Chapter Four
THE CHAMBER FELL SILENT AS the Prince Regent strode into the ballroom in all his finery. George IV’s closest companions, along with the host and hostess, flanked him, but Muriel couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder to where Erik stood with Sir Alexander, a broad smile softening his chiseled features. Ladies cast Lord Draycott coquettish smiles, fluttering their fans and inviting the handsome lord to speak with them even when there was a regent in the chamber. An earl who pretends to be a deliveryman? She understood their fascination. How on earth has this man, glorious in character and countenance, remained without a wife for so long?
The music turned to a lively reel, transforming the atmosphere at once from awe into vivacity as couples returned to the floor. The merriment about them was nothing like she had imagined of stiff nobility. Certainly the company was more reserved than that at a country dance, but she felt the thrill radiating from those about her as they thoroughly enjoyed the evening and the novelty of having the Prince Regent in the same room—a novelty that she would write home about at once. Though, to truly do the letter justice, she would need a better look at the royal.
She rose on her tiptoes to peer over the shoulders around her, hoping to catch a glimpse of the portly gentleman. In the light of the flickering sconces lining the room, she caught Lord Traneford staring at her. His inebriated grin chilled her as he sloshed his half-empty glass into the chest of a nearby footman and loped toward her, apparently ready to complete her humiliation now that she was away from her hero. She whirled around to seek sanctuary with the Ingrams, but they were lost to her in the mass of guests. Jostled by those attempting to get closer to the Prince Regent, the press of people warmed the chamber to the point of drawing perspiration from her brow, even though she had spent years baking with sweltering ovens. As she weaved through the crowds as best she might, aiming for the perimeter of the room, a whimper escaped her for fear of having lost her party for the entirety of the evening when she felt her wrist seized. Turning, she released a sigh of relief. “Lady Ingram! Thank goodness you found me. I lost sight of you.”
“My apologies, dear. Sometimes the crowd has a way of separating parties, but someone has requested to make your acquaintance.” Lady Ingram’s eyes sparkled.
“Hopefully he possesses better manners than Lord Traneford,” Muriel muttered under her breath.
Lady Ingram didn’t seem to hear her as she expertly maneuvered through the crowd to the front of the grand salon, pausing at a knot of nobility, who, upon seeing them, parted. Muriel was met face-to-face with the Prince Regent. Her heart dipped, and she felt in danger of fainting. She plastered on the pretty smile she had been trained to deliver, expertly curtsied with Lady Ingram, and demurely folded her hands around her fan, waiting for him to address her first.
“I hear from my dear Lady Ingram that you are from the county of Kent.” His gaze roved over her, not in an unseemly fashion but rather as if he were appraising her as a lady. “I have a great fondness for music. Do you sing, Miss Beau?”
“Often and quite poorly. The servants are kind enough to keep their complaints to a minimum.”
The Prince Regent threw back his head and laughed. “I do love a country lady’s honesty.” He patted her arm. “Well, musical or not, I find you quite a charming young lady, and I would love to see a coronet atop those curls someday if you should wed well. Enjoy your evening and time in London, Miss Beau.” He nodded to Lady Ingram, effectively ending her introduction.
Muriel’s hand shook as she rested it atop Lady Ingram’s, and another young lady stepped up to meet the future king. Muriel blinked at the familiar bright, dimpled smile of Elena Whelan. The songbird of Kent had followed her across the countryside.
“All I require is one more contract, Captain Ingram, and I’ll have him. I know it. If you’d only give me a year, I could at last bring Requin before a judge.” Erik resisted the urge to ram his fist into the library bookcase. Ingram was now one of the Prince Regent’s closest advisors in regard to chartering privateers, yet he would not listen to reason. Why is he so against my having a third contract when so much is at stake?
“It’s Sir Alexander now. And why should I award another letter of the marque to someone who is bent on destroying the legacy of the great Warrick, when I might assign it to another who would bring in Requin the way I wish him to be—dead?” He lifted his glass of flip in salute.
“Because most privateers average two or three ships captured a year. I bring in four prizes for the Crown per annum as Warrick.”
Ingram snorted. “I brought in six under the same name.”
“Which is the only reason you are in this court instead of on the deck of the Twilight Treader at this very moment.”
“Careful, boy. You may have been born to be a lord, but I was born with a sword in hand. I can still gut you as easily as gulp flip with nobility.” Ingram’s eyes flashed, his fist clenching around his glass of brandy and sugar. “I know you are passionate about your position, which is why I awarded you my legacy in carrying on the name of Warrick, the most feared pirate of our time. Yet what have you done?”
Erik pressed his lips into a firm line. He would not apologize for the way he had chosen to captain. Even though his time on land had been short after his aunt’s passing, that was when he had met his greatest friend, who later became his second-in-command, and now served as his steward, Guy Mayfield, and had been led to kneel before Christ. It was because of Guy that Erik had never spilled a drop of blood in service to Ingram’s thirst for prize money, and it was Christ who had called Erik to fight for the Crown—without deaths. “I’ve chosen to rule the seas my way. I do not condone needless bloodshed.”
“And by avoiding bloodshed at all costs, you are, in fact, costing my legacy everything.” Ingram growled. “I didn’t make the name of Warrick to mean a peaceful seizure of a ship. I meant the name and flag to strike fear into the hearts of all sailors.”
