Chapter 1 #2
“ ‘Before Bannock could secure the mast and drooping sails, Surcouf moved in again, this time to board himself. French sailors
swarmed Phoenix with weapons drawn. Captain Bannock and his crew, along with myself and my marine detachment, took up arms and fought for
our lives.
“ ‘After a half hour of brutal combat, the French crew, who outnumbered us two-to-one, seized control of Phoenix. Captives included Bannock, fifteen remaining crewmen, myself and the two surviving marines.
“ ‘What happened over the next hours,’ ” continued Fernsby, “ ‘as the French captain abandoned all rules of engagement and
any notion of honor as an officer or a gentleman, can best be described as cruel, and brutal, and torturous. Never in my years—’ ”
And here Luke stopped listening. He would not hear it, he would not relive it. He existed inside the churning tomb of angry
memories. Fernsby would say the rest of it, no hellish detail left undescribed; and the prince and his council would imagine
the horror from the safety of their velvet cushions. The nightmares tonight would be punishing, but Luke would wait for the
reward.
Wait for the reward, he repeated in his head. This had become his sole motivation and reason for drawing breath. He need only endure these war
stories and tell the prince what he wanted.
“ ‘With his boat sinking and his crew dead or captive, Bannock managed to escape into the cold, shark-infested Atlantic Ocean, swimming into the darkness with my unconscious form pressed to his broken shoulder. After two nights of floating aimlessly,’ ” Fernsby finally, blessedly, concluded, “ ‘Captain Bannock caught sight of HMS Tribute, a passing ship of the line, and managed to signal the barrelman.
By no small miracle, we were saved. Accounts of Bannock,
beaten, bloody, half-frozen and clinging to floating remains of Phoenix’s mast, have been widely circulated by the crew of Tribute. All of them, I vow to you, are true.
“ ‘Just to be clear, sir, not only did Captain Bannock rescue me that night, he safeguarded the War Office dispatch. He refused
to return to Cornwall until he saw me revived and the orders delivered to Spain.’ ”
And after two nights and a day of treading water, Luke amended, Bannock knew that he would not get paid if Fernsby died before he could recite the precious dispatch to his comrades in Spain.
Also, no one would believe what happened without a marine officer to corroborate his story.
“Riveting, Jamie,” Prince George was saying. Fernsby beamed at the praise and glanced conspiratorially at Luke.
“And thank you, Captain Bannock,” intoned the prince, “for your bravery and selfless effort on behalf of my cousin—and of course the dispatches
bound for Spain. We should like to reward you for your service to Crown and Country. Pray, will you say what we might grant
you as a token of thanks for your valiant heroism?”
“Highness,” Luke said, bowing curtly. “Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “If it pleases you, I should like to request the
hand in marriage of an exiled French princess living under your protection in England these last twenty years. Princess Danielle
Allard d’Orleans.”
“So you say,” mused the prince. “I’d been advised that this would be your request. The Orleans name is one I’ve not heard in years, but I remember the lot of them—not Princess Danielle specifically, but the family.
There were three Orleans siblings exiling in England after the Revolution, and she was the youngest. My advisors assure me that the princess called Danielle has remained in England.
She lives with her surrogate family in a village in Kent and a betrothal can be arranged.
Her sister and brother have left royal service and married English citizens.
The elder sister actually married a castle retainer—or a glorified guardsman, one might say.
He worked as hired muscle for my father.
Based on this precedent, I don’t see a problem with the younger one marrying a national hero.
Their mother exiled in Spain and has died.
Their father was beheaded during the Terror.
You marrying her will be a favor to me, honestly.
We are long overdue to end our obligation to the Orleans family, and good riddance.
But pray, Captain Bannock, will you say why a betrothal—of all things? And why this girl?”
Luke frowned and glanced at Fernsby. The other man gave him a confident look. Luke turned his attention back to the throne.
