Since he couldn’t go out the front, he walked out the back of the house, making his way though the garden to the small door that led directly into the mews.
He remembered the stables as dusty and crowded, smelling pleasantly of straw and horses. Now the walls were whitewashed, and the floor looked clean enough to sleep on, if not eat on. His wife liked it to be immaculate, or so a groom told him a minute later.
He watched as boys swept out straw from the stall of a dappled gray. It was the second bedding change of the day, they told him. Meanwhile, the mare was being groomed for the third time. James shrugged, and then strolled down the central passageway. It seemed that he owned two precisely matched grays, two black geldings without the slightest spangle of white, and a matched set of four bays.
The stablemaster, Rosloe, was a cheerful sort who maintained order with an easy authority. But by the time James wandered back to the garden door, he’d heard “This is the way her ladyship wants it done” so many times that he found his lips moving along with the phrase. Rosloe caught him at it and burst out laughing. “Her ladyship has a way of thinking through the best way to do things,” he explained. “They’re not all her ideas either; even if one of the youngest lads has an idea about a better way to organize the tack, she’ll listen. She’s fair about it too, though of course she makes the final decision.”
Obviously, Theo would have made a brilliant sea captain.
He and Griffin had survived years together—but they’d had two separate ships and two separate crews. How on earth was a household supposed to run with two captains within the same walls?
Back inside, he allowed Maydrop to introduce him to the housekeeper, Mrs. Eltis, and then to the chef, Monsieur Fableau, a Frenchman so small that he barely reached the ovens. Every surface in the kitchen evidenced strict organization. There were two turning spits, for example: “One is reserved for poultry,” Fableau explained, “and the other for cuts of meat.”
The pantry was lined with row after gleaming row of conserves. “Surely the household doesn’t eat all this in one year,” James exclaimed, realizing that the shelves covered four walls.
“Oh no,” Mrs. Eltis replied with more than a trace of pride. “When the conserves are sent up from the country in the fall, I mark each jar and place it to the left, and then use those on the right. When the year comes to a close, I give any that haven’t been eaten to an orphanage. That’s the way her ladyship wants it done.” The housekeeper’s beaming smile spoke for itself.
Aboard ship, the captain was the absolute ruler of his particular world. James hadn’t failed to get his own way in years; a crewmember would no more think of disobeying him than of jumping into a shark-filled bathtub.
He climbed the stairs thinking how interesting it was that he had no sooner entered England than he was led to understand, in no uncertain terms, that he was not the master of this particular world. In fact, it could be that here, at least, Daisy was the captain and he a mere visitor. It was disconcerting.
Griffin was in the rose bedchamber, Maydrop had said. Not that James knew which one that was. Everything had changed in the house. He remembered a dimly lit corridor at the top of the staircase, but Theo had knocked out the wall that faced the front of the house. Now the staircase led up in a sweep to an open passage, fronted with a satinwood balcony. He liked the way the railing felt like the rail of a ship in his hand.
He eventually succeeded in locating Griffin, only to find him in a temper; his response to James’s entrance was a string of curses—and when a pirate captain is in a rage, the breadth of his vocabulary is truly astonishing.
“I’ve had a delightful reunion with my wife,” James said, dropping into a chair and pretending he hadn’t heard Griffin’s blistering welcome.
Griffin perked up at that. “Kicked you in the arse, did she?”
“I would say she hit a more tender area. She’s bent on moving out. The only thing keeping her under my roof is the fact that the house is besieged by journalists.”
“Wait until my wife gets the news that I’m back in London,” Griffin said, shifting his weight from one side to the other side with a grunt. He was still recovering from the slash to his leg that had endangered his life—and his manhood. James had had a relatively uncomplicated recovery, given his injury, but Griffin had succumbed to infection and was still recuperating. “She’ll be in the hills of Scotland by next week.”
“I commanded Daisy to stay,” James said, stretching out his legs. “In case you’re wondering, I used the same tone I employ with the crew.”
Griffin let out a bark of laughter. “I gather that Her Grace did not appreciate it?”
“Even the butler knew I didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell. I caught a gleam of sympathy in his eyes.”
“Turned into a hellion, has she?” Griffin grunted, shifting onto his right hip again.
“She’s angry,” James replied. “She’s got a right to it, I suppose. I had hoped for . . .”
“Instant reconciliation?”
“At least a cessation of hostilities. She’s changed.”
“So have you. Remember that fresh young lad who greeted me by tossing his wig overboard? That’s who she remembers. Now she’s faced with a burly, scarred pirate with a tattoo under his eye. No wonder she’s leaving.”
“She has changed as well,” James objected, feeling foolish.
Griffin snorted. “Did you think it was easy for her after you left? You’re lucky she hasn’t turned into a virago.”
“That goes for your wife as well,” James retorted, but without much force.
His old friend, guilt, was at his side. Yes, he had been furious when he left England all those years ago. He hadn’t given much thought to Daisy’s predicament. He was a thoughtless bastard, no matter how you looked at it. “She’s turned to an icicle. She’s . . . she used to be bubbly and funny.”
The corner of Griffin’s mouth twitched, but he said nothing.
“Damn it,” James said heavily. “I’ve bungled every damn thing in my life. I’ve ruined her, Griffin. Now she’s like one of those ice sculptures we saw in Halifax. Beautiful but frozen. She wasn’t like that before I married her. She’s furious that I didn’t keep my beef in my breeches.”
Griffin grunted. “Got a right to that, I suppose.”
“When she threw me out of the house, she said the marriage was over, and I believed her. Was I supposed to remain faithful for the rest of my born days?”
“Apparently so.” Griffin was obviously enjoying himself.
James gave him a sour look. “Sometimes I wish that knife had slashed you just an inch or two higher. Men are a good deal more compassionate when they’re minus their dangling bits.”
“Who has a ‘bit’?” Griffin retorted. He gave himself a pat in the front. “I have an oak tree, I’ll have you know.”
“Reminding yourself that it’s still there?”
“How would you feel if a sword whistled past your best feature? I’m still having nightmares about it. I would have made a bitter castrato, I’ll tell you.” He gave his inner thigh a rough rub. “The scar itches like the devil’s arse, so it must be finally healing.” Griffin pulled himself to his feet and began walking around the chamber. “How soon do you think those pardons will come through? I’ve been in this room for only half the day and I’m about to rip down the curtains.”