Bolitho barely heard. So it was beginning all over again. A chance to isolate one from the other, or to eagerly condemn them if Bolitho chose to take her with him.
'I wonder if Sillitoe will be there?'
'Probably. He seems to have many irons in the fire.'
'But you quite like him.'
He thought she was teasing him to take his mind off the invitation; but she was not.
'I am not sure, Kate.'
She laid her head on his lap and said softly, Then we shall wait and see. But be sure of one thing, dearest of men. He is no rival nobody could be that.'
He kissed her bare shoulder and felt her shiver. 'Oh, Kate, what should I be without you?'
'You are a man. My man.' She looked up at him, her eyes very bright. 'And I am your woman.' Her mouth puckered and she exclaimed, 'And that's no error! ' Then she relented. 'Poor Allday, what must he have thought?'
She recovered her roses and added evenly, 'They may try to discredit me through you, or the other way round. It is a game I know quite well.' She touched her shoulder where he had kissed it and her expression was calm again, faraway. 'I shall accept Zenoria's invitation to visit Hampshire.' She saw the sudden cloud cross his face. 'Only for that day. It will be a wise precaution. Trust me.'
They went into the house, where they heard Sophie talking with the cook in the kitchen.
She looked at him, smiling faintly when she said, 'I think I strained my back.' She saw his understanding and added, 'Perhaps you could be the navigator again and explore it?'
Later as she lay in his arms she whispered, 'Sometimes, dearest of men, you have to be reminded of what is important…' She arched her back as he touched her again. 'And what is not…' The rest was lost in their embrace.
4. Strategy
Captain Adam Bolitho reined the big grey to a halt and stared across a flint wall towards the great house. The wall was new, probably one of the many being built by French prisoners of war, he thought. He stroked the horse's mane while he gazed at the rolling Hampshire countryside with its air of timeless peace, so different from his home county where the sea was rarely out of sight.
People had glanced at him curiously as he had ridden through villages, following the old coaching road. A sea- officer was obviously rare in these parts, while the military were only too common.
He looked at his hand and extended it in the hot sunshine. It was quite steady, untroubled. He almost laughed at himself. He felt far from either, and doubted more than ever the wisdom of his having come here.
Anemone lay at Spithead awaiting orders, but he was so short of hands after the port admiral had insisted on transferring some of his men 'to more deserving vessels' that the frigate would not move for a few more days. As he had expected he had lost his senior lieutenant Peter Sargeant. It had been a sad parting but Adam had not hesitated, knowing too well how important it was to grasp the chance of promotion, in Sargeant's case the command of a fleet schooner. You rarely got a second opportunity in the navy.
Aubrey Martin, the second lieutenant, had moved up, and they were hourly expecting another junior officer and some midshipmen. Having lost some of his most seasoned warrant officers to the needs of the fleet as well as his first lieutenant and good friend, Adam knew it would be a long haul to regain Anemone's status as a crack frigate with a company to match.
The captain of the dockyard had discovered that he was going for a ride, if only to free himself from the constant stream of orders and requests which were the lot of every captain under the watchful eye of a flag officer. The captain had received two letters for Valentine Keen, which had followed him from the flagship Black Prince in the West Indies and had eventually arrived in Portsmouth.
The dockyard captain had commented dryly, 'One is from his tailor, same as mine in London. I'd know that skinflint's scrawl anywhere. But you never know.' He added helpfully, 'Nice canter anyway.'
That at least was true. The powerful grey had been loaned to him by a major of marines at the barracks, an officer who was apparently so well supplied with horses that he would have had to serve for a hundred years in the Corps to pay for them if he depended on his service allowance alone.
Adam studied the house again. About five miles to the east of Winchester at a guess, and not many villages nearby. Five miles it could be ten times that, he thought.
But why was he here? Suppose Keen suspected something, or Zenoria had blurted out the truth. He made himself face it without embroidering the facts. He had taken her. A moment of despairing passion when each had thought they had lost someone loved in the Golden Plover.
He had taken her. Had she refused him he dared not think what might have happened. He would have been ruined, and it would have broken his uncle's heart. Of her they would have said, no smoke without fire. The easy way for the liars and the doubters.
He often remembered his fury when he had heard the stranger at the inn insulting the Bolitho name. Each time he had come to the same desperate conclusion. I nearly killed him. Another instant and I would have done it.
You fool. Go back while you can. Even as he thought it his heels dug into the grey's flanks and he was trotting down a slope towards the tall gates, each with a bronze stag on the top. The family was very rich and influential, and Keen's father was known to think his son mad for remaining in the navy when he could have almost any career he wanted.
An old gardener was stooping amongst flower beds, his barrow nearby. Adam touched his hat as he rode up the sweeping drive, and noticed that there was a long fowling piece propped against the barrow. This place must be very isolated, servants or not, he thought. How would an untamed girl like Zenoria settle to this after Cornwall 's wild coastline?
The house was even larger and more imposing than he had imagined. Pillars, a magnificent portico adorned with carvings of lions and strange beasts, and steps clean enough to eat from.
He would have smiled but for his inner tension. The old grey house at Falmouth was shabby by comparison. A place that welcomed you. Where you could live.
A small, wizened man darted from somewhere and held the reins while Adam dismounted.
'Give him some water. I shall not be long.' The man nodded, his face completely blank.
He did not turn away from the house as the man led the big horse around the corner of the building. He thought his nerve would break if he did.
One of the paired doors swung inwards even before he could reach it, and a prim-looking woman with keys at her waist stood facing him without warmth.
'Captain Adam Bolitho, ma'am. I have letters for Captain Keen.' Or was he already promoted to flag rank?
'Are you expected, sir?'
'No. Not exactly.' Used to sailors jumping to his every command, he was taken aback by her chilling tone.
She remained firmly in the centre of the doorway. 'Captain Keen is away, sir.' She may have considered telling him where he was, but changed her mind. 'Will you leave a message?'
There were voices and then he heard Zenoria call, 'What is it, Mrs. Tombs?'
Adam felt his heart beating faster. The housekeeper was aptly named.
The door opened wide and she was there, staring at him. She wore a simple flowered gown and her dark hair was piled above her ears. Her only adornments were some pearl earrings and a pendant, which he guessed was worth a small fortune. He did not quite know what he had been expecting, but she looked like a child dressing up in adult's clothing. Playing a part.
'I – I am sorry, er, Mrs. Keen. I have some letters.' He fumbled for them, but his cuff caught on the short fighting sword he always favoured. 'My ship is still at Portsmouth. I thought '
The forbidding housekeeper asked, 'Is everything in order, ma'am?'
'Yes.' Zenoria tossed her head as he had seen her do when her hair had hung down like glossy silk. 'Why should it not be?'
'Very well, ma'am.' She stood back to allow the newcomer to enter. 'If you require anything…' She glided
