Chance for FreedomExcerpt
London, England, April 1826
Malcolm Westbourne startled awake, barely catching himself before the bouncing carriage tossed him to the floor. He’d had the dream again. Settling back in the seat, he tried to relax, but even in wakefulness, he couldn’t escape the torturous memory.
By order of the Royal Navy, Malcolm marched across the plank between ships. His crew boarded behind him, swarming the deck and below. They searched every inch—from the captain’s cabin to the bilge. “They cannot all be gone.” He stormed to the deck and rushed toward the vessel’s owner. “What did you do with them?”
William Fitz’s onyx eyes flashed with triumph. “Do with whom?”
“Everyone aboard ship.”
Slight sneer on his lips, Fitz said, “My men are all accounted for.”
“Where are the others?” Malcolm yelled.
“I do not know what you are nattering about.”
He lunged for the bastard’s throat.
Malcolm ran a hand over his face, trying to erase the memory, the images, the utter helplessness. At the age of six and thirty, he had witnessed his share of cruelty in the world, but what happened to those innocent victims that day was unconscionable. The most infuriating part of it all was the lack of evidence to prove what Fitz had done.
Forcing his thoughts back to the present, he buttoned his naval uniform coat and took in the familiar sights and sounds while the hackney rumbled along the waking streets. In the middle of the night, he’d docked The Greyhound at the naval shipyard in Southampton and immediately hired this hackney to convey him to London. Per Malcolm’s instructions, the coach approached the dockyard. Each time he returned to Town, the polluted air seemed worse, thicker, producing an incessant cloud overhead. The port grew wider and busier, resembling an ever-growing bee hive.
A stench waylaid him as the driver traversed the roads near the Thames. Malcolm rapped on the roof and the vehicle stopped. Jumping from the hackney, he joined the driver on the seat up front. As they drove, he scoured the harbor, looking for Fitz’s vessel, and found it docked in its usual spot. When was the blackguard scheduled to leave port and with what aboard his ship?
Thankfully, the farther they rode from the river, the smell abated.
When the carriage took a sharp turn onto Dover Street, Malcolm inhaled a deep, chest-expanding breath. He used his family’s townhouse when in London, having never purchased his own residence. He’d lived more of his adult life on the sea than land, and considered nowhere home.
Once he arrived at his family’s light gray brick townhouse, Malcolm paid the driver and picked up his bag. He tried the door. Locked. Banging the polished brass knocker, he waited.
When the door opened, Barkly exclaimed, “Captain Westbourne. Good to see you, sir.”
“Captain? Sir? Why so formal?” Malcolm clapped his friend’s shoulder, receiving a pat in return. “I am relieved to be in London.”
“For a day or two perhaps, but you will long for the sea soon. She is your mistress.”
Malcolm laughed. “You know me well.”
Dressed in livery, Barkly motioned to Malcolm’s bag. “Allow me to help you.” Ebony skin, as dark as his eyes, Barkly’s tall stately frame filled the doorway. He had been fifteen when Malcolm rescued him ten years earlier. Father instantly agreed to employ Barkly when Malcolm explained the boy’s plight.
“Malcolm,” his brother’s deep voice called.
He entered the house to find Trevor in the hallway next to the dining room. Malcolm had not expected his brother to be in London. No wonder Barkly was standing on formality.
Trevor looked most earl-like in tan trousers and a green waistcoat of the finest quality, his white cravat tied perfectly. “So glad you are home.”
“What brings you to Town?” Malcolm shook his hand.
“We can discuss that later. I am sure you would enjoy a meal and a bath.”
“Do I smell that bad? I could not tell with the stench of the city.”
Trevor chuckled. “You do not reek. Would you join me in breaking my fast?”
Malcolm’s stomach growled.
His brother grinned and gestured toward the dining room. “Breakfast awaits.”
Turning to Barkly, Malcolm said, “If you would, please take my bag to my room and ask for a bath to be readied. Also...” He dug into his coat pocket and handed Barkly his compass. “I was thrown against the gunwale in a storm and the glass broke.”
“I will take care of it.”
“Thank you.” Malcolm joined Trevor in the dining room. The scent of freshly cooked eggs and ham caused his stomach to grumble again. He savored every bite of his meal, glad to eat anything besides hardtack for breakfast. He continued to sip his tea while his brother Colin, his wife Antoinette, and Trevor’s wife Margaret joined them.
Trevor looked at Malcolm over the rim of his cup. “Was your trip successful?”
“Yes.” He didn’t elaborate. His family knew he was a Royal Navy officer, and that he served in the West Africa Squadron upholding the abolition of slave trading before being assigned to stopping the abductions of English workhouse children. But he never shared the details of his job with them. He saw no reason to describe the degradation he’d witnessed or give them reason to worry over his safety.
“Will you be on land for a while?” Trevor asked.
He nodded. “I hope to be.”
“What do you plan to do while in London?” Without waiting for an answer, Trevor spoke again. “I am quite sure I can gain another ticket to the theater tonight, would you like to accompany us?”
Margaret grabbed Trevor’s hand. “Malcolm has just arrived. Must you question him to death?” Everyone knew Trevor woke in a jovial, talkative mood each morning, while his wife, decidedly, did not.
“It is all right, Margaret.” Malcolm answered more of Trevor’s questions, then asked one of his own. “Are Beatrice and Mary due to arrive soon?” With his brothers in London, he expected his sisters and their families might be on their way.
Colin and Trevor glanced at each other. “Not that we are aware of.” Colin went on to invite Malcolm to other outings they had planned for that week. His brothers, like himself and his sisters, had dark-brown eyes and brown-reddish hair. Trevor and Colin wore their hair short and it had begun to gray around the temples, while Malcolm’s reached his collar and showed no signs of aging.
