He hid his surprise that she should know such things. 'Not just a brig but a collier brig, broad in the beam, and deep holds that make them reliable craft for any cargo.'
She shaded her eyes and watched the collier brig tack and head slowly towards the harbour entrance, her heavy tanned sails framed against the headland and the St. Mawes hillside battery.
Two thousand pounds, you say?'
Roxby replied glumly, ' Guineas, I'm afraid.'
He saw the same mischievous smile he had watched at his own dinner table. She said quietly, 'We shall see.'
Seeing her determination Roxby said, 'I will arrange it. But it is hardly the work for a lady, and my Nancy will scold me for allowing it! '
She recalled the young midshipman who had been Richard's closest friend, the one who had given his heart to the girl who had eventually married Roxby. Did Roxby know anything about it? Did Richard's sister still grieve for the boy who had died so young?
It made her think of Adam, and she wondered if Richard had yet been able to speak with him.
Roxby said, 'I'll ride with you. It's on my way.' He beckoned to his groom, but she had already pulled herself into the saddle.
They rode almost in silence until the roof of the Bolitho house showed through the ragged, windswept trees. Solid, reliable, timeless, Roxby thought. He had imagined that one day he might make an offer for it, when things had been bad here.
He glanced sideways at the woman in green. That was in the past. With a woman like her, his brother-in-law could do anything.
'You must sup with us again soon, ' he said affably.
She tightened the reins as Tamara quickened her pace at the sight of home.
'That is kind of you. But later on, yes? Please convey my love to Nancy.'
Roxby watched her until she had gone through the weathered gates. She would not come. Not until she knew, until she had heard something of Richard.
He sighed and turned his horse back on to the track, his groom trotting behind him at a respectful distance.
He kept his mind busy and away from the lovely woman who had just left him. His morning would be full tomorrow. Two men had been caught stealing chickens and had beaten the keeper who had challenged them. He would have to be present when they were hanged. It always drew a crowd, although not as large as for a highwayman or pirate.
The thought of pirates made him reflect again on the collier brig. He would provide a letter of introduction for Lady Catherine to give to his friends, as well as one for their eyes only. He was honoured that he could afford her some protection, even if he did not agree with her mission to Fowey.
He was tired and vaguely depressed when he reached his own grand house. The drive and outbuildings were well tended, the walls and gardens in good condition. French prisoners of war had done much of it, for the most part glad to be free of the jails or even worse, the hulks. It made him feel charitable again, and he was in better spirits when his wife met him in the hall brimming with news. It seemed Valentine Keen, who had been made commodore, and his young bride would be calling to see them before Keen took up some new appointment.
Roxby was pleased but he scowled as he said, 'If they bring that brat with them, keep him away from me! ' Then he laughed. It would be good for Nancy to have some company. He thought of Catherine. And for her too.
'We'll invite a few people, Nancy.'
She asked gently, 'How is Catherine?'
Roxby sat down and waited for a servant to drag off his boots, while another approached with a goblet of brandy. As a magistrate he believed it wiser not to enquire too closely into its origins.
He thought about her question.
'Missing him, m'dear. Drives herself hard to make the days pass.'
'You admire her, don't you, Lewis?'
He looked into her pretty face and the eyes which, in his ardent youth, he had fancied were the colour of summer lavender. 'Never seen a love like theirs, ' he said. As she moved to his chair he slipped his arm around her substantial waist, which had once been so slender. 'Except for ours, of course! '
She laughed. 'Of course! '
She turned as rain rattled suddenly against the windows. Roxby, earthy landowner that he was, could ignore it. But she was a sailor's daughter, and the sister of the most respected officer in the navy now that Nelson was no more, and she found herself murmuring, 'Lord, to be at sea on a day like this…'
But when she looked at him Roxby had fallen into a doze by the fire.
She had everything, she told herself. A gracious house, a prominent position in society, two fine children and a husband who loved her dearly.
But she had never forgotten the young man who had offered his heart to her all those years ago, and in her dreams sometimes she still saw him in his blue coat with its white patches on the collar, his open face and fair hair like Valentine Keen's. But she thought of him now as if he were still out there somewhere, braving the seas and the storms, as if one day he might stride up to the house, and neither of them would have aged or changed.
She felt a lump in her throat and whispered, 'Oh, Martyn, where are you?'
But only the rain answered.
Lady Catherine Somervell walked into the bedroom and paused to listen to the heavy rain drumming against the roof and pouring down from the overflowing gutters.
There was a cheerful fire in the grate and despite the bitter cold outside the house, in here it was warm and welcoming. She had had a hot bath and her body still tingled from the rubbing Sophie had given her back and shoulders. It was as well she had not waited longer in Fowey or with Roxby's friends at St. Austell: every road, even the high coaching way, would be flooded or a muddy trap for horse and carriage alike.
Everyone had been kind to her, and even the prize agent at the harbour had eventually been able to overcome his surprise at dealing with a woman.
She poured some of Grace Ferguson's coffee, beside which someone had discreetly placed a glass of cognac.
It was good to be back, especially when she discovered that Valentine Keen and his young wife had arrived at the house just before her.
She imagined them now in the large room at the end of the corridor. In one another's arms perhaps, already spent with lovemaking. Or quiet, as they had been at dinner, unable to think of anything but that they were soon to be parted. Commodore Keen, as he was now, was full of news about his tiny son whom they had left in Hampshire. One of Keen's sisters had insisted on taking care of the baby so that they could make this journey together.
Catherine had wondered if the real reason was to spare her feelings, because she had once told Zenoria that she was unable to bear children. She had not told her why, nor would she.
Whenever she had encouraged Keen to talk of his new appointment she had seen the pain in Zenoria's eyes. Separation so soon after the Golden Plover's dreadful end and their discovery of one another again, their joy at the birth of their son; it might all be lost once Keen had joined his squadron.
She had felt a dagger of jealousy when Keen had mentioned the likelihood of meeting with Richard, before or after he had led his ships to Cape Town. There would be an invasion of
Mauritius, Keen had seemed certain, to stop the attacks on the trade routes once and for all.
'Will it be difficult, Val?'
Keen had seemed almost remote. 'It is always easier to defend an island than to capture it. But if enough soldiers can be spared, and with Sir Richard at the helm, it should be possible.'
Catherine had not dared to look at the girl when Keen had exclaimed with sudden enthusiasm, 'It will be like a family again with Adam there! '
Perhaps that, too, had blown over. Sailors had to go to sea: even poor Allday had had to make a difficult choice.
She thought of the letter which had been waiting for her upon her return from Fowey. Richard had written it at Gibraltar. She looked suddenly at the window as the rain lessened, and a great shaft of moonlight probed against
