HMS Belvidera - 4. Chapter 4

July 9, 1795

“They say she always invites each captain to dinner before he sails,” Caroline said to her husband proudly. “She's made it a tradition.” They had just come home from dinner with the Earl and Countess Spencer.

“I have heard that as well,” Granger observed with a smile. “But it is unheard of for her to invite the captain's wife as well. Lavinia Spencer must think quite highly of you.”

Caroline actually blushed slightly. “She is a lovely woman, well-bred and cultured. I try to spend time with her when I see her at functions. Her conversation is stimulating.”

“More stimulating than a night with me?” Granger asked in his randy tone.

“Nothing is more stimulating than that George, but that will have to wait. You must go to Carlton House to take your leave of the Prince,” she admonished.

“This is my last night before I sail,” Granger said, more of a whine, to his wife.

“George, you know how much I want to spend this time with you, but you must go take your leave of His Royal Highness,” Caroline responded insistently. “You went to see the King, you must go see the Prince of Wales.”

Granger looked at his wife, knowing that she was right, but irked at having to adjust his schedule to assuage the insecurities of the Royal family. “You will join me?”

“I am feeling tired,” she lied. “You go. Dinner with the Spencers was quite enough for one evening. Wake me up when you get back.” That last comment was made with a suggestive smile.

“I will do that,” Granger said, smiling back, then adjusted his full dress uniform into position, making sure his cravat was tied just so. “I will try to be home early.” Then he kissed her on the cheek and headed to the glittering world of Carlton House.

Granger walked into the palace following his booming introduction from the chamberlain and made a quick survey of the room. As he made his way over to the Prince, he saw a man he hadn't seen for quite some time: The Duke of Clarence. The third son of King George, and third in line to inherit the throne, he was much-loved by the navy as he had chosen that service for his own career. Most of the royals chose the army, but Clarence had bucked the trend. He was wearing a naval uniform, the uniform of an admiral, of course, and looking quite splendid and quite youthful, an achievement considering he was already 32 years old or so. What was more surprising than seeing him, though, was seeing whom he was talking to. There, supplicating himself in front of the Duke, was Arthur. Granger made his way over to them and caught the Duke's eye. He bowed low, almost as low as he did to the Prince, but not quite.

“Granger! It's been years since I've seen you. The last time you were but an adolescent toddling about after your father,” the Duke said good-naturedly.

“Sadly then, Your Royal Highness, it has been too many years,” Granger said with a smile.

“You've grown into quite a handsome and dashing young officer. I read about your exploits, then I get to listen to Fox try and make them sound like nothing,” he joked. Granger laughed with him. “You must call on me when you are next in port.”

“It would be a privilege to do so, Your Royal Highness,” Granger said politely. He had never spent much time at Clarence House, and would have felt uncomfortable appearing there without an express invitation. “Sadly, I sail tomorrow so I shan't be able to impose upon your hospitality until I return.”

“Well, that gives me something to look forward to,” he said gregariously. “You know Teasdale?”

“Arthur and I are old friends, sir,” Granger said. He saw the Duke's eyebrow rise a bit at that.

“Captain Granger and I attended school together,” Arthur said helpfully. Did the Duke look disappointed?

“Ah well, friends are a luxury most of us don't have,” the Duke said, then peered about, a clear sign the interview was over.

“I suspect you are being much too modest, sir,” Granger said, almost flirting. “I must thank you again for your invitation. I will be sure to call next time I am in London.”

“See that you do,” he said, with fake severity. Granger bowed and backed away from this man who could ultimately be his sovereign someday, and headed off to see his older brother, who almost assuredly would. Granger approached the gaming table cautiously, wondering if his luck would stand him in good stead this time.

“Ah Granger,” the Prince of Wales said in a friendly manner. “You must be here to relieve our boredom.”

“To the best of my abilities, Your Royal Highness,” Granger said, bowing low. “I sail tomorrow, but I wanted to pay my respects before I departed.”

“Most thoughtful of you,” the Prince said hastily. “Here, Portland's been on a run, take some of his money.”

“More gold leaf for the Belvidera, Granger?” the Duke of Portland teased.

