After a trying day, made even more so by the admiral and Julia’s visit to Alexandra, William gladly left the tedium of Lady Dalrymple’s card party to join Julia and her father outside as they said their farewells. Though he’d initially believed the admiral’s explanation for bringing Julia out to Alexandra this morning—that he simply brought her to see the ship—subtlety was not Sir Edward’s greatest ally. Julia’s father repeatedly hinted and then outright lectured William during their private conference on William’s duty to Julia as her husband.

“Ransome.”

He stepped forward, planted his feet shoulder-width apart, and clasped his hands behind his back. “Aye, sir?”

“You will remember my words.” Admiral Witherington held Julia’s right hand in both of his.

“Aye, sir.”

Sir Edward narrowed his eyes. “I have my ways of learning whether or not you follow my instructions.”

William took in a measured breath. “Aye, sir.”

The admiral glanced at Julia and then back at William. He opened his mouth, stopped, and then cleared his throat. “I am entrusting you with what I value most in this world, son. I am depending on you to keep her safe—and to make sure she is happy.” He held Julia’s hand toward William.

William reached out, took her hand, and tucked it in the crook of his elbow. The hand, along with her chin, trembled. “I shall protect her with my life, sir, and do my best to ensure her happiness.”

Julia’s grip around the inside of his elbow tightened.

Her father cleared his throat again, but it did not keep the gruffness from his voice. “Elton shall come for you at ten o’clock tomorrow morning to take you home. Creighton has had the staff in a fury today preparing for your arrival.”

Julia shook her head. “I’ve been away only one night. What could…”

When she did not continue her question, William looked down. Her lips had withdrawn into a thin line, and she averted her gaze away from both William and her father.

The admiral, apparently, did not realize his daughter’s embarrassment. “They have been preparing your mother’s chamber for you. It is larger and should accommodate the two of you better.”

Infernal heat climbed the back of William’s neck, making him bless the darkness.

Through the open front door echoed the chiming of the great clock in the entryway.

“I should leave. Catching the early stage to London.” Sir Edward adjusted his black formal coat. He seemed strangely diminished—and much older—out of uniform. Though perhaps it was a trick of the darkness and the lateness of the hour.

“Goodbye, Papa.” Julia’s voice came out reedy, strained, thin. “Godspeed on your journey. Write as soon as you arrive.”

“I promise.” The admiral made no move toward his barouche. After a long moment, Sir Edward—the man famous throughout the Royal Navy for his gruff, irascible demeanor—pulled his daughter into his arms.

William averted his gaze—not out of a desire to avoid watching his commander’s emotional outburst, but because the scene made him too keenly aware of his own father’s absence. He needed to spend as much time with Mother—and Charlotte—as possible before sailing.

Sir Edward finally broke away from Julia, kissed her forehead, and beat a hasty retreat to his waiting carriage. Julia stood on the top step and waved until the barouche disappeared into the night.

Despite the darkness, William could see the devastation and loss in her expression when she turned around. Her heartache kindled the need to comfort her. He extended his arms, and she flew to him, burying her face in his chest.

She made no sound as she wrapped her arms around his waist and let him support her trembling weight. Fulfilling the second part of his promise to her father had come much sooner than William expected, though he thanked God Julia was not one to weep. He pressed his cheek to her forehead and hoped his embrace communicated his desire to offer her comfort—as he knew not what to say.

Inside, the clock chimed another quarter hour gone.

“I might never see him again.” Her voice barely reached his ears.

“We will have none of that.” He took her upper arms and moved her back enough to look at her. He then cupped her chin and tilted her head back until their eyes met. “What has you thinking such morbid thoughts?”

“Your father died before you saw him again.”

“He died of fever while at sea. The worst thing your father could catch is the attention of the Lord Admiral of the Royal Navy and come down with a promotion to the Admiralty in London.” He smiled, hoping to lighten her mood.

“But we shall be at sea. I could contract yellow fever and die.”

William refused to let her see the cold dread her words caused. “Have you ever fallen ill with yellow fever?”

“Once, when I was a child.”

His skin crawled at the idea of the child he had known wracked by such a terrible illness. “But never since then?”

She shook her head.

“Then you are unlikely to die of yellow fever. I have engaged a fine surgeon who also apprenticed with an apothecary. No sickness shall befall you.”

“We could be set upon by privateers—or a rogue French ship. I could be killed in the battle.” Julia’s wide eyes displayed a distant yet frenzied expression William did not like in the least.

