Chapter One #3
“Then no one should deny me the chance to earn it.” Wes drew back, a flicker of unease behind his eyes. “Sir.”
“I suspect that you may have a bit of an authority problem,” Delauney said.
“I’m fine with authority,” Wes said. Delauney snorted in disbelief. “Captain Lennox was an exception.”
“I’d hope so.” Delauney waved to one of the sailors waiting by a boat on the dock. Four vessels in the fleet were anchored further out, and while the Manatee wasn’t exactly the biggest or the fastest, it was a welcome sight after a day in the courtroom.
“Hello, Gregory,” Delauney said to the sailor, who gave Wes a quick once-over as Wes stepped into the rowboat. “How’s the collective?”
“Getting by,” Gregory said, in a low, drawling voice.
Gregory was a career sailor who’d served on the Manatee since Delauney first came on, and he had barely said more than a few words to anyone.
The only people he cared about weren’t exactly people.
They were the cats that frequented the docks, which were always ‘the collective’ and never given names.
Gregory claimed that cats were above that sort of thing.
“This is Wesley Bradnell-FitzRoy Leonhart,” Delauney said, climbing aboard. “My new valet.”
“It’s Wes,” Wes said.
Gregory gave him a fleeting glance, seemed to register that Wes wasn’t about to produce a cat from his pocket, and grabbed the oars.
Delauney eased into his seat, the tension from the courtroom unraveling the further they moved from the docks.
He always felt more at home on the water.
The scent of the docks gave way to the warm air off the sea, harmless white clouds scuttled across the sky, and the world slowed as they approached the Manatee.
Delauney smiled to himself. He glanced at Wes to find him watching Delauney with a guarded expression.
“Try not to look so glum,” Delauney said. “You’ll find that life aboard the Manatee is a far cry from any miserable vessel Lord Lennox tries to captain.”
Wes just gave Delauney a dubious look before turning to the distant expanse of the sea.
Most of the enlisted sailors were aboard the Manatee when they arrived.
They were due to sail as soon as the dockmaster permitted them, which could be that afternoon or a week away.
A few sailors nodded to Delauney when he climbed out of the boat and onto the deck, but most ignored him, used to Delauney’s discomfort with needless bowing and scraping.
“Laney!” A deep voice boomed over the deck.
Ned de Burre, Delauney’s oldest friend and first mate, strode toward him with an easy smile.
Ned should have been captaining his own ship by now, but he seemed perfectly at ease on the Manatee and showed no sign of wanting to move on.
He was the definition of the dominant every submissive secretly dreamed of: Intelligent, commanding, and the only son of a prosperous earl.
Delauney had considered courting Ned himself once, but then Ned found his husband Peter, and Delauney couldn’t fault him.
Delauney wasn’t the sort of fellow to settle down in any case.
“I see you didn’t set the old girl on fire while I was gone,” Delauney said. “And you can finally stop bothering me, by the by. I picked up a valet on shore.”
“Did your father blackmail you into it?” Ned looked at Wes, who was standing awkwardly a few paces behind Delauney. Wes saluted, and Ned gave him a short nod. “Poor fellow.”
“I hired him on my own volition, thank you.” Delauney decided it was probably unwise to mention the attempted mutiny. Most sailors stationed on the Manatee requested to stay there, and they’d view a man with Wes’ reputation with suspicion at best.
He still wasn’t entirely sure why he’d taken that risk with Wes in the first place.
Delauney got to where he was in life by not making rash decisions.
He wasn’t like Ned, who nearly sent his noble family into chaos when he married the son of a penniless baron.
He wasn’t like Lord Laurent de Rue, his peer in the capital city of Duciel, who was constantly taking in strays.
Still, perhaps something in Ned and Laurent had rubbed off on him.
Or perhaps it was simply the fact that King Adrien would raise a fuss if his guard captain’s brother died in a mine.
Yes, it was probably that. There was no need to delve deeper.
His father used to say that in a sea of dark water, Delauney was a shallow pool.
He hadn’t meant it as an insult. His father liked having a son who didn’t fuss over the accounts or bring up complicated philosophical questions over dinner.
Sometimes things were better when they were simple.
Delauney was fine being simple.
He led Wes to his quarters, which were split between his bedroom, the dining room, and a private washroom. The dining room had glass windows and plush curtains Peter had commissioned the year before, and Orla, one of Ned and Peter’s girls, was sitting at the table with a book.