“With good fortune and Your Grace's purse, I should hope so,” Granger said, making them all laugh. And indeed he was fortunate, winning back the 2000 pounds he'd lost last time and gaining 2000 more.

“Indeed you are expensive,” the Earl Fitzwilliam said.

“I hope I am worth it, my lord,” Granger said, almost flirting, and getting more laughter.

“You certainly do socialize a lot for someone on active duty,” came a familiar voice.

“It is hard to resist the chance to enjoy your charming company, Mr. Fox,” Granger replied cheekily.

Fox smiled. “I hear you're to be joining Admiral Jervis in the Mediterranean. He's an old friend of mine. We've corresponded about you at length.”

“It is an honor to serve under Sir John,” Granger replied formally, wondering where Fox was going with this.

“We will see who is right about you, me or him,” Fox said with an evil grin.

“Having had the pleasure of meeting both of you, you will forgive me if I place my hopes on Sir John's judgment,” Granger said, gently slamming Fox.

“As well you should,” Fox said. He bowed to the Prince, and nodded to the others.

“Granger, you even make the right enemies,” the Prince said, sending them all into fits of laughter again. Granger played Hazard a while longer and managed to retain his winnings, then took his leave of the Prince. He was hoping to find Arthur, both to question him about his interactions with the Duke of Clarence and for more carnal reasons, but he was nowhere to be found. In the end, Granger left unsatisfied on both counts, but he woke Caroline up when he got home just as he had promised, and she made it well worth his while.

July 10, 1795

The carriage rolled through the streets and up to the dockyard at Woolwich. Granger took a moment to think about how London smelled of horses, and horse manure, and found himself longing for the crisp sea air. Well, he thought, he'd get his wish soon enough, yet then, when he was at sea, he'd spend his time longing for home. He was destined to torture himself, to ensure that no matter where he was, he was unhappy.

A marine guard glanced in and saw Granger's single epaulet on his right shoulder, snapped to attention, and let him pass. The man he'd saluted sat there stoically, trying to grapple with the emotional turmoil he'd just endured, and bracing himself for the turmoil still to come.

Granger allowed himself a sigh, the one personal sign of frustration and anguish he permitted himself, and even that was rarely seen in public. He'd just finished saying goodbye to Caroline and his parents, and held his little son and daughter one more time before climbing into the coach and heading off to the dockyard. This goodbye would be just as hard. This is where he'd have to say goodbye to Calvert.

The carriage pulled up to the dock and there, tied up next to the pier, was HMS Intrepid, his first ship, now commanded by his lover. Granger smiled at that, at the sight of Intrepid. He had achieved some great things in that little ship, and she'd been a happy and willing warrior. He hopped out of the carriage, headed over to the gangway, and walked aboard his former vessel.

“Good morning sir,” said a lieutenant he did not know. “I'm Lieutenant Galbraith. Can I help you?”

“George Granger,” he said simply. “I'm here to see Captain Calvert.”

“It's an honor to meet you sir,” he said with wide eyes that bordered on hero worship. That was really flattering, and Granger found himself warming up to this lieutenant, even though he was actually quite ugly. He had a pock-marked face, teeth that looked almost rotten and brown hair that was mousy in color. Granger smiled, thinking this was just the kind of man he'd like to see Calvert stuck with. Someone he wouldn't want to fuck. “Allow me to show you below.”

“I can find my way, Mr. Galbraith,” Granger said with a wry smile. “I suspect I still know this ship as well as my own face.”

“Yes sir,” he said, grinning. Still, there was a certain charm about him that did much to erase his ugliness. Granger descended to the main deck, down the familiar ladder, and back to the cabin that had once been his. There was no marine here to guard the door yet, and in fact there were very few men about at all.

Granger knocked on the door and heard Calvert growl “Enter!” Granger walked in and found Calvert in his day cabin, surrounded by paperwork. His eyes lit up, followed by his face and that magnificent smile of his, as soon as he saw Granger. “George! What a wonderful surprise!”

“I am on my way to the Admiralty, and I will be sailing shortly after that. I wanted to come and say goodbye first, both to you and to Intrepid,” Granger said evenly, working very hard to keep the emotion from his voice.

