The Wardroom - 24. Chapter 24

February 12, 1794

Granger strode into what had been his room, but was now Caroline's. He'd been in a foul mood since Travers left, and had stayed away from her, away from everyone, to sulk and wallow in his own misery. Why was this departure different? They'd been apart before. Why did this one seem so much more significant?

“George, how are you doing?” Caroline said, greeting him and inquiring about him at the same time.

Granger reached deep within himself and pulled himself out of his melancholy mood. There was no way he was going to torture Caroline with his bad mood because his male lover had been shipped out. “I'm fine dear.” He walked over to her bed and smiled down at her lovingly.

“You look so handsome,” she said.

“I'm off to Court with my father, to the levee,” Granger said. “My current assignment is to make sure those people in power understand the events at Toulon, understand what really happened.”

“Well, that is a good place to loiter,” she teased. “You will do well. Who could resist your good looks and charm?”

Granger laughed. “You think I should flirt with the King?”

“That would probably not be your best idea. Please do give him my regards though,” she said. “And now you must go. Your father is moody when he's late.”

“He is,” Granger said. “I'll come report in when I get back.” He kissed her then and headed down the stairs to meet his father. The Earl said nothing, but looked at his watch meaningfully. The carriage ride was short, and then they entered the palace. Granger thought back to when he'd first been presented to His Majesty, when he was still just a child, and how exciting and different the palace had seemed. Now this place just seemed so...familiar.

The King greeted them in a friendly manner, friendly enough to make people aware that he liked both of them, but not long enough to hamper them from talking to others. Everything was political, Granger thought cynically. He spent the next few hours moving through the room, greeting people and discussing Toulon. He knew everyone here, there was nothing new. It was a little dull, but Granger put on his game face and praised Hood most earnestly.

“George,” he heard a voice say, and turned to see Arthur, looking nervous. “Would you have time to chat this afternoon?”

Granger looked at him and nodded resignedly. “Would you like to leave here together when we're done?”

Arthur grinned boyishly. “That sounds terrific. Come find me when you're ready.”

Granger spotted Chatham and meandered over to him, just to make sure he saw him here, just to make sure he knew Granger was doing his job. “Good afternoon, my lord,” Granger said.

“Ah Granger. I was hoping to see you here. I have a new job for you. Come see me on the 15th, 9:00am,” Chatham said.

“Yes my lord,” Granger said, bowing respectfully. He made to leave but Chatham stopped him.

“You've done a nice job of chatting up Hood's performance. The press is taking care of the rest. You are going to Carlton House tomorrow night?” The Prince of Wales was hosting a soiree.

“I had planned to, my lord, unless you would prefer that I not,” Granger said.

“No no, by all means. There are a number of men waiting to win their money back,” he joked.

“Yes my lord,” Granger said, smiling, and amazed at his sources of information. The Earl left shortly after that, but Granger was determined to stay until at least Chatham left. In the end, he spent another two hours there, and was thoroughly exhausted by the time he tracked down Arthur.

“You certainly worked the room today,” Arthur teased.

“I had to answer a lot of questions about Toulon,” Granger said in a friendly way as he preceded Arthur into his coach.

“I was worried that you hated me,” Arthur said, more like a lovesick girl than a Member of Parliament.

“I don't hate you Arthur, but you put me in an awkward situation. Blackwell and I were becoming friends, and he trusted me enough to tell me about you. Then I find out you're in a monogamous relationship. Only we had fucked around,” Granger said.

“I know. I'm an asshole. I shouldn't have done it, but I couldn't resist you. I've wanted you for so long, and when I finally got the chance, there was no way I wasn't going to take it.” He sighed. “Monogamy was a bad idea. It's stupid when he's away.”

“Why isn't he in London?” Granger asked.

“What do you mean?” Arthur asked.

“He's been back, in Portsmouth, since I got back. Why isn't he here?”

“He was ordered to help organize and disperse the fleet and the crews,” Arthur said.

“You had him detained in Portsmouth,” Granger accused. “Why?”

“I did no such thing,” Arthur objected.

