Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

K eith wiped sweat from his brow as he and his crew unloaded the last barrel of gunpowder. He stood on a makeshift dock near the Calais harbor. He couldn’t sail directly into the French port, since the British government banned its merchants from trading with the French. But it wasn’t a francophone with whom he did business. It was a member of the Royal Navy desperate for ammunition the British government didn’t supply. The East India Company failed to produce enough to meet the demand, so it created a need Keith willingly supplied.

“When can you return with more?” Captain Smithers asked.

“In a month, maybe two. The next batch heads to the Americas. Our soldiers need the tea along the west coast.” No one ever spoke the truth aloud, always using a code. With this sailor, Keith kept it simple.

“That’s more dangerous than coming to France. If the Company learns what you’re doing, they’ll have you hanged for treason.”

“It’s not as though I supply the Yanks.”

“But you are making them unnecessary. If they can’t justify being there, then how will they gain a western route to China?” The captain dipped his chin and raised his eyebrows. It was the single most important reason Keith and his connections worked in secret, and it was the gravest danger the Pedricks faced as the manufacturers.

“I will take care.” Keith reached out his hand and accepted the silver-filled pouch. It was money the British government paid to quartermasters for bribes. The government knew it was a necessity, but they didn’t realize the money went into the hands of smugglers who undercut the need for the East India Company.

Keith watched as his men continued to toil. They loaded one barrel after another of the black powder that only at a glance resembled black tea leaves. Anyone who looked—or sniffed—too closely would easily recognize the gun powder for what it was. In the past, when he knew he faced the greatest danger conveying his cargo to his ship in England, he packed the gun powder between grain, filling the bottom third of the barrel with the seeds, then the gun powder, then a final layer of grain. It meant the recipient had to sift through the contents, but it disguised it from the excisemen when they insisted upon prying the lids off barrels. He often soaked the burlap sacks in tea, absorbing the scent into the fabric. When the tea smell permeated the sacks, it gave the impression the leaves filled the sack when it was really gun powder. With his Letters of Marque, making him a legal privateer according to the English government, he would claim he’d confiscated the tea and was returning it to the East India Company. When he truly carried tea, it was smuggled from France to England. He’d gotten creative over the years.

Time slipped by as he rejoined his men. Once they’d unloaded their illegal cargo, they filled the hull with Champagne, lace and silks, cocoa, and tobacco. The lace and silks he hid in his cabin in his trunks’ false bottoms. While he risked crushing any poorly made crate, he’d hid the bottle of spirits and wine at the bottom of stacks. He knew the excisemen gave up when the top half of the stack contained legal goods he carried as a diversion.

Keith said his farewells before he and his crew were once more underway. He sailed west for another day before making landfall. He accepted barrels of brandy that would fetch a price higher than gold once Rajesh received them. His friend and fellow privateer hadn’t known his family’s involvement in the south coast smuggling ring before being earl. While he’d actively sailed, he’d brought goods to his now-dead brother, Arjun, who was then the Earl of Devon. Arjun kept Rajesh uninformed, so he thought his brother engaged in legitimate trade. It wasn’t until Rajesh inherited the earldom that the truth emerged.

His brother’s and sister-in-law’s untimely deaths never felt like an accident to Rajesh. Investigating led him to documents his father and brother hid. Even now he wondered if his brother ever planned to share their family secrets with him. He knew his brother well enough to be certain Arjun believed he took care of his younger brother by not making him aware of the illegal activities. Being a privateer was already dangerous enough without adding smuggler to the mix. He still owned five ships that privateered, so Rajesh soon accepted the role of a nobleman smuggler.

The weather grew uncooperative, and it took him three days to sail home. The journey back to England was always slower than when he left. But for those long days at sea, the winds assailed him, rocking his ship more like a dinghy than a brigantine. His ship had two masts and was large enough to carry a crew of one-hundred-and-twenty-five men. That day, he sailed with only three dozen, but the sturdy and speedy ship shouldn’t have fought the currents as much as it did. Waves crashed over the rails, and there were times when the crew lashed themselves to the masts. Keith avoided his cabin since he was little more than a pea rattling around in a tin can.