Calvert stood up and extended his hand to Granger, who took it willingly. Then Calvert led him into the sleeping cabin where they'd spent so many nights together. The door was closed then, and they were in each other's arms, their lips meeting, their bodies pushing together as if trying to physically merge into one. They didn't have much time, so they coupled quickly, expressing their love in a rapid but satisfying tryst. “I miss you so much already,” Calvert said.

“My world feels empty without you,” Granger said, letting his guard down. “But I am so happy for you, and so proud of you.”

“You can be proud of me when I find a crew. It's not easy finding seamen in the middle of a war,” Calvert said wryly. Manning a ship was usually a tough effort. Granger had been lucky this time around, but he knew what Calvert was going through.

“It seems to me that a very clever lieutenant of mine helped me solve my own manning problem when I first took command of this ship,” Granger said, reminding Calvert of his successful plan to waylay returning merchant seamen. “Perhaps you should solicit advice from your new lieutenant?”

“Perhaps I should,” Calvert said, grinning.

“I must take my leave of you. I will not be popular if I keep Lord Spencer waiting,” Granger said. They kissed one last time.

“I love you George, and I always will. Remember that,” Calvert said so earnestly it threatened to break Granger's strong shields down.

“I love you too Francis. That is something that will not change.” One final kiss, and then Granger strode quickly from the cabin, pausing outside the door to collect himself before ascending to the upper deck, and to wipe the water from his eyes before it turned into tears. “Best of luck to you Mr. Galbraith,” Granger said as he climbed to the main deck, pretending to be cheerful, then he left Intrepid and jumped into his carriage. “Admiralty,” he said simply to the coachman.

Granger leaned back into the soft leather seat and tried to focus his mind on the task ahead, on meeting with Spencer, and away from his sadness at leaving Calvert. He felt Calvert's semen leaking out of his ass and that made him smile, and the smile made him forget the pain long enough to pull himself together. Just a few days ago he'd been planning to sail to India with Calvert. Instead, he was going to the Mediterranean without him. He was hard pressed to decide which he preferred. The carriage pulled up in front of the Admiralty, forcing Granger to cut his ruminations short.

“Will you need me further sir?” The coachman asked as Granger leaped out gracefully.

“No, you may return to Bridgemont House,” Granger said. He'd take his gig from the Admiralty steps straight to Belvidera when he was finished at the Admiralty. He passed through the gates, acknowledging the Marines with an almost imperceptible nod, and went to sign the register. He was early. It was only 9:45am. “Captain George Granger to see Lord Spencer, by appointment,” he wrote on the register, then turned to see the Admiralty waiting room crowded almost to capacity. Granger was thankful that he had a ship. He felt sorry for these officers who spent days at a time lurking here, begging for an appointment to a ship, any ship.

He scanned the room and noticed there were men of most ranks and ages. He spied a young midshipman in the corner, and a post captain sitting near the front. The man had an epaulet on each shoulder, marking him as a captain with more than three years' seniority. He looked older, probably in his 40's, and Granger would have gone up and paid his respects had the man not given him an unfriendly glare. Not having a ship in the middle of this conflict would make a man bitter and cranky, Granger reasoned. And if he learned that Granger, a man not quite twenty years old, had been given command of one of the best frigates in the fleet, he would probably be less than civil. Granger recognized none of the other people there, so he found a spot off to the side, immersing himself in his own thoughts, carefully avoiding thinking about Calvert and how much he already missed him. His mind flowed to Belvidera, trying to think of things he needed to check on. Having Calvert stripped away from him had left the burden of going to sea squarely on his shoulders. He didn't know Grafton well enough yet to trust him with the details.

“His lordship will see you now, sir,” a clerk said, pulling Granger out of his daze. Granger stood up, ignoring the jealous looks from those in the room, and followed the clerk. He walked down the familiar hall and into the familiar office, but the scene that greeted him was anything but what he expected. It shocked him so much it threatened to blow away his normally calm composure.

