Chapter 2
More often than not, Miss Linnie McQuoid Smith, along with her big Scottish family, could be found at Ten Yardley Court.
Not because Linnie called Highland Lodge home, per se. The recently renovated—and newly named—grand, impressively terraced London townhouse belonged to her aunt and uncle, the Earl and Countess of Abington, and their six children—well, three, given three had married.
Either way, their families did everything together. Linnie and her two sisters were best of friends with the three McQuoid sisters. Just as Linnie’s three brothers were best of friends with the three McQuoid brothers.
When it came to Highland Lodge, Linnie and her family came and went as they pleased—an occurrence made easier given Linnie’s family lived upon the same street.
Albeit in a much more modest residence.
What was peculiar about this particular day, however, was that Linnie, along with her parents and five siblings, had all been summoned.
In fact, every last Scottish-born McQuoid or Smith was present: Linnie’s mother, Mrs. Leslie Smith.
Linnie’s eldest siblings, Campbell, Brone, and Meghan.
Linnie’s youngest siblings, Andromena and Oleander.
Her aunt Catherine and uncle Harold, the Earl and Countess of Abington, and their three sons, Dallin, Arran, and Quillon. Linnie’s three female cousins, Fleur, Myrtle, and Cassia, Linnie’s closest friend.
Even Cassia’s and Myrtle’s respective husbands: the dashing, long-haired Marquess of Winfield and the handsome—but surly by nature—Duke of Aragon.
Everyone was here. All with the exception of sisters sweet-tempered Cora, Linnie’s sister-in-law married to Brone, and Lady Alexandra, Dallin’s incomparably beautiful wife.
Both women were newly expecting and had retired early for the evening.
Now, Linnie, seated alongside her brother Campbell, listened in while their cousin Captain Arran McQuoid spoke from the center of the room.
A sea captain commanding his kin the way he would his crew, Arran settled his arms on his hips and stared intently at them. “Let me reiterate, Captain Jeremy Tremaine is not to be trusted.”
Linnie giggled at her cousin’s bombastic performance before she registered the absolute solemnity of all. That point driven home by the rounded eyes and mouths of the Smith and McQuoid fraternal twins: Oleander and Andromena, and Fleur and Quillon.
She glanced about Aunt Catherine’s elaborate pink parlor and found every last one of her kin as grave as she’d ever seen them.
“Is this a joke?” she asked incredulously.
She needn’t have bothered. No one paid her any heed. Not that Linnie expected anything different from a McQuoid-Smith family meeting.
It hadn’t always been that way.
She stole a glance at her redheaded, freckled cousin Cassia.
They were of like temperament, and throughout their lives, they’d shared dreams about being seen and heard in the world, and of stepping outside the sheltered walls of Polite Society.
Cassia had achieved all that—and with the disturbingly serious, handsome marquess and ship captain against whose side she now snuggled.
“As much as I’d like to believe I’m merely being cautious,” Arran continued, “I cannot say that with any actual confidence. It pains me to say you must be vigilant.” He slid a glance Linnie’s way for a moment. “I understand this warning comes as something of a surprise.”
Linnie gawked. A surprise?
The words that came next from him were utter blasphemy.
“Lord Tremaine is a threat to the McQuoid-Smith clan.”
Beside her, the two sets of fraternal twins, sixteen and fifteen years old respectively, exchanged confused looks, but the adults present paid the four children as much attention as they’d paid Linnie—none.
They weren’t alone in their consternation.
“Lord Tremaine?” Linnie mouthed. The same Jeremy Tremaine whom Linnie had known since she’d been in the nursery?
And for that matter, when had anyone in this family ceased referring to the commander of the seas as Captain Tremaine—particularly Arran, who’d sailed countless times with the gentleman?
Linnie looked about the assembled McQuoid-Smiths for signs of like confusion. By the complete lack of surprise from the majority of the room’s adult occupants, that wasn’t the only detail Linnie remained in the dark on.
“As some of you are aware . . .” It was as if Arran read her mind, she thought wryly. “There’ve been a series of tragic events that have fractured the McQuoid-Smiths’ relationship with Tremaine.”
That Linnie knew of. There’d been a sea battle involving four privateer ships: Cousin Arran’s and Captain Tremaine’s being two of the vessels, the latter of which had sunk and sent a rift through their family’s relationship with Jeremy . . . and Jeremy himself into a reclusive state.
A spasm contorted the walls of Linnie’s chest; the pain was so vicious it hurt to breathe.
“The fight at sea?” Cousin Quillon piped in.
