Chapter Two

May 17, 1817

The Albany

London, England

Captain Peregrine Wetherford once more threw a toy rabbit made from burlap so his beagle, Matey, could gallop out of the room in the chase of it. "That is the last time. I do have entertaining to attend," he called after the animal.

A half-hearted bark was his only answer.

"You spend entirely too much time shut away in this set and with that dog." This from his best friend Charles, or rather Viscount Maubrey. "If you aren't careful, you will become a recluse."

"As if that is such a bad thing." After grabbing a bottle of brandy from the sideboard, he crossed the room and joined his friend, dropping into a comfortable leather winged-back chair that matched Charles'. "My looks are rather upsetting in some circles, so I would rather stay tucked away for the peace."

"Bah. I would never have thought you a coward." The viscount took the bottle from Peregrine's hand, poured a measure of the amber liquor into his glass. "Don't try to deny it, for that is exactly what you are by hiding."

"I have no intention of denying it." With a frown, Peregrine relieved his friend of the bottle then poured some of the brandy into his own glass. After setting the bottle on a small round table at his elbow, he sighed and stared into the contents. "Being back in London is proving a trying endeavor."

"It needn't be."

"True, and it is something I must work through for myself." Unbidden, his left hand drifted to the same side of his face where the skin was scarred and puckered. He'd been injured while in His Majesty's service, and during a naval battle with a pirate vessel in the eastern Caribbean Sea, one of the cannons on his ship had been hit with a cannon ball. When it exploded, he'd been too close, had taken the brunt of the flying shrapnel. His cheek, the side of his neck, his ear had been the recipient of hot metal and burning bits. Some of that had penetrated his uniform, leaving scars and burn marks behind to decorate his shoulder and side. "I never wanted to retire so early from the navy."

I miss my ship, the men I sailed with, the familiar and mysterious undulation of the sea.

"I am well aware of that." Charles regarded him with a frown. Concern shadowed his eyes. "I was there. Hell, I was the one who scooped you off that deck and dragged you to safety while it seemed the world was burning."

"I remember." As if he could ever forget. Charles had been the chief navigator, which he'd done with aplomb, before he'd become the viscount after the unfortunate news that his father and older brother had perished in a carriage accident.

Eventually, the fires were put out on deck and the pirates' vessel fled. Since Peregrine's ship had been disabled enough to prevent any sort of speed until repaired, they'd been forced to let the criminals go. Since they were probably one of the last pirate vessels in the area after the English and American navies had run them out of existence a few years before, it was a given they would eventually be caught. Then things were a tad fuzzy regarding the events that had followed, and the only thing he remembered was the pain.

Later, they'd told him he'd suffered from a raging fever, a mild infection at various burn sites, and the crew had feared for his sanity, to say nothing of his future. On the lengthy trip back to England, Peregrine had no recourse but to fight for his life and heal the best he could. The ship's doctor had done the best he could under the circumstances, and by the time they'd pulled into port at Dover, Peregrine had been well on the way to healing.

With scars as his souvenir.

"Yes, well, despite your penchant for becoming the crab at times, you are still attractive, still retain your sense of humor when you let it out, and there is no reason you shouldn't accept at least half the invitations sent your way." Charles shook his head. "You have been back in England for six months, man. It's time to live again."

"I am living. The watch repair shop should open within the next month, and the addition of nautical instruments will bring in fellow navy men."

Charles blew out a breath. "Which gives you yet another place to hide as if you were a beast." He tsked his tongue. "That cul-de-sac buried two streets over from Bond Street will be the death knell of your life."

"No, it will give me an income, and at least it's a shop instead of a stall at the Exchange."

"There is that, but what of your personal life? There is more to living than peddling wares."

"Which I am trying to do by discovering if Miss Beaufort and I will suit. If so, then I shall ask to pay my formal addresses to her." In some annoyance, Peregrine took a sip of his brandy and winced when the liquor burned his throat. "That doesn't mean I need to spend every waking hour in the public eye of society."

Before he'd been injured and permanently scarred, each time he found himself in London on leave, he was a highly sought-after guest to any dinner party or society event. The addition of a military man regardless of what branch that man had served in was a certain way of guaranteeing success at a gathering. Once he'd retired from the navy, he'd taken speaking engagements about Town which netted him a decent income, but each time, he always wondered what the attendees thought of him and if the prevailing emotion was pity. That was something he despised above all else.

"Miss Beaufort, eh?" Charles shivered then took a sip of his own drink. "Isn't she rather young for you?"

"A bit." To his knowledge, the chit was one and twenty, which made her fourteen years his junior. "But she seems mature for her age, and her looks are lovely. She has tidy manners, and her family is of a decent sort."

"Ah." His friend briefly pointed his gaze to the heavens. "Have you kissed her?"

"Bite your tongue, man. I barely know her!" He had only selected her because she had blonde hair, and he had a weakness for women of such coloring. "A true English rose, you could say. Strawberries-and-cream complexion."

