Page 21 of Undoubtedly Reckless (Rebel by Night #2)

Old Debts

The Villiers returned to London the day after Christmas, the duke departing first in a separate carriage. Sabina kept herself busy during the ride with lesson plans and chatting with the girls.

She was supremely comfortable in her new clothes. The Darewood family had gifted Sabina a good wool cloak of the darkest green, lined with brown rabbit fur and slitted for her arms. She also had a lovely new shawl woven in variegating shades of copper, blues, and greens. Aunt Idonia’s old shawl was lost to the sea, but better it than she.

Aria and Sage had visited Sabina privately and gifted her with a new set of undergarments and stockings to replace the set that had been dunked in seawater, in addition to new walking shoes and a rust-colored dress. Everything was of the finest workmanship but simple enough to befit a governess.

Sabina could not remember the last time she had received new clothes of such quality. The fact that they were given from a place of deep affection mattered more to her than the gifts themselves. Sabina had been moved to tears which had caused Aria to tear up and hug her old teacher. Sage, in her pragmatic fashion, had acknowledged the tearful hug and then helped dress Sabina for the dinner.

The Villiers girls had noted the gift immediately and privately informed Sabina that they would provide an even better set of clothes once they returned to London. Their arrival at the ducal house in London was met with much fussing from the staff and an awkward but concerned greeting from the duke himself. Sabina was truly touched by the welcome. She was only a servant but the housekeeper and cook fussed over her the same as for the Villiers girls.

One of the footmen took Sabina’s trunk to her rooms without her needing to ask, and then stammered through a brief, yet warm solicitation. She would have to be careful with that one. It would not do to have a friendship with a footman and then disappear.

She still had her escape plan at the ready. More than a decade of hiding was a habit she could not shake, no matter how many allies she had. She was not yet five and twenty years of age.

That evening, after gifts had been distributed and her trunk unpacked, as much as she ever let it be, Sabina finally let herself be still. She could hear London again, the never-ending hum of the city. It was jarring after such a pleasant sojourn to the country. She wanted to be back in Kent, near the water again. She wanted her lover.

So many things she would have to get used to not having.

****

Roland managed to return to London two days after Christmas. He had intended to escort the Villiers personally but being the head of a household assigned him certain unshakeable responsibilities.

It was of no help that his family, and Ransom, insisted on returning with him. Aria very bluntly informed him that she still did not believe he would not disappear if she let him out of her sight. Sage managed to get all their belongings packed in short order for the move back to the city. Roland discussed with Aria the addition of a skeleton crew to aid the groundskeepers of both Schofield Manor and Darewood House. He intended to come back more often.

Now back in London, Roland noted the Schofield Manor was running much more smoothly. Not an hour back in the city saw him already neatly arrayed in fresh clothes and pouring coffee for himself in the study. Roland had only settled five thousand pounds for Sage’s dowry but the investment had already paid off. The girl alleviated his immediate need for a housekeeper and kept his sister out of harms’ way. His plan was brilliant.

Tristan appeared in the doorway.

“I say, brother, would you by chance have a few quid?”

Tristan started.

“No,”

Roland replied shortly, and that was all it took for his little brother to vanish, as if by magic. Aria appeared in the doorway Tristan vacated, shuffling cards, and holding a packet in the crook of her elbow. Roland sat down and pulled over the pile of correspondence.

“Did you send the basket over for Sabina as I asked?”

Roland inquired.

“She lives at Verdon House and is the governess to the duke’s sisters. I’m sure there is nothing we could bring that has not already been provided,”

Aria pointed out.

“That’s not the point.”

Roland waved his hand in irritation.

“Yes, you pudding head. Before I had even changed out of my travel clothes, I put together the basket of drinking chocolate, tea, fresh pastries, citrus fruit as you specified, roasted nuts, and had it discreetly delivered to the back door of Verdon house. And before you question my intelligence yet again, yes, I have confirmation that Sabina appeared herself to take the basket. I have another question for you,”

Aria said. Before Roland could reply, she put the packet on the desk in front of Roland and poured a mug of coffee for herself.

“Hmm?”

Roland answered, intent on his eggs.

“What was the name of your ship? The one you sailed?”

“Ariadne,”

Roland said. Realizing what he was being asked, he finally looked at his sister. “I told you this. I told you I named my ship after you.”

“No,”

Aria said slowly. “You never told me.”

Before Roland could reply, she tapped the packet on the desk and poured a mug of coffee for herself.

“What is this?”

Roland picked up the packet as Aria chose a Bath bun stuffed with raisins. He frowned. Someone had taken great care to fold the packet in waxed paper.

“It came for you this morning,”

Aria said. She raised an eyebrow at him. “God’s tits. I didn't open your correspondence, Roland, because I have manners. The work books, that is a different matter. You dolt.”

