Page 48 of Marry in Secret
“And where has he been the last four years?” Cal snapped. “Not with the navy, that’s certain. Did he explain that while you were talking to him yesterday?”
“No.”
“And did he explain how he intends to support you?”
Rose lifted her chin. “I have a fortune. We can live on that.”
He rolled his eyes. “Like a lamb to the slaughter. I ought to wash my hands of you.” But it was clear he wouldn’t. Her brother was very protective, and while his hostility toward Thomas was distressing, she was sure eventually the two men would come to like and respect each other. But in the meantime...
“That reminds me,” Rose said. “Did you hit Thomas yesterday? He had a fresh bruise on his jaw.”
Her brother’s eyes grew flinty and hard. “Why, what did he say?”
His attitude confirmed in Rose’s mind that he had. “He said he tripped on a cobblestone, but I don’t believe a word of it. You hit him, Cal, didn’t you? Well, I won’t have it, do you understand? Thomas is my husband and the sooner you accept that, the better.”
Her brother said nothing. He folded his arms and sat with a mulish expression.
Emm picked up her pen. “Well, do we go ahead with the ball or not?” She looked at Cal, who threw his hands up and muttered, “Oh, why not? If she’s so determined to have him, we might as well try to put a good face on it.”
“Nobody will come,” Aunt Agatha warned.
“Nonsense! Of course they’ll come, Aggie,” Aunt Dottie said. “Everyone will be bursting with curiosity, desperate to meet the man who not only returned from the dead, but who in doing so displaced a duke so dramatically. It’s going to be a delicious squeeze.” She rubbed her hands together. “Such fun!”
Emm looked down at the papers spread before her and nodded. “Very well. The wedding gifts will have to be sent back regardless, but we will go ahead with the ball. We’ll need to inform all our invited guests of the change of plan. We can get new cards of invitation printed, of course, though it will be a frightful rush. And Rose, you will have to write all the notes explaining. I warn you, there are hundreds. George, you can address them, and Lily, I rely on you to seal the notes with that pretty gold wax—I hope we still have enough of it left.” She made a note to check. “Oh, and Rose, when you see Mr. Beresford next, ask him if there is anyone he would particularly like invited.” She separated several sheets from the pile. “All these arrangements can remain as they were, thank goodness.”
“And before any of those notes are sent out, Rose will have to apologize to the duke,” Aunt Agatha declared. “In person.”
Rose grimaced. There was no getting out of that one.
***
Thomas spent the next two days going from one Admiralty office to another. He came away in the late afternoon of the second day seething with fury and frustration. His back pay wasn’t the issue—that would take time, but eventually the navy would cough up.
It was the men he’d left behind that were the sticking point. Five British seamen, held in appalling conditions ina foreign country. Surely the navy had an obligation to rescue them?
Apparently not.
What exactly are these conditions?
He couldn’t say, exactly, but—
You haven’t seen them for almost four years? My dear fellow, you must see how impossible it is for us to act after all this time. Apart from the cost, anything could have happened to them. No, no, no. Quite impossible.
Again and again the message was the same. It was unfortunate, but nothing could be done.
But Thomas was committed to getting those men back to England. Heneededto get them home. Safe, as he was. They were his responsibility. They werethe navy’sresponsibility.
But was anyone in the whole blasted Admiralty concerned for the fate of five ordinary seamen that they’d written off as drowned four years ago? Not one sympathetic ear could he find.
Oh, he’d been given a vastly better reception now that he was clean-shaven and dressed as a gentleman, but still, his concerns were dismissed. He’d demanded to speak to men of higher and higher rank—and each time he was—eventually—granted an interview. But each man pointed out to him the impossibility of his mission, that in this postwar environment the navy was shedding men, that it was a pity, but when a man joined the service he knew the risks.Fortunes of war, you know.
And when he’d pointed out that it was peacetime now, and that several of these men had been press-ganged, forced into the navy against their will, that only made several of the smug bastards more adamant.Nothing can be done, dear fellow. Think of the costs. And even if we could afford the ransom, even if we could spare a ship to send on this wild-goose chase, what guarantee is there of finding them after all this time? No, it’s a demmed pity, but there it is.As if his men deserved their fate, and press-ganged men, well, what did it matter? Not proper seamen, were they?
Finally he’d seen the most senior admiral in the place, semiretired but bristling with self-importance and gold braid.
No no no. I’m sorry, dear fellow, but we sent Exmouth to clear out several nests of those villains several years ago—bombed the living daylights out of Algiers—you didn’t hear about that? Tremendous victory, thousands freed, hundreds of our fellows brought home. Cost us a fortune—which we don’t have now the war’s over. But we made our point. Couldn’t possibly justify any further expense, especially not for a mission to rescue a handful of ordinary seamen who might not even be alive, what?
And then as the admiral’s aide was showing him out, the old fellow had added,Different if they were officers, of course. Might have been able to do something then.
