Chapter 5

It had been three weeks since the reception at St. James' Palace, and Caroline still experienced a thrill every time she thought of it.

And she couldn't help but think of it often. Part of it, of course, was having people refer to her as "Lady Stanhope." Apparently, the Regent's advisers had been at something of an impasse about how to reward a woman who had proved her valor in battle. There were no precedents for a direct honor, and the Regent was uncomfortable enough with his relatively new authority to consider creating the first. It was James's friend, Philip Whitson, in fact, the secretary to the Prime Minister, who had suggested the answer: a posthumous baronetcy for Geoffrey Stanhope. It was unusual, to be sure, but not enough to scandalize the old men in House of Lords upon whose support the Regent depended.

Another part, to be sure, was having seen her brother-in-law William named a Knight Companion of the Order of the Bath. His Highness had been pleased to be able to recognize William's audacious effort to assist the troops retreating from the actions in the Chesapeake Bay last summer, but even more pleased to be able to do so in the context of his gloriously successful capture of the French frigate L'Empereur.

For the first ten days afterward, the two of them had been exhibited, or so it seemed to Caroline, at parties all over London. And since William had spent most of the last week and a half at Portsmouth, overseeing the refitting and repair of the Wallace, Caroline had largely been on her own for the most recent routs. She had particularly enjoyed seeing Jane Arbuthnot and Katherine Packenham, who had simpered and gushed with equal skill.

She felt quietly pleased that her next engagements were more widely spaced. It would give her time to effect her next plan, one she planned to announce to William at dinner that evening on his return to London.

She was momentarily taken aback, however, by the odd expression on his face.

"What is it, William?"

"The most amazing thing, Caroline," he said, his body almost quivering with emotion as he sat next to her in his best uniform. "I called on Lord Melville, today, at the Admiralty, to report the Wallace ready for sea. He ordered me to return there tomorrow, and remove all my personal belongings immediately."

"Oh, William," she murmured. "I'm so sorry."

A sudden smile flitted across Williams face before he regained control and began his explanation.

"'My lord, ' I protested, 'why?'

"'Do you not believe that your Mr. Wainwright deserves a command?' says he. 'You particularly mentioned him in your letter.'

"'Of course, my Lord, ' I told him. I forewent the pleasure of reminding him that I had made the same representations over a year ago."

Caroline smiled at the aside.

"'Exactly, ' says Melville. 'And you will bring him his orders appointing him master and commander, in command of the Wallace.'

"I nodded. And I waited," William explained. "He was regarding me with particular ferocity, it seemed to me, although I could not fathom what I had done wrong.

"And then he asks me whether I know a Mr. Ruscommon. I sat there for what seemed an eternity, racking my brain to identify someone named Ruscommon. And finally I had to confess that I did not.

"'He is the Messenger of the Order of the Bath' he says, 'sent by the Order's King of Arms.'

"'My Lord, I do not recall having met him, ' I said.

"'I imagine not, ' Melville says with a scowl. 'He informed me that by law and tradition, the rank of Knight Companion may be awarded only to those members of His Majesty's Navy who hold the rank of Post-Captain or higher: and he asked me why we did not inform him prior to your investiture that you did not hold such a rank.'"

"William, it was not your fault," Caroline interjected.

"Nevertheless, Caroline, I was horrified. The thought that something I had done had allowed Lord Melville to be questioned like this by a — by a civilian had me leaping out of my chair to offer my apologies. My mind was reeling. It was no wonder they were taking away my ship. I could only imagine what sort of prison-hulk I would next be given command of."

Caroline put her hand on William's arm, her eyes widening in sympathy.

"And then Melville quietly tells me to take my seat, and something like a smile starts to spread across his face. On his face, of course, although you may not remember, a smile can look much like a grimace."

It seemed to Caroline that a smile had overtaken William's face as well, and she leaned forward expectantly.

"And then Melville leans back, pulls open his drawer and extracts an envelope, and taps it on his desk several times.