The delay frustrated him since he wished to return to Lydia. Guilt plagued him for leaving her after such an intimate interlude. He knew she understood, but he still felt like a cad. He knew how momentous the time together was for him, so he imagined it left Lydia unsettled since she lacked experience. At least, he hoped she shared his sentiments about their brief but passionate tryst.

He’d already been gone more than a fortnight, and he was restless to return to her. He feared she changed her mind while he was gone. In contrast, he’d only grown more resolved that he wished to make her his duchess. He would ask Rajesh’s advice on how to approach his uncle about courting Lydia. It was with a sigh of relief that he dropped anchor near the beach below Powderham Castle.

“You look knackered.” Keith grinned as he walked up the cliff side path to meet Rajesh.

“And you look—and smell—like shite.” Rajesh extended his hand, which Keith gladly accepted. They’d repaired their friendship when Keith arrived two weeks earlier for the gunpowder. “Charlie isn’t sleeping well now that she’s so close to her confinement. I feel badly for her, so I stay awake until she falls asleep again.”

“You’re a good husband.” Keith wondered if he would do as well as Rajesh. He knew his friend had sworn for years he would never marry. At least, he would never marry an Englishwoman. He’d avoided the matrimonial noose with a mistress he’d kept in Antigua for years. But Rajesh had fallen in love with Charlie almost immediately. Keith hadn’t believed it at first, but it hadn’t taken long to realize the couple was devoted to one another. A twinge of jealousy pinched his chest whenever he thought of them and how he was uncertain Lydia would want him once he returned. “What news do you have?”

Rajesh hesitated as they walked to the house. He stopped and turned toward Keith. He’d sensed Keith’s interest in Lydia when he sneaked into Forde Abbey. His friend confirmed it during his last visit. He loathed telling him what he knew. “Uncle Will persists in introducing Lydia to more suitors. He promised her it would ultimately be her choice, but he’s pressuring her more. His last letter, which arrived two days ago, insinuated he’d found someone he thought was an undeniably good candidate. I don’t know who.” Rajesh raised his hand as Keith opened his mouth to demand that information.

“Bloody hell. It’s another day’s sailing from here since the wind’s been against us. She could be betrothed by now.” Keith gazed east as though he could see all the way to Lyme Regis and Abbington House. It tempted him to set sail that very minute.

“The tide won’t turn for another three hours. Come in and eat. A bath wouldn’t be remiss if you intend to storm their gates and claim her.”

Keith scowled, finding no humor when Rajesh’s grin widened. He nodded his agreement, and he soon found himself in a guest chamber with a tub of steaming water before him. The maids offered what they believed were enticing smiles, one going as far as to hold the soap hostage and cocking her eyebrow. But he ordered them gone. It only irritated him when they delayed him even a minute. As he slipped into the warm water, it tempted him to soak and ease his tense muscles. But then he recalled why he was so tense. He scrubbed himself until his skin was pink.

“Even if her father betrothed her the minute you set sail, they still haven’t posted the banns three times. She’s not married,” Charlie reassured as she held her swollen belly. In the fortnight since he’d last seen her, Keith was convinced her waist had expanded twofold. He didn’t doubt she was uncomfortable.

“I’d rather not take the risk that Abbington settles for a common license and foregoes the banns. You two did.” Keith took his seat for the midday meal, but he found no interest in his food.

“I doubt that. Uncle Will is a stickler for propriety with his daughters. He refuses to do anything that might cause gossip or give anyone reason to look down at Lydia and her sister.” Rajesh set down his fork. “Don’t glower at me. I’m not the one who’d speak against them.”

While there were Indians in England, they were a small population. People outside of London or other trade towns were less familiar with the culture or the people. Even in such a diverse city as London, with foreigners coming and going, Lydia’s family could cause a stir. While most people were polite, at least only staring but not talking to them, some were brazen and insulted the family. Rajesh’s uncles, Theo and Will, were fiercely protective of their wives and children. His own father had been the same way.

“No one should dare.” Keith felt his temper spiking, and it was utterly unusual for him. He’d learned to control his temper as a child, forced to accept his father’s beatings without a sound. The old duke had tormented him and struck him anytime he showed a moment of emotion. Each time he’d flinched had resulted in a birch branch across his backside when he was six. Not that he felt no emotions now; he’d learned to mask them and keep them under a tight rein. But the thought of Lydia marrying another man sent him in a tailspin.

