Chapter Eleven
London War Office
Lord Haybrook placed his hands on the Secretary at War’s mahogany desk and leaned forward. “I’ll have your explanation now, Palmerston! What in the bloody hell happened to my son-in-law?”
Viscount Palmerston rose from his seat. “As it happens, I have news I was about to send to you via private messenger.”
“Is this connected to whatever mission you have sent my son Winston on?” Lord Stanhope asked.
“I have not received a missive from him in weeks—part of the understanding we had when you strong-armed me into agreeing to buy my second son’s colors.
You know full well that Winston will be my heir apparent, God forbid, anything should happen to my eldest son, George. ”
Palmerston frowned. “You know I am not at liberty to divulge certain information without the express approval from the Secretary of State for War and the Colonies.”
“Bathurst is a blithering idiot,” Haybrook murmured.
Stanhope agreed. “Those of us in the House of Lords, who have sons in the military, know that you are the man who runs this office and Bathurst is the figurehead.”
Haybrook was visibly vibrating with anger. “My widowed daughter is about to give birth—”
Stanhope interrupted, “She may already have done so, Haybrook.”
“We need to know what happened to her husband, Captain Roarke Trentchester.”
“Bathurst advised that word had been sent to his widow,” the Secretary at War replied.
“She needs to know when his body will be released to her for burial,” Haybrook said.
Stanhope turned to glare at the viscount he had been acquainted for more than a decade. “For God’s sake, Palmerston, your daughter is married to a captain in the king’s navy! Would you not demand the same information for her should your son-in-law perish in battle?”
Palmerston raked a hand through his hair, making it stand on end.
Haybrook shared a telling look with Stanhope, then inclined his head. Stanhope knew his friend grieved for his son-in-law as if he were his son by blood. They had agreed on the way to the War Office that Stanhope would take the lead in the questioning, if the situation warranted it.
It did.
“You may still send the missive to Haybrook, but tell us the contents now,” Stanhope said.
“Lower your voice, Stanhope. I’ll not have the men in the outer offices listening to you berate me!”
It took a supreme measure of will to rein in his temper, but Stanhope managed it. “Beg pardon, Palmerston. It isn’t just Mrs. Trentchester who is of concern here.”
“Is it not?” the viscount asked.
“Nay. You may not know it, but aside from my four sons, I have a daughter, Phillipa.”
“She is like a sister to my daughter,” Haybrook added. “And moved in with her months ago when she received the news about Roarke. I have no idea how Millicent would have navigated her grief without Phillipa.”
“I see,” Palmerston murmured, though Stanhope could see that the man was rapidly losing interest in the change in topic. His next words confirmed Stanhope’s suspicion. “What does that have to do with the captain’s death?”
Stanhope and Haybrook exchanged a glance before scanning the area to ensure they were alone. “It has come to my attention that there have been threats made against my daughter,” Haybrook said.
“My daughter has been acting as her protector!” Stanhope ground out. “Neither of our daughters realize that we have been made aware of the dire situation—”
Haybrook interrupted, “Nor that we have recently heard rumors of threats to take my daughter’s babe from her the moment she delivers!”
“What’s this? What you are intimating is criminal!” the viscount exclaimed. “Who is this person, who would dare such a thing?”
Haybrook’s shoulders slumped, and Stanhope replied, “Grant Trentchester—the captain’s elder brother.”
Palmerston squared his shoulders, and the tone of the discussion changed radically.
“I have a contact—retired from the Royal Navy—Captain Gordon Coventry, good friend and London man-of-affairs to His Grace, the Duke of Wyndmere,” he said.
“He has formed the beginnings of a private force of retired military men, after successfully forming the duke’s sixteen-man private guard.
The guard is responsible for protecting the duke’s immediate and extended family.
There are men stationed at the duke’s various properties and that of his cousins.
From here in London to Sussex, and north to the Lake District, to Cornwall and the Borderlands.
Just say the word, and I shall contact Coventry, who will have men dispatched to protect your daughters. ”
Haybrook was the first to admit, “I did not think you would offer to help in that regard. I was hoping for answers as to my son-in-law’s death.”
The Secretary at War straightened to his full height—a head shorter than Stanhope and Haybrook.
“Though it may seem as if we are ignoring the situation,” he said, “we are aware that it is not only our brothers and sons who have returned from war missing limbs, or an eye—or have given their lives in valiant protection of our sovereign king. Their wives and children also suffer from our lack of foresight in doling out back pay, or half pay for widows. We owe it to their families to make up for this lack.”
Haybrook extended his hand to Palmerston, who shook it. Stanhope did the same.
“Now then, I’ll tell you what I know about Captain Trentchester.”