“I want to marry Princess Danielle,” he said, “because my enemy wants to marry her. If she is married to me, he cannot have
her, can he?” It was half of the truth.
“Ah,” said the prince. “And which enemy is that?”
“The French captain Vincent Surcouf. The man who tortured and killed my crew, and who took a very close friend of mine—an old man—as prisoner. If you’ll permit me, sir; what your cousin’s account didn’t mention is that before Fernsby was pitched into the Atlantic, he was soundly beaten.
Captain Surcouf dealt the beating himself; all the while demanding information about a missing French princess under the care of the British royal family.
Your cousin’s uniform identified him as a military officer, and his accent and manners denoted that of a gentleman; because of these, Surcouf believed Fernsby might actually know something about the girl.
Naturally James”—Luke cleared his throat—“naturally Lord Fernsby had never heard of Princess Danielle d’Orleans.
She appears to have been largely forgotten by everyone, as you’ve said. Except
for this French captain. Surcouf’s preoccupation with locating and making her his wife bordered on obsession.”
“Why would this French captain want her so badly?” Prince George wondered.
“According to my research, his family owns a crumbling castle in France, and her dowry includes the lands adjacent to it.
If he were to marry her, his holdings would quadruple.”
“It’s always the dowry, isn’t it? Very well, a French princess for the Cornish hero. So be it. We’ve already approved the
request, as you may have been told. But I appreciate your forthrightness.”
“Thank you, Highness,” Luke said. His heart had begun to pound. It was happening. They would give her to him.
“Pray,” wondered the prince, “what know you of the girl, Bannock—besides the contents of her dowry? Have you seen her or spoken
to her?”
“No, Highness,” Luke admitted carefully. “She has been very well hidden. I know almost nothing of her personally.”
“Well hidden, indeed. Certainly she’d been long forgotten by me, as I’ve said. Apparently she was adopted by two members of
staff and hasn’t been heard from since. I think it’s safe to say no one here in St. James’s will miss the girl if you spirit
her away. However, as rewards go, it’s not a conventional request, is it?”
Luke went still. And now, he thought, there would be some condition or obligation.
“Will you have something else, Captain?” asked Prince George. “We can hardly tell the public that we’ve rewarded our national
hero with a minor French princess. We are, as you know, at war with France. I entreat you to name a second reward. Something we can report in the papers—a peerage, some payment, a new boat perhaps?”
Luke hesitated. Not a condition—a second gift. His breath returned. His mind spun. It never occurred to him to ask for more
than to marry a bloody princess.
“Your generosity abounds, Highness,” Luke managed. Considering that his first request had been granted easily enough, he doubled
down and asked for the other thing he truly wanted. “If it pleases you, Highness, could I be granted tactical support for
a rescue mission to recover a crewman who was taken captive the night of the attack?”
“Taken captive you say?” asked the prince. “An English serviceman?”
And here was the problem. Luke had made this same request of the War Office and received the same reply.
“No, Highness,” Luke said. “An old man in my employ.” Linus Welty was so much more than Luke’s crewman, but Prince George
would not care about surrogate fathers, nor Luke’s wretched boyhood before he’d met Linus, nor their years of friendship.
“Held captive where?” asked the prince.
“In a castle dungeon, Highness. In the Hauts-de-France region of Northern France.”
The prince was shaking his head. “This is a more complicated request. I’ve overstepped before with my strategic military suggestions, and it is unwise, at the moment, for me to rattle chains at the War Office.
Not to mention, soldiers and war provisions are stretched very thin at this phase of the war.
Can you say for certain that this crewman is still alive, Bannock? In this French dungeon?”
“I do believe him to be alive,” Luke said. But the prince had already made up his mind. Luke needn’t explain that he’d been
endeavoring to beg, barter, or steal Linus Welty from Surcouf’s dungeon for the better part of the year. If Linus was dead,
the game would be over; and the Frenchman relished the game. Surcouf loved watching Luke offer more and more gold, hoping
to hit a ransom that would win his friend’s release.