Keith ate with such haste he nearly dribbled sauce down the front of his shirt. He caught it with his napkin in time. The last thing he needed was to arrive at the Abbingtons’ door with soiled clothing and looking disheveled. When the meal ended, he did his best to be gracious to his host and hostess, but he practically sprinted back to the dinghy that would ferry him to his ship. He bellowed orders for them to get underway while he climbed the rope ladder to board his vessel. When the shoreline alerted him they were near home, he donned a fresh set of clothes, appearing more like a duke than a privateer with his hair pulled back in a queue, ruffled cuffs, and a starched cravat. He loathed the attire, but he would make a good impression on Will. He intended to go directly to Abbington House without detour.

His moment of ease lasted only that. As he approached Abbington House, he spied a carriage. As he drew closer to it, he recognized the crest.

“No. It can’t be. Not him of all bloody people.”

* * *

Lydia fought not to roll her eyes as her father paraded yet another suitor before her. She’d alluded to her interest in Keith and that he reciprocated, but her father’s face turned into a thundercloud. Apparently, the baronet took no issue with smugglers, but he drew the line at Viking-looking pirates. He argued Keith’s reputation set him apart from men like Rajesh, who merely boarded Spanish galleons and removed their cargo. Keith was known to sink ships—with crews still aboard. He had a reputation for brawling in taverns on Caribbean islands, and he’d supposedly left a trail of broken hearts throughout the Lesser Antilles. That was the single detail that wounded Lydia.

Keith had been away two days, and her father had spared no time, ensuring a new prospective husband presented himself before her. At first, she’d had a niggling feeling the man appeared familiar as she watched him enter the drawing room. The moment their eyes met she’d known. She wasn’t certain how, but Keith and the new arrival were related. She’d cast an accusing glare at her father, but he studiously ignored her as he introduced the newcomer as Oliver Gwyn, Viscount Sackville. The moment she heard the name, a wave of loathing washed over her. Her gaze hardened to a glower, surprising the young man. He smiled and appeared charming, but Lydia trusted him not at all.

“Lady Lydia, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Thank you.” Lydia knew her succinct answer was rude, but she refused to lie and say she reciprocated his sentiment. It was the furthest thing from a pleasure.

“Lord Oliver, would you care for tea?” Sarla offered, shocked by her daughter’s curtness. Even when Lydia had encountered people in the past for whom she didn’t care, she’d never been impolite.

“That would be lovely, Lady Abbington.” Oliver smiled at the woman, and Lydia fought not to curl her nose at his saccharine tone. To her, he sounded like a supercilious toad.

Sarla rang for tea, and it wasn’t long before a maid arrived with a tray that included a plate of biscuits. The food and drink gave Lydia an excuse for not joining the conversation. Each time she feared Oliver would speak to her, she’d take a bite. By the time they finished, she’d eaten half the plate and drunk two cups of tea. She excused herself to dress for dinner and fled.

The evening meal was uneventful; except Oliver was far too solicitous even for Will’s taste. He knew the young man attempted to ingratiate himself, but his tactic was far too much for having only met Lydia a few hours earlier. It had come as a surprise when Oliver sent a letter to Will inquiring about Lydia’s hand in marriage and requesting an opportunity to see if they might suite. He’d written that he would like to meet Lydia and get to know her before he would do anything so formal as court her. But it took only their introduction for Will to deduced the lord intended to woo Lydia from the start.

Lydia’s predicament only worsened when she discovered the Viscount would be their extended guest. It didn’t take long to realize that, unlike the other suitors her father introduced but always assured were her choice to decline, it was obvious Will expected her to choose Oliver. He wouldn’t say it outright, since he’d promised it would ultimately be her decision who she married. But she couldn’t escape the undeniable determination in her father’s expressions.