“Yes, yes, of course, my apologies,”

Roland said absently. He took care to open the packet without disturbing the contents. Aria came up behind him, close enough that he could hear her chewing on the Bath bun. He wondered when she started drinking coffee rather than tea, but then he saw what was inside the packet and all thought fled.

Nestled within were his letters of marque, letters that he had last set inside the safe of the captain's quarters of Ariadne. There was only one other person who knew how to open the safe.

“When was this delivered?”

Roland snapped.

“Ten minutes ago,”

Aria snapped back and dashed off toward the kitchens. Roland made to follow, then abruptly stopped to carefully set the letters in the top drawer of his desk. Then he ran after his sister. Aria was talking to Pinkie when he entered the kitchen. Pinkie turned to Roland, his one eye intent.

“Twas a seafaring man, a pirate if I had to guess,”

Pinkie said. “He said he had a letter for Roland Darewood and then left, didn’t even accept no coin or vittles.”

“Red hair?”

Roland asked intently. “Taller than me?”

“Yes, but with a slimmer build.”

“Was he wearing a green wool cap?”

Roland asked darkly.

“Yes,”

Pinkie replied. “One of yours?”

“My former first mate,”

Roland replied as he turned.

“The one who led the mutiny against you?”

Aria called after him.

“Yes!”

Roland shouted back as he went to his chambers to change. One could not wear a morning coat to the Docklands.

****

Roland found Oliver at the third pub he searched. He stopped at the rear of the pub and watched his former best friend, the man he had sailed with for ten years. There were multiple faces in the crowd he recognized from his former crew and a good many faces he did not know.

Roland understood why Oliver had led the mutiny. He made one too many decisions favoring the mission rather than the profit. Oliver watched many of their old crew retire and start lives as honest men, but that was never what he wanted. Oliver sailed with Roland for the thrill of it. The money had been but a bonus. Oliver had been one of the few who had known what Roland’s mission had been, who had known about the letters of marque, but he had grown up an orphan. Loyalty to king and country were an ephemeral idea at best.

Roland had thought Oliver loyal to him, though. Roland had taught Oliver to read when they had served together under Captain Loggins. Oliver had taught Roland how to be a sailor, having been on ships a good ten years longer than Roland at that point. And Oliver had never wanted to settle back on land, for it was as foreign to him as the moon.

Never would Roland had thought Oliver would put profit over his friend.

“You sure you want to do this?”

Remy asked, startling Roland. He had no idea where the other man came from.

“What the devil are you doing here?”

Roland demanded.

“I had other business, but then I see your lordly arse stalking in and out of sailors’ rests and curiosity got the better of me,”

Remy said idly, taking two small beers from the counter and giving one to Roland.

“Pinkie sent for you,”

Roland guessed.

“Your sister, actually, but the sentiment is the same: your household is upset that the Viscount Schofield ran to the Docklands to find the man who led the mutiny against him.”

Remy sipped.

“Oliver returned my letters of marque this morning,”

Roland supplied. He sipped the beer and was pleasantly surprised at the clean, hoppy taste. Of course, Roland had insisted they always had good food, and Oliver had eventually seen the right of it.

“You don’t have to talk to him, you know. You have your letters. Therein lies proof that you did not leave your family without reason,”

Remy pointed out.

“Perhaps I am curious,”

Roland said grimly.

“Fine, fine,”

Remy said. “One more thing before you hie off. Pinkie told me of your suspicions concerning Mrs. Kembrooke. There were several sailors from a certain ship in the area around her when she went into the water. That ship is in London. I am looking into it.”

“I asked Pinkie to make inquiries.”

Roland frowned.

“Pinkie has one leg and would prefer to be your cook, not your spymaster. I find information for a living. I will tell you if I discover anything. Now, I’ll be in that corner with my beer. Try not to get stabbed before I finish it,”

Remy said.

Roland grunted, then drained his beer. He took another from the counter and made his way to the tall, wiry man with red hair.

Oliver glanced up just as Roland sat down. He heard rustling as multiple blades were shifted but Oliver shook his head subtly. It was enough to quiet the crew but all eyes remained on the former friends.

“Why did you return my letters?”

Roland asked without introduction.

“Hello to you too, knob-head,”

Oliver said slowly. “I have been well, thank you. The weather is lovely today.”

“You threw me off my own ship, Oliver. We are no longer friends. I even understand why you did it. What I do not understand is why you saved my letters. If you have no remorse for attempting to kill me, I don’t know what would have caused you to do such a thing.”

Oliver leaned back in his chair, snorting.

