“Tosh,” said Mr. Gibbons.
“Nay,” said Mr. Chime.
“I cannot believe that,” said Mr. Boll. “There have no doubt been countless women offering themselves to the Admiral for practical reasons, and while I don’t doubt that your charms exceed that of any of those other pretenders?—”
“This is a great deal of flattery,” Phoebe observed.
“—I cannot imagine that the fearsome Admiral Warson would marry against his own wishes,” Mr. Boll concluded triumphantly. “I did not serve under him myself, but his reputation is widely known. He is very respected.”
“Even in the army,” Mr. Chime contributed.
Mr. Gibbons looked at the other two like they were missing something important.
“And he’s rich!” he argued. “He’s a bloody duke—begging your pardon for the language, Your Grace—and he’s rich enough to pay for this whole damn place!”
“What?” Phoebe interjected, startled.
It was almost comical, the way all three of them froze then tried to look innocent. Mr. Chime was the first to break, his gaze drifting toward where Aaron was sitting with one of the more severely injured men, a former infantryman who did little more than sit in his wheeled chair and gaze out the large picture window.
“Don’t look at him; he’s the one who is going to be cross about you revealing his secrets,” Phoebe chided. “Look at me—answer me.”
Mr. Chime did so with extreme reluctance.
“Technically, it is nae more than a rumor,” he said.
“Very believable!” Phoebe said.
He looked cheerful. “Really?”
“No,” she said flatly. “Aaron pays for… all of this?”
Mr. Boll let out an impatient huff. “He does, all right? But you didn’t hear it from us.”
Phoebe nodded her head in acquiescence to these terms.
Mr. Boll shook his head, apparently at himself. “I’m gossiping with someone who calls the Admiral by his Christian name,” he muttered in his faint Irish lilt. “Christ deliver me.” At his usual volume, he said. “Yes, he pays for it all. And I’ve been here since before we lived in this house. The place we were before…” He trailed off, but Phoebe could tell what he meant by his grim expression.
“Not good?”
“Not good,” he confirmed. “And we were always one ill turn away from losing that place, too. Then the Admiral inherits, becomes the Duke, and—” He gestured with his arm at their surroundings, which, while not luxurious, were spacious, clean, and well-maintained.
“I see,” she said.
Mr. Gibbons was looking between Phoebe and Mr. Boll with an air of great anxiety.
“But please, Your Grace,” he begged, “don’t tell him that we told you.”
“You aren’t in the military any longer, Mr. Gibbons,” she reminded him. “It’s no crime to talk, especially about things that are true. If it were, the entiretonwould find themselves in Newgate before the day was through.”
Mr. Gibbons looked nearly offended.
“It’s not that,” he protested. “It’s that Admiral Warson… he’s the bravest bastard I’ve ever met.” He paused. “Begging your pardon again, Your Grace.”
She waved off the apology.
Mr. Boll was looking at her closely. “The thing you should understand, Your Grace,” he said carefully, “is that your husband saved the lives of half the men here—and that was before we came to this place. Most high-ranking officers sat safely during battle, but not the Admiral. We all owe him our lives.” He held Phoebe’s gaze. “And it’s an honor to stand by him as we can.”
CHAPTER 21
