Chapter 11

Caroline and William Stanhope gazed lovingly at each other across the remains of a late breakfast. A cold March rain drummed steadily against the window of the room they had taken. Caroline traced a slender finger down the cream-colored skin visible between the lapels of her dressing gown.

"So what should you like to tour today?" she asked, her eyes sparkling.

"I had always thought that the 'bridal tour' began with a visit to relatives who were unable to attend the wedding," William said.

"And it is my belief that it begins with touring the bride as intimately and thoroughly as possible," Caroline answered. "But I may have a second cousin or some such thing here in Bath if you would like to look her up. I'm sure I can entertain myself here."

William laughed.

"I think I would rather that you not discover yourself better at entertaining you than I am. As for the tour, I am most happy to be shown the error of my ways. I cannot imagine, however, that there is any place on my lovely bride that I have not yet visited."

"It is always possible that you might find some new delight on your second or even third visit," Caroline said, her voice dropping lower.

The knock at the door startled them both.

"Yes?" William asked, unable to keep the annoyance from his voice.

"Begging your pardon, sir?" came a timid voice from the other side of the door.

"Yes, Mrs. Delaney?" Caroline asked.

"A messenger, ma'am, for the Captain."

"A messenger?" William asked. "Here?"

"I'm very sorry, sir," a faint male voice said. "I stopped at your house. They sent me on me here."

William rose and opened the door a crack to accept the message.

"It appears we are going to have to postpone the next portion of our trip," he said after reading the message and closing the door.

"No visit to France?" Caroline asked.

"It seems the Emperor has decided to take the waters there as well. He has left Elba and made his way to the mainland. I am required and directed to take command of the Classic in Portsmouth and put myself at the service of Rear Admiral Chester in the Eastern Mediterranean."

"War," Caroline said with a sigh.

"War," William agreed.

"I want you to return to Prescott Manor, my love," William said, "to take care of my father. James has already left for Vienna and may not be able to return immediately. I will be at sea for however long it takes to beat the Emperor back into his hole. You and Michael are Father's only anchorage."

"Of course," Caroline agreed.

"I need not report for three days. It will take some time to fully man the vessel and Jennings — you remember my first, Lieutenant Jennings? — is already in Portsmouth. That will give us time to return you."

"Ship ho!" yelled the lookout.

"Where away, Jennings?" William yelled back.

"Two points to starboard, sir. Flying the old French flag."

"Beat to quarters, Mister Bates. It may well be a Royalist ship, but we can find that out just as easily with our guns manned as without."

"Aye-aye, sir. Beat to quarters!"

"British flag, Mister Kerns. I don't have time to play games today. Where's Matthew?"

"Right here, sir."

"It'll be a good two hours until we come up. Tell the cook I intend to release the starboard watch to eat in half an hour. And tell my own cook that I'll be ready to eat in an hour. Please inform Mr. Carruthers that I would be delighted to have his company."

"Aye-aye." Matthew Cooper acknowledged the order with a knuckle to his forelock.

George Carruthers, a tall, thin civilian with a perpetually saturnine expression on his face, had joined the ship at Gibraltar as an interpreter fluent in several Mediterranean languages. He appeared on deck several minutes later.

"You asked for me, sir?"

"I intended to ask for your company at dinner, sir," William said with a slight bow of his head. "I regret that the message was garbled. No, if this is a Royalist ship, the chances are that they will speak English of a sort. And if it is one of Boney's, the chances are we won't let them get close enough to let us hear them speak anyway."

"Quite," Carruthers said. "Still, if they are Royalists, this will be quite a feather in your cap, eh?"

"Not at all, sir. If they foreswear allegiance to the Emperor I shall merely escort them into a convenient port. There is little credit to be earned there, sir, certainly not compared to the hundreds of tons of new shipping that we have destroyed so far. May I offer you a glass of wine before dinner?"

"You are most kind, Captain. Pray lead on."

With an hour's notice, the captain's private cook was able to prepare an elegant feast. William and his guest dutifully ate their way through one remove after another until Matthew appeared to announce that the approaching ship had fired off a leeward gun.

"Excuse me, Mr. Carruthers," William said. "I believe that is my cue. We may have visitors with our port."

"There, sir," Matthew said as his captain emerged into the Mediterranean sun and accepted the proffered telescope. "Off the starboard bow. They've backed their sails and manned the decks. Seem a little short-handed though, sir."

