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[EDITOR’S NOTE: This feature is back in its normal place after a comedy of errors. Mojeaux was going through some stress last week and didn’t upload an episode for us last Friday; completely understandably. Swiss, desperate for content, filled the slot with UCS series, unfortunately without contacting Mojeaux. An unfortunate announcement was made. The ould truncheon, which I usually employ on recalcitrant writers, was instead employed on Glibs senior staff. We have all resolved to do better, and now return to our regular Friday evening feature. All’s well that ends well. -Tonio]

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PART III

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MAY, 1780
ST. JAMES’S
LONDON, ENGLAND

“He is well enough, Your Grace,” Bancroft returned smoothly, “I see no reason to hold his grief against him. Now we only await Tavendish, eh?”

Croftwood stilled and stared, then gestured vaguely toward Elliott. “Admiral.”

It was the first time Bancroft had truly looked at Elliott, and when he realized— “What the bloody hell is the meaning of this, Leftenant?” he barked.

Half the ballroom stilled, their attention suddenly riveted by any number of things: the scandalous baron who nevertheless helped control the entirety of the British Navy, his lack of proper etiquette in the presence of a ranking peer, his usage of an honorific that was both several ranks below the true rank and was not to be used anyroad, or the scandalous earl himself.

“These are my Town togs, Admiral,” Elliott whined. “Is my tailor not brilliant?”

“Remind me not to patronize him,” the Duke of Croftwood drawled, amused.

There were titters all ’round, but Elliott flipped his kerchief at the duke. “La, you jest, Your Grace.”

Bancroft sneered. “What nincompoopery are you about?”

“Admiral,” Elliott chirped, though there was a new edge in his voice. “Do you recall a favor you asked of me some time ago?”

“Of course I do,” he snapped.

“You would now question my methods?”

“How this will help you in that, I cannot fathom. You are a disgrace.”

Afraid Elliott could not maintain his façade in the face of this assault, Celia murmured dully, “Papa, please do not be angry. I cannot—” Bancroft’s attention shot to Celia, his expression immediately confused and grief-stricken. She flicked her eyelashes in the direction of his throat as if she could not bear to look at him. In fact, she realized, she couldn’t—not without wrapping her hands around his throat and strangling the life out of him. She edged closer to Elliott, who made a show of covering her hand protectively. “I am frightened now, my lord,” she whispered, turning her gaze up to Elliott’s.

And he was livid, his muscles straining at the seams of his coat. Though the orchestra was still playing and the dancers were still dancing, those who were attending to this conversation stood in stunned, deathly silence.

Bancroft opened his mouth, closed it. “Celia, I— Please forgive me. I— My anger is not toward you, and Tavendish knows well enough I mean no harm. ’Tis simply I cannot know what to make of—” Another helpless gesture toward Elliott’s toilette.

“What are you playing at, boy?” Croftwood asked flatly, but everyone looked to the duke as if he had lost his mind. “The last time I saw you out of Lords,” he continued in an irritated rumble, “—two months ago, mind—you were building houses like a common laborer, and as I recall the situation, you were very much the commander—” Here he slid the admiral a disgusted look, then continued. “—of your estate. Tavendish, I’ve known you from a pup. This is a farce, but for what purpose? I would never believe any gossip to the effect that you’ve either taken to buggery or acquired a taste for such an atrocious toilette, nor will I believe it, standing here looking at you. You are no more this—thing—than you are guilty of treason.”

It was said with enough vehemence to make the onlookers cast wary glances at Elliott. When he made no reply, Bancroft snapped, “Explain yourself, Leftenant.”

“Baron,” Elliott drawled with a tight smile. “Do you truly wish to air a sartorial grievance with me in the middle of a ballroom, the entirety of the hauteton watching? I am dismayed at your lack of political and social finesse. The least you could do is address me as ‘my lord,’ as is proper. But of course, I realize since you don’t socialize, your etiquette may be—”

Bancroft stepped closer, pressing into Celia to close in on Elliott, and snarled, “I will see you in the garden. Now.”

Celia’s sudden inability to breathe was not entirely feigned, for in his anger, Bancroft had forgotten Celia’s presence and was heedless of his proximity to her person. Her breath now came quickly, shallow breaths that would soon make her dizzy if she could not regain control.

Only Elliott noticed, and pulled her away from Bancroft.

“You would distress your own daughter, Admiral? After everything else she has been through? There, now, Celia, my dahling gehl,” he cooed whilst rubbing her back. “Do what I taught you to do in these distressing situations.”

Celia cupped her hands over her mouth and exaggerated her attempt to breathe normally even while regaining her composure. Bancroft stared at her, his face flushed and his hands clenched into fists as if he did not know what to do with them or, indeed, what to do at all.

“The price she pays to hear the music that soothes her is a great one,” Elliott sagely intoned. “Being overset whilst hearing that music is counterproductive.”

