The MacGalloways: Books #1-3

Chapter 16

16

W hat a stupid thing to have said when she was supposed to be impersonating a man. Heaven’s stars, “ are all the MacGalloway men dashing? ”

Dashing!

Only a woman would use such a descriptor. Why hadn’t she thought before spewing such nonsense? Lord Gibb might be nearly as attractive as his brother but he was a MacGalloway and that was reason enough to completely ignore his good looks or to notice anything remotely alluring about the chap.

Worse, as soon as Julia stepped into the bawdy, smoke-filled tavern, ice pulsed through her blood. Though the alehouse was filled with loud sailors, her gaze immediately snapped to none other than Silas Skinner. He turned from his place at the bar, his gaze narrowing and instantly homing on her.

As heat crept up her face, she quickly looked to her toes. Surely the moneylender hadn’t recognized her in disguise. Even if there was an inkling of recognition, after neither Lady Charity nor His Grace had identified Julia at the ball, she was fairly certain that wearing her father’s clothing, her hair clubbed combined with a beaver top hat upon her head, she looked nothing like the lady who’d visited Deuce’s. Yes, there might be a resemblance, but what well-bred woman would take such an extraordinarily large risk to her reputation and pretend to be a man? It simply wasn’t done, which is why Julia and Willaby had concocted the idea in the first place.

Careful not to again allow her eyes to stray to the ghoulish fiend, she followed Dunscaby as he led the way to an empty table at the rear of the establishment, only to have a serving wench bump her arm, dousing her with a frothing beer. “Pardon me, luv.”

Julia brushed the foam from her coat, chancing a glance at the moneylender. Dash it all, the fiend was still staring. “Are you certain you wouldn’t prefer White’s, Your Grace? It would be a great deal quieter, would it not?”

“If my brother prefers to satisfy his thirst here, then here it is.” Martin stopped the wench before she returned to the bar. “Three brandies if you please.”

“If you please, hmm? Aren’t ye a fine dandy?” The woman fingered the lapel of his coat. “Would ye be needin’ a bit o’ company above stairs?”

Martin gently brushed her hand away. “Just the brandies, thank you.”

“Schooners of ales all around as well,” Gibb added.

Julia frowned against her urge to scowl. How dare the woman be so bold as to touch Martin…and then proposition him in front of everyone? Had the jezebel no shame? Though she’d never been to White’s, by its reputation she was fairly certain the gentlemen’s club was far more civilized. Besides, they allowed no women whatsoever and, she could wager, no salacious serving wenches.

While Dunscaby took a seat with his back to the wall, Julia opted for a chair across from him where Silas Skinner wouldn’t be able to see her face.

Martin caught His Lordship up on family news until three glasses of brandy were delivered. Julia turned hers between her fingertips, wishing it were lemonade and doing her best not to glance over her shoulder to see if Mr. Skinner was the person making her back feel as if it were afire. If only she could ask the duke or Lord Gibb to keep an eye on the seedy character at the bar.

In short order, Dunscaby turned the conversation to the navy. Though the casual exchange seemed to naturally flow, Julia knew the duke well enough to realize he was leading his younger brother down a well cultivated and plotted pathway. “Ye ken our mother was bereft when word came the HMS Cerberus had sustained heavy fire in the Battle of Lissa.”

A dark shadow crossed Lord Gibb’s ruggedly handsome features as he took a drink of ale. “It was like being in hell. We took the brunt of the musket fire—thirteen dead, four and forty wounded.”

“My God,” Dunscaby mumbled. “You know as well as I Mama would never be able to withstand losing a child. After all, she’s still mourning Da.”

“I’d be lying if I told you I hadn’t thought about resigning my commission.” Gibb gave a single nod. “A man tends to rearrange his priorities when staring death in the eye.”

Julia shuddered. “I cannot imagine.”

“No one can. ’Tis why young men eagerly march off to war.”

Martin flicked a bit of lint from his expertly tailored black woolen coat. “Aye, but they all return hardened and scarred.”

“If they come home at all,” Gibb replied, his voice haunted.

“Which leads me to exactly what I want to discuss at the moment.” Martin rapped his finger on the table. “I tasked Smallwood here with the conceiving of an enterprise—one that will sustain all of the MacGalloway sons, and I think our man is onto something.”

“Oh?” asked Gibb, his tone guarded while he looked at Julia as if she’d suddenly become more interesting.

Taking a cue from the duke’s nod, Julia squared her shoulders. “As I told His Grace, the cotton industry has grown by twelve hundred percent over the past few years and there simply aren’t enough mills in England, let alone Europe, to meet the demand.”

Gibb tossed back the remainder of his brandy, following it with a hearty drink of ale. Before he spoke, he wiped the froth from his upper lip. “I’m a sailor, life in a factory is not for me, nor is cotton for obvious reasons.”