If Luke acquired the princess, however, gold would be unnecessary. If he had the princess, he would possess the thing that
Surcouf wanted most.
And that was all that mattered about earning this reward.
“I cannot grant you military support, Captain,” the prince was saying, “but I can offer you this: What of a piece of property?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“A house and lands, Bannock,” said the prince. “To ease the way with this princess you so desire.”
Luke stared at him, hoping to keep the ingratitude off of his face. He was a sea captain. He lived only to recover his friend
and avenge his crew. These were his sole motivations. He rarely slept for wanting these two things. What care had he for a
house and lands?
The prince gave a knowing smile. “Allow me to give you a bit of unsolicited advice, Captain. Princesses, even in exile, can be a trial. I myself am forced to wrangle numerous princesses with tedious regularity. I’ve copious sisters, aunts, and potential wives who bear this title.
You’ll thank yourself for arranging some sanctuary for the girl. ”
“Sanctuary?” Luke asked.
“A villa, a castle—a tower in particular would be very fitting for an exiled princess, I think.” The prince chuckled at his
joke.
“I assume,” the prince went on, “that her own dowered land in France holds no appeal for you?”
“I want no part of life in France, Highness.”
“Good man. So where, exactly, will you situate the girl once you’ve married her?”
Luke considered this. After Luke used the princess as leverage with Surcouf, he’d thought he would take her to Paris and leave
her. Once in Paris, she could annul the marriage, or divorce him, or pretend he never existed. He didn’t care. But before he embarked on the rescue? There would be several weeks of planning and provisioning. Luke had given no real thought to where
he’d stash her during this time. If he was being honest, he’d never believed they would grant him the betrothal.
He didn’t really want anything more from the prince than the girl. When she was in hand, he could use her as bait to recover
his old friend. But he could feel Fernsby thrumming beside him, willing him to accept the prince’s generosity. And damn if
Prince George didn’t have a point.
“How wise you are, Highness,” Luke finally said. “And generous. Perhaps some property to contain the princess might be useful.
If it pleases you, sir.”
“Very good,” said the prince. “Wilcox?” he called to one of his advisors. “Expedite the betrothal between Captain Bannock
and the French princess—and also arrange for the deed to whatever available property might be near to the girl’s current situation?”
“Thank you, Highness,” Luke said, marveling at the ease of it all. After nearly dying. And losing his crew. After seeing his
oldest friend captured and his boat set ablaze and sunk. In the end, the bit about marrying a French princess had been so
very simple.
“One more question, Captain,” called the prince.
Luke froze. Or perhaps it had not been so very simple.
“Have you no aspirations to marry later in life? To a woman who is, perhaps, not a stranger?” Prince George asked.
Luke blinked. He wasn’t prepared to explain his philosophy on marriage. Chiefly because he had no philosophy beyond, Why bother? But the man was giving him a house and a princess; the least Luke could do was indulge his curiosity.
“If I’m being honest, Highness, I’ve no aspiration to marry at any time in life, even now. I’ve encountered few truly happy
unions between husbands and wives, and my work as a sea captain makes me a terrible candidate for home and hearth. Marrying
a girl for my strategic reasons is more incentive than might otherwise present itself. To me, at least.”
“Hmmm,” mused the prince. “So you say. If only I was free to enjoy the same emancipated view. Well, off you go, then. Oh but,
Jamie?” the prince called to Lieutenant Fernsby.
Fernsby shot forward. “Yes, Highness?”
“We have rejoiced in your deliverance and homecoming. Enjoy this victory; you deserve it. And you may tell your mother that
my debt to her has been paid.”
Fernsby’s face took on a very strange expression, but he said, “Very good, Highness.” Luke glanced at the prince, but he’d
already turned away, beckoning to a servant.
A footman appeared and Luke and Fernsby were hustled from the room.