“Hylton!” Croftwood snapped. “See to your child.”

But when Bancroft reached out to take Celia’s elbow, she recoiled with a whimper and skittered behind Elliott. It was the fastest anyone in the ton had ever seen her move, she was certain.

He twisted to look down at her. “Would you be willing to accompany us to the garden, Miss Bancroft?” he asked soothingly. “I know how the labyrinths amuse you, but if you would prefer to leave, I will be delighted to see you home.”

She blinked rapidly up at him and could barely control the twitch of her mouth when she found herself, once again, embroiled in an impromptu play with this man who made her laugh.

“If you will stay with me, my lord,” she whispered haltingly, casting short, wary glances at Bancroft.

“Of course!” He looked up and around at the gathered and said, “Shoo! Let me get Miss Bancroft some fresh air. We all know how she is in a press, do we not?”

A great wave of people moved as one away from Celia, who clung to Elliott as he paraded her up two stairs from the ballroom floor, through the doors, out onto the balcony, and down the stairs to the garden with utmost aplomb. They stopped to await the duke and the baron, who were scurrying after them.

“They must have intended to quiz me,” Elliott muttered quickly, “but for what reason I do not know. Can you maintain your façade?”

She sniffed and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Fury! I am not sure of their purpose and a well-timed fit of madness may not come amiss.”

“Oh,” she grumbled. “I ken.”

“Celia,” Bancroft said when he approached. For every step toward her he took, she stepped back one until she was behind Elliott yet again. What little she could see of his expression in the meager light along the pea-gravel path betrayed dismay. Remorse. And, yes, anger.

At Elliott, apparently, since he turned that anger upon him.

“Explain this,” he commanded again, low, and gesturing that they all walk down the path so that they could speak in relative privacy.

“No,” Elliott said flatly.

Both Bancroft and the duke came to a sudden halt and gaped at him. “That was a direct order.”

Elliott laughed harshly. “From a baron to an earl? Do you jest? Admiral, I don’t know your goal, coming out of the horizon at me with your gunports open, but I assure you, I could demand answers. I was cashiered, do you recall—the king’s recent approbation notwithstanding—thus, I am no longer under your command. Not only that, but I am the ranking peer. You have already publicly insulted me in several ways and embarrassed yourself in the process. If I were you, I should tread very carefully.”

Bancroft’s jaw clenched. “I am not your enemy, Elliott.”

“You’ve suddenly given a good impression of it.”

“If you would be so kind, Tavendish,” Croftwood said with a diplomacy Celia thought rather quite masterful, “satisfy my curiosity.”

“Very well, Your Grace,” Elliott said just as smoothly and with a small bow. “The admiral requested I assist him in the capture of Captain Fury, whom the admiralty believes is not only somewhere in London, but has spies amongst the hauteton, most likely in the servant class.”

“But I—”

Elliott continued as if Bancroft had not spoken. “You know very well how society loves a scandalous lord, and the more outrageous, the better. I have been acting the veriest of macaronis to ooze my way around the ton and into the hapless confidence of every woman and man who might know something I can use as a clue to find the aforementioned spies. Since the admiral is not welcome at these gatherings because of his egregious marital indiscretions, he should have trusted me to go about the business as I saw fit. Instead, he has acted most abominably, not only casting doubt upon my masquerade but also distressing his daughter, of whom, I must admit, I have become quite fond. It distresses me to be obliged to protect her from her father, a man with whom I share a greatly respectful history.”

Bancroft choked.

Croftwood cast a glance at Bancroft. “And there is your explanation, Hylton. I hope it suffices as well for you as it does for me.”

“Aye,” he croaked.

“And so!” Croftwood continued. “You are without prospect of a countess for the nonce and you’ve made noises to the effect you intend to rely on your heir presumptive. Would you reconsider the favor I asked of you some weeks ago?”

Celia pressed against Elliott’s back and dug her fingernails into his ribs, wondering what favor—

“I have, Your Grace. Since my mother and sisters have the estate well in hand, and it does not appear Parliament either wants or needs my opinions, I believe I can, indeed, spare a year or two searching for your son.”

The duke beamed.

“Is this why the two of you have sought me out here, of all places, to ask?”

“Aye,” Bancroft mumbled. “We would be willing to re-commission you. Your official duty would be to hunt and capture or kill Fury and the Hollander.”

“The hell you say,” Elliott snapped. “I will go as a private subject embarking on a quest on behalf of my father’s good friend. The Crown’s enemies are your problem, and I refuse to make them mine. I will never again allow myself to be under the direct command of any man or government.”

There was utter silence amongst them, Elliott’s fury a magnificent, beautiful thing for Celia to behold. She pressed closer, laid her cheek against his back, and closed her eyes, feeling his big body tense with rage of which only she knew the depths.

“Well then!” Croftwood said with cautious cheer. “Send an estimate ’round and I will front your expenses.”

