Chapter 1
Normanton House
The junior footman eyed the stack of mismatched plates in his arms and rounded the corner into the hallway at pace, nearly barreling straight into Captain Robin Somerville, who averted disaster with a well-timed sidestep.
“Forgive me, sir! I didn’t see you.”
“A miss is as good as a mile, Scottie,” the handsome young naval officer replied.
The youth nodded his gratitude and continued his errand—at a much slower pace this time—through the morning room and out the French doors onto the lawn, making a beeline for a marquee that had been set up for today’s gathering.
Through the doors, Robin took a moment to observe the cook and kitchen staff setting out dishes for the guests in attendance.
A well-run household was very much like a well-run ship, and his sister-in-law Penelope was a very able captain, he mused.
It was days like this—with all hands on-deck—that the sea called to him like a beckoning tide. He missed the surge of terror mixed with excitement that came with spotting a ship bearing French colors.
But alas, there were no wars to fight now that Bonaparte was safely incarcerated on Saint Helena, and with that fact came the inconvenient truth that there was no need for a large standing navy, let alone a surfeit of officers.
And many of those men had settled back into civil life with gusto—and a few with good fortunes, himself among them—however, Robin could not seem to quell his restlessness.
The expression ‘all at sea’ was obvious and hackneyed, but in truth, he couldn’t think of another that suited him better.
Shaking off his introspection, Robin stepped out onto the lawn, taking in a moment to feel the warm early autumn sun on his face and to observe who was in attendance—which seemed like more than half the town of Normanton.
Firstly, he spotted his nieces and nephew, Victoria, aged ten, Christopher, aged eight and little Isabella, just turned five, playing with some of the village children.
He regarded the three fondly—they were lovely children with the curiosity and energy from the Somerville side of the family and good-natured kindness that was clearly their mother’s influence.
Not surprisingly, his brother, Sir Peter Somerville—tall, with sandy brown hair—was at the center of a gathering of villagers.
Robin dropped his head to hide a smile as he approached. After eleven years of marriage, the pair still held hands like newlyweds.
Yes, he might tease his older brother, but he had to own to a small bit of envy that Peter was so happily situated. As the youngest of the Somerville family and the second son, Robin was aware from a young age that expectations were different for him—especially as the baby of the family.
Enlisting as a naval officer had been a way to forge his own destiny, and he had attained the rank of Captain just as the war with Bonaparte was coming to an end.
And in truth, Robin had enjoyed living like a gentleman of leisure for the first few months of his furlough but now, six months later, inaction chafed.
If it hadn’t been for his friend and fellow officer Justin Weatherall, he might have gone stark raving mad but now…
Robin listened in on the conversation.
“Did you hear what happened to William Burgess?” said one of the villagers, who then paused for dramatic effect. “He was set upon last night by that highwayman and his brigands.”
Anything to do with the highwayman who had been accosting travelers along the road from Brighton to London over the past few months always attracted interest, so Robin stepped closer, as did a few other people.
“Oh, how dreadful,” said one woman.
“Frankly, Burgess got what was coming,” muttered a man.
“Well, the law is the law, and one shouldn’t go about trying to take it into one’s own hands,” another woman sniffed.
As far as Robin was concerned, William ‘Bill’ Burgess got exactly what he deserved—a tweak of his nose, a little public shaming, a touch of humiliation.
Burgess prided himself on being a pillar of their small community.
However, he was just a merchant who cleverly shortchanged his customers and was always late paying his suppliers.
Across from him, also listening to the conversation was Rachel Pendleton, the rather pretty daughter of Clive Pendleton, the town curate.
Robin had learned from her that Burgess’ latest victim was a widow who earned her living making piecework lace.
The woman had been promised three pounds for her fine work but when she had counted out the coins, it had been three shillings short.
Not a fortune to be sure, but enough to make a difference to a young mother with two children who were only just getting by.
“Still, the man is quite a few pounds lighter today,” someone else remarked.
A small chuckle went up from the audience, Robin included.
“According to his driver, a gang of them emerged out of the blackness and yelled, ‘Stand and deliver!’ Burgess was ordered out of the coach and to hand over his purse, then take off his trousers.”
“His trousers? Whatever for?”
“Heaven knows why Captain Moonlight does what he does.”
“Did Smith get a good look at the man?”