“Arthur, we've known each other much too long for us to bullshit each other. Why don't you want him back here?”

“I wanted to spend some time with you,” he said nervously.

“You kept him away so you and I could be together?” Granger asked him, incredulous.

“I wanted to spend a little time with you before...I can't explain it. I just can't,” he said. Granger remembered that he was dealing with someone embroiled in cabinet secrets, and that he knew much more than Granger did. Maybe he even knew about Granger's future plans? “Please George?” Then Arthur's hand was on his leg, moving up slowly, while his cute little face bobbed in front of Granger. Then he kissed Granger, and Granger remembered how good it felt to fuck Arthur. That and he'd been so glum, so moody since Travers left, and so cut off from a sexual outlet. Travers always did that to him, stoked his libido to a fever pitch, and now that he'd gone, Granger felt like a walking erection.

“I want to do this Arthur,” Granger said huskily, “I want to fuck you again.” Arthur moaned and pushed against him. “But I can't do this if you're with Blackwell.”

“How about if I promise to tell him we can't be monogamous when he gets back, and we both promise never to tell him about this,” Arthur said in between moans. He lowered his pants and turned around, offering himself to Granger. Granger felt his body take over, felt his lust surge, and he pushed into Arthur. Arthur was ready for him, begging for him, which told Granger a lot about how monogamous Arthur had really been while Blackwell was gone. It was good sex, a good fuck, a fun time, but that's all it was to Granger. Afterward, when he turned Arthur around and kissed him, he could tell it was a much bigger deal to Arthur.

“For you George, I would be monogamous,” he said.

“Well, you already have a lover,” Granger teased.

“And so do you,” Arthur said.

“What are you talking about?”

“John Travers. You love him. I could tell by the way you looked at him, the way you shuffled him around Carlton House, and by the way he stood and acted when you were mad at me. You said it. We've known each other so long, and much too well for bullshit,” Arthur said.

Granger could only stare at him, terrified. “Did other people notice?”

Arthur laughed. “No. You were the picture of decorum. Like I said, it's only because I know you so well, I've spent so much time studying your face, your expressions, that I could tell.”

“Did you get John posted to the Aurore to get rid of him too?” Granger asked in a really snippy way.

“That's not fair,” Arthur snapped back, pissed. “I did it for you, because he is important to you, because you love him.” Granger recognized his indignant look and knew he was telling the truth.

“And to apologize for the whole thing with Blackwell,” Granger said with a playful smile.

“And that too,” Arthur said.

“I do love him Arthur. I really do,” Granger said, opening up. He recognized the new emotions on Arthur's face now, a combination of sadness and jealousy, flavored by a genuine happiness for Granger's joy. “That was a really sweet and selfless thing you did.”

Arthur smiled and sat on his lap playfully. “Again,” he said.

“Now?” Granger asked, wondering if he'd be able to go again so soon. Arthur showed him that it wasn't a problem.

February 13-14, 1794

Carlton House was so much more fun than Court, Granger thought as he moved among groups of people, the alcohol making his walk a little less stable than normal and his speech slightly less precise. How much less stable and how much less precise was difficult to evaluate, considering he was the one doing it. Carlton House was also more expensive. He'd lost 5000 pounds tonight, half of his winnings from the last visit, but he'd lost it to the Prince of Wales, and that was a good thing.

“You're obliterated,” he heard a voice say, and turned to find Arthur Teasdale standing behind him. He had this tendency to just appear when Granger didn't expect him, something that Granger found exciting and stimulating, much to his surprise.

“Would you like to help me home?” Granger asked, trying to conceal his slutty look. He didn't do it well; he could tell by Arthur's expression.

“Careful,” Arthur cautioned. “Let's go.” Arthur led him out of the palace and to his own coach. It was just as well, Granger thought; otherwise he'd have had to hire a hackney. As soon as the coach began moving, Granger all but tackled Arthur, the alcohol removing any restraint on his hormones.

“What are you doing?” Arthur asked, laughing.