It forced her to go for daily walks on her family’s grounds. She took tea with him both in the morning and the afternoon and sat next to him at every meal. It was excessive, and by the time the second week drew to an end, Lydia was beside herself. She cried to her mother, who sided with her daughter. She beseeched her father to reconsider, but when he demanded a reason, she couldn’t share one. To all appearances, Oliver Gwyn was the model of gentility and charm. He was handsome, but he did nothing for her. Even if she hadn’t known what she did, he wouldn’t appeal to her. Not after what she and Keith had shared in his library.

Whenever she could escape, she went to the beach. She stood for ages looking out to sea, hoping to spy a ship’s mast. But one never came. Her heart ached with disappointment each time the sun forced her to return home. She excused herself early each night, claiming fatigue from their walks and the spring air. Everyone in her household knew she had a hardy constitution, but none would disagree with her once she spoke in front of Oliver. Even her father didn’t press the issue after the first three nights.

Now she sat in the music room as she played the piano. They’d been to church that morning, her family riding in the Viscount’s coach. They’d only returned five minutes earlier, but Oliver had practically demanded she entertain him.

“Lady Lydia, your talent exceeds most young ladies. It would be an honor to listen to you play. It lightens the soul to hear such melodic tones. I’m certain you will play better than ever.”

Lydia masked her disgust as she turned away. When her gaze met her father’s she glowered. It shocked him to receive such a hostile stare from his usually mild-mannered daughter. He wondered if Oliver said or did something untoward during one of their walks.

In public, he was cordial to her family and gallant to her. But when it was only a servant as her chaperone, he was demanding. He expected her attention to be fully on him when they went walking. So much so she’d stumbled more than once, wrenching her ankle badly during an afternoon stroll.

She’d dissuaded him from kissing her each time he tried, reminding him a servant watched. The maid or groom reported to her father, so it would behoove Oliver not to do anything that might anger her father. Will had made his expectation that Oliver keet his hands to himself clear, but it hadn’t convinced the young man not to try.

Lydia’s fingers froze above the keys as a forceful knock sounded at the front door. Her heart raced as she imagined it might be Keith finally returned. She wondered if the Viscount’s carriage remained in the drive. She didn’t doubt Keith would recognize it immediately. She had her answer as he burst into the music room, the butler scurrying to get ahead and announce him. Keith glared at the man a head shorter than him as he entered the chamber.

Lydia rose without realizing what she did. She stepped around the bench as Keith approached. He took her hand before she could offer it, bringing it to his lips. He pressed them against the satiny skin, propriety be damned. He wouldn’t let his cousin take what he wanted. He rued not approaching Will about Lydia before he left. He never imagined Lydia’s father would so aggressively push his daughter toward a man. Keith’s housekeeper reported she’d seen Oliver and Lydia walking every day, but she also noted she frequently spotted Lydia on the beach staring out to sea. It was all he needed to hear as he passed through his home on his way to the Abbingtons.

“Lady Lydia, you look beautiful.” Keith wouldn’t mince words. He’d seen Will and Oliver’s stunned expressions, and he sensed Oliver moving closer. But he kept his attention fully on Lydia.

“Thank you, Your Grace. The sun and fresh air suit you.” Lydia’s eyes twinkled as she met Keith’s gaze. It was a most forward comment, but she cared not. Now that she knew he’d returned, and his intentions were clear, she harbored no more fear he no longer wanted her. The heat in his gaze told her everything, even if his greeting hadn’t.

“Your Grace.” Oliver’s voice permeated the bubble into which the couple had stepped. “Cousin, I didn’t expect you.”

Keith released Lydia’s hand but wrapped her arm around his. He continued to stake his claim as he nodded to Will, then Oliver. “I returned in the past half-hour.”

“You came straight here?” Lydia whispered. Keith returned his gaze to hers.

“I couldn’t stay away, little one. I won’t stay away.” Keith kept his voice equally low. He looked at Will, ignoring Oliver. “Have you betrothed your daughter to him?”

“No. I?—”

“Then I formally request Lady Lydia’s hand in marriage.” Keith covered Lydia’s hand on his arm with his.

“Wait now, Cousin. I have been courting the lady for a fortnight. You cannot merely swoop in and take what is mine.” At Will’s throat clearing, Oliver rephrased. “What I wish to be mine.”