“Welcome, Granger. I believe you know Captain Travers?” Granger stared at him, their eyes meeting and twinkling, until Travers' assumed a more steely look, reminding Granger that they were here in the presence of the First Lord. Still, Granger could not take his eyes off of Travers' handsome face with his nose that had that same look found on Dutchmen, a bump in the middle. He allowed his gaze to flit lower, taking in his strong calves that bulged out his stockings, and remembering what was hidden behind those snow white trousers he was wearing.

“He was my mentor when I first went to sea, my lord,” Granger said calmly. “It is good to see you sir.”

“It is good to see you as well,” Travers said, shaking his hand. The feel of his hand combined with his smooth deep voice sent tingles up and down Granger's spine.

Spencer turned to address Granger. “You'll be sailing in company. Aurore is in Portsmouth, so you'll need to head there at once. There you'll convoy three troop transports. They are bound for the Cape, to reinforce the expedition there.” Granger digested that. He'd be sent damn near to India anyway. “Aurore will stay with you until you reach Madeira, then she'll head for the Mediterranean. You will convoy the transports to St. Helena, where they'll rendezvous with the other troops already on their way. Then I want you to return with the in-bound East India convoy if it's there. If not, you can sail alone.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” Granger said. It was a long, dreary task, but Granger hid his dismay.

“After you return, I will send you off to the Mediterranean where you will be Sir John's problem,” Spencer said, pretending to be grouchy.

“We will miss you, my lord,” Granger said playfully, hitting Spencer's mood just right. Then he turned to Travers. “Captain, perhaps you would like to sail to Portsmouth aboard Belvidera. It will save His Majesty the cost of a post chaise.”

Travers looked to Spencer, who nodded. “Very well,” he said curtly.

“Then good day to you, gentlemen,” Spencer said.

“My lord,” they said, almost in unison, and walked out of the Admiralty. Granger couldn't trust himself to talk to Travers in the building; he waited until they got outside. Only there was the crowd waiting to see him, having recognized his gig at the steps. They crowded around them, clapping him on the back and uttering encouraging words. Granger was worried that Travers would be jealous of all this attention, but a sideways look at him showed that he was amused and possibly sympathetic. Finally they were at the gig, and Granger thankfully remembered to take off his hat in thanks to this mob that had once again made him so uncomfortable.

“So you're joining the Mediterranean Fleet?” Travers asked. There was a tension between them, a tension that had come from being lovers that had found other people to fill the void they left in each other. Lovers who had been apart for a long time.

“Yes sir, after a bit of a detour,” Granger said. “It seems that I'm the only aristocrat Sir John likes, so they're sending me out to see if I can't change his mind about that.” Travers laughed, and that helped melt away some of the tension. “I hope you don't mind me suggesting you join us.”

“Not at all, George. It will be wonderful to spend some time with you, and to see this ship of yours. She's been the talk of the fleet,” Travers said.

“She is a different ship now, with a fine crew and a new group of officers,” Granger said, almost defensively.

“If anyone can restore her rightful reputation, it will be you,” Travers said, his praise so genuine it was almost overwhelming.

“Thank you sir,” Granger said. The gig rounded the bend and Belvidera came into sight. The morning sun hit her gold leaf just right, making it appear as if the whole ship were glimmering.

“A beautiful ship,” Travers said, swallowing. “She seems longer than most frigates her size.”

“She is. A full ten feet longer than a standard 32,” Granger said. “It seems she was a one-off design by Forfait, their best naval architect. I was surprised to see the differences in her construction.”

“Indeed?” Travers asked. His own ship, Aurore, was a French-built, 32-gun frigate as well, but of an older design. They quickly fell into a conversation, that of two captains talking about the technical aspects of their ships, not two lovers trying to break through the void that separated them.

“Her knees are different, almost a British derivative, and structurally she is more like our ships as well. Rumor has it the French were experimenting with a stronger design for ships sent overseas. Evidently she was intended for service in the Caribbean or the Far East,” Granger said. He'd gotten this info from one of his bosun's mates, Hercule, a Frenchman who had joined the King's service and been with Granger since the siege of Toulon.

“That is fascinating,” Travers said. “You'll have to show me. We've had problems with Aurore, with her lack of stiffness. Maybe this is how they've solved that.”

