Epiphany

T he Withenshawe brothers ignored Niven during the carriage ride from the townhouse to the docks. Between yawns, they exchanged polite conversation with each other about the action they'd seen in Spain, but there was no mention of the shipping company nor of what might be expected of them when they arrived. Their lack of interest was obvious.

When Rowan asked to be directed to his father's office, Niven obliged, glad he'd never moved from his own desk in the main office. The heir to the company plonked himself down in the red leather chair, indicated Ash sit in the only other chair, and instructed Niven to bring a third seat for Hawthorne.

Niven had a choice. He could leave the three to sit around and do nothing and hence make life easier for himself. Or, he could force them to learn at least something about the company they would inherit. If the business failed because of Rowan's mismanagement, Willow would suffer. The duke's years of hard work and prudent investment would be for naught. Hundreds of men would be thrown out of work—sailors and dockworkers from London and a dozen other ports. The Kingdom Distillery would have to seek another shipping company to bring Uachdaran whisky from Scotland to markets in the south and beyond. On the other hand, he had nothing to gain from alienating them and a lot to lose.

He decided to put the onus on them. "Ye lordlings can sit around all day on yer arses if ye wish, then I can get on wi' making the important decisions we face."

Anger flooded Rowan's face. "Now, look here."

Niven stood his ground, though it might mean forfeiting any chance of wooing Lady Willow. "Nay. This is yer family's company and ye must take responsibility. We've been tasked wi' helping the war effort, so do ye nay think ye should at least familiarize yerselves wi' some o' the ships?"

The was a moment of complete silence until Lord Ash stood and ventured, "Perhaps he's right."

"Might be amusing," Lord Hawthorne agreed. "Better than sitting around all day doing nothing."

Still red in the face, Rowan gaped as he came to his feet, evidently not sure what to make of this uncharacteristic independent thinking on the part of his siblings. "Er…well…I suppose. Very well. Lead on, King."

As they took the stairs down to the docks, Rowan had to admit inwardly that Niven King had touched a nerve. It really was reprehensible that not one of the Withenshawe sons had ever concerned himself with the shipping company. And it wasn't that their father had never encouraged it.

"Yonder the Matilda ," Niven pointed. "She's the schooner that carried my brother and my cousin to Spain."

"Spain?" Ash asked before Rowan could.

"Aye. 'Tis a long story. Suffice it to say Payton and Kenneth—er, the Duke o' Ramsay—went to Spain, where they fought alongside the Spanish guerrillas against Napoleon's invasion. Payton married a lass he met there."

It hit Rowan like a blow to the belly that he'd never considered anyone outside the army would have fought against Napoleon. Had he been too much of a snob, too concerned with impressing his profligate friends who never did much else beside drink and gamble? They wouldn't dare criticize the Duke of Withenshawe's involvement in commerce directly, but there'd been snide, disdainful remarks about noblemen behaving like merchants.

Kenneth Hawkins was a duke, yet he'd risked his life to fight against Bonaparte in Spain, though fighting alongside guerrillas wasn't the same as being an officer who commanded part of a large, well-armed battalion of the Berkshire 66 th .

Looking out at the sleek ships in port that Niven described in great detail, Rowan felt ashamed. The Scot was clearly proud of the fleet, as Rowan should be. Instead of boasting of his father's success in business, he'd sided with his cronies and avoided involvement.

"Can we go aboard?" he asked.

Not surprisingly, Niven looked at him askance for a moment, then said, "Of course, my Lord."

Taken aback by Lord Rowan's request, Niven nevertheless took it as a good sign. Promising too was the anticipation in the eyes of the younger brothers. Perhaps the only thing this trio needed was a shove in the right direction, much like he'd often received from his older brother when he was an adolescent. Of course, he'd guess Lord Rowan was around the same age as he was now, but the heir to the Withenshawe dukedom hadn't grown up in the harsh environment of the Highlands. Nor was it likely he'd ever worried where his next meal was coming from.

Initially, Niven guided them around the deck of the schooner, but they soon took off in different directions like eager schoolboys, pausing now and then to speak to members of the crew working on maintenance or repairs. They looked somewhat incongruous in formal attire, their cravats immaculately tied, but it was a better start than Niven had expected.

After touring the cramped areas below deck, Rowan emerged and filled his lungs, glad for once that Ash and Thorne hadn't followed him like puppy dogs. The Thames wasn't a sweet smelling river, but there was a hint of salt in the air.

Gazing out at the various ships at anchor, he took the time to think. He had a lot to learn about this shipping business, but boarding the vessel had been an epiphany. He'd sailed aboard ships before, but this was different. He liked the feel of the deck moving beneath his feet. It seemed natural to brace his legs and keep his balance as the schooner bobbed with the tide. He'd have to learn about tides, and probably a thousand other things but, by God, he would. Unfortunately, he'd need Niven King's help, but the Scot seemed amiable enough. He was, after all, simply an employee. If things worked out, Rowan might even consider keeping the fellow on when he took over after Napoleon's final defeat.

He looked up in surprise when he heard his name being called from the dock. He returned Kenneth Hawkins' wave and watched him bound up the gangplank. Having his contemplation interrupted was irritating, but Rowan had to bear in mind that this man was Lady Daisy's brother. The unexpected encounter might prove useful.

"I love this ship," Ramsay exclaimed when he reached Rowan.

"I understand you sailed to Spain aboard her?"

"Actually to Gibraltar," Ramsay corrected. "What an adventure that was! Have you ever seen the Pillars of Hercules?"

"No," Rowan confessed, increasingly bothered by a feeling of inadequacy. "But I understand the reasons for your admiration of this vessel."

"Isn't she a beauty?"

If anyone had made such a statement yesterday, Rowan would have thought them slightly mad but, looking up at the cloudy sky beyond the tops of the masts, he understood and decided to take a chance. "She certainly is. Speaking of beauty, may I call on your sister this week?"

Grinning, Ramsay poked him in the chest. "You sly devil! I thought you might be interested in Daisy."

In a previous life, Rowan would have called out any fellow who had the temerity to poke him, but he felt a strange sense of camaraderie with this duke. One day, Rowan himself would inherit a dukedom. It might be wise to cultivate a friendship with a man his father obviously trusted. "I do find her attractive. So, you have no objections?"

"Certainly not, though I warn you she can be prickly." He nodded to Niven who stood at the far end of the deck with Ash and Thorne. "Ask my cousin."

Rowan's throat tightened. "Surely you can't mean Lady Daisy had a relationship with a mere employee?"

Ramsay narrowed his eyes. "I've learned it's never a good idea to think less of people simply because they don't have a title. And, by the way, Niven isn't an employee."

"But…"

"Along with his brothers, he's part owner of the famous Kingdom Distillery. Dividends from the sale of their whisky make a considerable amount of money for your family and mine. His involvement with Withenshawe shipping began with that business relationship. As time went on, he took over more and more duties that had nothing to do with shipping whisky. He was thus the only man your father could trust to run the company when you showed no interest and instead went off to war."

Chastened by these revelations and the reality of his own poor excuses for shunning his father's entreaties, Rowan nodded. "I hope to change all that," he confessed. "I'll treat Mr. King with more respect."

"Good, because I think Niven fancies your sister."

Rowan clenched his fists. This was going too far. "Let's not get carried away."