“I'm going to fuck you,” Granger said, then burped. They both laughed for a bit, but the lust reasserted itself and Granger grabbed Arthur again, kissed him roughly, very roughly. He pushed Arthur against the seat and pushed against him, thrusted against his clothed body forcefully, and felt Arthur yield like a ship yielded to the wind when she hove to. He heard Arthur moaning, felt his hands against his back, pulling him in, and then felt him somehow pivot around so his ass was against Granger’s groin. Then their pants were pulled down, only enough to expose Arthur's ass and to release Granger's dick, and Granger pushed into him. The entry was quick and rough, and the rest of the fuck mirrored that.

Granger found that the alcohol took away his inhibitions and also gave him more endurance, a potent cocktail indeed, as he pounded away at Arthur, then pulled them onto their sides and pounded at him that way. He heard words coming from his mouth, slutty, dirty words, and that fired him up as much as it fired Arthur up. His hand reached around and pulled Arthur's trousers down and found his cute small penis. Then he began to stroke Arthur quickly in time with his own thrusts.

Arthur stiffened, both his body and his cock, and he began to shoot his wad all over the seat of the coach. Granger rode his orgasm, fucked him all the way through it, and finally felt his own arise and rode that through too. The alcohol had dulled that too, though, because it wasn't as intense as it could have been, or should have been. Arthur didn't seem to notice or care, he just lay there and whimpered, his body limp and submissive, as Granger, stiff and strong, ejaculated in him.

“George,” Arthur panted. “George, you make me feel so amazing.”

“That's because you are amazing,” Granger said, finding that this fuck had sobered him a little bit. And now, sober and spent, he found he wanted, he needed to get away from Arthur and this tryst. The coach conveniently stopped, and with a rudimentary goodbye, he was able to extricate himself from Arthur and head up the steps. He paused at the door, clearing his head. Sex with Arthur was great, but he felt that same, nagging guilt that he'd felt the last time they'd fucked. Fucking Arthur brought some advantages: it was good sex, and good politics. But it was also fraught with guilt. Guilt for betraying Caroline, and Travers, not to mention Blackwell, who still hadn't managed to make it back to London. He sighed resignedly, opened the door and started walking up the stairs.

He was halfway up to the first flight when he heard a scream. Caroline. He panicked then, and ran up that flight, ignoring the footman who tried to stop him, and the maid who got in his way when he burst into her room. There, surrounded by three old shrews, the midwives, was Caroline. She was on her back, her legs spread wide, as she screamed again.

One of the ladies turned and growled at him. “Gentlemen will leave the room at once.” Caroline looked up at him, her head raised, and their eyes met. It was time. He strode over to her, ignoring the wrath of the midwives, something that took considerable courage.

He bent over and kissed his wife and grabbed her hand firmly. “I love you Caroline. I'll be right outside, waiting.” She smiled at him and nodded, and then he turned to the midwives. “I must beg your pardon ladies.” One of them cackled at him as he left.

Granger retired to his bedroom and stripped down to his shirt and trousers, trying to relax. He lay there propped up in his bed with the door open, listening to Caroline's screams as she underwent the pain of childbirth. He'd never felt so powerless before, nor so guilty. Not only had he fucked Travers, and Arthur, and several other men, he'd fucked her and that had visited all of this pain on her. He felt someone looking at him and raised his head up to see Michel staring in nervously. He patted the bed next to him and the boy enthusiastically bounded across the room and landed next to him.

“Will Maman be alright?” he asked.

Granger smiled at him. “She will be fine. She is giving birth to a brother or sister for you.”

“I hope it is a brother. I do not like girls,” he said emphatically. Rather like me, Granger thought with an internal grin.

“Well the die is cast, so we shall see. Now we must wait patiently while she goes through the process,” Granger said. The boy curled up next to him and Granger wrapped his arm around him protectively, his paternal instincts surging as he bonded with his adopted son and waited for his newest family member.

Granger dozed in and out of sleep, awakening when Caroline cried out, but then drifting back off to sleep. He looked at the clock. 9am. He’d been back for six hours now, and had no idea how long this had been going on while he'd been at Carlton House. He found that he was hungry, and as if on cue, Michel woke up and bounded downstairs to eat, and Granger got up to follow him.