“Maybe,” Granger agreed. “In any event, I'm looking forward to seeing how she sails. This will be our first voyage in the open seas. So far I've only been able to sail her on the Thames.” Travers laughed, but Granger didn't have time to respond. The gig hooked on to Belvidera's chains, and Travers climbed out of the gig, and up Belvidera's side. The time-honored tradition of the navy, senior officers last into a boat and first out. Granger thought back to the first day he'd joined the Navy, when Travers had collected him from the shore and had explained the rule to him.

Granger heard the bosun's whistles as Travers was received on board, and as soon as they stopped, he climbed up as well. Granger was greeted by not two lieutenants, but four. Grafton and Carslake were there as he expected, but there were two additional officers, and Granger knew them both.

“Greetings gentlemen,” Granger said in a friendly but cautious manner. “This is Captain John Travers. He will be joining us on our brief voyage to Portsmouth.” Granger turned to Travers. “Captain, allow me to introduce these officers. Mr. Grafton and Mr. Carslake, my second and third lieutenants.” Travers acknowledged them as a Captain should, with a minimum of ceremony. “This is Lieutenant Meurice. He returned to England with me aboard the Commerce de Marseilles.”

“I believe we met when I dined aboard the flagship,” Travers said. “It is good to see you again Mr. Meurice.”

“The pleasure is mine, sir,” Meurice said.

“And this is Lieutenant Merrick. I met Mr. Merrick at Carlton House. Welcome aboard Mr. Merrick,” Granger said, wondering why he was here.

“Thank you sir. A pleasure to meet you, Captain,” Merrick said to Travers. Travers nodded.

“While I am glad to have both of you aboard,” Granger said to Merrick and Meurice, “I am wondering why I have this rare honor?” He suddenly realized that he was discussing their presence on the quarterdeck in front of everyone, and that was hardly consistent with his dignity. “Please come below and explain it to me. Mr. Grafton, we'll be sailing as soon as the tide turns. Please prepare the ship for departure.”

“Aye aye sir,” Grafton said. Everything Granger had seen of Grafton so far had shown him to be an excellent officer. It would be good to see him actually conning Belvidera when they were at sea, to see if his seamanship matched his organizational ability. Granger nodded and guided the others down to his cabin.

The marine guard snapped to attention as they passed the threshold, and then they found a surprised Winkler there, packing away his final batch of stores. “Winkler, you are still following Granger around?” Travers asked jovially.

“I am sir. I am not sure whether it is voluntary, or due to the chains shackled to my limbs,” Winkler said, being cheeky. Granger rolled his eyes.

“Captain Travers will be sharing my quarters, especially since the wardroom seems to be quite crowded,” Granger observed. He gestured to all of them to be seated in his office. He said nothing, just looked at the lieutenants, waiting for an explanation.

They looked at each other nervously, and then Merrick spoke first. “I have orders from the Admiralty sir,” he said, reaching into his pocket and producing the document written on the familiar stationary used only by the Admiralty. “I am to seek passage with you sir, in the hopes that we encounter Marlborough. If we do not, I am to remain aboard, as one of your officers.”

Granger smiled at him, trying to help him relax. “Well then, perhaps we can induce Captain Travers to set a course well clear of the Channel Fleet.” Merrick smiled at that, happy to feel welcomed. The clause about finding Marlborough was Spencer's thoughtful way of giving Granger a way out if he found Merrick unsatisfactory. No good would come of pointing that out to Merrick, or of making him insecure about his tenure aboard Belvidera. “Who is the senior, you or Mr. Grafton?”

“I am sir,” Merrick said.

“Then until further notice, you will assume the duties of First Lieutenant,” Granger said.

“Aye aye sir,” Merrick said, grinning. Granger noticed how his freckles seemed to elongate as he did and his skin stretched. He really was a handsome man. No wonder Arthur had targeted him.

“And what about you, Mr. Meurice?” Granger asked. He really liked Meurice, an expert on ship design and currently attached to the Navy Board.

“Belvidera, as she is now called, is a unique design, incorporating several architectural advances, sir,” Meurice said. “I am ordered to study her as we sail down Channel, then report back to their Lordships.”

“I am surprised this wasn't done before,” Granger noted. “Belvidera has been in the King's service for some time now.”

