“They told me she was leaving with a cargo of manufactured goods and returning with sugar,” Jamie told him. “They didn’t mention the part in between, the middle voyage, the trip between Africa and one of the slave ports.”
“You believed them.”
“I wanted to. I was desperate to repair the mess he left me. I didn’t ask questions. I didn’t think that the profits they promised were more than sugar profits, much more. I sat in London and waited for the money to roll in so I could pay my father’s debts, waited until word came that the Avante went down.”
“You didn’t know,” Will repeated.
“I didn’t try to know. I didn’t ask.” Jamie’s voice rose to a shrill pitch.
The confession, wrenched from his gut, left him weak, but hedidn’t see revulsion in his friends’ eyes. He saw only sympathy.Would Nora understand if I dragged up the courage to tell her?
“Perhaps you can’t make the Avante right,” Richard drawled. He paused for effect, waiting until he had their attention. “But you might wish to make reparation.”
“What? How?” The duke’s air of mystery annoyed Jamie more than ever.
“The Slavery Bill?” Andrew guessed.
“What bill?” Jamie asked.
“Wilberforce and others have introduced bill after bill since 1816 to put teeth into enforcement of the Slave Trade Act and even to get slavery totally banned from the colonies,” Will said.
“The move now is for full emancipation,” Andrew explained.
“‘Bout damn time!” Will exclaimed. “Parliament outlawed the trade thirteen years ago. I speak on it when I can in Lords—Richard supports it in the corridors.” That was Richard’s way, always in the background.
“I almost let these two convince me to take a seat in Commons over this issue,” Andrew added. They could certainly have ensured one for him. “I have no stomach for politics. The fight has dragged its fetid being through parliament for years with no sign of success.”
“How does this bill fix what happened to the Avante?” Jamie asked.
Andrew shrugged. “It doesn’t, not directly, but your story might influence votes. Stop the blighted institution, stop the illegal trade, stop the ships—is that it, Richard?”
The duke nodded, his eyes on Jamie.
“I can’t. I’m no politician. I don’t want a seat in Commons.”
“Lords, Jamie—you’re entitled,” Will corrected.
“No! Wilberforce gave his life to the slavery issue. I can’t do it.”
“I rather think not. Politics, as Andrew shows, is not for everyone. You wouldn’t last a month,” Richard said, “but your story may have influence if whispered in the right ears.”
“Or shouted from therafters,” Will said.
“I’ll look a fool. I can hear what people will say: ‘That simpleton Baron Ross didn’t know a slaver when he saw one. Let the scum pull wool over his eyes.’”
“Probably—at best.” Richard agreed. “Do you care?”
Jamie realized he didn’t care about the opinions of the ton, or any opinions but those of the three men in front of him.
“No,” he said out loud, the word a rumble deep in his throat. These men and Nora were the only people whose opinions mattered.
“You may have to tell your story several times. Dinners can be arranged, parties planned,” Richard said.
“Will I have to make speeches?” Jamie asked.
“In parliament? No,” Richard said. “Give your story to Chadbourn here and to others. Let them use it.”
“We can publish it,” Andrew said. He had the connections for that.
