Helen shook her head. “Nae, Jack, ye’ve got it wrong. I dinnae know about a lot of things, but the history of Scotland is the one thing I do know. She was never there.”
“She wasn’t?” Funny, Jack had always pictured her there every time he went by the Tower. The Scottish queen, imprisoned for years by her cousin, the queen of England, then executed. It had reminded him of the bloodthirsty and power-hungry nature of women. Especially women named Elizabeth.
He stopped at the King James stairs, feeling wrung out, and had them all switch around. Now, the two women sat in the bow, and he sat where Helen had, facing Duncan at the oars so he could advise the young man. He’d let the giant row them all the way to Greenwich.
Duncan’s strokes were sloppy at first. But powerful. And much bigger than Jack’s.
Jack’s back, his flanks, his arms ached. Damn. He hated getting old.
But he caught Helen’s gaze in the boat as Duncan bent to the oars. She was looking at him as she had in Scotland. Eating him with her eyes. He straightened up. He wasn’t old yet. He grinned and winked at her. Her look did not change. His mind went to her mouth sliding over his cock, her body underneath his in her bed. He shifted in his seat and finally, he had to be the one to look away.
He got Duncan to take them closer to the south bank of the river. Mags oohed and aahed over the spectacle of the Royal Hospital for Seamen at Greenwich.
“It’s for retired sailors. Designed by the same man as St. Paul’s. Sir Christopher Wren.”
“Och. The king and the Prince Regent must value the navy highly to pay for such a grand place for sailors to go. Mr. Pike, if ye never marry, will that be where ye will live when yer old?”
“Maybe.” Jack wouldn’t, of course, because of his wealth, how insulated he was against misfortune. And now his title. But the three of them didn’t know that.
Helen said nothing until Jack directed Duncan to pull the boat up to a small dock far downriver from the Royal Hospital, on the north bank, a wooded spot.
“Can we do this?” she asked, suspiciously. “Who owns this land?”
Jack had been prepared to lie. He had lied about so much already. He was going to say the land belonged to a friend of his and he had permission to be here.
“I do, Helen.”
He wanted her to know it was his. It was a large piece on the river with some beautiful woods still standing, a good aspect at the top of a hill where a house could face south toward the river. He had bought the land after capturing his first French ships as a captain. While on shore leave, he had come out here many times with architects and builders to discuss the various views, the potential size of the house, the possible gardens, the lawn that might come down from the house to the river.
He had even brought Elizabeth out here once, telling her she must see it since he was going to build the house for her, for their future family together. She had suffered through the trip, insisted they take a carriage, and then complained about the condition of the roads.
He had lost his temper, one of the few times he ever had with her. He remembered he had sworn at her.
“If you had let me bring you by boat, Elizabeth, you wouldn’t be whining about the damned roads.”
“Once you build the house, are we to travel by boat every time we want to go to London? We wouldn’t have our own carriage once we got there. This is not fashionable.” She had sniffed. “You should have bought land in Richmond.”
“You wouldn’t be going every day to London.”
Elizabeth had said nothing more, but he could tell by her silence that she thought it a very poor site for building and she had, indeed, planned to go to London every day to buy things and to visit other ladies. After all, she was the greatest beauty of thetonand a viscount’s daughter. Yes, she had no dowry, but she was still condescending to marry a navy man. Yes, a handsome one, one with good prospects as a captain, the stepson of a baronet. But only third in line, at that time, for a dukedom and unlikely ever to have the title himself with a young, healthy cousin above him in the rank of succession, sure to have a lot of sons, each one of which would push Jack Pike further and further down until it would have taken a plague for him to have a chance of being duke.
But it hadn’t taken a plague. Just an overly-hasty swallow of a poorly-chewed breakfast and a barren bitch of a duchess.
“Ye own this land, Jack Pike?” Helen’s eyes were wide. “Right by the river. Sure, ye must like that. Is there a house?”
“No.”
“Aye, it would be a pity to lose these trees. So many of them.”
Hundreds upon hundreds of trees must have been cleared from Dunmore, along with the farmers, when his cousin had decided to turn Dunmore land into sheep pastures. It was like Helen to notice the trees and think of them as something to safeguard rather than as something which might block a view or shade a lawn.
He tied up the boat and was the last one out of it, bringing his coat and the hamper with him. “I thought we would have a picnic.”
Duncan and Mags were already walking along the bank, Mags leaning on Duncan’s arm maybe more than she needed to, laughing gaily and affectionately.
Helen said in a low voice, “’Twas very good and clever of ye to think of this way for us to see the city and parts surrounding. Because of Mags.”
Jack had not thought of Mags. He had wanted to be on the river because it wouldn’t have done to walk them around on the streets of London where he was sure to see someone who knew him and who would address him as Your Grace.