“It is my understanding that there was some sort of breakdown in communication, sir,” Meurice said with a smile. They all chuckled, yet none of them were surprised at this failure. The Admiralty was the largest corporation in England, responsible for maintaining and directing the largest fleet in the world. That such a detail would fall through the cracks was understandable, if unusual.

“It will be interesting to hear your observations,” Granger said. “Your suggested modifications to Intrepid proved quite effective. I trust you will not hesitate to share any ideas you have.”

“No sir. I mean, yes sir,” Meurice said. His English was very good now, much better than it had been when they'd arrived in England.

“Excellent. Mr. Merrick, I would be obliged if you would see that Lieutenant Meurice is accommodated in the Wardroom,” Granger said cautiously. The Wardroom was the exclusive province of the officers, a place where a ship's captain did not interfere.

“With pleasure sir,” Merrick said.

“When does the tide change?” Granger asked, perhaps testing Merrick, perhaps just seeking this vital piece of information.

Merrick pulled out his watch. “At 1:04pm sir,” he said. “That's in slightly more than one hour.”

Granger nodded, impressed. “Well then, I will see you on deck in one hour, and we will get underway,” he said, dismissing them. They filed out, and finally Granger was alone with Travers. Granger stood up and held out his hand, which Travers took, then led him into his sleeping cabin.

Now they were ensconced in this bastion of privacy, finally able to let their guards down. Granger moved up to this man that he loved, their eyes connecting as they started to repair the bond that time and distance had impaired. They moved closer and closer to each other, until their lips met, softly, tentatively at first, until the passion was aroused in both of them. They wrapped their arms around each other, embracing passionately.

They broke off their kiss as if by mutual consent and just looked into each other's eyes. There was a time when these two men, aroused to this level, would have ripped their clothes off and coupled frantically, but this was not one of those times. Too much time had passed, too much was still unsaid, and both were too proud to willingly give themselves to the other without having those issues resolved first.

“God, I missed you George,” Travers said, being the first to break the ice.

“I missed you as well,” Granger said, smiling. Then he let his smile fade. “It is as if I know you so well, yet I don't know you at all. So much time has passed since we have been together.”

“I know, I feel it too, but this voyage will give us time to correct that,” Travers said assertively.

Granger leaned in and kissed him again, and this time the connection was stronger. It would grow, they would repair this void, or at least Granger hoped they would. Granger wanted to ask Travers if he still loved him, or if another had taken his place, but he lacked the courage, afraid of what the answer might be, so they just held each other, enjoying the physical closeness.

“Sadly there is no time for me to show you how much I have missed you,” Granger said, flirting. “But perhaps later tonight I can give you some proof of my affection.”

“I am at your disposal,” Travers said, smiling back. “But now I would like to see how your ship sails.” They pulled themselves back together and headed up to the quarterdeck to inspect the ship before they began their brief voyage to Portsmouth. He took Travers with him, using it as an excuse to give him a tour, pointing out the unique things he'd noticed about Belvidera.

They arrived on the quarterdeck with perfect timing. Granger surveyed the ship and the crew, preparing himself for this always-momentous occasion, of sailing for the first time. Fortune had graced them with a beautiful day for it. It was warm, almost hot, and a little muggy, with just a gentle breeze to help them sail down the Thames. He looked over to the shore and saw several people watching and knew that they'd soon have an audience. “Lieutenant Chairs,” Granger called.

“Sir?” The marine answered crisply.

“I'd be obliged if you'd have the band play. It will help the men as they heave the anchor up, and it will entertain those ashore,” Granger said. It was unnecessary to explain his orders, but it helped to ease his nerves.

“Aye aye sir,” Chairs said, and began rapping out orders for the band to assemble.

“Mr. Lennox, I'd like our largest ensigns at the top of each mast,” Granger ordered. Granger had decided they would leave the port with as much fanfare as possible.

“Determined to make a splash?” Travers teased.

“I have fans to placate,” Granger joked back. “Mr. Merrick, hands to the capstan. Let's get the anchor hove short.”