"'So, ' he finally says, 'it has been decided to antedate your posting, effective the day that you captured the frigate. My congratulations, Captain Stanhope.'

"Oh, William," Caroline cried. She surged forward, throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him tightly. William stiffened, and then relaxed, allowing himself the pleasure of feeling his sister-in-law's heart beating rapidly against him, her soft breasts pressed into his chest. Then they both pulled back, with the simultaneous realization that such spontaneous liberties were not an acceptable part of their relationship.

William cleared his throat and tried to resume his story as if it had never occurred.

"It will be quite a surprise to my friend Bullington, who was made post two weeks ago, to find my name above his on the list."

"I am so happy for you, William," Caroline said, trying to disguise the deep breaths she was taking to calm her down.

"And the best news, Caroline, is that they have given me the Classic."

"Geoffrey's ship."

"Yes. Sir Edward has been appointed to the frigate Undaunted. It is not much of a promotion, to be sure, but they have also named him commodore of the fleet blockading Marseille in the Mediterranean. So I am to have his ship, which will be returning to Portsmouth in two days' time for its own refitting. So instead of departing Wednesday next, I shall not be leaving for a little while longer."

"And then? Back to America?"

"Ah, the wise men of the Admiralty do not entrust their decisions even to post-captains, Caroline. I suppose I shall learn in time. But I beg your pardon, Caroline. I could tell from the look on your face as I entered, that you had news of your own. And I have quite selfishly prevented you from telling me of it."

Caroline smiled and took a deep breath.

"William, I mean to move to London permanently."

William's face burst into smile.

"Caroline, how delightful. You are most certainly welcome to —"

"Forgive me, William, but I know what you intend to say, and I must ask you to stop. No offer could be more generous, but I cannot in good conscience accept it, and I would so dread having to actually turn it down."

William closed his mouth and sat attentively.

"As you are aware, thanks in very great part to your generosity, I am a woman of some means. And as I now intend to reside here permanently, it seems fitting that I establish a house of my own, to protect both of us, dear brother, from unwanted gossipry. No, no, do not stop me. You are an eligible bachelor, in the prime of life, and I cannot imagine that the presence of your younger brother's widow in your household would recommend itself to any of the very attractive young women whom I can assure you are quite interested in attracting your attention. For my part, I should not wish to have anyone think that I imposed upon my late husband's family any longer than necessary."

"I certainly understand, Caroline. You have had a change of heart, though? About London?"

Caroline looked down at her feet and returned his gaze with an abashed smile.

"I will admit to being vain, dear brother, and I could not stand the thought that people were looking down on me as an unfashionable provincial. Now that I can hold my head up, I find London just as fascinating as you told me that it would be. Dartmouth certainly has no hold on me anymore. The chancery proceedings over Geoffrey's will have been moved to London, thanks to James. And Lucy is enchanted here.

"Several weeks ago, I asked James to help me locate suitable housing that might be available for lease. And although he has vanished — do you know where he has gone to, by the way?"

"You are aware of his position?" William countered.

"He has a position? In government? I rather imagined he was, I don't know, someone's private secretary or some such thing."

"He is. And the someone in question is the foreign secretary, Viscount Castlereagh."

"James?"

"Indeed. He is perhaps singularly responsible for the current alliance responsible for the imminent defeat of that French tyrant."

"Oh, William. Really? The war is to end soon?"

"I have it on good authority that his ministers are daily urging Boney to abdicate. It is only a matter of time before Paris itself falls."

Caroline clapped her hands in delight before growing serious.

"William, may I ask you something? James and Mr. Whitson, his, er, particular friend..."

"Very diplomatic of you, Caroline."

"Then it's true? They are... ?"

"Lovers, I suppose, would be the polite way of saying it. It is a closely guarded secret, though. James will be chagrined to know that you have discovered it."

"Oh, bosh. It changes nothing of my affection for him. It was just a look that passed between them at the Palace."

