
Oh yes, Luke thought.Fernsby’s mother. Luke remembered the man crying out for the woman on the night of the attack.
“Here’s how I predict this meeting will unfold,” Fernsby continued. “First, I’ll be asked to read an account of the rescue. The prince will ask how the Crown might repay you for your service. You’ll state your request—betrothal to the French girl—and he’ll say something like, ‘It shall be done,’ and off we’ll go. This meeting is a formality—he simply wanted to meet you.Everyone wants to meet you, Bannock.”
“Must youdescribe the attack, James?” Luke knew Fernsby would mention the rescue, but he hated hearing their experience read aloud like a tragic play. People lapped up the details for entertainment while Luke’s crew drowned again and again. Luke was tortured by nightmares that replayed the attack as he slept, and they were never so vivid as when he was forced to hear the thing trotted out at length.
“But of course we must recount the attack,” Fernsby was saying. “It was nothing short of a miracle what you did, Bannock; the very definition of heroism.” Now they idled outside the throne room, waiting to be summoned by the prince. “The country needs a hero, Bannock,” Fernsby went on. “Absolutely my narrative will be read aloud. I spent a fortnight writing the thing.”
Before Luke could reply, the large doors opened and a herald intoned their names. Fernsby was off like a shot, marching the long strip of carpet like a man in a footrace. Luke rolled his shoulders, gave his strangling cravat a yank, and began to walk.
The Prince Regent—pink, swollen, overdressed—slouched in a golden chair at the far end of the room. Behind him, a circle of robed advisors hovered, scribbling in dossiers. The dais was illuminated by a forest of candelabras. Servants scurried to and fro, tending a fragrant feast on a sideboard. In the shadows, hunting dogs watched Fernsby’s frenetic march. Luke tried to acknowledge the singularity of the experience, to marvel at the home of the king, at the flesh-and-blood prince who studied him over the rim of his cup, but there was no mental space for marveling or acknowledging. He thought of only one thing: acquiring the French princess.
“Remember proper address for me when we are in the company of the prince,” Fernsby whispered over his shoulder. “Never ‘James.’ Not ‘Lieutenant.’ Use the title. This is a palace, not the galley of a ship.”
“Yes,my lord,” Luke said on a sigh.
Five minutes later, after copious bowing and ring kissing, Lord Lieutenant James Roundhouse, Viscount Fernsby, was asked to state their business before Prince George.
“If Your Royal Highness will indulge us,” Fernsby said, “I’ve prepared an account of Captain Bannock’s courage, cunning, and unfaltering loyalty to Crown and Country on the night of September 12, 1812. As the only other surviving soul...” and here a humble head tilt“... I’ll endeavor to represent the man and his actions.”
Luke eyed the prince. In his experience, men of elevated rank preferred narratives of theirowncourage and cunning rather than the achievements of others. The prince took a slurp from his bejeweled goblet and said, “Off you go, then, Jamie.”