“Aye aye sir,” Merrick chirped. The whistles blew and the men surged up,
rigging the bars to the capstan. Granger smiled at their exuberance, remembering the sullen and apathetic crew he'd encountered when he'd first joined her only ten days earlier. A nod to Chairs set the band playing, and the men threw their weight into the bars, pulling Belvidera up to her anchor.

“Anchor's hove short sir!” came the cry from the bow.

“The tide has turned sir,” Merrick added.

“Very well. Loose the topsails,” Granger ordered. The men scrambled up the shrouds to the topsail yards. Granger watched them, and then watched the shore as idlers stared at the ship as she got underway. Granger wondered if they understood that these men dancing out across a yard some sixty feet above the deck would be expected to do the same thing in a winter gale. He watched as the canvas flapped and boomed, the sails starting to draw.

“Anchor's aweigh!” Came the shout from the focs'l. And then Belvidera was free and alive. She began to pick up speed quickly as she moved with the tide and wind down the Thames.

“Keep the men at the braces, Mr. Merrick,” Granger ordered. “We've a few bends to get around.”

“Aye aye sir,” Merrick said. People on the shore cheered as the beautiful ship passed them.

“Man the sides, Mr. Merrick,” Granger ordered.

“Aye aye sir,” he said with a grin. He bellowed out orders and the men on deck lined the side of the deck standing at attention, or the closest thing to it. Seamen could never quite master the military rigidity of the army, or even the marines, and to try and get them to do so would remove the qualities that made them seamen in the first place. He watched as the first bend in the river approached.

“Stand by to go about,” Granger ordered. He waited, the Belvidera's prow pointed directly at the shore, until he thought the time was right. This was tricky. If he waited too long, Belvidera would drive into the shore ahead of him. His career, even with all of his influence, would not survive that embarrassment. If he tacked too soon, he could find himself driven ashore on the opposite bank, or even all aback. The hazards of navigating a river were many. “Starboard your helm,” he ordered.

The helm went over and Belvidera hesitated for but a minute, and then spun sweetly to starboard, gaining way again as soon as her braces were trimmed. “Even though she is shorter, I don't think Aurore is that quick in stays,” Travers said. It was an impressive admission for any captain to acknowledge that another ship was superior in any respect.

“We will see how she does when we reach the Channel,” Granger said. They cruised down the Thames in what seemed almost a yachting expedition, the beautiful summer weather only enhancing the experience. The band played on, and the people on the shore cheered for most of the route until they reached the Nore.

“Lieutenant Chairs, you may dismiss the band,” Granger said. “Well done men.” They smiled as Chairs dismissed them, even though those who played wind instruments must have seriously fatigued mouths. “Mr. Merrick, let's shake out the mains as well.”

The whistles squealed and the men ran up the rigging yet again. Granger watched them with pride, thinking about how slovenly their sail drill had been that first day. “Your crew seems to be quite good with their sail drill,” Travers observed.

“Thank you,” Granger said with a smile. “Half the men aboard were transferred from the Intrepid, while the others were Belvidera's remaining crew. Other than a few small disagreements, they've merged together quite well.”

“And here I was looking forward to embarrassing you with our superior sail drill on the voyage to Corsica,” Travers joked.

“We haven't worked on gun drills yet, so there's an area you can try,” Granger joked back. Travers was known for his passion for gunnery.

Merrick broke into their conversation. “Mains set and trimmed, sir,” he said with a smile. He was clearly thrilled at the idea of clapping on more sail and pushing the beautiful ship to go even faster. His enthusiasm for speed reminded Granger of Calvert, and that threatened to ruin his good mood. He desperately needed a distraction. “Would you care to walk with me?” he asked Travers.

“With pleasure,” Travers said. They began that time-honored tradition of the Royal Navy, pacing up and down on the quarterdeck. They walked until they reached the end of the deck then pivoted together, inward, so they faced each other briefly, then paced to the other end and repeated the maneuver. “She certainly flies.”

“That she does,” Granger agreed. Despite their pacing and their conversation, Granger was so well tuned to the sea, to his environment, his keen senses noticed everything about his new ship. Belvidera was racing now, like the thoroughbred of the seas that she was. The small swells did little to impede her, merely causing her to gently pitch as she plowed happily along, seemingly glad to be free of the shore.

