The Wedding Affair (Rebel Hearts 1)

He squeezed her fingers and released her. “We should go back inside before your mother or sister or aunt or cousins come looking for us. I should not like to have them think us scandalous.”

Her mother’s voice hailed them urgently from the other side of the wisteria. “Lord Ellicott! Sally, darling!”

Ellicott glanced her way with a sly smile and then laughed. “You see, barely enough time for a private proposal before we are sought out. The sooner you are mine, and away from here, the better.”

“I am sorry.” Sally smiled until her face ached. “My mother is very protective and a stickler for observing propriety.”

“I understand.” He drew back, his eyes dancing with mirth. “You of course would never allow liberties. Your brothers would be very quick to demand satisfaction of any who slighted you.”

Sally’s heart sank, but she kept her smile pasted on her face. Her brothers would not wait on any duel before obtaining satisfaction. They would take matters into their own hands immediately and teach the scoundrel a lesson with their fists. There might not even be a body to be found afterward. Sally’s brothers were dangerous men and not to be crossed. Navy men, used to having their own way. She was glad the war against France allowed for their absence from Newberry Park at such a time. Ellicott needed to remain ignorant of their true natures for a little longer.

And unaware of hers too.

~ * ~

“Not long now,” Felix Hastings, captain of His Majesty’s frigate the Selfridge, said to his companion as the end of their journey came in sight. Newberry Park, nestled on the windswept Essex coastline, had undoubtedly been designed to intimidate lesser mortals. Home of the Duke of Rutherford and his large family, the estate possessed a tree-lined drive that meandered through lush grounds and led to a large redbrick-and-stone mansion perched high on a distant hill.

He had never expected to see this place, let alone be invited.

Manicured gardens bordered the grand home, but his eye was drawn to the sweeping views of the wild sea, which was lit by the dazzling afternoon sun. It was as pretty as had been described to him once.

“Thought we would never get here,” Gabriel Jennings, former captain of HMS Persephone, grumbled sleepily from his spot across the carriage.

Felix spared a brief glance at the shabbily dressed man and had to wonder if he was finally sober enough to make sense. “You could have stayed behind in London. My rooms at Fladong’s Hotel are paid for until the end of the month, and I had a man there.”

Jennings scratched at the scraggy dark stubble gracing his jaw. “London’s become a bore. What else was there for a friend to do but make sure you find a modicum of pleasure during your shore leave.”

“I do not think you have shorted yourself any pleasure since I saw you last,” Felix said, slightly disapproving of his friend’s attitude but willing to overlook it. Jennings looked like hell and had to have had a fine time getting there. Getting him back in the good graces of the admiralty might take a miracle at this rate, but he would do his best when they returned to London.

The man shoved the blanket he had slept under away and stretched like a cat—the kind who felt at home wherever they might be, no matter the conditions. “Who knows what sort of mischief can be had in the country, eh? And we are in your beloved admiral’s neck of the woods too,” Jennings said with a smile, an expression Felix knew well enough to worry about.

It was mischief that had put Jennings out of favor with Admiral Greer and therefore with the admiralty. Harmless mischief to some perhaps, but few at the war office had a sense of humor these days. A mistimed jest had cost the man his command.

Jennings had been having one hell of a time in London when Felix had caught up with him before dragging him home with him to sleep off his intoxication. Unfortunately, things had not gone as planned, and here they w

ere at the end of a hundred-mile journey into Essex.

He shook his head. The first sign that the man had moved on from the loss of his wife and he had been punished for it. Felix hoped to hell he could save his friend from further mischief and misery by speaking up on his behalf. “I am sure to be sent away as soon as the admiral states his business. Then we will pay our respects to Admiral Greer in London and see what can be done to get your command reinstated.”

“Greer is a first-class piss prophet.” Gabriel composed his face into that of an angelic man. “However, I will be the soul of discretion and swear not to make trouble for you. You are a better friend than I deserve.”

“Utter rubbish, but your discretion would be appreciated. I do not like this summons.” Felix allowed the curtain to fall over the view and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He had been traveling since last night to answer Admiral Lord Templeton’s urgent request for a meeting far from London and the admiralty, with only Jennings’ drunken snores for company. Felix had faced countless battles, defeated and claimed a score of French ships in his career, and it was essential to present himself to his admiral with his wits about him.

As the carriage drew to a halt, he adjusted his best gloves and collected his bicorn from the facing seat, brushing any dust from the fading felt. Urgent summons or not, it was important he make a good impression and appear calm and utterly in command. He had dressed for the occasion, stopping a few miles back to change into his formal uniform. “There was an inn in the last village we passed. If I have not returned to the carriage in the next hour, have the driver take you there and wait for me. I will send word by nightfall if this affair will be protracted.”

Jennings tugged the blanket back over himself and hunched against the squabs. “Have you ever known Templeton to be short of speech?”

He gritted his teeth a moment, considering his chances of making a swift escape. Unlikely. “Not once. I will see you soon.”

“Good luck,” Jennings whispered. “And do mind your manners.”

Once on firm ground, Felix swayed. Land was a foreign environment for him now. After spending most of his life at sea, he was more accustomed to the rolling deck of his ship than stability of soil. He would much rather remain in the moving carriage or planted on deck at the wheel of his warship, giving orders to his crew in the fiercest of gales.

Blue-liveried servants rushed out to greet his carriage; one older man introduced himself as Mr. Morgan, the great house’s butler.

“Sir,” Hastings murmured, giving due courtesy easily to the most important servant employed on the estate.

Morgan gestured toward the towering double oak doors with an urgent sweep of his hand. “This way, please.”