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Drake shrugged. “I, of course, am not privy to the contents. My guess would be that he is being urged to prepare the defense of Upper Canada in the event of an American attack.”
“And will he?”
Drake gave an emphatic nod. “Brock is quite astute. I believe he is taking the situation seriously. We will soon find out.” He stood abruptly, six feet one inch of commanding power. “Are we prepared to sail?”
Smitty felt the change immediately and snapped to attention. “At once, my lord.”
“We’re at sea now, Smitty,” Drake put in mildly. “Please cease to address me as ‘my lord.’”
Smitty chuckled. “A small slip, Captain. I’ll see that it doesn’t happen again.”
“See that you do.” Drake’s tone was severe, but Smitty recognized the spark of mischief in his eyes. “Else I’ll be forced to address you as Smithers. Imagine the reaction of the crew to that tidbit of information.”
“You’ve made your point, Captain,” was the dry response.
Drake’s grin widened. “I believe I have, Smitty.”
A short time later the hawsers were unbound and the large brig was maneuvered from the dock. Though the fog had lifted, the day was gray, with a brisk wind that would easily carry La Belle into open waters. The men moved quickly, each one knowing his job and doing it without question. Drake hand-picked only the finest, hardest working sailors to compose the crew of La Belle Illusion, He was a demanding yet unconventional captain who chose not to limit himself to barking orders and administering discipline. Instead, while accepting nothing short of perfection from his men, he worked equally as hard as each and every one of them. He offered excellent pay, fair treatment and, as a result, received the crew’s absolute loyalty and undying respect.
Drake watched from the quarterdeck as the mainsail was hoisted, listening to the men’s banter as they readied the ship for its long journey. He was not fooled by the calm onset of the voyage. There would be many weeks fraught with tension and impending danger before they reached their destination. Times were turbulent, the world situation grim, the odds for survival less than good. He would have to proceed with caution. His life and the lives of twenty other men were at stake.
Nevertheless, exhilaration surged through Drake’s blood. These moments were his happiest. His anticipation was heightened, his senses keen and alert. Here on his beloved La Belle Illusion, with its spotless decks, its immaculately cared for wood, he was home. At sea his purpose was clear, his challenges real. He belonged here far more than he belonged at Allonshire amid the life of shallow indulgence typical of the nobility. Indeed, it was not nobility that resulted in one’s inheriting great wealth and position, but luck. He thought of his father’s vast wealth, his enormous fleet of ships. The war could annihilate all of that in an instant, for what fate would await these grand vessels without the wood needed to build them? The timber that was so rich and plentiful in Canada’s woodlands was the very backbone of the great British navy. Without it, they would crumble.
A triumphant cheer interrupted Drake’s thoughts, and he looked up to see the billowing sails catch hold of the steady wind, propelling the ship down the Thames. He felt a renewed surge of purpose. La Belle was on her way.
Drake stretched, allowing the cold air to work its magic. His other life would disappear along with the receding shoreline. Lord Cairnham would, for the duration of the voyage, cease to exist.
As if reading Drake’s thoughts, Smitty looked up from the helm.
“Captain?” The sharp black eyes took in Drake’s stance, recognized his mental and emotional transition. The fact that Drake had relinquished control of the helm to him meant that his captain was satisfied with their position and speed. Not until they were cruising down the Thames at a brisk clip, did Drake relax and allow his rapt attention to wander.
“Yes, Smitty?”
“The waters are choppy, but not so that young Thomas couldn’t manage,” Smitty suggested.
Drake smiled. Diligent as always, his Smitty. “I agree.”
“Then perhaps you might want to change your clothes now?”
Drake glanced down at himself in surprise. He had completely forgotten his formal coat and pantaloons. Such elegant attire was most inappropriate for grueling weeks at sea, he thought with a grin.
In truth he looked forward to donning his proper sailing attire, for it completed his transition to this other, happier life. To the crew it mattered not how their captain was dressed. His identity was no secret to them. And it made no difference. For though their captain was a born nobleman whose family built and owned the very ship on which they sailed, he was, first and foremost, the proven and undisputed commander of the brig.
With a chuckle Drake agreed. “I believe you are right, my friend. I was in such a hurry to get here from my meeting that changing clothes was out of the question.” He strode across the deck. “I’ll see to it now.” He felt no need to ask if his trunks had been loaded. No doubt Smitty had overseen the task himself. Like his captain, Smitty considered no job on La Belle too menial. He relished the challenge offered by his diverse roles at sea, which were in sharp contrast to his rigid duties at Allonshire.
As Drake headed below, Smitty commanded Thomas to take the helm. Seconds later his heavy steps sounded close behind Drake’s as he followed him to the captain’s cabin. Drake smiled inwardly. A lifelong friend, a superb sailor, and first mate, Smitty would never cease to perform his duties as Drake’s valet. To allow his master to dress himself would be blasphemous in Smitty’s eyes. Though time and again Drake reminded him that this was not Allonshire, it was all for naught. Well, it would give them a chance to talk about the journey ahead.
Alexandria was distinctly unhappy. Her muscles ached, her extremities were numb, and she was convinced that her body would be forever frozen in a contorted position beneath the bed.
The earlier hours of the night had been part of the exciting adventure that awaited her. Alone in the deserted cabin, she had allowed her mind to drift, thinking of her mother’s face when she had come to Alex’s room that evening to collect her for the ball at Almack’s. Instead of her radiant daughter, prepared to meet the potential suitors of a first London Season, she had no doubt found a hysterical Lucy, Alexandria’s lady’s maid, and the note Alex had left. She would be furious but unsurprised. After all, Alex had pleaded for months to be allowed to join her father in Canada, but to no avail. As usual her parents were close-minded and rigid, cold and emotionless, as they had been all her life.
Alex could not change her past, but she intended to change her future. She was certain that this journey represented the opportunity to take matters into her own hands.
Certainty had become indecisiveness just after midnight and had deteriorated into doubt before dawn. When the huge trunks had been brought in and placed in the center of the cabin, doubt had exploded into panic. And as she had listened to the ship come to life, felt it move gracefully from the dock and down the river, she was forced to accept the fact that these quarters were not to remain exclusively hers. Then whose?
Masculine voices just outside the closed door alerted Alex to the fact that her answer was forthcoming. A surge of fear pulsed through her veins, and instinctively she moved farther beneath the bed, closer to the bulkhead, and waited.
The heavy door swung open, and two pairs of male legs entered the room. No doubt there were bodies atop the legs, but from Alex’s vantage point she could not see them.