There was a maid outside Caroline's door, so Granger stopped to ask her if there was news. “No sir,” she said politely. “She's just trying to work the baby out. Don't you worry. We'll find you as soon as she has it.” Granger thanked her and headed down to eat, the anticipation, the waiting churning his psyche.

“Good morning George. What a wonderful event! I heard Caroline is in labor,” his mother said as he walked into the room.

“She's been yelling and crying for hours now,” Granger said sadly.

His mother smiled. “Having children is painful, especially the first one, but they are worth it.” She patted his hand lovingly. “I received a letter from my father yesterday.”

“How is he doing?” Granger asked. His grandfather was a mystery to him. Admiral Sir Richard Lammert, whose command of the West Indies Station was due to end soon. He'd been overseas for most of Granger's life, and Granger really had no memory of the man at all.

“He is fine. He has acclimated himself to the Caribbean and seems destined to stay there. It is rumored that he will be posted as governor of Jamaica, but we will see. He sends you his regards and says that he is proud of you. Evidently the papers touting your exploits reached him there.”

Granger couldn't help but smile at that. “That is nice of him.”

“You must write to him,” she said. “It is so sad to have him so far away, but he has adapted to the weather and the life in the tropics.” Granger smiled at his mother. He knew the story of his parents’ marriage. Granger's grandfather was the third son of a second son of the Duke of Richmond, so he had royal Stuart blood, or a smidgen of it, in his veins. But being a junior sibling gave him no great wealth or estate, so he'd gone off and earned it himself, with good luck in the form of prize money, and good investments in the form of plantations in the West Indies. The chance to marry his daughter off to a titled aristocrat was worth a lot to him, and the dowry his mother had brought to the marriage had gone a long way to enhancing the fortunes of the Bridgemonts.

“I will Mother,” Granger said. They chatted amiably but Granger was distracted, his mind two floors up on Caroline. There was a bustling in the hallway and one of the midwives burst into the room, a huge smile on her face.

“Your ladyship,” she said, acknowledging the Countess. Then she turned to Granger. “You have a son, sir. A fine, healthy baby boy.” Granger felt the grin break on his face and savored the joy. He had a son. A son!

“How is my wife?” he asked nervously.

“Tired and worn out,” she said. “She's not fit for visitors.”

They'd kept him out of the birthing process; they would not keep him out now. He got up and bounded up the stairs, throwing decorum to the winds, and burst into the room.

“Mrs. Granger is not ready to receive visitors,” snarled one of the midwives as they hovered around Caroline's crotch.

“I'm not a visitor, I'm her husband, and I'm not leaving,” he said firmly, and went to her side. “How are you?”

“We have a son!” she exclaimed joyously. The primary job of an aristocratic family, to propagate the line with a male heir, a burden that unfairly fell on women to accomplish, and Caroline had done it.

“You did so well,” he said. “I am so proud of you.” There was a noisy bundle there and they handed the baby to Caroline. Granger stared at the little baby boy and felt those feelings surge in him, the same parental instincts he'd felt with Michel. The baby was red and ugly, but to Granger, he was the most beautiful thing in the world. Caroline passed the baby to him, and he held this being, this being that he would gladly die for, this being that would dominate his thinking and his life from there on out. Then the baby cried, and Granger reluctantly gave him back to the midwives, who took him away to the wet nurse who would feed him.

“What shall we name him?” Caroline asked.

“I learned you were pregnant with him when I was at a dinner in Naples with Sir William Hamilton and Horatio Nelson. I'd like to name him William Horatio George, the George not for me, but for the Prince of Wales, if you're a Whig, or the King, if you're a Tory.”

She laughed at that. “I like it. William it is.”

The whole house was abuzz at this birth, the first grandson of the Earl of Bridgemont, even though he was born to the Earl's youngest son. The days ahead would no doubt be spent receiving visitors and congratulations, but today the buzz was all internal.

