June 1816
Lucien Roper stood at the rail of the packet ship, watching the Dublin harbour recede into the distance. He inhaled the salty breeze and felt the bracing wind on his face. Voices of the sailors tending to their tasks rang in his ears.
Only a few more days, then, with luck, he’d be back on the deck of a ship of his own, with his old crew, and back to the life from which he’d received so much. A fortune in prize money. Recognition and respect. A place he belonged.
A woman’s laugh sounded over his shoulder, its sound so joyous, so unlike his restless mood that he turned, startled. She wore a grey cloak, shrouding her face.
What pleased her so? he wondered.
This was the sacrifice the navy life demanded of him. He was not free to court a young woman with a joyous laugh. Not for him to marry a woman and leave her for his mistress, the sea. He’d seen what happened when a navy man married and he and his wife spent most of their days apart.
As his own parents had done.
It had been a long time since he’d suffered the effects of having an absent naval father. Lucien himself had been at sea for more than twenty years now, since the age of twelve. This was his life and before it, a mere memory.
He was eager to get back to it. His beloved Foxfire had been sold for breaking up, no longer needed now the war was over, and the Admiralty had promised him a new ship. Of course, there were dozens of captains like him, clamouring for a ship, but he’d earned a spot near the top of the list. At least with the wind this brisk they could count on making it to Holyhead by the next afternoon and he’d be in London a few days later.
He studied the sky and frowned. This crossing would be rough. Maybe too rough. Likely their departure should have been delayed a day, but the sooner he reached England, the better.
Still...
He sauntered over to where the packet captain stood.
‘We’re in for a patch of bad weather,’ Lucien remarked.
The Captain knew who Lucien was—a decorated navy captain, a hero of the Adriatic Sea and Mediterranean.
‘What?’ The Captain looked surprised Lucien had spoken to him. ‘Oh. Bad weather. Yes. Must sail through it.’
Lucien had made it through many a storm. He’d make it through this one. He’d prefer, though, that the Captain seem less preoccupied and better able to attend to the weather and what was happening on his deck.
Like noticing the young grey-cloaked woman back away from sea spray and stumble a little.
‘Would it not be a good idea to order passengers to stay below?’ Lucien asked him in a tone more demanding than questioning.
‘Hmm?’ This Captain was as sharp as a slop bucket.
Pay attention, man.
‘The passengers,’ Lucien snapped, gesturing to the young woman, ‘should stay below.’
‘Oh?’ The Captain’s brows rose. ‘Of course. Was about to make that order.’ He called one of his men over. ‘Tell the passengers to remain below.’
Lucien shook his head in dismay and strode away. He traversed the deck and, out of habit, took notice of the seamen preparing for the storm. He scanned the sails and the ropes. All seemed well enough. Shipshape. He glanced back at the Captain who held a hand to his chest and seemed to be studying his coat buttons.
Lucien expelled a frustrated breath. He’d better get below himself before he began barking orders.
He walked to the companionway and opened the hatch. At the bottom of the stairs stood two women, both in grey cloaks. Which was the woman with the captivating laugh? He could not see the face of one, but the other was