Sarla stepped forward, having silently watched the scene since before Keith arrived. She’d seen how uncomfortable Oliver made her daughter, but she knew not why. Lydia had been evasive, but she’d told her mother she didn’t trust Oliver and feared he would hurt her if they married. She’d warned her husband, but he’d sworn he could still protect Lydia, even after she became another man’s property in the law's eye.

She watched Keith approach Lydia and seen how her daughter blossomed as soon as they touched. She recalled being the same while Will courted her, and she recalled her father having similar objections. The maharaja had another man, an Indian man, in mind. But it hadn’t taken Surat long to realize he fought a losing battle. All three of his daughters were destined to make a life with Englishmen. Sarla saw her daughter was destined to be with Keith.

“My daughter belongs to no one but herself, my lord.” Sarla stood on the other side of Lydia, daring the viscount to disagree. Her lineage was no secret. While she’d married a man well below a viscount, her poise and confidence spoke to being a princess. The younger man might outrank her in England, but he was wise not to argue.

“My apologies, Lady Abbington.” Oliver turned to Lydia, and she watched as he nearly reached out to her but thought better of it. She knew he feared she would reject him, and she would. “Lady Lydia, I have grown fond of you over the past fortnight. I can’t help but think of you beside me.”

The edge in his voice made his words sound like a veiled command. She leaned against Keith unknowingly, but they both felt it when their shoulders brushed. It took every ounce of decorum Keith could dredge not to wrap his arm around Lydia as though she were already his wife.

“Your Grace, as you can see, Lord Sackville has already made his intentions clear. I have already considered his suit. You are too late.” Will’s stare was unwavering as he looked at Keith. The younger man couldn’t understand why, from a business perspective, Lydia’s father would choose to bring a man into the Abbington family who wasn’t aware of Will’s less-than-legal dealings. Keith was certain Oliver wasn’t a smuggler. He’d heard his cousin speak out against it. It led him to wonder what Oliver knew or had done to gain Will’s support.

“You said your daughter isn’t betrothed. Lest she’s married, it’s not too late.” Keith’s bearing spoke to a man who’d been reared to be a duke from the cradle. His time spent captaining his ships and raiding the Spanish only added to his confidence and commanding presence. He looked down his nose at his cousin. He hadn’t been able to stand Oliver when they were children. Oliver had been conniving and vicious when he didn’t get his way. Even if Keith wasn’t interested in a future with Lydia, he wouldn’t relegate her to one with Oliver. He feared for her, knowing his cousin’s propensity to violence when deterred.

“Your Grace—” Will began.

“Father.” Lydia swayed before crumpling, trusting Keith would catch her. She’d never swooned before, so she hoped she appeared believable. She kept her eyes closed despite hearing the panic in Keith’s voice.

“Lyddie,” Keith begged as he cupped her cheek, kneeling as he cradled her upper body in his arms. The way she’d collapsed trapped her hand between Keith’s arm and her belly. She tapped her forefinger, knowing he could feel it rising against his sleeve. She felt some of the tension ease as he understood her sign. He scooped her into his arms and turned toward the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Oliver demanded.

“To take Lady Lydia to her chamber. Lady Abbington, please show me the way.”

“You can’t do that,” Oliver hissed.

Keith paused, dramatically turning toward his cousin with Lydia in his arms. “I’m a bloody duke. I can do whatever the hell I want.”

Lydia turned her head toward Keith’s chest, hiding her grin. She hoped one day she was a duchess and could tell him that in private as she stripped him. His hand under her voluminous skirts twisted from her leg to her backside. He squeezed, then rested it there, where he was certain no one could see. He turned back toward the door and followed Sarla up the stairs. At Lydia’s door, her mother opened it and walked to her daughter’s bedside. She watched every moment of Keith carrying Lydia across the chamber, then lowering her to the bed.

“Lydia, you can open your eyes.” Sarla crossed her arms and sighed. “That may have ended that scene, but it hardly solved this situation. Your Grace, you might refrain from antagonizing my husband or your cousin. You may be a duke, but Will is her father.”

“And I’ve reached my majority, Mother. No one can force me to marry someone I refuse.”

“We all know that, Lydia. But that hardly remedies the problem right now. You have two men willing to fight over you, and your father has already picked sides. This was never a simple matter, and now it has grown mighty complicated.”