The Earl and Countess were thrilled, as was to be expected, but even Freddie seemed pleased. This had to be awkward for him. As the oldest son, it would be assumed that he'd be married and be on his way to producing an heir, but that hadn't happened. Caroline told him that her parents had wanted to marry her off to Freddie but she had point-blank refused. He couldn't blame her. Freddie had his good qualities, but none of those were likely to entrance a future bride, at least not one with Caroline's spirit. So the women he'd consider marrying, or his parents would consider marrying him to, more to the point, were not interested in him.

It was late in the afternoon when a carriage arrived carrying another surprise. Jeffers arrived with Poulin and Meurice. They entered the house to find it at the peak of excitement, and their surprise was both obvious and understandable.

“I see Jeffers helped you gentlemen get here,” Granger said cheerfully. “It is good to see you Mr. Poulin, and a pleasant surprise that you are here as well Mr. Meurice.”

“I am glad you think so sir,” said Meurice. “I wanted to see this London we heard so much about, and it was boring just lying about in harbor.”

“Well good for you,” Granger told him. “I've told the Admiralty that you're a good resource for naval architecture, so perhaps I can introduce you to the First Lord and you can impress him yourself.” Whoever had taught Meurice English had done him an immeasurable favor.

“Thank you sir,” he said, smiling.

“Begging your pardon sir,” Jeffers said. “Why is there so much activity?”

“My wife gave birth to a healthy baby boy just this morning,” Granger said, the grin just blasting through any shields he tried to put up. “She is fine as well. A happy day!”

The three of them exploded with effusive congratulations, even though none of them were fathers. They spent a good half hour chattering excitedly, like people do on the continent about such things. Then Granger introduced them to his parents, which had a sobering effect on them. Even as foreigners they understood power and influence.

“It has been a long trip for you,” Granger finally said thoughtfully. “You would like to rest?”

“We would not want to impose on your hospitality,” Poulin said.

“Nonsense,” Granger said. “We were expecting you, and we have even had rooms made up for you.” Granger looked over at Jeffers, at his strong body, and felt the lust rise within him. Jeffers caught his eye and smiled slightly, then regained his stoic countenance. “Have you given any thought to fitting out a privateer?”

“We have,” Poulin said. They wanted to purchase a beautiful brig, the Amelie, which they'd brought back from Toulon. Granger smiled. She was a superb craft for the mission. She was well armed, but fast and handy, more than a match for anything but an Indiaman, and even then, with a determined crew, she'd prevail. “We are concerned that she will be bought into service,” he said.

Granger thought about that. It was entirely possible that the Admiralty would buy her into the navy. “Lord Chatham has expressed a desire to invest in your venture,” Granger said, grinning. “Perhaps he can prevail on the navy to allow you to purchase her.”

Poulin gaped at him. “The First Lord wants to back us?” Meurice hadn't gotten the connection until then, so his mouth fell open as well.

“He wants to consider it. I am scheduled to see him tomorrow, so I will show him your plan and see if he is interested,” Granger said.

“Thank you sir,” Poulin said. The poor man was overcome.

“I haven't done anything yet, so let us wait and see. In the meantime, if the Amelie is not an option, you must keep your eyes open for another,” he told them.

Granger led them up to their rooms, Poulin and Meurice, and then led Jeffers to his. “I'm staying with you sir?” he asked with a grin.

“If you don't mind,” Granger said.

“Not at all sir. It will be my pleasure.”

“I certainly hope so,” Granger teased.

Dinner that night was a fabulous affair, quite celebratory. In addition to Granger's parents and brother, the two Frenchmen joined them, as did Caroline's parents. But the biggest surprise of all was Caroline, who managed to make it as well. She sat next to Granger, looking haggard and exhausted but very happy and very proud.

“So where did this name William come from?” Lord Heathford asked. “This comes from your side of the family, Bridgemont?”

“We're a family of Georges and Fredericks,” the Earl said jovially, always the good host.

“I learned that Caroline was pregnant while I was in Naples, and it was such a happy moment I framed it forever in my mind. I was with Sir William Hamilton and Captain Horatio Nelson, so we decided to commemorate the event,” Granger said evenly.

“And I suppose ‘George’ is for you?” Heathford asked. Granger hid his irritation. He decided that it was inevitable that a man would find his in-laws annoying, especially if that in-law was Lord Heathford.