“You threw yourself off your own ship, you nitwit. So this is what you are in your real life. Still an arsehole,”

Oliver said, his fingers knotted behind his head. “I always wondered, mind you, if you would be different had you not been pirating with us.”

“We sailed under orders from the king himself,”

Roland corrected him.

“Did the king feed us or shelter us? Did the king bleed with us or fight with us? That never mattered to me, Jack,”

Oliver said, calling Roland by the name he had used for years, his grandfather’s moniker when he smuggled.

“Then why return the letters to me? You had everything you wanted,”

Roland said.

“I want a clean break from the past, that is all. I have my own ship now, and a crew,”

Oliver said. “I knew when I saw you in Cheapside with your lady that it was time to end this. Yes, I can tell when a woman is wearing trousers, especially after you handed her up into the cab. Ariadne is anchored at Coldharbour. I’ll wait long enough for you to fetch her and then I’ll pull my men off.”

Roland was quiet. He had no response to this, a mea culpa for an unforgivable betrayal.

“And do what?”

Roland asked.

“Whatever I damn well please, Jack. It took two years but I have the blunt now to start my own way. This is what I owe you,”

Oliver said. This explanation only served to infuriate Roland.

“Simple as that, is it?”

Roland said. He could feel his anger welling up and he was ready to give it its head. “I almost died, Oliver. That chance you gave me was no chance at all. By all rights, I should be dead.”

“And yet, here you sit.”

Oliver mockingly swept his hand toward Roland. “Healthy and wealthy, titled to boot. You lived. You prospered. Your ship awaits, in better shape than when you left her in my care. I owe you nothing now. Milord.”

Roland pushed back from the table, his chair grating harshly against the floor. He wanted to fight. He must not sink to that level. He needed to be superior.

He was not superior.

“You,”

—Roland pointed at Oliver— “are not forgiven. Sail your ship, gained from sacrificing me, and know everything you have is because you betrayed me. My men will relieve Ariadne from your care this afternoon. Don’t kill them and I will consider not having you jailed.”

Roland stormed out the door that Remy already held open for him.

****

Aria came in to Roland’s study a few hours later, note in hand. Roland looked up from the papers on his desk. The papers were all for show, Roland had not been able to focus on work.

“From the office.”

Aria handed the note to Roland. He snapped it open quickly and read the contents. Ariadne was handed over to Percival Shipping employees at Coldharbour and was now at their private dock with the other company ships. Throwing the note on the table, Roland sank back in his chair. Aria took the note and read it herself.

“Why are you not relieved?”

Aria asked. “You have the ship back, and more importantly, the letters of marque.”

“You wouldn’t understand,”

Roland said, then realized his error. “I meant that there is much to consider. The ship is returned but I am still damaged.”

“You mean you’re still hurt that your best friend tried to kill you. You don’t want to forgive him,”

Aria guessed. She rolled her eyes at her brother. “No, of course I wouldn’t understand if someone I trusted and loved left me to the winds of fate while he enjoyed life without me. I have no personal experience with that situation at all. Stop your sulking. I never had that luxury.”

With a final glare, his sister quit the room. Roland somehow felt worse than before.

Tristan sauntered into the study, a sandwich plate in hand.

“What are you so cheerful about?”

Roland snapped.

“Aria’s not mad at me, for once,”

Tristan chortled and set his plate on the desk. Roland snatched a roast beef sandwich from Tristan’s plate and bit into it viciously. Tristan idly read the correspondence as he nibbled on his own sandwich. “Well done, made whole and all that,”

Tristan said as he waved the note.

“Oliver led a mutiny against me,”

Roland ground out around a mouthful of roast beef and mustard. He had a vague memory of a lunch tray arriving and being taken away, untouched. “I almost drowned. I was reduced to smuggling to survive and nearly died in prison. My own family thinks I abandoned them for adventure, not God and country. None of this is satisfactory.”

Tristan continued eating and nodded sagely at his brother’s words.

“No sympathy?”

Roland asked. “No witty repartee?”

“Do you want it from me?”

Tristan asked shrewdly. Such self-awareness was so shocking coming from Tristan, it gave Roland pause.

“You are right. What are you doing tonight?”

Roland asked.

“I have nothing planned. All the hazard tables of London are closed to me tonight. Why?”

“I need to get drunk,”

Roland said, nodding to himself.

“Really?”

Tristan grinned wickedly. “Mayn’t I help?”

“Be my guest.”

Roland finished the sandwich and barely caught the bottle Tristan flung before it knocked him out cold. He found himself holding a blue bottle. “Gin?”

Tristan was head and shoulders in a cabinet almost hidden in the corner of the study. Roland squinted. He had no idea the cabinet existed. His brother stuck his head out briefly to point at Roland.

“I sincerely don’t know why that’s in the house. Just drink it,”

Tristan ordered.