The Gift of Love (The Book of Love #8) - Meara Platt Page 0,58
Ronan returned his attention to the marquess. “How well do you know these waters?”
“This is my home. My family has ruled here for centuries. What do you wish to know?”
Ronan gestured to the maps in his hand. “I cannot tell how accurate these are. Where are the hidden dangers? Boulders. Sunken ships. Shoals. Other obstructions. Is the seabed soft? Once The Invictus is moved out of the shallows, she will need to keep a steady course within the deepest waters until safely out to the North Sea. Can I trust these maps? If so, which one is the most accurate?”
Ronan took a breath and let it out slowly, watching the frosty vapor trail blow out and disappear in the chill wind. “Then we need to test her seaworthiness. I would not like for her to sink before she returns to Harwich. We have the facilities there to check the damage to her hull.”
The marquess laughed. “Lord Liverpool is praying hardest she doesn’t find a watery grave. The press will roast him alive. But they’ll roast you, too. It is a pity, Brayden. You are well-liked.”
He shrugged. “I am no politician. I’d much rather be put back in command of a ship.”
“Speaking of command, who is the idiot in charge of The Invictus? It is a flagship, is it not? It must have an admiral of the fleet in command.”
Ronan winced. “It is Lord Peckham’s brother, Viscount Hawley.”
“Blessed saints! He was a schoolmate of my father’s. My father, may he rest in peace, often referred to him as the vainest man alive. How can Liverpool have allowed it?” The marquess shook his head. “Never mind. It is done. Hopefully this incident will allow us to put in some reforms, start promoting men on the basis of merit instead of connections. The House of Commons is already screaming for this.”
When the fishing vessel arrived, Ronan strode onto it and was surprised when the marquess hopped aboard as well.
Joshua had no intention of being left behind, either. “My men are settled in and awaiting my orders. It is best if I have first-hand knowledge of what they’ll be required to do.”
The Marquess of Tilbury knew this fisherman. “Don’t sink us, Ralph. At least, not before we get that giant tub of lard out of our way.” They were hardly under sail before the marquess turned to Joshua. “I hear you recently married one of the Farthingale girls. Holly, is it?”
Joshua gave a reluctant nod. “Yes.”
“Tell me about her sister.”
Ronan immediately tensed. “Dahlia?”
He shook his head. “No, the other one. Heather.”
Ronan exchanged glances with his brother. Joshua, being the married one, answered for them. “Why are you asking?”
“Isn’t it obvious? I like her.” He grinned at him and Joshua. “Although I may have to rethink the family connection if this ship sinks.”
***
Since Lady Eloise Dayne had planned to call upon Lady Melinda and her father today, Dahlia asked her to serve as her chaperone and ride over earlier. She preferred not to bring Heather or involve anyone else in the family since the duke and his daughter were new acquaintances, and there was no telling what might happen if the duke found out about the estate manager.
Also, her aunt and uncle were busy planning their traditional family holiday parties. As their daughters and nieces were growing up and marrying, not to mention raising children of their own, these intimate family affairs were growing unwieldy. She did not wish to add to their burden. “His Grace has invited us for one o’clock, Eloise. He and his daughter would like some time to show me around before their other callers arrive.”
Eloise was quick to accommodate, as Dahlia knew the kindly dowager would. Besides being related by marriage to the Farthingales - her grandsons were married to Laurel and Daisy, two of Sophie and John’s daughters - she was also intelligent, pleasant company, and capable of discretion.
The Duke of Stoke’s Belgravia house was a magnificent work of architecture. Large, stately. Imposing. Dahlia could not imagine actually decorating the place. But what a prize it would be to have the assignment.
They were shown in by the Stoke butler, who led them to the receiving parlor, a grand room in muted shades of yellow and green with an Aubusson carpet of similar colors to pull it all together. She’d also noticed two Aubusson tapestries on the entryway walls and several statues of white alabaster. “The things I could do with this place.”