“Aye,” Martin agreed. “That’s why you’d be captaining your own merchant ship, delivering MacGalloway whisky and bringing harvests from the Americas, produced by Irish sharecroppers, mind you.”

“Cotton picked by free men?”

“Aye, and sold exclusively to us.”

“Irish sharecroppers,” Lord Gibb said, looking into his empty glass as if cogitating on the notion. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

Julia pushed her untouched brandy in front of the MacGalloway sailor. “I hadn’t either until I responded to small advertisement they placed in the Gazette.”

“Not to worry, brother,” Martin added. “We have verified their existence and they are eager to do business with us.”

Lord Gibb gave Julia a nod and picked up her brandy. “My ship?”

“You are a commander, are you not?” Martin tapped his brother’s glass in toast. “Dunna ye see yourself stepping into a captain’s role?”

“I’ve considered the possibility.” Gibb looked to the exposed beams overhead. “But then that would mean leaving my crew…turning my back on the war.”

“I believe you have done quite enough for king and country. ’Tis time someone else filled your shoes.” Martin pulled the list Julia had made regarding the available ships and pushed it toward his brother. “On the morrow, you and I will go to Barry and Coates shipyard where I fully intend for you to select the most seaworthy vessel in their fleet.”

Gibb scanned the note. “Wait a moment, are you saying this will be my ship?”

“Consider it your birthright. And in exchange, I ask you to be our commander on the seas and support your brothers in this venture. As soon as Philip and Andrew have sat their exams, I’m sending them to take over a warehouse at Kinclaven on the River Tay and turn it into a mill. The property has already been purchased. Smallwood is in the process of ordering looms and equipment.”

“Cotton grown by Irishmen in America?” Gibb said as if warming to the idea. “Andrew and Philip are amenable?”

“They are, indeed. I have received letters from both lads full of their ideas on the venture. Even Frederick has written me to ask if he can leave school and roll up his sleeves alongside them.”

“I imagine Mama would have objected to the lad’s request. How did you reply?” asked Gibb.

“Of course, I told him no. Frederick can join the twins and will be granted an equal share after he’s earned his diploma.”

Gibb snorted. “Freddy always did want to grow up faster than everyone else.”

“Mayhap that’s why he’s earning top marks in his class—he’s anxious to march through university and prove his worth to the world.”

“Aren’t we all?” Julia mused, more to herself than to the two gentlemen across the table.

Martin raised his tankard. “So, Captain, are you with us or will I need to search for some other commander for my ship?”

Gibb’s blue eyes narrowed. “May I sleep on it?”

“Do you honestly need to? Or is it your conscience that is preventing you from making the most sensible decision?”

“I’m tempted, I’ll tell you true, but if I decide to resign my commission, I need to ensure my replacement is onboard the Cerberus afore I go.”

“That’s only fair. It is good to see you shoulder your responsibility.” Dunscaby reached for his hat. “I say, the MacGalloway lads all seem to be coming into their own.”

Julia couldn’t have agreed more. When she’d first walked into Newhailes, Martin didn’t come across as duke-like. He’d also seemed a bit lost. It could have been due to the passing of his father, but over the past couple of months, he’d assumed his mantle responsibly, transforming before her eyes.

Dunscaby stood. “Drink up, Smallwood. I’ve a mother at home waiting to see her seafaring son.”

Julia glanced to her brandy, still half full. “Forgive me but?—”

“Smallwood, are you a man or kin of the mouse you escorted out of the lassie’s carriage?”

On a sigh, she did her best not to wince as she gulped down the fiery liquid. Bless it, brandy is even fouler tasting than whisky.

Fortunately, Lord Gibb helped himself to her schooner, the man’s Adam’s apple bobbing as he guzzled it.

Julia swayed a bit when she stood, but finally allowed herself a peek at the bar. Thank the stars Mr. Skinner was gone. And though the crowd had grown, Julia had no problem winding her way out to the footpath, until she caught a look at the duke’s carriage waiting at the curb.

Silas Skinner pushed away from where he’d been leaning against the wheel and gestured to the gold Dunscaby crest embellishing the shiny black door. “Good afternoon, Your Grace. Might I say what a surprise it is to see you in these parts. ’Tis a bit perilous to leave such an exquisite piece of craftmanship so near the Pool.”

The duke took a bold step forward, towering over the gaunt man. “Skinner, is it? Why should I pay heed to a word you say?”

“I’ve no reason to lie. The truth is far too fascinating.” Tipping his hat, the cur stepped past Dunscaby, his eely eyes cutting to Julia. “Is it not, sir?”

As he walked past her, he turned his lips toward her ear and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Or should I say, my lady? By the by, I shall require payment for my silence.”