Wilful Impropriety (25 page)

“I’m sorry,” he said, pacing the side parlor to which we had retired. “I should have told you long since. About Miss Fanning.”

My answer came sharp. “No, I quite understand. It is a private matter, not to be shared with outsiders.”

“Damn it, Simon!” He rounded on me, hands clenching. “That isn’t it, and you know it. I cannot think of anyone less an outsider to me than you. We were sniveling middies together; you’ve been covered in my blood, and I in yours. We might as well be brothers.”

Harry’s words put a cramp in my gut. Talking with Kate had been a mistake; it made me Victoria in my own mind, twitching every time Harry called me Simon. And for him to call me
brother
. . .

What I wanted was impossible, and I knew it. Even before the arrival of the unfortunate Miss Fanning. But that did not stop me from wanting it.

The tightness in my throat made my voice come out dangerously high. “Then why not tell me? Our friendship—” I forced myself to say it. “Our
brotherhood
has rarely been a thing of words. We understand one another without them. But an engagement is a devil of a thing to leave unspoken.”

Harry’s shoulders sagged inside the heavy wool of his coat. “I . . . oh, hell. Mrs. Fanning is a dear friend of my mother’s. They both wanted the match, and I thought . . . I don’t know what I thought.”

I damned the lightness that rose inside my chest. “Don’t you wish to marry her?”

“It hardly matters, now,” Harry said unhappily. “I’ve asked for her hand; I can hardly take that back.”

No, he could not. No more than I could take back the rash decision that had put me on-board the
Hesperides
. Even though it meant Harry knew Victoria Ravenswood only as a fiction, a sickly sister living in rural penury. But would he have given her a second thought, had she never donned the mask I wore now?

We made our decisions, and then we lived with them. Both of us were too honorable to do otherwise. “I’m sure it will be all right. You’re a good man, Harry, and I’m sure she’s a good woman. There are worse foundations for a marriage.”

“And better ones, too,” he said, gazing downward in dejection. But it did not last: he straightened his shoulders, donning once more the martial bearing we had both learned to maintain, and we went back out to the party.

Where I caught Byrom’s gaze, narrowed in suspicion that I had withdrawn with Harry. A hint of a leer bent his thin mouth, and had I been in range at that moment, I would have smashed it with my fist.

My fury, thwarted of its target, bent back upon myself. Had I not just been congratulating myself on how honorable Harry and I were? For him, it might be true, but never for myself. My eyes were drawn, as if by a magnet, to the Warrington sisters and their mother. I had lied to their faces. I had no honor left. I had allowed Byrom to strip it from me, out of cowardice and shame.

There is a kind of madness that takes a man—or a woman—when the call comes to leap from the deck of one ship to another, boarding for the chance of a prize. With Marines shooting from the tops and the cutlasses of the enemy waiting, a man must be mad to fling himself across that gap. And yet time and time again he does it, out of optimism or patriotism, for bloodlust or for a cause, but most often of all for one simple reason: he cannot bear the thought of seeming a coward before his friends and comrades. His honor requires him to charge into the teeth of his own destruction.

Sometimes he may hope to emerge unscathed. I had no such expectation. But with Harry promised to Miss Fanning, and Byrom about to be rewarded for his crimes, I found I could no longer bear the weight of my own dishonor. With the madness of battle boiling in my veins, I went in search of Captain Granger.

•   •   •

We two, at least, could speak in private without occasioning comment. We returned to the garden, not far from where I had walked with Kate; I found it easier to breathe in the free air.

This might be one of my last chances to enjoy it.

“I apologize for troubling you, sir,” I said, locking my hands behind my back to keep them from trembling. “A party is neither the time nor place for a matter of this sort, but I fear I cannot, for my own conscience, keep silent any longer.”

Granger grew still, as I had seen him do a thousand times before: a flicker sighted in fog, an unidentified mast on the horizon, that might yet prove dangerous. The last time he had directed such alert study toward me, I was a midshipman, unable yet to stand for the wound in my thigh, explaining to him why I had chosen to masquerade as my twin brother.

When a thing must be done, it is better to do it quickly. I had learned
that
lesson from our ship’s surgeon. “The account I have given of Byrom’s actions aboard the
Persephone
is false.”

The rest of the words poured out of me as if I had rehearsed them: crisp and dispassionate, a lieutenant’s report on an unsuccessful naval engagement. But this time, instead of the positioning of the ships and the set of the wind with respect to the nearby shore, I spoke of the incompetence and cowardice of the
Persephone
’s first lieutenant, the despicable Edmund Byrom. I could not lay the loss of the ship and her men entirely at his feet; we’d had a damnable run of bad luck, before and during the battle with the
Aigrette
. But from his actions as officer of the watch to his final, despicable flight, Byrom had disgraced himself and the service. And I would rather cut my own throat than allow him to hold command over men once more.

Granger kept silent through my recitation, not even asking for clarification on any point. When I finished, he stood facing the wind, jaw set in a hard line. I knew what he would say, and braced myself for it.

“You lied to the Admiralty. Why?”

My own failings were harder to voice. But I had begun; I must continue. “When we washed up on the Spanish shore . . . I lost consciousness. Byrom went through my clothing, looking for anything of value or use, and discovered my secret. When I woke, he presented his demands: I must help him to safety, and afterward must never speak a word of his errors. I must present him as a hero—say that he fought valiantly to save the
Persephone
, and was responsible for saving me. If I did not, he would expose me as a woman.”

“And what makes you tell the truth now?”

I bent my head, unable to stand straight while I admitted it. “The Warrington family. Lying to them . . . I must write a letter, I think. With the true story. Nothing of what I said regarding Percy was false, but they deserve to know who should be blamed for his death.”