Even though his stomach churned at the real—however remote—possibility he kept his tone light. “I will protect you. No enemy vessel will be able to get within firing range of Alexandra.”

“I could be captured by pirates—there could be a hurricane—”

He clapped his hand over her mouth. “Enough. You cannot allow yourself to think these things, Julia. I will keep you safe. I will protect you.” Originally annoyed by his agreement to neglect his duty once more and sleep off his ship, he now could not imagine leaving her tonight.

Some of the fear in those beloved green eyes abated. “And who will protect you?” she asked against the palm of his hand.

“God will protect us both.” Unable to resist, he lowered his hand, leaned down, and kissed her. “Now, my macabre bride, shall we rejoin the card party?”

“I shall ask her when she returns.”

“Miss Fairfax, I do not think she will—”

The baron’s daughter cut off Charlotte’s protest with a light tap of her fan on Charlotte’s wrist. “Nonsense. As Miss Witherington, she proved herself very obliging—and talented as well. As Mrs. Ransome, I wager she will be the same. Look, here they come.” Penelope Fairfax rose and started toward the entrance of the formal parlor.

The shadowy light cast by a myriad of candles did nothing to hide the paleness of Julia’s countenance when she entered the room on William’s arm.

“Mrs. Ransome, how fine you look. It is not fair of you.” Penelope leaned closer to Charlotte’s sister-in-law. “Everyone will no doubt make a mad dash for the warehouses tomorrow morning and buy up all of the dark green fabric to be had in Portsmouth.”

Julia’s smile tried to convey appreciation for the flattery, but her eyes remained distant and forlorn.

Charlotte’s heart went out to her. The idea of saying goodbye to Mama…she shuddered. She moved forward to try to stop her friend from trespassing on Julia’s good nature. “Julia, you look fatigued. Perhaps—”

“Of course she does,” Penelope interrupted. “We have all been dull company this evening. Mrs. Ransome, might I entreat you to play for us so we can dance? No one plays so well as you.”

Charlotte stared at Miss Fairfax. Her demeanor had changed from the commanding, assured young woman of society Charlotte knew to an insecure, uncertain debutante in the space of a wink. But if there was one thing Charlotte had learned about the Honorable Miss Fairfax, it was that Pen always got her way.

Julia’s expression took on a resigned air. “Of course, Miss Fairfax. I shall be happy to play for you.”

“Oh, thank you.” Penelope clapped her hands and hurried off to spread the news.

With slow deliberation, Julia began removing her gloves.

“You do not have to accede to her will, no matter whose daughter she is,” William grumbled.

Julia handed him one long, white glove and started on the other. “How can I refuse her? She is the one who warned me of Lady Pembroke and Sir Drake’s scheme.” She released a short, dry laugh. “The first one, anyway.” She glanced at Charlotte. “My aunt and cousin planned to force me to marry him by spreading rumors that Sir Drake and I were engaged. They were certain I would feel honor bound to marry the…man.”

Charlotte stood stone still, drinking in every word, grateful to finally be learning some of the secrets held by her family for the past several weeks.

“I can never repay her for the blessing she bestowed on me by not only telling me what she overheard, but also by not telling anyone else, especially her mother.”

William received the second glove. “Why especially her mother?”

Charlotte joined Julia in gaping at her brother.

“Lady Fairfax is the person who told everyone you and Sir Drake were to fight a duel. She is a busybody of the highest manner; and I shall never forgive you, Charlotte Ransome, if you ever tell a single soul I said such a thing.”

Julia’s words came out so fast, it took Charlotte a moment to realize Julia now addressed her. “I promise I would never say a word. Unlike the baroness, I know how to keep confidences.” After all, she’d had quite a bit of practice.

“Speaking of the Fairfaxes…” Julia looked past Charlotte and inclined her head.

Charlotte turned just as Percy Fairfax gained her side.

“I hear there is to be dancing. May I claim you as partner for the first, Miss Ransome?” Percy extended his elbow toward her.

Though in looks he was no Ned Cochr—Henry Winchester, Percy Fairfax’s attentions flattered Charlotte. “Yes, Mr. Fairfax.” She placed her hand atop his forearm.

“Then I had best take myself over to the pianoforte and start playing.” A hint of amusement trickled through Julia’s words.