“Actually it was for His Majesty,” Granger said, shutting him up quite neatly, and getting a wink from Caroline. “You look tired dear,” he said to her.

“I fear I am still fatigued,” she said, as if it were incredibly lazy of her to not sit through dinner after giving birth this morning.

“Your room must be ready now,” the Countess said politely. “Allow me to escort you.”

“Thank you Mother, but I'll help her,” Granger said. He helped Caroline up and led her to the drawing room, which had been converted into a bedroom for her use. She'd be receiving guests tomorrow, so this way she could receive them on the ground floor.

“I'm sorry about my father George. He loves his family at least,” she said.

“You have no reason to apologize. Besides, he and Freddie are kindred spirits,” he teased. He helped her into bed and kissed her gently. “And now you must rest. I am so very proud of you.”

She smiled at him sweetly. “Thank you George. I couldn't be happier.”

He returned to the table and had just resumed eating when his father-in-law opted to broach a different subject. “I understand you're turning Brentwood into a peasant's utopia.”

“Hardly,” Granger said. “I just thought the village should look like an English village and not a Russian one.”

Lord Heathford's eyes bulged at the backhanded insult, while his wife's eyebrows rose. “Well it is your income that will suffer such extravagances.”

“True,” Granger said pleasantly, “but that will be short-lived. Once we have invested some money and effort into the property, we expect the rents to be even higher, and the quality of life for our tenants will be bearable.”

Granger got a dirty look from his mother, not for contradicting Heathford, but for talking about something so crass as money and rents at the table, and in front of guests. “So what part of France are you from?” she asked Poulin and Meurice.

“I am from Toulon, my lady,” Poulin said simply. Granger had assumed that he was from that general area, since he knew about Michel and his family.

“And I am from Brittany, my lady,” Meurice said pleasantly. “I grew up near Brest, and spent my youth exploring the shipyards.”

“Well now that you're in England you can learn how to build ships the right way,” Freddie said ignorantly.

“Actually, French ships are noted for their advanced design and their construction rivals ours,” Granger said, defending his friends from his unfeeling brother.

“Then why does the French navy consistently lose battles to us, even against overwhelming odds?” Freddie persisted. Granger pushed his anger back to observe the people at the table. His parents were intensely irritated, mostly because their guests were being treated rudely at their table. It was only a matter of time before one of them intervened. Lady Heathford looked oblivious, while Freddie and Lord Heathford were thoroughly enjoying themselves.

“Begging your pardon my lord,” Poulin said, “but we do not always lose. In the last war, as I recall, it was a French naval victory that made the military defeat at Yorktown inevitable.” Being reminded of Yorktown was always a good way to shut up a blustering Englishman, Granger thought.

“Perhaps,” Meurice said quickly, covering over Poulin's snippy response, “but the real reasons are many. Most of the problems come from resources, or lack thereof. France is dominated by the army, so the navy gets the leftovers. We also do not have a huge merchant marine to draw experienced sailors from. And more recently, many of the officers have been guillotined, or fled.”

“How did you escape such a fate?” Heathford asked. “You're not a Jacobin are you?”

“I will not allow my guests to be insulted in my house,” the Countess asserted strongly, shocking everyone at the table.

“I must thank your ladyship,” Poulin said smoothly, “but we are not Jacobins. I think we were lucky in that we were too junior to worry about, no?”

“Sadly that is correct,” Meurice agreed, joking. Dinner seemed to end shortly after that, with the Heathfords departing, much to Granger's relief, and the Earl pulling Freddie out of the room to no doubt remind him to mind his manners.

“I must apologize gentlemen,” the Countess said sincerely. “You are my guests, and I want you to feel welcome.”

“Think nothing of it, my lady,” Meurice said. He had an innate charm about him that was quite endearing. “I must thank you, nonetheless, for coming to our defense.”

Granger went in to check on Caroline and found her sleeping soundly, and then escorted his French guests upstairs to their rooms. After that he was finally able to escape to his bedroom where he found Jeffers waiting for him in his bed, naked and hard.