The Wedding Affair (Rebel Hearts series Book 1) (3 page)

“Greer is a first-class piss prophet.” Gabriel composed his face into that of an angelic man. “However, I will be the soul of discretion and swear not to make trouble for you. You are a better friend than I deserve.”

“Utter rubbish, but your discretion would be appreciated. I do not like this summons.” Felix allowed the curtain to fall over the view and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He had been traveling since last night to answer Admiral Lord Templeton’s urgent request for a meeting far from London and the admiralty, with only Jennings’ drunken snores for company. Felix had faced countless battles, defeated and claimed a score of French ships in his career, and it was essential to present himself to his admiral with his wits about him.

As the carriage drew to a halt, he adjusted his best gloves and collected his bicorn from the facing seat, brushing any dust from the fading felt. Urgent summons or not, it was important he make a good impression and appear calm and utterly in command. He had dressed for the occasion, stopping a few miles back to change into his formal uniform. “There was an inn in the last village we passed. If I have not returned to the carriage in the next hour, have the driver take you there and wait for me. I will send word by nightfall if this affair will be protracted.”

Jennings tugged the blanket back over himself and hunched against the squabs. “Have you ever known Templeton to be short of speech?”

He gritted his teeth a moment, considering his chances of making a swift escape. Unlikely. “Not once. I will see you soon.”

“Good luck,” Jennings whispered. “And do mind your manners.”

Once on firm ground, Felix swayed. Land was a foreign environment for him now. After spending most of his life at sea, he was more accustomed to the rolling deck of his ship than stability of soil. He would much rather remain in the moving carriage or planted on deck at the wheel of his warship, giving orders to his crew in the fiercest of gales.

Blue-liveried servants rushed out to greet his carriage; one older man introduced himself as Mr. Morgan, the great house’s butler.

“Sir,” Hastings murmured, giving due courtesy easily to the most important servant employed on the estate.

Morgan gestured toward the towering double oak doors with an urgent sweep of his hand. “This way, please.”

The situation must indeed be dire, given the rush.
He glanced over his shoulder toward the carriage and Jennings and was astonished to see his entire luggage being removed from the conveyance by the duke’s servants. He halted the butler. “I thought the matter was urgent and my visit was to be brief.”

He had hoped it would be over almost immediately actually, but Jennings was right—Templeton never did cut to the chase in conversation when he had center stage.

“Indeed, it is urgent,” Morgan claimed. “His Grace will explain everything soon, Captain.”

“His Grace?” He and the Duke of Rutherford had an agreement that he keep a distance from the Ford family at all costs, save for his immediate superior. “My orders were to present myself to the admiral.”

The butler winced. “Please, the Duke of Rutherford will explain. He must not be kept waiting.”

Chapter Three

H
ow could a man in Felix’s position refuse a powerful duke like Rutherford a moment of his time? He could not unless he wished to become a captain without a ship and crew. Felix just hoped their meeting could be brief—very brief indeed. “Very well.”

Once inside the entrance hall, he tucked his hat under his arm and glanced around, eyes widening. He had known from gossip that the Duke of Rutherford’s Newberry Park estate was impressive, but such riches were beyond his wildest dreams. Four marble columns ascended two floors to support a domed ceiling that sparkled with gold. The man had surely spent enough on this chamber alone to build a dozen ships for the Royal Navy, or perhaps even his own personal fleet. No wonder the family had such influence in society. They could buy anyone and anything they wanted.

His advancement to command the
Selfridge
as post captain at three and twenty years was ample proof of that.

“This way,” Morgan said as he gestured to a side doorway.

Felix moved through a deserted sitting room and then into a large, cluttered book room. Finely bound volumes in floor-to-ceiling oak cases covered every wall, maps lay strewn haphazardly across tables, and at the far end of the room sat a small man almost unseen due to the chaos around him.

“Captain Hastings, Your Grace,” Morgan announced and then departed, snapping the doors shut behind him.

“Ah, Hastings. At last you have come to Newberry. You are late.” Despite the appearance of small stature, the duke’s powerful voice boomed through the room. He had not changed.

“Your Grace.” He bowed and strode forward, unsure of his reception but determined to meet the challenge. “I came as soon as the admiral’s message reached me.”

The duke waved his hand toward a chair. “Please take a seat.”

“Thank you.” He did and then studied the man before him properly once the room settled into a slow drift from side to side. Rutherford might be small and his gray hair might signify considerable age, but it was easy to conclude the duke was not a man to cross from the direct manner he was being scrutinized in return.

“I trust your journey was uneventful and the weather fair?” the duke murmured.

“Yes, I covered the miles without incident,” Felix assured him, growing puzzled by the duke’s affable tone. “I have not been to this part of the countryside before. ’Tis very beautiful.”

“It is indeed.”

The duke stared at him with one brow raised. “You have become the best hound in the Royal Navy. You have achieved everything you promised me you would and more.”

“I trust you are satisfied with our arrangement, Your Grace,” Felix said, shifting in his chair at the memory of their prior meetings. A meeting where he had agreed to give up half the captain’s portion of the prize for the duke’s political backing and the ship beneath his feet. He might answer to Admiral Lord Templeton, but he was the duke’s man till he breathed his last breath. It was in his best interests to be accommodating and polite. “I am well aware I could not have achieved so much without your continued support. You have my gratitude.”

The duke studied him directly. “Our bargain was a mutually beneficial arrangement. I asked you not to meddle in family affairs, but it seems inevitable.”