“Capital! Come, Miss Ransome. If we are not quick, Pen and St. Vincent will try to usurp us to gain the best position, but as Lady Dalrymple’s guest, you should take precedence over her and lead off.”

Leaving it to the baron’s son to know more about precedence and leading off the dancing, Charlotte followed him to the opposite end of the room, strategically cleared by Lady Dalrymple’s staff for just such an eventuality.

Julia struck up a lively country dance on the pianoforte, and Charlotte began the familiar steps. Had it truly been two years already since Henry showed her the steps in Eliza’s sitting room? If Mama had heard of it, Charlotte would never have been allowed to see Henry—or visit Eliza—again.

Now here she was, going through the same rounds of patterns with another man, a man whose attentions flattered her vanity. Yet she wondered at the flirtation Percival Fairfax lavished on her. As the son of a nobleman, he could have no serious designs on her. She might not yet be eighteen, but she knew enough of the world to know the heir to a barony—and all the wealth and estates thereto—would never seriously consider marrying the daughter of a common sailor, regardless of Lady Dalrymple’s patronage and Charlotte’s ten-thousand-pound legacy, settled on her by her sailor brothers.

Mr. Fairfax complimented her dancing. Charlotte gave him a coquettish smile, all the while grateful for the fact of Henry, making her in no danger of having her heart broken by Percy.

When the song ended, Charlotte glanced around for another partner in time to see Penelope and Mr. St. Vincent—the future Viscount St. Vincent—break away from the dancers and step out through the open doors to the porch that ran along the back of the house with grand views of the gardens—or at least grand views during daylight hours.

“St. Vincent and Pen’s engagement will be announced tomorrow.” Percy’s lips almost touched Charlotte’s ear; his breath tickled her cheek. “My father is beside himself at the match. Made the expense of my time at Oxford worthwhile, he told me. That is where I met the rascal, you know. He had always been fascinated by the sea and the navy, so I invited him to come for a visit over a school holiday.” Percy laughed. “That was almost six months ago. He has only left Portsmouth twice, and he could not stay away long either time.”

Charlotte sighed. To have fallen in love with a man of fortune, as Penelope had. To have no barriers of money, rank, or family disapproval to contend with. To have a fiancé who lived right here in England.

Another of Percy’s friends bowed to Charlotte, and Percy relinquished her hand with teasing grumbles before leaving her to find himself another partner.

Julia played an allemande next. Charlotte kept her amusement to herself as the names of the sails and rigging of a ship of the line started ringing through her head. As a girl she’d always set things to music to memorize them so she could think about that during the tedious hours of lessons and practice at the small parlor pianoforte William had purchased for Mama with the first prize money he’d ever received, at age fourteen—three years before Charlotte’s birth and their father’s death. Mama had not touched the instrument since the loss of her husband, but she had insisted that Charlotte learn.

At midnight, when the butler announced supper, Charlotte was grateful for the support of Percy’s arm to the dining room. Tonight was good practice for the formal ball next week—at which the dancing would start earlier and end later, and the room would be more crowded.

Of course, she needed to grow accustomed to crowded conditions as well, if she were going to survive living aboard a ship populated by more than seven hundred souls in cramped conditions for two months.

Though not particularly hungry, Charlotte accepted a plate of cold meats, cheeses, bread, and fruit from Percy. Penelope waved at them, and Charlotte stifled the urge to groan with pleasure as soon as she sat, happy to be off her feet. Her new kid slippers pinched her toes and rubbed her heels until they burned.

The noise of conversation—of the dancers and the card players—which had been masked by the piano and the size of the parlor, filled the dining room and reverberated off the portrait-laden walls. What had seemed a small party—when divided amongst whist tables at one end and dancing at the other—now looked to be a hoard. Fifty guests at least gathered around the giant table in the dining room, eating, drinking, and making all manner of noise. A second scan of the room revealed William and Julia with the Yateses and Mama, who leaned close to Julia, listening and occasionally patting her hand.

A pang of guilt coursed through Charlotte. Mama would be so angry when she discovered Charlotte’s departure. Even though Charlotte had not yet determined how she would arrange to sneak away to report to Audacious next Thursday, she had already resigned herself to the knowledge it would involve lying to Mama. Again. Something she never would have done before she met Henry. Something she would do only for him.

A commotion at the door caught Charlotte’s eye. Mrs. Melling, the housekeeper, had what looked like a concerned conversation with the butler. Melling left, and the butler made his way to Lady Dalrymple and leaned down to speak to her.