Throughout the conversation, Malcolm felt an urge to confide in them about his relationship with their father but was unsure how they would react. Malcolm’s siblings shunned Father for years before his death because of a misunderstanding, and Malcolm had pretended to do the same. But he’d actually visited Father anytime he was in port.
Eventually, he excused himself to bathe and dress in a fresh uniform. The huge bed in his chamber made up with a royal blue counterpane that matched the drapes, looked decidedly appealing, but he was never one to lie about in bed all day.
Unless he had a female companion.
The vision of Miss Katherine Ashby, her brown eyes smiling, flashed like a miniature painting in his mind. A year had passed since he’d seen her, but he still remembered her every feature in vivid detail.
He left his room, trod down the stairs, and knocked on the study door before entering. Trevor sat behind the teakwood desk, and Colin faced him in a wingback chair. Their father had traveled extensively, to India and beyond, and this study housed everything from brass incense burners to gold-handled, razor-sharp bayonets.
“Have you seen my messages?” Malcolm asked.
Trevor pointed to the side table where a pile of missives waited. Malcolm riffled through the stack, searching for a particular letter.
Nothing from Katherine.
Damn her.
He did find a message from Miss Celeste Young though. She apologized for her absence from their scheduled night over a year ago and requested his presence again—detailing the many pleasurable activities she planned for them to share.
Why wasn’t his body standing at attention? Why wasn’t he excited at the prospect of bedding Celeste? He brushed off his lack of enthusiasm as weariness from his journey. Retrieving a quill and paper, he wrote a response, agreeing to meet Celeste three nights hence.
If Katherine continued to avoid him, he would do whatever it took to expunge her from his thoughts. Celeste’s invitation was just the thing.
He brought the letter to the foyer table to put with the rest of the outgoing posts. Before he threw it in with the others, he paused.
If only Katherine...
No. She’d made it perfectly clear she wanted nothing to do with him. He tossed his reply on the stack and marched back to the study. A quarter-hour later, done reading his mail, he arranged them in order of importance.
“Malcolm,” Colin said. “There is a matter I...” He shared a look with Trevor, the same as the glance at the dining table. “We need to discuss with you.”
A pinch of resentment tweaked in his chest at his brothers’ relationship. They were close, as brothers should be. Malcolm was much younger and never enjoyed the same comradeship with them.
He sat in the chair next to Colin.
“This is a somewhat delicate matter.” Colin rose and shut the door.
“One which will need a certain...” Trevor closed the account book in front of him. “Discretion.”
Malcolm nodded. “I understand.”
Colin paced the Persian rug. “Ten years ago, when Antoinette and the girls traveled to Bath to visit her aunt, I became involved with a woman. Her husband was fighting in the Peninsula war at the time. We were both quite lonely.”
Though he detested the fact Colin betrayed his wife, Malcolm masked his emotions. Affairs were a common occurrence among the ton, but he expected more from his brother.
“Six months after the affair began, the woman vanished. A year after her disappearance, I received a summons and met with her. That’s when I learned she had borne a son.”
“Your son?” A throb pounded in Malcolm’s temple as he processed his brother’s revelation.
“She claimed so.”
“You had doubts?”
“Perhaps at first, but after I saw the boy there was no question to his fatherhood. He resembled me too much.”
“Then she didn’t bear a son, she bore your son,” Malcolm clarified.
“As you say.” Colin stopped and turned to face Malcolm. “She explained the babe resided at St. Lucien’s Orphanage in Reading.”
“The mother did not keep the child?” Malcolm’s temper spiked as if a mast was thrust into his brain. He struggled to keep his voice even. “Did you offer to raise the boy?”
“How could I? Antoinette had just moved back home, and she knew nothing of the affair. Still doesn’t. When she left for Bath in such a temper, I had misgivings she would ever return. But that happened years ago. We worked out our differences. I love Antoinette.”
Malcolm stood, crossed his arms, and waited.
“As soon as I learned about the child, I visited to check on him and give a stipend. That is when I met the manager, Tomas, who assured me the boy—”
“Use his name,” Malcolm interrupted. If his brother used the child’s name, perhaps he would become more compassionate toward the boy.
“Charles. His name is Charles. I continued to meet with Tomas once a year. He promised me of the boy’s happiness living there.”
Who could believe the words of an orphanage manager? It was common knowledge many of them mistreated the children and pocketed the financial contributions. Not all of them, of course. He felt certain Katherine involved herself in every facet of her orphanage and the children at Harrington’s were treated well. And loved. She never stopped talking about them the first time he met her.
“I received a missive three days ago from Tomas explaining Charles had vanished.” Colin scratched his forehead. “And Charles is not the only one. There are others.”
“From orphanages?” A prickle of awareness swept Malcolm’s spine. He knew all too well what happened to many of the missing children in England.
“Yes.” Colin spoke quickly. “Close to a dozen children.”
And those were the ones reported. How many others had been taken that no one cared about or noticed missing? Another thought hit him. What about Katherine’s children? If any of her orphans turned up missing, she would be devastated.
“Tomas alerted a magistrate and the Bow Street Runners. Malcolm, we are here to ask for your help.”
“I will see what information I can find.” Malcolm grabbed his messages and hastened across the room, then stopped at the doorway to glare at Colin. “You must inform Antoinette. And do it soon. I do not plan to keep secrets from your wife.”
Once out of the room, he strode to the table where he’d tossed the note for Celeste, but the stack was gone. He doubted he would make his night with the beautiful courtesan. That was probably for the best; she was not the woman he desired.
His concentration must center on uncovering information about the children, but that would be a challenge since his thoughts constantly reverted to Katherine. He hoped her beloved orphans were safe.