She curled her fingers sharply into the palms of her hands. The lad spoke with a zeal better suited to a game between children and not an actual battle between their family and a beloved friend.
Dallin took it upon himself to smack his younger brother gently on the back of the head.
“Ouch!” Quillon grumbled.
With the youngest McQuoid lad properly silenced, Arran went on to explain in further detail.
Seated on a sofa to Linnie’s left, Andromena scrunched her mouth up. “I like Captain Jeremy,” she whispered to their golden-haired cousin, Fleur.
Fleur nodded. “Me too.”
Me three.
Campbell leaned around Linnie and put a finger meant to silence her against his lips.
As all good McQuoid-Smith lasses did, the young ladies ignored him and continued whispering between themselves.
“That last sailing resulted in a . . . misunderstanding between Lord Tremaine and me. I’d hoped in time we could work past our differences.
This entire year, Tremaine and his brother, the Duke of Hartwell, not only rejected all overtures on my behalf to speak, but escalated tensions.
They’ve poached my sailors. Sabotaged my gunpowder. Undermined my alliances.”
Heated, Arran paused to take a breath.
Linnie stared on incredulously. Jeremy would never do those things.
When it became apparent no one intended to seek an explanation, she put the question to him. “Why would he do that?”
No one paid her or her question any heed. Even with a voice, she existed as a figure of silence in the McQuoid-Smith family. That’d always been the case. Never had it grated more than now, with her needing answers about Jeremy Tremaine—the man she’d fallen in love with at age eleven.
Linnie raised her voice to a shout. “I asked why?”
Amidst the unusual McQuoid-Smith quiet, her question rang out like a shot in the night.
All eyes went to Linnie.
Arran frowned at her. “What do you mean?”
Mama tittered nervously. “Linnie.”
Linnie ignored her. “Jeremy is like family.” She swiftly corrected herself. “He is family. None of this makes sense. He’s only ever been kind, good, and honorable to the McQuoids. He’d not simply do the things you’re accusing him of. Not without reason.”
Gasps filled the room.
Her face heated. “Well, he wouldn’t,” she insisted in the face of her family’s disapproval.
Not a single one of them voiced support of Linnie’s opinion. Hell, she might as well have imagined she’d spoken, because all the room’s occupants were once again fully focused on Arran.
“No one hates all of this more than I, Linnie,” her cousin said somberly.
That wasn’t any kind of answer. She’d had more than enough.
Horror, shock, and disgust sent her flying to her feet. “Have you all gone mad?” she demanded of the room at large. “What is the matter with the lot of you?”
“Now, now, Linnie-Lou,” Mama soothed.
“Now, now” nothing.
“You’ll all just sit here”—Linnie slashed a hand about the room—“allowing Arran to declare Captain Tremaine an enemy to this family, and say nothing? Ask no questions? Demand absolutely no explanation?”
“I, for one, like Captain Tremaine.” Andromena added her voice of support. “He’s always helping me perfect my sword-fighting skills.”
That defense of the captain helped Oleander along. “Yes, I like the captain, too. Taught me my sailor’s knots, he did.”
“That, exactly.” Linnie pointed approvingly at her two siblings. “We are not speaking about just a friend. This is Jeremy.”
Hopefully, she looked to Cassia.
Her favorite cousin and best friend remained with her gaze suspiciously averted. Being the wife of a privateer herself, Cassia knew something.
Linnie made herself take a deep breath and tried a different tack. “What happened, Arran?” she asked with a quiet urgency. “What happened at sea . . . ?”
“Linnie,” Brone said sharply. “That is enough.”
“Enough?” Her temper fired as hot as it had when she’d been ordered about by her elder siblings. “I’m simply asking for an explanation as to why a man who’s been like a brother to Arran is suddenly an enemy to mankind.”
“Though Tremaine has been like family and welcomed into our fold, the fact remains, Arran is family,” Campbell interjected before the quarrel between her and Brone escalated any further.
That settled it. At least, to all her traitorous kin who were complicit in their silence.
Seething, Linnie reclaimed her seat and found herself invisible once more.
“There are to be no further ties, communication, or interactions with any member of the Tremaine family.” In the first suitable display of misery, Arran glanced away a moment to compose himself.
With that, the adults in the room went on to voice their support of Arran, and the matter was officially concluded, Linnie and her protestations completely forgotten.
Arran gave up his spot in the middle of the room.
Either brave or stupid, or both, he headed over and joined Linnie on the sofa.
Folding her arms at her chest, she glared straight ahead.
“I admire your loyalty, Linnie,” he said quietly.