Chapter Ten #2
Now he faced him in the parlour of his townhouse, and Magnus wasn’t entirely sure what to say to the man.
The admiral was similar to his daughter in colouring, if nothing else.
He had a Mediterranean complexion, probably weathered by the sea and wind rather than Selina’s naturally luscious golden skin.
He also had a slight limp to his step that suggested an old battle wound, and the same dark almond eyes that were sultry on his daughter but seemed calculating and sly on this old sea-dog.
The admiral took the armchair opposite him and opened their conversation with an immediate firing of cannons.
‘You were at Copenhagen in 1807, yes? You must have been young then, but you still managed to destroy several ships before we could seize them—letting them sink in that storm untethered. Damn waste!’
‘I was seventeen. But you give me too much credit, Admiral. I was in charge of only one ship. The others simply followed my actions. I was doing my duty. Thrudheim was loyal to Denmark at that time, and Denmark was neutral,’ Magnus replied, coldly stating the facts to avoid an emotional reaction, but still unwilling to apologise for the brutality inflicted by the British on a nation that had tried to avoid war.
Yes, he wasn’t happy with the decisions the Danish king had made, but some things were inexcusable.
Magnus had been sent there by his father, but even he couldn’t have predicted what was about to happen until it was too late.
‘No country was neutral!’ snapped Admiral Mortimer. ‘Denmark was simply delaying the inevitable and suffered greatly for it. I am surprised you had the wisdom to destroy the ships at such a young age, but in the end, we still won even without those ships.’
There was no apology or excuse in his statement, and for some reason that softened the blow. The admiral was a practical man: Magnus could deal with logical men.
‘True.’
‘Thrudheim isn’t loyal any longer to Denmark—or what’s left of it—is it?’ the admiral asked shrewdly.
‘No, we are an independent country.’
‘Tiny.’
‘But not without friends.’
‘Indeed,’ said the admiral, steepling his fingers. ‘Why, then, are you willing to marry my ruined daughter? Shouldn’t you be after some duke’s or earl’s chit instead?’
Magnus flinched at the callous description of his own child: it reminded him of his own father, of the disgust on his face when he’d discovered Helga’s plans, the horrible slap he’d given her.
What else might he have done if Magnus hadn’t been able to intervene?
He hoped the admiral wasn’t a brute to Selina.
‘Your daughter is not ruined. I can assure you that nothing happened—’
‘Oh, I know that.’ He shrugged. ‘I received my title after the war. My Selina is a simple country girl who came to high society late. She has been dazzled by that life but not blinded. At twenty-six and with her dowry, she would have happily settled for some beau-monde fop. Someone who would have entertained and indulged her with a neat little house in Bloomsbury. Never would she have set her sights on a prince. She is a reckless and silly girl, but she knows her place and limitations. I can well imagine she compromised herself by some accident or foolishness, but she would never do so by design.’
Magnus bristled at the admiral’s less than complimentary description of Selina. The man was harsh and brutally direct. ‘It is true, that what happened wasn’t deliberate on either of our parts. However, I am partly to blame, and therefore it is my responsibility to protect—’
‘Selina is my responsibility!’ shouted the admiral, gripping the arms of his chair tightly and leaning forward to glare at him. It was the first time Magnus had seen any real emotion from the man since their conversation had begun.
The admiral sank back in his chair, as if satisfied with his reprimand. ‘And I will always protect my family. Selina may never win the heart of a rich dandy as she had hoped. But she will always have a home in Great Yarmouth. We will not abandon her, no matter how grave or stupid her mistakes.’
The man’s words were fierce and obviously from a place of genuine affection.
But the coldness of his expression made Magnus almost pity Selina such fatherly love.
He remembered the nervous clasping of her hands when she’d mentioned her father, and later how she’d miserably whispered, ‘You do not like me.’
At the time, he had thought she was describing her own feelings towards him, and his pride had been wounded by her words.
But now he realised she had also been thinking of her father, worrying that Magnus would never like or respect her. Selina obviously knew first hand how that felt. What it was like to be bound to someone who did not like them, and Magnus also knew how miserable that fate was.
For once, they had something in common.
‘I wish to marry your daughter, Admiral, at the earliest opportunity. If you would be kind enough to allow it?’