"Does she have goals or aspirations?"

"Beyond marrying well and being a wife and mother?" Peregrine shrugged. "I couldn't say. Most of the time she is guarded by a sister or mother when I see her in public. I haven't asked her out driving or for an outing yet."

"Then why do you wish to court her?" Concern once again lined the other man's face as he glanced at Peregrine. "Seems a rather bad prison to leg-shackle yourself to her merely to stave off boredom or loneliness."

God, it was frightening how well Charles knew him. He forced moisture into his dry throat. "While it's true that being back on land permanently hasn't always been to my taste, I would like to see if we get on. If she adores the sea, perhaps we could relocate to somewhere I can at least have a glimpse of it."

Charles snorted. "And what? Become a fisherman and live off the uncertainty of that? You are better than such an idea." He shook his head. "Hell, if you miss it that much, spend time at my country estate in Kent. The sea isn't far from there."

"Trust me, I have thought of that, but eventually you would tire of a perpetual house guest." And he didn't wish to disrupt the viscount's life simply because Peregrine yearned to hear the crash of the waves again. "When the craving becomes too bad, I go to Hyde Park and watch the water of the Serpentine. Yes, it is a river and a lake—bodies of water really—but if there is a breeze, the ripples along the surface remind me of the sea. It is better than nothing."

"Perhaps you do need a woman in your life and in your bed." Charles drained the contents of this glass, and once again regarded him. "How long has it been since you've bedded a woman?"

"For an empty liaison merely to release the needs of the body?" Peregrine shrugged. "Just after I came back to London in January. It meant nothing, of course, and she is part of the demimonde but favors military men." When he'd been away in the navy, occasionally he had patronized various courtesans in the bigger ports, but beyond that? There had only been one singular woman whose memory he tended to recall when the nights were long and dark. That summer afternoon when he had taken his fiancée's innocence and pledged his life to hers two months ahead of their nuptial ceremony.

Where he'd left her standing outside the church.

"If Miss Beaufort is who you want, are you prepared to marry the chit in exchange for one night of pleasure? That is, if she won't go into hysterics the moment you take off your clothes." He made a distasteful face. "It's why I won't go near innocents."

There was much truth in that statement. "I believe I am ready for marriage now that my commitment to the navy is over. However, the woman in question would need to accept me as I am now, scars and all."

"Does Miss Beaufort do that?"

Peregrine hesitated in his answer. "She hasn't said anything, for she's too well-bred, I think, but I've noticed she won't stand to my left." It was quite worrisome.

"Then perhaps you should continue searching. Settling will do you no favors." Companionable silence sprang between them. "What are your plans for the future beyond taking a wife?"

"Honestly, I haven't thought that far ahead, which is odd for me. Usually, I like to have my life charted out with no surprises." It had always been thus for him since he was a youth. So when he'd fallen hard for Cora Hasting, had asked for her hand after a mere three months of courting, he had been absolutely terrified on the morning they were to be married. There were far too many unknowns in the offing.

Still were, perhaps, but he had matured since then.

Did he harbor regrets for breaking the engagement, for turning tail and running as fast as he could away from that sort of commitment? Yes and no. The love of the sea had won out over what he'd felt for Cora, and though that wasn't an excuse, it was the truth.

"No doubt I won't muck a second time up as I did the first," he said in a matter-of-fact voice while he finished his brandy.

"God, Cora Hasting. Haven't heard you speak about her in an age." Charles rubbed a hand along the side of his face. "Have you given her thought over the years?"

"Every now and again, but captaining a ship took most of my time, though when I first returned to London, I wished to see how she fared."

"And?"

He shrugged. "Eventually I decided it was better to move forward with a fresh slate. Let sleeping dogs lie, as it were." Not that he tried hard to track her to earth. Their paths wouldn't have crossed anyway, for she was of the beau monde, and while he was a gentleman and a captain, they didn't move in the same circles, but perhaps merely overlapped at times.

"Well, since the conversation has come 'round to Cora, I should tell you that I saw her about Town recently. Ordinarily, I wouldn't have brought her up to spare you the pain of memories."

Shock plowed through Peregrine's chest like a blow. "Where did you see her? Has she married?"

"Walking about the shops behind an older woman, and I rather doubt she's wed."

"Why?" Not wishing to seem too eager for word, he buffed his nails on his breeches.

Amusement danced in Charles' eyes. "There have been rumors through the ton that her father is in dun territory. Taxes haven't been paid on the country manor and all that." With a sigh, the viscount struggled to his feet then moved in the direction of the sideboard. "The older Hasting girls took paid positions."

"Truly?" He couldn't imagine how devasting such an occurrence had been for the whole family. Baron Landover was a proud man and never wanted assistance.

"Indeed. Cora's older sister Amelia was recently a companion to some nouveau riche chit, who then went off to marry a banker, while the sister wed Viscount Wycliffe."