“It is because of that fear I am able to take ships peacefully.”
“Not for long.” Ingram lifted his glass to two gentlemen entering the darkened library. “It’s time for the next Warrick to take over. One that is not afraid of spilling blood. It’s a shame Guy Mayfield retired.”
Erik did not bother correcting him on that score. “Sir Alexander—”
“However, your current second-in-command, Adams, will do for the position just as well.” He slapped Erik on the shoulder, shifting into a display of comradery for the newcomers. “Eight more weeks and then you can finally enjoy this role you have so graciously reminded me that you inherited, my lord. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must find Lady Ingram.”
Erik trailed after Ingram and sank into the shadows of the hall just outside the ballroom to collect his temper. Every time he brought in an enemy’s merchant ship, it helped in ending the war with Napoleon that much sooner and, therefore, sparing precious lives. Why would Ingram refuse to bring his request to the Prince Regent when Erik had brought into port four prize ships in a single year?
His fingernails dug into his palms, Ingram’s taunt burning in his lungs. Certainly Ingram’s prize average had been higher when he held the identity of Captain Warrick, and, despite years of chasing Requin, Erik had yet to catch the elusive smuggler. But that wasn’t what had his stomach in knots. It was Ingram’s statement that another should be awarded the contract and the famed nom de guerre in Erik’s stead … his second-in-command. Blast whoever had discovered his identity and requested his funds to be transferred.
Erik was on the verge of collapsing Requin’s gunpowder-smuggling empire. They could not afford to allow the brigand to remain on the sea, aiding France, only because Ingram coveted a bigger yield in prizes won by his ship, Twilight Treader. But, if Ingram persisted in his insinuation that it was time Erik retire from the privateering life and see to his estates, Erik would have to go about his work by another means. He would not be forced out of his position only to have another capture the smuggling ring and thus reap the rewards of his years of labor. If Ingram required the ship, Erik would purchase another. Unfortunately, he could not buy the fear that the name Warrick had given him.
Recently, signs of Requin’s reach had bled into the London grocers’ guild, if the messages hidden in various dry goods Erik had managed to intercept were any indication—something Ingram knew nothing about, as he wouldn’t even linger long enough to hear of Erik’s findings. Erik simply had to discover how far, or rather to whom, the smuggler’s reach extended. The problem was the sheer number of nabobs and upstarts who could be involved. If only the search would follow the cadence of sensational stories, he might start with the most villainous working gentleman or nobleman in the room and find Requin within the fortnight. His glance skittered to a cluster of gentlemen and rested on Traneford, who was so deep in his cups that he should be removed from the premises. No, Requin would never allow his men to lose themselves while on a mission. Lord, show me what to do. I cannot do this on my own.
He felt a bump from behind him and turned to discover Miss Beau, her eyes widening as if just as startled to find herself with company as he. “Miss Beau?”
“Erik! I mean, Captain Draycott.” She ran her fingers around and around the ivory neck of her fan. “I was momentarily overwhelmed and needed a minute away from the crowd to gather myself. I thought I was alone at last. I’m so sorry to have disturbed you.”
“It isn’t Lord Traneford again, is it?” He straightened, glaring at the man still standing by a potted palm, downing another glass.
“It’s nothing to worry you, truly,” she replied, her gaze appraising him. “But it seems that you may be in need of my help? What has you so down in the mouth?”
His lips quirked at her directness when a thought occurred to him. “Perhaps you can help me. I would be honored if you would attend my garden party next Friday.”
“A garden party? In London?” Her brows rose. “I haven’t seen much in the way of private gardens, but my time here has only begun.”
“At my castle in Draybridge.” He chuckled, praying that his castle was in better standing than his London residence.
Her lips parted. “At your castle?” She pressed her hand to her throat. “Goodness gracious me, yes. This will be the first castle I’ve ever been invited to step foot inside. I’ve visited mansions before, of course, though only barely. As for Chilham Castle, even with my stepfather’s connections and—” She cut herself short as his grin broadened.
“I take it you are comfortable in my presence?” he teased, even though it heartened him greatly to be her anchor in London.
She leaned forward and whispered, “As I was the one who revived you from being knocked senseless, I’d say so … even if it was my fault and a most horrible way to make your acquaintance.” She slapped her hand over her mouth. “But again, we were supposed to forget that beginning.” She straightened her shoulders and shook her head as if to return to the stiff lady he had witnessed her become before. “I will not shame my family.”
It would not do for her to become formal with him, not after he had met the genuine lady baker. Erik captured her hand in his. “From what you have told me of them, I think they are proud of you, my lady. And I dare say you will prove invaluable to me in your presence at my garden party.”
“But how does my attending a party help you?”
“By improving my mood, of course.” He grinned. A new plan to capture Requin’s inside man formulated even as he spoke. He had only eight weeks until his contract was up, and, according to the doctor, it would take at least three weeks for his shoulder to fully heal, during which time he needed to be near the doctor, lest his arm fester or take a turn and he lose the full use of it. If he was to be land bound, he would make the most of every opportunity to mingle with the wealthy merchants of dry goods to ferret out Requin’s informant, starting with an irresistible invitation to a garden party at Draycott Castle.