Page 92 of In Want of a Wife
“That doesn’t matter now. I’ve mucked that up well and good.”
“Then why are you here talking to me?”
He laughed in spite of himself. “You asked to meet me, remember?”
“I did, I did. Then I will only say this. You are being given a promotion to captain. They want to give you your own frigate, and you’ll set sail in two weeks’ time to India.”
Two weeks’ time. For once, leaving England’s shores didn’t sound so welcoming.
“You could retire. You’ve served honorably.”
“Not sure everyone would agree with that.”
They both chuckled. The admiral drained his glass and set it down. “It’s late, and I don’t wish to leave Patricia any longer. I came only as an old friend tonight to share some news should you like to make other plans.”
“I haven’t slept much these past weeks, but I can still see that look on your face, Admiral. It was the one you gave before we charged after an enemy ship.”
“You can listen to what everyone wishes for you to do. You’ve done that your entire life. You’ll make an excellent captain, and one day, I’m sure the admiralty will welcome you. But our days aren’t promised. You’ve seen that more than you should have. Think about it before you move forward and accept.”
“What am I supposed to do if I turn it down?”
“Oh, I imagine you take up Hawkins on his proposition.”
Rafe sat back and stretched, certain he was hungry but too tired to do anything about it. “How do you know about that?”
“My boy”—the admiral laughed and placed his hands on his roundstomach—“he came to me as well. He was smart to leave when he did, and he’s an enterprising fellow. You’d do well joining him and starting that shipping company.”
“With what coin, Admiral?”
The admiral stood and waved to another gentleman across the room. “I’ll put up the money, and you can pay me back. I’m too old to start something like that now. You have years ahead of you, good years where you can make something of yourself on your own terms. Not in the image of your father, no matter how much your mother and brother wish for it.”
Rafe stood, dragging in another puff of his cigar. “You’re the very devil, you know that, Admiral?”
Mirth danced in the man’s cloudy blue eyes. “I know you will figure this out.” He reached out and tweaked a button on Rafe’s uniform. “Sew this for Monday. No loose buttons.”
“Very well, sir.”
Lily stoodon the shore as twilight fell around her shoulders. The breeze danced through her hair as she smiled at him, her eyes big, brown, and full of love. He reached for her, but she remained too far away to touch.
In the distance, the clouds grew black and heavy, and thunder rattled the sky.
Rafe froze, then startled awake, rubbing sleep from his eyes as a knock pounded at his door.
“Coming,” he hollered, grabbing his trousers from the floor and quickly dressing as he ripped open the door.
“You fecking eejit.” Liam Hawkins strolled in, asmug look plastered on his too handsome Irish face. “I’ve been knocking for an age. Where the hell have you been?”
“Sure, come in,” Rafe grumbled. He ran his hand into his hair and blinked hard, uncertain of the time or day, but sure for the first time in weeks that he had slept. He shut the door behind him and leaned against the wall, attempting to calm his nerves.
True, he hadn’t slept much over the past weeks, but when he had, it was always the same dream. Lily was on his sailboat instead of Mari, just out of his reach, as a terrible storm was about to bear down on them.
“No rest for the wicked.”
“I think it's weary.”
His friend shrugged. “Either way, it’s damn well time to get out of bed.”
Hawkins had been in the Navy once, not for long. Rafe sat in on the tribunal that led to his friend’s dismissal almost six years ago. And since then, Liam worked over London, squeezing out every pence he could from the gentleman of Mayfair in one business venture or another.