Peregrine couldn't help a gasp. "That bounder?" How did any of that come about?

"I guess he's changed his ways for the love of her." Charles grinned as he selected a bottle of red wine. "It must be true that it's a love match, for when they wed last month, his pockets were still to let."

"And Cora?" He could hardly force out the words.

"I believe she is the companion to the recalcitrant and pain in the arse Mrs. Bromington. The woman's a widow. Her husband made a couple of fortunes in shipping, but she's a real scare. Has already run off several companions in the last year and a half."

If Peregrine's chest tightened further, it would snap his ribs. "Cora is a companion? She was forced to find a living?" A sick feeling circled through the pit of his stomach, for he might not have been the whole problem, but his defection certainly had added to the family's troubles.

"Miss Hasting has been in Town for four months. So far, the old woman hasn't tossed her out, so they must get on." Charles brought the bottle of wine back to his chair, but he didn't sit. Instead, he wrenched out the cork with his teeth, spit it out, and then took a deep draught. "Misfortune is what it is. Anyone who can stand that miserable crow must be made of stern stuff."

"Or else Cora has let herself be cowed for the sake of coin," he said in a hushed voice. When he'd known her, she had a refreshing personality and a stubborn streak, which is what initially attracted her to him, but it was always kept fettered by her mother and the need to be a proper young lady, the need to always do what the ton dictated. Cora's mother had preached endlessly that she hoped all her girls married well.

God, what a waste.

"I can see from your expression you haven't forgotten about her as successfully as you want me to believe, even if you never spoke of her onboard ship." Charles snickered. "You could always pay a call on her. Mrs. Bromington resides in Manchester Square. You know, should you wish to catch up… or apologize to Miss Hasting."

Heat went up the back of Peregrine's neck. Did he even wish to see Cora after what he did? So much time had passed. She had her life, and he had his. Plus, there was Miss Beaufort to consider. Realizing his friend waited on a reply, he blew out a breath. "Perhaps, but there is no reason to open old wounds. She is better off without me. Especially now."

"Ah." Charles shook his head. "Because you're scarred, forced to retire with no anchor so to speak, are renting rooms with no permanent source of income?"

When his life was so summarily itemized out like that, it was even more depressing. "Partially, yes, but also because I should never have jilted her to begin with. I can't imagine life has been easy for her since then. What would I even say?" Of course, he'd had plenty of time to think about his actions the three years he'd been at sea. If he hadn't been injured, he would still be aboard his ship, but fate had decreed that life over.

"You could be honest. No matter what happened, being honest now would be more appreciated than anything else."

"It's a tall order, but life has moved on, I have moved on."

"Have you? I seem to recall a year and a half into our orders, you procured a tattoo on your back that bears her name."

"Oh, God, I'd forgotten about that." The heat on his neck blazed hotter than ever. "Such a mistake."

"I wonder." Charles narrowed his gaze. "I rather suspect you have been lying to yourself. At the very least, there should be some sort of closure for both you and Cora."

"How can that be possible when there is Miss Beaufort underfoot?"

"Indeed. It is a conundrum." The viscount frowned. "However, we have come full circle." A swath of silence brewed between them. "Do you believe after spending more time in her company you'll offer for the chit?"

"I don't know." At least it was honest. "Unless there happens to be a spark between us soon, I can't imagine I should, even though it is probably the natural progression."

"Not a good basis to build a life together." After taking another swig from the wine bottle, Charles rested it on a table. "Don't do anything stupid."

"Have I recently?"

The look his friend shot him was questionable at best. "You forget, I have known you for far more years than the navy."

"Yes, well, that also works the other way." For a moment, Peregrine grinned. It was good to have such a loyal friend. "Where are you going?" he asked as the viscount headed toward the door, provoking Peregrine to stand up from his chair.

"To the club. It is nearly teatime, and you are in danger of becoming poor company if you slip into a maudlin mood." He gestured to Peregrine. "Afterward, we'll play cards, perhaps make a few wagers, and then hopefully someone will talk sense into you."

Sense according to who? "To an extent, I suppose, unless you are trying to push me back into the past, where I absolutely don't belong." There was only the future to think of.

"We shall see. Then I'm going to force you to accept some invitations later. You need to mingle within society more than you do. Otherwise, you and Matey will just be a lost cause."

Peregrine didn't like the way that ominous statement sounded, but there was nothing for it. "Matey is a good dog," he said on the way out of his rooms.

"Yes, but he's not a woman, and I'm trying to make you more attractive to eligible women." Amusement rang in his voice. "If you won't change the trajectory of your life, I'll have to guide the helm a bit."

"What of you?" He adored the camaraderie between him and the viscount, and truth be told, he appreciated the prodding.

"Let us sort you first, then we'll see."

They both shared a chuckle, the past and its mistakes forgotten.