Stephanie Laurens - Lord Of The Privateers

Isobel hadn’t reacted, but Edwina hadn’t appeared to expect her to. Her hostess had sat in the chair by the fireplace, Aileen had sat in the window seat, and while Isobel had prowled the room, checking to see where her things had been put, the pair had engaged in a quick-fire exchange, not about Isobel and Royd but about the mission, the likely weather, and the necessity of commencing their packing forthwith.

Isobel had found it impossible to keep a straight face. She had a strong suspicion that Robert’s and Declan’s views regarding their ladies’ involvement in the mission did not match that of said ladies. She knew whom she favored to win the upcoming arguments.

When Edwina had declared they would leave her to change and had pushed up out of the chair, Isobel had realized her hostess was pregnant; until that telltale move, the fall of Edwina’s gown had hidden the evidence.

“Five months,” Edwina had confirmed, with a smile the quality of which would have made her condition plain to the most undiscerning eye. “But I’m entirely well, and if I wasn’t ill on the way back from Freetown—and I wasn’t—then I doubt I will be on the way down again.” She’d nodded at Aileen. “And we think Aileen might be increasing, too, but she’s decided not to tell Robert yet.”

“I daresay he’ll want to wrap me in wool like some delicate porcelain, which I am most definitely not.” A militant gleam had shone in Aileen’s eyes. “No power on earth will keep me from getting to that compound and finding Will.”

Isobel had bitten her lip against the impulse to share that she’d largely ignored the supposed restrictions of pregnancy, too, at least until she’d grown too heavy to easily move; thankfully, Duncan had had the good sense to make an appearance two weeks later.

She had grown up in what was essentially a matriarchy; she was accustomed to having other women—cousins of all degrees and others Iona drew under her wing—about her all the time. She had many women she would class as friends, yet none had had the freedom to chart her own life that she had had, and that factor in many ways set her apart.

She wasn’t entirely sure how the freedom she enjoyed had come about; certainly, being the only child of James Carmichael had been a critical factor, but if she hadn’t seized the opportunities that status had afforded her and pushed—hadn’t been such a tomboy and scrambled all over the shipyards and fallen in with Royd Frobisher—she would never have attained the uniquely unfettered position she now held.

That was a point to ponder. Would taking up with Royd again change anything—anything critical to her work, to who she now was?

They’d reached the last course.

“Having experienced the climate in Freetown once, I must have a closer look at my wardrobe.” Edwina popped a grape into her mouth, chewed, and swallowed.

Isobel helped herself to several nuts, then passed the platter to Royd.

“I was glad of my half-boots when we were trekking through the jungle,” Aileen added. “And while bonnets or hats are to be recommended in the settlement—certainly if one is going anywhere on foot during the day—there’s really no need for them in the jungle. The trees block well-nigh all the light.” She glanced at Robert. “From Caleb’s and Lascelle’s descriptions, it seems the mining compound is in jungle of a similar type to Kale’s camp.”

Reluctantly, Robert agreed. After a moment, he shot a look at Declan, then said, “The jungle’s exceedingly oppressive. You really don’t have to venture into it. It’ll be much cooler waiting on board.”

“Oh no.” Aileen’s hazel eyes widened to a remarkable degree as she faced Robert. “I absolutely have to go to the compound. Quite aside from finding Will, I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t check on those five children—the four boys and that girl. We had to let them be taken for the greater good—that, I was forced to accept. But I won’t rest easy until I know they’re safe—and I see that they are with my own eyes. I have to be there when we get them out—you must see that.”

Robert pressed his lips tightly together, then dipped his head in a gesture that might be interpreted as agreement, and wisely declined to argue.

Having carried her point, Aileen happily returned her attention to peeling a fig.

Declan looked down the length of the table at his delicate, fairylike wife. He hesitated, but clearly felt forced to ask, “Am I to take it that you intend to march to the compound, too, despite...” With a nod, he indicated her expectant state.

Edwina grinned. “Yes, of course. I’m only increasing, you know—something women have done for millennia. Even Dr. Halliwell has said I may go about as I please—indeed, he quite recommends it.”

“I doubt he had the African jungle in mind,” Declan grumbled.

“Possibly not, but I’m accustomed to walking for miles at Ridgware, and even on the moors when we were in Aberdeen, so as long as I take care not to overexert myself, it will all be perfectly fine.” Edwina looked down the table and watched Declan’s jaw set. “Besides,” she continued, a note of steel sliding into her voice, “you wouldn’t want me to regret that I’m carrying your firstborn at this moment, would you?”

Royd swallowed the bark of laughter that nearly escaped him. There was absolutely no possible answer Declan could make, other than...

Declan shifted in his chair. “No, of course not.” He concentrated on peeling the pear on his plate.

Shortly after, in sunny good humor, Edwina rose, and the company adjourned to the drawing room. The room had a pleasant ambiance; Royd approved of his sister-in-law’s taste, which apparently ran to comfort rather than the latest fashion.

The women sat on one sofa and the nearby armchair. He claimed the armchair he’d previously occupied, leaving the other sofa for Robert and Declan. They sprawled, relaxed and at ease. Isobel asked Edwina if she had any social engagements planned over the next days, and from there, talk turned to more general topics.

Royd learned that, on their ultimate return from Africa, Robert planned to visit Aileen’s family in Scarborough. Royd asked about Aileen’s brothers, which led to a discussion of the situation in the Americas. Royd contributed to the debate, but for the most part, remained focused on Isobel. He listened to her opinions—which, of course, she had; she knew nearly as much about global shipping as he did. What he learned suggested that the past eight years, while not altering anything fundamental about either of them, had nevertheless expanded their knowledge and experience in ways the other might not yet appreciate.

That was a point he decided to bear in mind.

The ringing of the doorbell was, minutes later, followed by the entrance of the butler, Humphrey. He bore a silver salver on which resided a letter opener and a white envelope. Humphrey paused by Royd’s chair. “For you, Captain.”

Royd lifted the envelope, glanced at the writing, and straightened in the chair. “Wolverstone.” He picked up the letter knife, slit the envelope, then returned the knife to the salver. “Thank you, Humphrey.”

Humphrey bowed and departed.

From the envelope, Royd drew out a single sheet. He unfolded it and read.

“Well?” Robert asked.

“We have an appointment with Melville at Wolverstone House tomorrow afternoon at two o’clock. Apparently, that’s the earliest Melville can absent himself from the Admiralty.”

“Excellent!” Edwina looked at Isobel and Aileen. “That means we’ll have the morning free to further our own plans.”

Royd looked at Edwina, then at Isobel’s and Aileen’s faces—and deduced that the males of the party weren’t included in Edwina’s “our.”