“I hope my being here doesn't make you uncomfortable,” Travers said, just as they pivoted.

Granger looked into Travers' eyes, seeing the same insecurities that he felt, and knew that they had to address the proverbial elephant in the room. “Nothing gives me greater pleasure than seeing you,” he said. “It has been a long time since we have been together, though” he continued more cautiously. “How is Mr. Robey?” Robey was the other man in Travers' life, a lieutenant who was young and blond and attractive. It would be easy for Granger to hate him if he wasn't such a pleasant chap.

“He is quite well,” Travers said. “And how is Mr. Calvert?” Touché. Calvert was to Granger what Robey was to Travers.

“He has been given command of Intrepid,” Granger said. “I am glad to see him get the promotion, but I will miss him.”

“Do you love him?” Travers asked.

“There are three people who have captured my heart, and I love all three of them,” Granger said. “He is one of them.”

“Do I still occupy one of those slots?” Travers asked nervously. Granger suddenly felt guilt and concern that he had fueled Travers' insecurities. He wouldn't want Travers to do that to him.

“You do. You always will,” Granger said. He desperately wanted to ask Travers if he felt the same way, but his pride prevented him from doing that, kept his tongue from asking the question he desperately wanted to ask.

“I will always love you too, George,” Travers said, answering Granger's unspoken question and making his heart swell. “It is difficult to be apart for so long, and then to act normally, as if we have never been separated. But even though it is awkward, it doesn't change the way I feel about you.”

“Nor I about you,” Granger said. He felt the wind freshening and brought his mind back to Belvidera. It was not as if he had neglected her, he had mastered the fine art of pacing while noting all the changes in the background, only pulling himself out of his reverie when he was needed. “It appears we are off Margate.” Travers nodded.

“Mr. Merrick, call the watch. Put her on the starboard tack,” Granger ordered.

“Aye aye sir,” he said. Granger resumed his pacing, pretending not to notice Merrick's handling of the ship, even though he was absorbing all of it, every moment, every order Merrick gave, trying to assess his abilities. He needed to know Merrick's strengths and weaknesses so he would know what he could trust him with. So far, his performance was exemplary.

“What do you know of your new first officer?” Travers asked.

“Not much. I met him at Carlton House. He was chatting with Arthur,” Granger said.

“Teasdale?” Travers asked, horrified. Granger nodded. Travers didn't have his connections, and couldn't risk being seen talking to Arthur alone. “Do you think he's a...a...” Travers couldn't bring himself to say ‘sodomite’.

“I don't know,” Granger said. “He certainly handles the ship well, though.”

Travers looked at him strangely, then understood that Granger was pointing out what was truly important, his skills as an officer, not his sexual preferences. “I'm just wondering if I'm going to have to make room for another man in your life.”

Granger gave him a sour look. “I find that somewhat hypocritical coming from you, unless you and Robey are no longer together.”

“That's not what I meant,” Travers snapped, then got a grip on himself as he realized others might notice his change in demeanor, even if they couldn't hear him. “It took me a while to adapt to the idea of you being with Calvert. It would just take some time if there were another.”

And as if a lightning bolt flashed through his brain, Granger suddenly understood Travers and how his psyche handled their non-monogamous relationship. He'd never really figured out how Travers thought about that, how he'd adapted to Granger's relationship with Calvert. Not until now. For Travers, it was a matter of identifying the person who had captured Granger's affection and then grappling with it. He had done that with Calvert, but a new man, a new lover, would require that he go through the same process all over again. For Granger, it was much simpler. If Travers wasn't with him, and he was with someone else, he could handle that as long as Travers didn't love that partner more. It was as if Travers had to deal with it on a case-by-case basis, whereas Granger took a more holistic approach. “I'm sorry, John. I guess I fear that your feelings for Robey have eclipsed your feelings for me, and that makes me irritable.”

“I love him, I really do. But if we were ashore, and I had to make a choice, there is no question as to whom I'd rather be with.” Granger looked at him curiously, needing to hear it. “You.”

“I feel the same way,” Granger said. Only then he thought about Calvert and wondered if that was true, and felt himself conflicted all over again.