Their disappointment was palpable.
He raised his hand as if on deck. “However, winter is past us, men, and I promised you positions only till spring winds beckoned. If you’re of mind to return to port I’ll arrange for transport back to London.” He paused, falling serious. “Although if you wish to stay on here in Cumberland, at the Abbey, I could use the help.” He took a breath. “And I’d be honored if you did.”
The men fell silent, looking one to another as if they’d already discussed the matter amongst themselves.
“Remain with you, in bloody Croakumshire?” Pinky hollered from the back.
Fergus stepped forward. “Yer Grace, we’ll all stay on, as one.”
“All of you?” Wells was taken aback. “I figured some might, but?—”
“We’re a crew, sir,” Fergus told him plain. “Loyal t’ our Capt’n, so if you’ll have us, you’ll have t’ keep us—to a man.”
Wells grinned, clapping Fergus on the back. “Damn right you’re a crew. Finest bloody crew to ever sail the oceans, lads.” His grin broadened. “I am humbled you’d choose to stay with me on land and promise you each a respectable position in this house, although it might”—he turned a sharp look on some—“require a change in grooming and uniforms, eventually,” he amended. He could hear the start of mutterings and knew they’d balk at this. “But first, crew, we’ve a celebration to plan in honor of my marriage, yes?”
To which shouts ofHere, Here!were heard, amidst less exemplary exclamations.
“We’ll feast and drink and dance and?—”
“Yer Grace,” Fergus interrupted, “the lads an’ I’ve been discussin’ certain work conditions in yer absence, Capt’n, an’ we think it’s time y’ hired more staff, if y’ ken me drift.”
Wells arched his brow. “Would you be referring to morefemalestaff, Fergus?”
“I would, sir.”
“Then I’m afraid you must take the matter up with Lady Wellesley, good sir, because I am no longer in charge of household decisions.”
Disjointed groans filtered through their crowd.
“But she’ll hire only ugly ones!” shouted one man.
“That woman’ll thwart us at every turn,” claimed another.
“She keeps ’er girls so penned in tight they’ll not even?—!”
“Now you yobs listen good.” Wells fixed them with a stare. “Charles Merrinan gave you Mamie Griswald, did she not? So don’t you dare insult my wife by saying she . . .” Only he thought better and instead deepened his scowl. “I’ve no doubt LadyWellesley will hire the goddamn prettiest girls in Cumberland just to torture you brutes further.”
His crew groaned to imagine such a fate: forever tempted yet never allowed to touch.
“You play your cards right, boys, staying on, and you may just meet and court a proper village lass one day, settle down and marry even.”
“Marry?” someone said. “Only fools marry.”
“Damn right.” Wells laughed. “Lucky fools at that.”
Although he wished for nothing more than to spend more time alone with his lovely new wife, that same afternoon Wells accompanied Lady Wellesley to her father’s house, to deliver Charles to her sister, as promised.
Eleanor greeted them at the door by throwing her arms about her sister in a hug that would not end, until Wells had to interrupt them, coughinga little to indicate he should like to be welcomed also.
Eleanor peered sharply at him over Charles’s shoulder, but then motioned him inside, where he greeted Benedict Merrinan with the utmost respect.
“The Duke of Allendale sends his regards, Sir Benedict, and wishes you well, sir.”
The fellow’s watery eyes looked up. “Make an honest woman of my daughter, did you?” he demanded.
“Yes, sir,” Wells answered. “She is now Lady Wellesley, sir, and will one day be Duchess of Allendale.”
“Good, good.” Merrinan nodded. “And your father, boy? Still standing, I presume?”