The storyteller shook his head slowly.
“One of the gang slapped the horse on the rump, which set it off in a gallop. By the time he managed to control the beast, he was close to home and thought it better to raise the alarm than go back.”
That news was greeted by murmurs of approval, followed by a large tut-tut by another man.
“Robbery is a motive I understand, but was there any need to humiliate the fellow?”
Why, yes. Yes, there was, Robin silently mused.
The loss of half a crown was nothing to Burgess, the loss of his reputation on the other hand…
He peeled away from the group, lest they see the grin that threatened to spread across his face.
That had been a particularly satisfying adventure.
Tomorrow morning, Burgess would find his trousers flapping high on the flagpole atop the roof of the church and Mrs. Timmons, the widow, would find three shillings in the chicken coop when she went to collect the eggs.
Robin walked into the sunshine, letting the early autumn sunlight warm his face. It felt good to be outdoors, better still to be doing some good for others.
* * *
Rachel listened to the tale of the infamous Captain Moonlight, conscious of the weight of an iron key in the pocket of her day dress.
She had thought it unusual when Robin asked her to bring the key to the church tower here today. Now she was beginning to have her suspicions that it might have something to do with the unfortunate incident with Mr. Burgess.
Livid had been the only word to describe her feelings when a tearful Mrs. Timmons told her about being done out of her proper wages, and Rachel had made no secret of that in recounting her visit over dinner that Captain Somerville had attended as her father’s guest.
Surely, he had nothing to do with highwaymen. After all, Robin was an officer and a gentleman in His Majesty’s Navy.
Still, there was something about his expression when Mr. Creighton was recounting the tale that made her think that Robin knew something more than he should. Why had he whispered in her ear after dinner that night to bring the key with her today?
She watched him leave their group and admired his form as he crossed the lawn toward the gardens in long unhurried strides.
How long had she held him in such affection? Too long. Forever, perhaps. Certainly, ever since she saw him in his crisp lieutenant’s uniform that day he’d come back to their village to say his farewells before he taking up his commission.
How handsome he looked in his blue and white uniform and bicorn hat.
Now, after three years at sea, Captain Robin Somerville carried himself with the confidence of a man, rather than with the braggadocio of a youth. The sun had also tanned his skin, which only added to his handsomeness and now, hatless, his hair shone like a newly minted penny.
The group’s conversation had left the subject of Captain Moonlight behind, so Rachel used the opportunity to withdraw from the group and head in the direction she had spotted Robin going.
She spied him wandering among the terraced gardens, where the last blush of summer lingered in the form of pale pink roses—fewer now, but no less fragrant—nestled between late-flowering marigolds.
Rather than directly approach, she paused at one of the nearby bushes to admire the silkiness of the rose petals and take in the sweet scent.
“Pleasant day, Miss Pendleton.”
The sound of Robin’s voice never failed to warm her from head to toe. It was a well-modulated voice, very pleasant, and yet it was more than that. It was the knowing tone—one that sat just on the correct side of mockery.
She paused a beat before answering. Captain Robin Somerville might know a lot, but she would never reveal to him her tender feelings.
“Ah, Captain,” she answered before taking a good few steps away. A moment later he was in step with her.
She felt the touch of his hand at her waist as he subtly directed her to one of the lower terraces, where a decorative iron garden bench offered a charming view down the valley and the sea beyond.
Rachel fished in the pocket of her dress for the key and pulled it out. But before she could present it to him, both of his hands covered hers.
He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it while his fingers tangled with hers to remove the key. Rachel gasped softly and moved half a step toward him, her eyes locked to his, a quicksilver grey-blue.
What would it be like to kiss him properly?
In her mind’s eye, she could feel him touch her lips. She released a soft sigh.
Did he know what she was thinking? He appeared to. A faint smile passed briefly across his face and he released her hands.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“Why do you want the key?” she asked softly, despite the fact there was no one in earshot.
“It is to be a surprise.”
“For Burgess?”
Robin briefly touched one of his fingers to her lips.
“Shhh, ask no questions.”
Ah…
That was all the answer she needed. Rachel raised an eyebrow which was matched by Robin’s boyish grin.
“Let’s return to the party before people start to wonder where we are,” he said.
Yes, it was wise to change the subject.
This was dangerous for any number of reasons.