Felix stilled and then cursed the Earl of Rothwell’s soft heart. Last year, Laurence Ford, the duke’s grandson and a lieutenant aboard his ship, had eloped with a girl. Rothwell, another grandson of the Duke of Rutherford and Sally’s older cousin, would have helped Laurence just for the fun of tweaking his family’s nose since they largely disapproved of him. “I have done everything in my power to protect Laurence without the appearance of favoritism that would set him apart from the other officers. I can hardly be held responsible for his actions whilst on leave.”

The duke scowled.

He had actually known about the elopement
as
Laurence and Lady Cecily were fleeing for Scotland, so he had to tread carefully about what secrets he kept. In retrospect, he might have been able to stop the marriage if he had gone to Rutherford with the news immediately. But he had not actually thought it his place to tell tales. “I did not know he had married until his return to ship.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes, Your Grace.” There had always been a chance the wedding would not take place. The family might have caught wind of the matter, or Laurence himself might have changed his mind. Felix waited, biding his time to see if the duke absolved him of collusion in the scheme.

The duke pursed his lips and then let out a deep breath. “I have no concerns about your treatment of Laurence. A little hardship now and then builds character in a man. I suppose I will have to settle a small estate on him close to London and remove his wife there after the war. Laurence must live with his choice of bride on his return and rue the day he acted so rashly.”

Felix sighed in relief and said nothing to that. He was not acquainted with the woman Laurence had married and did not ever pass judgment on anyone in love. Rutherford had ambitions for his grandchildren that outweighed everything else.

Especially love.

The door creaked open nearby and he turned, expecting Admiral Templeton to have come to end this awkward conversation. However, three servants bearing loaded trays moved about in the adjoining room and began laying a table with silverware and fine white linen. There was no sign of the admiral, so he resumed his seat.

“Thank you, Swift,” His grace called as the servants bowed. When they were gone, the duke speared him with a hard glance. “Captain, I do not normally eat with the family at this hour. They fuss. But I would have you join me.”

Dining with the duke had not crossed his mind, but he could not refuse. It was a great honor that Jennings would undoubtedly laugh uproariously over later if he were still sober. And Felix was starved. He had not eaten since yesterday, moments before he had thrown himself into the carriage to reach this meeting place. Hunger or not, generous offer or not, he would have to keep his wits about him still. “It would be a privilege.”

The duke stood, collecting two canes for support as he shambled across the carpeted floor. That was new. The movement appeared to pain him, and the man noticed Felix watching. “Wounds from my own stupidity years ago have begun to plague me. No doubt when you reach my age, your bones will ache like the devil too when a change of the weather is coming.”

“I have a midshipman on board whose predictions are accurate enough to set my sails by.” He waited until the duke sat, allowed the servants to fuss over him, and surveyed the meal they uncovered. Steak and eggs; pie too. Plus a great many dishes Felix had not sampled since he had become a captain. A meal fit for a king, or a member of the Duke of Rutherford’s large family. He saw a coffeepot and smiled as his cup was filled with the strong, rich liquid.

The footmen then served him a large portion of everything and stepped back to wait in the shadows. Felix followed the duke’s example to eat in silence, ignoring the tension of being under scrutiny of one who would judge him by his manners at table and probably find them lacking. It had been a long time since he had eaten in exalted company.

Months since he had been ashore.

When the plates were eventually cleared away and the footmen had returned to their other duties, the duke patted his stomach. “I like a man who values peace.”

“I have been at war my whole life.” He chuckled, finding Rutherford not as intimidating as he’d first feared he would be. Rutherford had good reason to be angry with him once. Felix
had
supposedly broken Sally Ford’s heart, and the duke was fiercely fond of his family. Perhaps he had mellowed as his age had increased. “I would not know what to do with peace.”

“Peace will come, sir, and you should be ready.” The duke’s stare pinned him in place. “It is only a matter of time before that bloody French prig is given his due, and then what will become of you?”

“Defeating Napoleon and France has been my mission for all the days of my service. I can barely imagine a time without war, and until the day comes when I can pass a Frenchman without being fired upon, I will keep up my guard.”

“Very wise, Captain.” The duke nodded. “But you must prepare for change.”

He frowned at that. Why talk of peace when he had come to speak of war with the admiral? “Yes, Your Grace.”

“Now, on to the business at hand. My son begged my leave today as he is engaged in another urgent matter,” the duke said. “The family, what there is of it at home, has gathered for the spring, and his attention has been diverted by the excitement of his guests.”

The admiral would not see him now? What the devil? He clenched his jaw at the delay that would keep him at Newberry longer than he liked. The messenger had claimed his presence was urgently required. That was the reason he had packed in a rush and departed London with all possible haste. “I am sorry to hear it. When will he see me?”

“Not until tomorrow, or the next day at the latest. He did not say exactly when, but I expect he will explain himself in good time.”

“Tomorrow or the day after?” Damn this nonsense. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but I am needed for the war. My men and my ship are sitting idly at anchor.”

“I know exactly what you are needed for and not needed for at this time, sir,” the duke barked, as if delaying his return to his command made not the slightest scrap of difference in his opinion. “A room has been prepared. Morgan will arrange a man to attend you. Do make yourself at home,
Captain
Hastings.”

To anyone else the invitation to stay at the ducal residence would be a boon to a career, but to Felix it was likely to be torture. He did not want to stay here, but he owed this man his ship. “Your Grace, I should not like to intrude on a family gathering. There seemed a serviceable inn a short distance away. I would be very happy to wait there until the admiral has time to see me.”

The duke stared at him harder than ever. “Resign yourself to your visit, Captain.”

“Yes, of course.” He had to wonder why the duke insisted he stay, and stay within these walls, while he waited.

The duke smiled warmly all of a sudden. “You would not want to miss the opportunity of renewing your acquaintance with the family.”