“Lady Abbington, I intend to marry Lady Lydia. I was remiss in not saying anything before my last journey. None of you should think you can dismiss me.” Keith looked at Lydia before he kneeled on one knee. “What do you want, Lydia? Tell the truth. It’s only your wishes I will consider.”

“You.”

The single word rang in the air as the couple forgot about Sarla. They gazed at one another as Keith wrapped his hand around Lydia’s and brought it to his mouth. He kissed her knuckles before he brought the back of her hand to his cheek. It hid half his profile as he mouthed, “Tonight.”

Lydia had already decided to seek him once everyone else retired. She couldn’t react with her mother watching, but she knew Keith understood her silent agreement. He rose, then leaned forward to kiss her forehead. Sarla exhaled her disapproval loudly, but she said nothing. She gave her daughter a long stare before following Keith from the chamber. Once in the passageway and out of Lydia’s earshot, she stopped Keith.

“I’ve never said anything to Will or Lydia, but I saw you at the funeral. I saw your grief as they lowered the coffin. I saw how you despised your father. I also saw you notice Lydia and the moment you recognized her. I’ve observed you when you see each other in the village. I know she frequents the beach even more often than before Rajesh and the others came. You appreciate my daughter’s attractiveness, but I see there is more to it than that. Do not prove me wrong when I say I give you my blessing. I will do what I can with Will.”

It wasn’t often that Will and Sarla were at odds. She understood her husband’s rationale for endorsing Oliver, and she knew he didn’t support the Viscount as much as he’d pretended to in the music room. But she couldn’t guarantee Will would accept her suggestions this time or Keith’s intentions. For once, there was more at stake than their daughter’s happiness when choosing a mate.

“That’s all I can ask for, Lady Abbington.”

“If we become family one day, I hope you will call me Sarla. Your mother always did.” She spoke softly, a kindness in her voice Keith hadn’t heard since he was a child. The sound flooded his memory. He went rigid at the mention of his mother, having not spoken about her in two decades. But now he recalled Sarla coming to visit and how it was the only time his mother laughed besides when she was with Keith and Kelsey.

“I would like that, my lady. Be prepared. It will be soon, but not soon enough.” Keith followed the woman he hoped would become his mother-in-law as she led him to the door. He had nothing more to say to Will or Oliver, at least nothing productive. He wouldn’t let it devolve into a shouting match, which it would become if he didn’t cool his temper before seeing his cousin again.

Oliver stepped out of the music room as Sarla and Keith passed the doorway. The malice in Oliver’s gaze was impossible to miss. Keith sensed Sarla was ill at ease as Oliver approached. He angled himself to shield Sarla if the need arose.

“Lady Abbington, I would know how Lady Lydia fares.” It was a demand, not a request made from concern. “We are due for our promenade in a quarter-hour. The air in the garden will do her good.”

“I hadn’t realized you’d nursed many people back to health, Oliver.” Keith once more looked down his nose at his cousin. While Oliver was nearly as tall as Keith, he lacked the girth Keith had developed from years of sailing. His chest was half the width of Keith’s, especially when Keith put his hands on his hips. “I never pictured you as a nursemaid.”

“Common sense, Cousin. One who has any would know that.” Oliver stepped forward, not at all intimidated by Keith.

More fool is he if he thinks we’re the same as we were as children. I accepted your tantrums and spoiled attitude because fighting you wasn’t worth the beating I would have received. There is no one bigger than me now. Test me, you little prick. I dare you to.

Keith continued to stare at Oliver until his cousin finally realized he’d poked the bear too hard. When Keith leaned slightly forward, Oliver appeared rooted to the spot.

“You may have gotten what you wanted when we were children because I didn’t care enough about what I had, and you had nothing I wanted. But I will protect what’s mine now. Do not doubt that. I could have beaten your arse then, and I’m certain we all know I can do it now. Change your tone when you address Lady Abbington and Lady Lydia. I will know if you don’t. The walls have ears.”

Keith turned to Sarla and bowed before he left. He didn’t look back until he rounded the house. He looked up at what he knew was Lydia’s window. She stood there and waved. He smiled to her, his only outward acknowledgement. They would share a private reunion that night.

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