Chapter One
August 15, 1817
Ipswich, England
“Of all things holy on land or sea,” Brand breathed with no small amount of exasperation in his voice. When his three best mates glanced at him from around the tavern table as he entered the public dining room, he held up two letters. “My family apparently can’t leave me in peace.” Granted, this was the first round of missives he’d received since landing in the town following his retirement, but still.
“Tear ’em up then, Captain,” his friend George suggested with a shrug. “It’s not as if they worried over you while you were fighting.”
“True.” Word from the Stormes in London had been few and far between while he’d been away fighting against Boney’s forces. By necessity, for the post couldn’t very well deliver to the middle of various seas and oceans. Not to mention the two years he’d been officially decommissioned from the Navy where he’d sailed through port towns until he found a place that felt like home. Of course, he’d been tight-lipped regarding his whereabouts, but there had been a reason—or four—for that. Francis Hildenbrand Storme—Captain Storme—dropped heavily into the one empty chair around his customary table with his fellows. “Might as well read them before I consign them to the fire.”
“Why?” asked his closest friend, John Butler. “It can’t be good news. You remember when you last heard from your mother.”
“I do.” A twinge of pain and loss briefly gripped his heart. The previous time he’d properly heard from his family had been when his mother had notified him of his father’s passing over two years before. But he’d been embroiled in his own professional troubles and couldn’t attend to familial matters. When he hadn’t turned up in London—that they knew of—an angry letter from his oldest brother Andrew had followed with blistering words and accusations, designed to bring about feelings of shame and guilt. It had at that, but Brand had buried them deep inside, for he hadn’t the time to give them their due. But then, Drew had always been an arse. “However, I’m curious. I have a feeling I’ll regret finally forwarding my direction to Mother.” He’d made that decision a couple of months ago. This was the first time he’d received letters from home since the news of his father’s passing. Did he even consider London that after all these years? He touched a fingertip to the small compass he wore on a cord about his neck beneath his clothing. Yes, perhaps that was so. London wasn’t as welcoming as his current location. Ipswich in Suffolk was pleasant enough that he wouldn’t hare off to the capital anytime soon.
If ever again.
Still, they’d written. That had to mean something. Except the words of his fellow humans couldn’t be trusted and oftentimes did more harm than good. Absently, he moved his fingers to the black leather strap that kept the eyepatch in place over his left eye—or, rather, the empty socket, sewn up with alacrity by the surgeon on the recuse vessel.
His mind jogged to the end of his naval career. During the horrible time of London hearings and the court martial that had followed the Battle of Grand Port on the Isle de France in the Indian Ocean, he’d met and had fallen hard for a lady—the daughter of an English admiral—only to casually overhear a handful of words at a ball that had shattered his heart and forever solidified his decision to never marry. Especially if a woman couldn’t stomach his permanent disfigurement.
His lips tightened into a thin line as familiar bitterness churned in his belly. Yes, there were too many foul memories in London now, but there was the same amount, if not more, rattling around in his brain. Yet they no longer served him and didn’t deserve his attention. Ruthlessly, Brand shoved all of that into the back of his mind with everything else he refused to think about or let himself feel. Emotions were dangerous to a man’s health and position; it was best to pretend they didn’t exist. Wasn’t that the ultimate lesson his father had imparted?
“Captain, are you still with us?” George’s question yanked Brand from his musings.
“Aye.” He focused on the envelopes. “Let’s get to it, shall we?”
George, with his coarse voice and his graying-brown, scraggly beard and eyebrows that made him look like a fur-trapper in the wilds of America instead of a seadog, lifted his tankard. “A new round for us all if your mother demands you return to the bosom of the Storme family.”
Philip, a reed-thin young man more full of misfortune than grace, nodded. “And roast beef if she wants you to marry!”
As laughter went around the table, Brand nodded. “Aye, you’re on.” He grinned, for the three of them—him included—would do anything for a dare or challenge. He settled more comfortably into his wooden chair despite the carved spindles that dug into his back. “Let’s see.” After breaking the seal on the first letter, he took it from the envelope and unfolded it. His mother’s flowing and flowery script covered the page. “Definitely from my mother,” he grumbled, for it didn’t look good for him or his coin. “What now? Some imagined crisis?”
Well, that won’t be enough to convince me to come to London.With cold dread tripping down his spine, he began to read.
Dearest Francis…
God, why couldn’t his mother ever remember he detested both his names and that she needed to call him Brand?
It is time for you to come home to London. If one listens to on-dits, you are continuing to create scandal in Ipswich, and have been since you arrived. That simply won’t do. You need to learn how to be a civilian and an upstanding member of the ton in London—without dragging the family name through the muck. Also, I’d like you to marry and settle down, perhaps start a family, as your brothers have done.
“What?” His exclamation was met with blank stares, for of course his mates hadn’t been treated to him reading the letter aloud. Once more, Brand gawked at the sheet of stationery.
Andrew married a lovely woman in Derbyshire a handful of weeks ago. Phineas plans to wed a wonderful lady here in London in mere days. They met at a society function. If you depart from that godforsaken place in which you’ve taken up residence as soon as you receive this missive, you could arrive in time to witness the event. I’m sure he would love to see you. Of all my boys, you and he used to be so close…
What the devil had occurred in his absence? Never did he think his brothers would marry, especially Finn, not after he’d received wounds during Waterloo that had left him paralyzed. His eyebrows raised. Not even raging curiosity could budge him from his contentment in Ipswich, but a niggle of doubt crept into his being. Had he made an error in judgment staying away so long? Not having answers to the many questions circling through his mind, he returned to the remainder of the letter.
In any event, you three boys need to reconcile your differences now that you’re grown and moving forward onto new paths. Our family is desperate for mending. Don’t follow in your father’s footsteps and let misunderstandings and hurt feelings come between you. Once you’re home, we shall do the rounds in society, introduce you to eligible ladies. It’s not so crowded in Town just now, which means you’ll enjoy it better… and there won’t be too many ladies to turn your head so you can fully concentrate on the right one. Andrew will return after Christmas, so you and I can have time to ourselves.
I miss you. Please do the right thing and come home, Francis. You’re no longer that reckless young man I said goodbye to when you left for war. I’ve missed you.
Love,
Mother
“Of all things holy on land and sea,” Brand whispered as he lowered the paper to the scarred wooden tabletop.
George grunted and took another swig of his beer. “You said that already when you first arrived.”