“’Tis no matter, Your Grace,” Elliott rumbled. Celia opened her eyes and peeked around his arm to watch the rest of the transaction. “If I succeed, we may discuss it then. I will not take your coin for failure.”

“We shall see about that,” he whispered, reaching both hands out to take Elliott’s and shake it. A tear glimmered down the duke’s cheek, and Celia determined to give her carpenter a good piece of her mind, for a certes. “But thank you, Tavendish. Thank you. You have made me the happiest of fathers.”

With that, the duke turned and strode back up the path, his feet crunching through the silence that befell the three of them.

“Admiral,” Elliott said abruptly. “What in God’s name have I done to make you so angry with me straight off the dock? I am not enough of a cull to think it is truly my wig.”

“Very well. If you must know, it is because I have heard rumors of the laughingstock you have made of Celia and I intend to put a stop to it.”

Celia started, but Elliott discreetly held her at bay. “Hylton, I believe you’ll not want me to tot up the offenses in your column and weigh them against mine.”

“Explain.”

“My nephew, the one who so very much loves the puzzle you have set him to solving, has discovered the truth of Celia’s capture.”

Bancroft snorted. “I doubt it.”

“James Dunham.”

Bancroft stilled and his throat bobbed, but he gave no other sign of recognition.

“Who, I am told, bears a striking resemblance to our dear Celia here, which, I gather, you know. And here you are, having for two years fought for custody of a woman who is not your blood, accosting me on her behalf but terrifying her in the process. What in God’s name did you do that a hardened corsair was moved to snatch an eight-year-old girl away from you? Or did he simply see an opportunity for a good bit of profit in selling such a child to a harem once he attained the Barbary Coast?”

Bancroft stumbled backward then, his eyes wide enough the moonlight glinted off the whites. “My God,” he whispered.

“Yet knowing Dunham, Dunham’s territory and habits, and what he could be expected to do with her, you did not search for her. After that, any reasonable mother would fight you for custody of her, enlisting any and all aid to do so. ’Tis too bad both the marchioness and your wife are too honorable to have exposed it in court or told the marquess. Indeed, Rathbone cannot possibly know, for he would turn on you in a trice. I might have made a laughingstock of her—which is a questionable accusation at best, I hasten to add—but it is I she is using to hide herself from you.”

God’s teeth, could Celia have fallen in love with a more wonderful man?

“I do not care to have an adversarial relationship with you, Admiral, as I do carry for you a great amount of loyalty and gratitude still, even after all these years. But! Since you have laid upon me a grievance, I have a question I would never have asked had you not opened fire on me first.”

Bancroft bowed his head and heaved a great sigh. He looked utterly broken, but any sympathy Celia had had after his confession to her had fled.

“Why did you order Kitteridge command the pay fleet?”

Bancroft’s head snapped up. His eyes narrowed. His nostrils flared. “Are you questioning my judgment, my lord?”

Elliott tilted his head. “Aye, I am, Admiral.” Celia heard the threat in his voice. Bancroft did, too, if the tic in his jaw were any indication.

“Had you hoped I would re-commission you to do it?” Bancroft asked calmly, but with an equal edge.

“No, and I would have refused. But your choice was … interesting, shall we say.”

Bancroft took a deep breath. “I don’t expect you to understand this, as you are new to Parliament and the bureaucracy that holds it hostage. But there are times when political expediencies trump loyalties. I knew you would hold that against me, even to the point you would not assist me in my quest.” He slid a significant glance at Celia.

“I am not the only one. It was an affront to every man who has ever been subject to Kitteridge. I’m shocked Croftwood is even speaking to you.”

Bancroft’s mouth pursed. Since he did not immediately retort nor leave, he must be choosing his words very carefully. He spoke suddenly.

“You are a brilliant tactician, Commander Raxham. I can read a report of a battle written by an uninformed observer and know who had laid the battle plans and which captains were sailing which ships.” Celia felt Elliott’s body harden slightly as if in preparation for war. “What you have never been particularly good at is taking the long view. Or should I say, when it requires one attempt to predict men’s behavior over a period of years and even decades.”

Celia barely managed not to gasp when Elliott’s arm tensed, trapping her hand between his elbow and ribs. She dug her fingernails in until he relaxed. “I’m not sure what you mean by that, Admiral,” he said calmly, displaying more control than Celia would have been able to.

“Let me say this,” he murmured, leaning forward a bit. “I sent Kitteridge out with the pay fleet with the expectation he would arrive safely—and a contradictory hope. My expectation, as you know, was not met, but my hope—” Elliott said nothing, but Bancroft continued mildly, “My hope was realized. By all means, Commander, do tot up my sins against yours so we may see which one of us weighs the scales of justice heavier.”

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If you don’t want to wait 2 years to get to the end, you can buy it here.
Pirates!