“You think you will have the opportunity to write a letter.” This voice, too, I had known before; Granger used it when his fury must be private, rather than bellowed to the world. The surgeon had cleared the infirmary and its surroundings before the captain came to see me, but I do not think anyone would have heard his words if they were standing on the other side of the curtain. They were intended for one set of ears only, and fell upon them like hammers. “I protected you, Ravenswood. And this is how you repay me.”

My eyes closed, of their own accord; I forced them open again. “I am sorry, sir. Which means very little, and I know it. But the only compensation I can make is to ensure that Byrom is disgraced as he deserves, whatever the cost to myself.”

He grunted. “Whatever the cost. I told you before that you could be hanged for what you have done; you would be dependent upon the leniency of the court, and their wish not to be seen as laughingstocks, for any lesser punishment. But now you have lied to an Admiralty board. They will execute you for that.”

“Sir . . .” How could I put it into words? I could not; some parts of it, Granger should not hear anyway. He would not want to know the role Miss Fanning had played in sending me to this desperate end. But some parts, I could say. “If I did not speak, Byrom would have more chances to get men killed. Should I value my life above theirs?”

Granger exhaled sharply, not quite a snort. “A very noble sentiment. Do you actually mean it?”

My back went rigid. “Sir. Ever since I took my brother’s place, I have striven at all times to serve His Majesty’s Navy as the best officer I can be. The immutable fact of my sex has always undermined that; I am a woman, and I must lie about that fact, and both those things make me less than a gentleman. But I have done my utmost to behave as a gentleman in every other respect, to counterbalance those flaws by the perfect execution of my duties. Byrom took that from me: he provoked me into weakness and cowardly self-preservation. If making restitution for that failure costs me my life, then I will pay it gladly.”

Granger met my gaze for a long, wordless time; then he let his breath out in a sigh and shook his head. “Damn it, Ravenswood. You’re a better gentleman than most whose sex and birth gives them that name. When I sent you to test for lieutenant, I knew you were
capable
of passing; you knew your work better than some men whose political connections have made them captains. The question was whether you would try.

“It would have been easier had you failed. Whether the cause was deliberate choice or simple panic, I could have had you broken, and then you could have escaped with very little consequence. But you insisted on trying. Your brother was made midshipman, but
you
and no other made yourself a damned fine lieutenant.” He sighed again, looking away from me. “Now it may have earned you a hanging.”

His speech had produced such a muddle in me that I stood with my jaw loose. Granger had said to me at the time that I deserved the rank of lieutenant, but never had he spoken with such glowing praise. I had been prepared for his rage, even if he condemned me to execution. To receive an accolade instead left me staggering.

I could think of nothing to say. I expected hanging; I had no plans for avoiding it. Granger considered for several long minutes, then shook his head. “I don’t see a solution, but that doesn’t mean one can’t be found. I received orders when we came into port: we leave again just as soon as we return to Plymouth. A short cruise only, perhaps two or three months. But to lose two of my three lieutenants now would be disastrous; it therefore follows that I must keep you both. By the time that is done, if no better answer has presented itself . . .” He sighed. “Then you will have to desert. And upon our return, I will make certain Byrom is condemned for what he has done.”

From the standpoint of the greater good, it was success. Byrom would be kept away from any position that might allow him to lead others to their deaths, and I would escape with my life. But I would lose everything else I valued.

The service.

Harry.

Simon could hope to keep something of his friend, even after marriage. But with Simon gone, what could Victoria hope for? Charity might move Harry to correspond occasionally with his friend’s invalid sister, but we could never meet. He would know me in an instant. And I could not bear to receive distant, cordial letters, when Harry had been closer to me than any save my own twin.

But my personal feelings did not signify. I had done what I must, and with that, I must be satisfied.

•   •   •

In the aftermath of my revelation to Granger, I wished at first that I might speak privately with Kate, without arousing her husband’s suspicions. We had once been great friends, before her family shifted to Italy; together we had gotten ourselves into no end of trouble by dressing as boys—that being part of the reason it was thought better to school her in a foreign country—and surely, if I were to share my woes with anyone, it should be her.

But Kate was out of my reach. And besides, it was not to her that I wished to unburden myself.

I found Harry avoiding the dancing—and, I rather suspected, his fiancée. What a fine pair we made: both of us miserable, for no cause we could publicly admit. He took gratefully to my suggestion that we walk outside. I could not tell him what troubled me, but at least I might take comfort in his company.

“I owe you an apology,” I said as we left the lights and laughter of the house behind. “For what I said before, regarding Miss Fanning.”

Harry shook his head, hands locked behind his back as if we paced the quarterdeck. “No, you were right to chide me. Such dishonesty was not fair to you, or to her.”

“Dishonesty!” The word burst from me, carried on something that was almost a laugh. “You didn’t lie, Harry. You simply . . .
postponed
a truth.” The brief ripple of merriment faded quickly. “No, I can hardly condemn you for that. Not when I have done so much worse.”

The admission was not one I had intended to make. Harry paused on the graveled walk, turning curious surprise on me. “Whatever do you mean, Simon?”

I should never have begun on this topic; having started, I could not stop. No, it went back further than that. It became too late the moment I opened my mouth to Granger, and let the weight of Byrom’s secret slip loose from where I had kept it stowed.

“I have lied to you, Harry. To everyone. I have no right to lecture anyone on matters of honesty.”

The startled silence that followed would not last, I knew. I had said too much. Harry could not possibly let the matter rest, not after that.

His reply, however, took my breath away. “I’m sure you had good reason.”

Another impulse to laugh, though I was not amused in the slightest. “Oh, no. I wish I could say it was so. But my reason is nothing more than a despicable urge to preserve my own skin.” Bitterness laced the admission, even more than I had shown in front of Granger.