“And your injuries?” she asked, her heart aching.
He waved a hand, as though dismissing his wounds. “One of the stern chasers exploded. I was half turned away so it was not as bad as it might have been.” He looked down into his glass. “Hannaside killed himself at Gibraltar; he lost his sight and could not bear it. I have little enough to complain about.”
She placed a hand over his clenched fist. “And must you go back to sea?”
“We are at war, my love. I do not see how I can honourably stay ashore.” He placed a hand over hers. “Not an hour ago, I was longing to be gone. Now…” He got to his feet to stride about the room. “This war cannot last much longer. Wellington is at the gates of France, and the Russians and their allies approach from the east. I accepted command of theVanguardon the assurance that, once the war was over, we would be sent to Africa to help suppress the slave trade.” He turned to look at her. “It is noble work and work I could do well, but now? How can I leave you when I have just found you?” She opened her mouth to reply, but before she could do so, he spoke again.
“Come with me!” he said. “We shall be based at Freetown in Sierra Leone. I would be at sea most of the time, but we could take a house there, and I would come home as often as I could.”
She stared at him, eyes wide. “I couldn’t,” she said. “Could I?”
“Why not?” His enthusiasm was rising. “There is a garrison and an English governor and settlement. And after a few years, when the navy has settled down into a peacetime establishment, and good, trustworthy, zealous men are in want of employment, we can go home to Pemberley.”
“But…but…what about Georgiana and her mother?”
He leaned over and rifled through the papers on the table. “I have a letter here from my uncle, offering to give all three of you a London Season. I am sure he would be happy to care for them both; he writes how much my aunt is looking forward to having some ladies about the house. Come with me, Lizzy—come to sea.”
She met him in the middle of the room, fired by his rising excitement. “And would you have me live on salt horse and Old Weevil’s Wedding Cake?”
He laughed at that. “Anderssen?”
“Lieutenant Grace.”
“We can do a little better than that, my love.” He took her hands in his and kissed them both. “Come and see my world, Lizzy. Life at sea, the good and the bad. Come and see the world, see Africa, flowers and trees with leaves like flames, moths the size of your hand, birds every colour of the rainbow, and at night you can hear the leopards—they do not roar, you know, they cough.” She was laughing now; he stood in the middle of the room, waving his arms about like a boy. “And the people. They come from all over Africa. People talk a great deal of nonsense about savages—there are dozens of different tribes and races, as many as there are Europeans, all with their different lives. And the music at night—great hollow musical drums and pipes and little harps. Come listen with me.” He kissed her as she laughed, and he was laughing with her.
Recklessness seized her; a broader, more vivid life exploded before her startled mind’s eye. “Yes,” she said beneath his kisses. “Yes, I’ll come with you.”
He heaved her off her feet and spun her round in the air with a triumphant “Yes!” and then they were kissing again. There was joy and a burning in her heart, and suddenly there was no more room for laughter. He held her head between his hands. “Will you stay with me tonight?” he whispered and felt her try to nod.
His bed was next door, his nightshirt laid out, only to be swept onto the floor. She had to tell him how to loosen her clothes, both of them giggling breathlessly as he complained that surely so many layers were not necessary, and if this were a fair-weather rig, he would hate to unwrap her from her storm canvas.
Skin on skin stopped the laughter again. There was no candle burning, but the curtains were drawn apart, and she could see his awed face in the moonlight as he touched and discovered her with gentle, eager hands. He tried to say something of his gratitude, his love, but she stopped his mouth with hers and then neither of them spoke for a very long time. She had completely forgotten her mother and Mrs Gardiner, and expecting no pain, she felt none, only a gathering excitement, a building heat and a sudden, strange, wondrous, unexpected rush of something she decided was love, which shook them both and left them breathless and whispering on the same pillow.
“So much for the annulment,” she said with satisfaction and heard him groan and laugh into the pillow. “And I have wasted twelve guineas on a most unladylike nightgown which I see I shall never need.”
Her hand was on his face, and she felt him raise his untouched eyebrow. “I think I should still be allowed to see it worn, if only to see how unladylike a nightgown it could be.” He looked at her more closely. “Are you blushing, my dear? Now, I really want to see it.” He overcame her attempt to hit him withthe pillow by the simple expedient of taking her in his arms and kissing her thoroughly.
It was, he was forced to agree the following night, a most unladylike article indeed and, in his opinion, twelve guineas very well spent.
EPILOGUE
The Commodore’s House
Freetown, Sierra Leone
The news had reached her long before the ship dropped anchor, so that when he arrived, he found her sitting on the veranda in a simple white dress. A stout infant of three summers was playing nearby with her particular friend, the cook’s son, who, despite having two perfectly good names of his own (one African, one European), was universally known as Heckle, having been so christened by the commodore’s daughter, the undisputed monarch of the house.
He was in his shirtsleeves, his uniform coat slung over his shoulder, to be instantly discarded as soon as his womenfolk saw him.
“Pampam!”
“Fitzwilliam.”
He swung his daughter round his head, smiling as she screamed in delight, and then balanced her on one hip so he could kiss his wife. He was burnt a deep brown by the sun and, in the gloom, one hardly noticed the scars or the still-closed eye.There was certainly no lack of ardour in his kiss. The suggestion of dinner was scornfully rejected, and the commodore carried his wife up to their room for an immediate reunion, leaving little Jane and Heckle to run and greet Starkey, who could usually be relied upon to have something interesting or tasty about him.
It was several hours and a very belated supper later before they had occasion for much conversation, beyond those protestations somewhat unusual between man and wife married for very nearly five years. They were still lying in their great bed, surrounded by netting against the many insects that came out at night, watching an enormous tropical moon rise over the trees.
“Is there any news from home?” he asked lazily.