"They no doubt want us to understand their friendly attentions. They are lowering down a boat. Prepare to welcome aboard a captain, bos'n."

"Aye-aye, sir."

The bosun's whistle was followed by the stamp of marines as an honor guard assembled to welcome the French commander aboard.

"Monsieur le capitaine," William said with a deep bow as the small, round man hoisted himself aboard.

"Captain. I am Phillippe de L'Arment. On be'alf of 'is Majesty's government, I turn over to you the Incroyable.

"Merci, monsieur. Je suis..."

"Captain, I speak ze English quite well. But I thank you for your effort."

"Excellent. William Stanhope, sir, at your service. May I offer you some port, Captain? I am afraid you have arrived just after our supper hour, but I hope to have the opportunity to entertain you tomorrow. Is that your entire crew on deck?"

"Oui, Captain. There was a — how you say? — struggle for the ship. Those who follow Bonaparte were eventually evicted, although the cost was 'igh. Rather than wait for more men, we decided to sail from port with a smaller crew."

"As a representative of His Royal Majesty's navy, I thank you for doing so, sir. Please come with me."

The wind backed into the north overnight and it took the ships three more days to reach Otranto, in the very southeast of Italy. The city and its C-shaped port had once been a duché grand-fief de l'Empire in Napoleon's Kingdom of Naples. It was now simply another port in the firm control of the British Navy.

"Pikers," Captain Sir William Stanhope said. "Dragged you out of a game of whist. Found you at your club. Hah! Gentlemen, I was on my bridal tour when the Admiralty's messenger reached me to tell me of Boney's escape."

The three post-captains with whom he sat at a quayside trattoria two nights later were all senior to him, each of them with well over the three years of seniority that William would need before he could add the second epaulette to his uniform. They were all friends, however, and all comfortably bore his good-natured teasing.

"I believe Samuel Johnson referred to it as the honeymoon," Captain Farquhar said. "'The first month after marriage, when there is nothing but tenderness and pleasure.'"

"In my case it was barely a quarter of a moon with my honey," William said. "We were married on the twenty-fifth. Boney bolted on the twenty-sixth. Thank God it took some time for the news to reach England."

"I didn't know you had married," Captain Adams said, extending his hand. "Congratulations, young fellow."

"Thank you, sir," William said as they shook hands. Captain Adams was the most senior of the three men with whom he was drinking.

"One of those extraordinarily attractive young women that were always hanging on you in London?" Captain Carter asked. "This young dog, friends, always seemed to have two or three women vying for the next dance.

"No, sir." William blushed. "My brother's widow. Lady Caroline Stanhope."

"Not the Lioness?" Adams asked.

"Yes, sir."

"The Lioness?" Farquhar asked.

"You was in the Caribbean then, Farquhar," Adams said. "She is the woman who saved our friend's bacon here when he tried to take L'Empereur. I saw her at St. James with you. An exceptionally beautiful woman. And she killed two Frenchies herself, didn't she?"

"One, sir. Nursed the other back to health."

"So she knows something of the naval life then, eh?" asked Carter.

"She does," William acknowledged. "Not all of it favorable, though. She and Geoffrey were married for less than a fortnight when his ship had to put to sea. He died before he could return home. So you can only imagine how worried she is about me, having left her in nearly identical circumstances."

"Surely you have heard from her since you left," Farquhar said. "We have been out here for three months now."

"Yes, of course," William said with a smile. Her letters were perhaps unlike those received by any other officer in His Majesty's navy. Her first letter had informed him that she had decided to leave her funds invested with Charles Langhorne, a former naval officer whose success in steam propulsion was causing consternation throughout the older hands at the Admiralty. It was a businesslike letter and William was particularly delighted that she had nowhere asked him for his advice.

Her second letter, informing him of his father's death from the long-term effects of the blow to his temple during the robbery on New Year's Eve, was much more emotional. She told of how Michael had held the Earl's hand during his last evening and how he had refused to die until Caroline forgave him for all that he had done. When she demurred, telling him that there was nothing to forgive, he had grown agitated. She had finally granted his request and the old man had died with a smile on his face.

Her most recent letter had asked that, if his journeys took him anywhere near Otranto, the very port in which he now sat, he obtain a drawing of the castle and perhaps another of the entire port. Walpole's The Castle of Otranto was one of her favorite books. She would love to get a better idea of its setting.