"It is the sword that my father holds over James' head. Early in his madness, he set men to follow all of us, and discovered James' secret. In their positions, it would be a considerable disgrace, and an embarrassment to Government were it to be made public. But we are far afield here. Did James locate a house?"

"He did. On Porter Street. We are to move in two weeks."

The relocation of Caroline and Michael Stanhope, however, was to be delayed. It was not that London suffered from a shortage of laborers. Rather, it was their sobriety that was at issue. On the first of April came the news that Paris had fallen to the allies two days before. London erupted in celebration. For the following week, the news from France kept the streets of London filled with revelers. On April 2, Napoleon was deposed by the French Sénat. On April 6, his marshals compelled his abdication in favor of his son. And there would be yet more. The word on the streets, and in the homes of the wealthy and powerful who had welcomed Caroline into their salons, was that the allies intended to force an unconditional abdication, restoring power in France to the monarchy where it belonged.

In despair, Caroline turned to William once again. Geoffrey's baronetcy had been a source of great pride to his former shipmates on the Classic, and a borrowed schooner full of volunteers under Matthew's direction quickly emptied Caroline's Dartmouth home of all of its books and furniture. By the time William arrived for a visit, during the third week of April, the household was nearly complete.

"I must tell you, Caroline," he said, sipping a surprisingly good wine. "My household staff is pining away from your absence. Mrs. Woodward claims that the house might as well be completely uninhabited."

Caroline smiled.

"Even when I'm there," William added dryly.

"Mrs. Woodward is a treasure," Caroline said. "I should be very happy to take her on in your absence."

William laughed.

"I would never get her back."

"How long do you expect to be gone?"

"Who can say? As you might have expected, their Lordships have now turned their full attention to the American war."

"As have the rest of us, apparently. Did you see the Times last week? I saved the editorial for you, on the desk."

William grabbed it up and read it aloud.

"April 15th. 'Now that the tyrant Bonaparte has been consigned to infamy, there is no public feeling in this country stronger than that of indignation against the Americans. That a republic boasting of its freedom should have stooped to become the tool of the Monster's ambition; that it should have attempted to plunge the parricidal weapon into the heart of that country from whence its own origin was derived; that it should have chosen the precise moment when it fancied that Russia was overwhelmed, to attempt to consummate the ruin of Britain — all this is conduct so black, so loathsome, so hateful, that it naturally stirs up the indignation that we have described.'

"Strong stuff," William acknowledged. "The word you hear most often in the halls of Whitehall is 'chastise.' We are apparently going to chastise Jonathan for his effrontery."

"So their Lordships have taken you into their confidence," Caroline teased him.

"To a surprising degree," William said absently. "Apparently they believe that I am some sort of expert on America and its behavior."

He was silent for a moment before leaning forward.

"Caroline, this must remain between us."

She nodded slowly.

"Of course."

"Their Lordships mean to put together an invasion force. I am to carry dispatches to America next week, because the Classic is the fastest frigate in port at present. And when I return, I will be required to rendezvous to convey some of Wellington's Invincibles to America, to force them to sue for peace."

"Then I will stop worrying about you. And keep my prayers for our gallant soldiers."

"Perhaps you could save one or two for me. Their frigates are still formidable, few though they may be. Any of them would be a difficult task for the Classic. I shall be away for quite a while then. When I return, I expect to find you one of the premier hostesses of society in a house such as this.

"With men at your beck and call," he added softly.

Caroline blushed.

"It has only been a year since I learned of Geoffrey's death," she said.

"Caroline, you have mourned him enough to satisfy his dearest friends. And indeed, his family. You are a beautiful young woman, and none of us expects you to live the rest of your life as a widow."

"William, I do not know what to say."

"Say, 'thank you, dear William, for your concern. You are right, of course.'"

"As a post-captain," Caroline said slyly, "I thought you were always right."

"Touché, sister," William said with a laugh. "Well done."