Anthony looked at the envelope with the official seal on the back. “Mr. Markham passed it along, sir,” Silas reported. “I didn’t disturb you right away as you was plotting with Mr. Buck and the master.”
“Plotting?”
“Aye, sir. Ain’t that what ‘yews was about? Plotting on how to deal with them sea devils.”
Anthony smiled at Silas’s description of his meeting with Buck and the master. “Yes, we were plotting, Silas.”
The envelope held an invitation to a reception that was being given in Drakkar’s honor. The reception was to be held at the dockyard commissioner’s residence, Commodore Gardner. Anthony had paid the commodore his official call, but not before he’d acquired his new uniforms. Gardner was a nice enough official who Anthony took a liking to immediately. He’d given his condolences on the loss of Anthony’s father.
“We were friends,” he said, stating that they were together in Hawke’s squadron in ‘59. “Your father was in command of the Cambridge 80. I had been first lieutenant on the Edgar 64. The Edgar’s captain was killed and I was given command. It rained hell that day-pure hell. It was soon after that your father was given his flag”
There was a slight ocean breeze blowing when Anthony Buck, and Gabe got out of the coach. The rest of the officers-except those on watch-should arrive at any time, Anthony thought. A black servant dressed in finery for the evening’s festivities opened the coach’s door for them. The ground crunched beneath their shoes. Crushed seashells, long bleached white by the sun, had been used to line the path to the elegant white house. It was set just off the coast road atop a small hill. Anthony was sure it was built here to take advantage of these little breezes that they were now enjoying. Through the wide gates and up the white steps-they were taking it all in. The residence must surely belong to some rich merchant or ship owner and was on loan to the commodore. The commodore would not likely be able to afford such a residence. Anthony was certain the commodore would pass along to the owner any lucrative Royal Navy contracts that were available, thereby making it an advantageous situation for all parties.
Roses and gardenias were everywhere, their blossoms giving off a faint odor which seemed to drape across the light breeze. Another servant, a doorman, opened a pair of large ornate doors. As the three entered the room Anthony whispered, “Watch what you drink. These island brews will put a man’s ‘arse hole over tea kettle before he knows it.” Buck and Gabe nodded their acknowledgment, as each was wide-eyed at the splendid dwelling before them.
The room was awash in music and conversation until the door was opened. The sound hushed suddenly as another servant announced, “Lord Gilbert Anthony, Knight of the Bath, commanding his majesty’s frigate Drakkar.”
Anthony suddenly felt self-conscious, as if he were on public display. However, no sooner had the introduction been given than the room was roaring again. The commodore was coming to greet him. Gabe, he noticed, had already been encircled by a group of bare shouldered young ladies. No doubt he was calculating his chance of ridding himself of some pent-up humors.
Anthony turned and whispered to Buck before the commodore reached them, “I expect all officers to be back on board by four bells on the morning watch.”
“Aye, sir,” Buck replied.
Anthony introduced Buck to Commodore Gardner, and then allowed him to wander off in search of a possible “prize” for the evening. The air in the large room was hot and humid. The noise, candles, and body heat from all the mingling guests made it almost oppressive. No wonder the ladies all had small fans and were busily waving them.
Greta, Commodore Gardner’s wife, approached her friend, Lady Deborah McKean. She had been standing in a small vestibule taking in the festivities before her, but her eyes never wandering far before they returned to the British naval captain who commanded the ship which had rescued her.
Greta, watching her friend’s gaze, volunteered, “A striking man isn’t he? Not overly handsome but he is so commanding he makes you look twice. I felt my heart skip when we were introduced.”
Touching Greta’s hand, Lady Deborah seemed to tremble.
“A touch of humors,” her friend asked.
“No, it’s just that… that, well Greta, we’ve had no secrets between you and me. I don’t want to be disloyal to the memory of Lord McKean, but I feel like… like a young girl when I’m close to Captain Anthony. I think I’ve found the man I could love.”
Greta was touched by her friend’s admission, but not surprised. She had known the marriage between Deborah and Lord McKean had been an arrangement. Greta took the glass of wine from her friend’s hand and turned her so they were facing each other.
“Deborah, you listen to me. Lord McKean was a good man, but he’s dead. Life is short and out here in the islands it’s shorter still. You deserve some happiness in your life. Go to him. Let him know how you feel. We can’t be assured of tomorrow so live it for today and to hell with the rest. Besides, some other devilish imp will get her clutches on him if you wait. Now go to him now and let him know how you feel. I’ll help arrange a discreet meeting later.”
Anthony could not for the life of him remember half of the guests the commodore introduced to him. Never had he shaken so many hands or bowed to so many ladies in one evening. Nor could he remember drinking so much. Scarcely had his glass been emptied before it was refilled, or replaced. Anthony’s officers were all being entertained like conquering heroes. Much was made of the pirates murdering Lord McKean, and Drakkar’s sudden arrival. Turning, Anthony spied Buck in deep conversation with a boldly dressed woman. Her bosom was so open it scarcely left anything to the imagination.
Anthony felt a hand on his upper arm. Turning, he felt like the room was spinning. She was here standing before him. He felt his chest tighten.
“Lady McKean.”
“Lord Anthony.” She was dressed in black, but still she was here.
“I’m very pleased to see you,” Anthony said. “I was not sure you would be here, considering all you’ve been through.”
Lady McKean looked at Anthony, and he was not quite sure how to take her next words. “But sir, you are my rescuer. This reception is in your honor. How could I not be present?” They had moved toward an open window in search of a little breeze. “Did you know my husband?”
Anthony was caught off guard, “Madam?”
“Did you know my husband?” she asked again.
“No, my lady, I never had the honor.”
“Lord McKean was of Scottish descent. He came from a titled family of long standing. Titled, but impoverished. Ours was an arranged marriage. My father was a tradesman-a rich, powerful tradesman, but still a tradesman. Being a tradesman meant he wasn’t completely accepted as a gentleman. This pained my father. He wanted a son, but he had a daughter. He hoped that by my marriage to Lord McKean, he would have titled grandsons. We had a son but lost him to the fever. I’ve had no others. Now my son, my father, and my husband are all gone. When we were attacked, we were headed to Barbados to meet some of my husband’s friends. They were giving him a birthday party. His seventy-fifth.”
Anthony was astounded. Thinking aloud he said, “He was old enough to be your father.”
“One year younger than my father,” she replied. I was never quite sure if the reason we didn’t have any children was my fault or his. But at his age I felt it might have been his.’’
Anthony didn’t know what to say about this discovery but muttered, “Did you love him?”
Lady McKean looked somewhat hurt, “As I said, ours was an arranged marriage. But after a fashion, I guess I did. He was a good and caring man. He dearly loved me, and so I tried to make him happy. I was faithful.”
“Dear God! I should he ashamed of myself,” Anthony said. “I have no right.”