The dowager viscountess drew everyone’s attention a moment later when she stood. She waved the men back into their seats. “Enjoy your supper. I shall return shortly. A family matter to attend to has arisen.”

Speculative whispers rose as soon as the doors closed behind their hostess.

“Something to do with her youngest son, I’ve no doubt,” Penelope whispered, though with such effect Percy and St. Vincent heard her remark as well.

“Her youngest son?” Though yesterday Melling and the chamber-maid had given Charlotte the names and ages of Lady Dalrymple’s children, their husbands or wives, their children, and where they each lived, she’d still been so overwhelmed by her surroundings that she hadn’t taken much of it in.

“Yes. I do not recall his name, but he went into the navy at a young age.” Penelope glanced around, apparently reveling in the attention of not just her three companions, but of everyone else in hearing range. “He rose smartly through the ranks—of course, as the son of Viscount Dalrymple, he would. But then the story took a strange turn. He and the other officers on his ship were accused of mutiny, charged, tried, and convicted. Mama thinks that’s what killed the viscount—the previous one, not the current one, obviously—his son’s conviction as a mutineer. Sentenced to death along with the other officers, even though he cooperated with the tribunal and gave testimony that proved the guilt of the other men.”

Charlotte stared wide eyed at Penelope, hands pressed to her mouth to keep it from falling open. To commit the ultimate treachery at sea—deposing one’s captain—and then to turn around and betray his fellow officers…the man must have had a soul as black as obsidian. “Was he executed?”

“Nay. All but two escaped.” Percy jumped in, taking advantage of his sister’s pause for a drink. “So now, not only is he hunted by the Royal Navy, he’s hunted by the men he betrayed. The miracle is that they managed to keep the entire sordid affair out of the papers, no doubt owing to the family’s position and wealth.”

Charlotte stole a glance across the table at her brother and Captain Yates. If they knew this story, would they be sitting here? Would William have agreed to holding his wedding breakfast in this house? Allow Charlotte to stay?

Recovering herself, she asked, “How do you know of this? Did not Lady Dalrymple live in Devon before her husband died?”

Percy nodded. “Lived, yes. But they spent many months every year at Brampton Park, so they have always been well known here.”

Slowly, the guests returned to the parlor to take up their former activities. Charlotte excused herself from the Fairfaxes and joined her family to say good night to Mama and Collin and Susan.

Walking back down the hall toward the parlor, Julia covered her mouth when a yawn overtook her.

“Do not go back in.” Charlotte stopped her sister-in-law with a touch on her arm. “I will play for the rest of the night—for however long everyone wishes to dance. I can see you’ve no desire for society tonight.”

Julia’s cheeks turned pink, and William’s severe expression eased. Julia took hold of Charlotte’s hand and squeezed it. “Bless you. I did not know how I would face another hour or two of playing, but I could not allow you to give up dancing.”

“My shoes pinch, and if I dance one more dance, I shall have a blister on my heel.” She smiled at their relieved expressions. “Shall I see you both before you leave tomorrow?”

Julia looked to William to answer.

“We shall breakfast at nine, if you wish to join us.”

“I will.” She was about to return to the parlor, but she could not wait until morning to get her questions answered. “William?”

He turned at the foot of the stairs, his arm around Julia’s waist. “Yes?”

“What do you know of Lady Dalrymple’s son, the one who joined the navy?”

“Why do you ask?”

She hurried over to him and gave a quick synopsis of the story Penelope and Percy had told at supper.

William’s mouth drew into a tight line as she spoke. “Complete nonsense. Geoffrey Seymour, Lady Dalrymple’s youngest son, was not a natural sailor or a remarkable one, but he was loyal to the last. Two lieutenants from his ship were convicted of mutiny, and Seymour testified against them—as did the captain and other officers. The two men were convicted and hanged according to the Articles of War.”

“You said ‘to the last.’ So is he dead, then?”

“Not that I have heard. He paid off as soon as the war ended. Where he went after that, I have not heard.” And his tone indicated he did not care.

Charlotte cared—not about where Mr. Seymour might have gone, but whether he might have left anything from his life at sea here at Brampton Park. Because any little piece of detritus or perhaps even a forgotten journal or log book would be a wonderful item to help her look like someone who’d served on several ships and traveled many places.

Starting tomorrow, she would take Lady Dalrymple up on her invitation to explore the house and see if anything here could help her build her new identity as Charles Lott.