HMS Belvidera - 6. Chapter 6

July, 1795

Belvidera and her companions drove south, the favorable winds spurring them forward at almost nine knots. George Granger paced his quarterdeck and glanced off to the east, toward France, where a force of British and Royalist French troops were trying to start a revolution in the environs of Quiberon Bay. Well, not really a revolution, since the Royalists viewed themselves as the rightful rulers, fighting against usurpers, but the challenge was the same. It was amazing to Granger that the War Office had been able to scrounge up these 2000 troops or so for the capture of the Cape of Good Hope at the same time they were invading French soil. That was probably more indicative of the awesome power of the Honorable East India Company than anything. Having the Cape in hostile hands would make trade with India much more perilous. He looked ahead at the transports, and further ahead at Aurore, and found that while his anger at Travers had faded, his irritation had not.

But Granger had also mellowed enough to realize that Travers would not intentionally keep something from him unless he had a good reason. He knew that at the core Travers was not an ungrateful man, and that he would not blithely turn on Granger or his family. And he had to give Travers some credit for developing better political instincts than he'd once had, some allowance for his bright mind and quick ability to grasp at new skills. Still, Granger knew that until this thing was resolved, there would be a rift between them, one that was sure to damage their relationship.

Today was bath day. Granger had already taken his, and the brisk water had brought him back to life and helped him shake off the bad mood that had plagued him for the past few days. He saw Merrick come up in his bathing robe and maintained his pacing, desperately wanting to get a glimpse of his handsome lieutenant without seeming to. He was about to turn away and pace aft when Merrick shed his robe, and it was all Granger could do to force himself to pivot. He walked back; the vision of Merrick naked fixed in his mind, wanting so badly to hurry his pace or turn sooner to quench his desire for a better look. Things seemed to move in slow motion until he reached the end of the deck and pivoted around on his heel. Now, walking forward, he got a full view of Merrick as the crew sprayed the seawater on him. Merrick turned, letting the water soak him, and giving Granger a complete view of his body.

He was muscular in a wiry way, but it was hard to see those muscles unless he was exerting them, so shielded were they by his skin, and that was his most glorious feature. His skin was white, almost pure white, and looked as smooth as a baby's. It even seemed to have that soft layer of fat that babies had, making him look soft and desirable. If he'd had body hair, it would have taken away from that effect, but he didn't. He had a smallish amount of hair on his arms and a relatively sparse bush sheltering a small penis, although Granger knew from personal experience that was probably due more to the cold Atlantic water being blasted on him than any indicator of his real size. As he turned, his ass came into view, even more beautiful than his front, so perfectly formed, so tantalizingly soft and smooth it begged to be fucked. He bent forward slightly to allow the water to flow down his back and crack, revealing almost no hair there either. Granger swallowed hard and turned on his heel, walking aft and away from the lieutenant while he looked down to make sure he didn't have an erection. He reached the end of the quarterdeck and paced back, getting another eyeful, taking in details he'd missed before, like the small nipples, so pert and erect from the cold water, and the goosebumps that formed on Merrick's skin, now reddened from the frigid seawater, which made him look slightly ridiculous. Then Granger turned again and paced back, longing to turn around, only by the time he reached the end of the quarterdeck and pivoted on his heel, Merrick was finished and shrouded in his bathrobe. Granger resolutely hid his disappointment and continued his walk, shutting out the vision of his first lieutenant and his fuckable ass.

Only his torture was just beginning. As soon as Merrick began to head below, Grafton came up. Granger was pacing down the deck as Grafton pulled his robe off, their eyes meeting briefly. Grafton's eyes twinkled slightly, either because he had an exhibitionist streak or because he'd noticed Granger watching him. Either way, Granger averted his eyes, forcing himself to look away until his turn. He heard the water begin to flow as he paced away, even more anxious to turn around than he'd been with Merrick. He'd been too intimidated by Grafton's eyes to really look, but the expression in those eyes made him want to look in the worst way.

Granger turned and began to pace back, glancing up to take in Grafton's base form, the way his bulging muscles dominated every part of his body. Unlike Merrick, his skin was tanned and his body was hairy, not overly so, but in a moderate way that seemed incredibly masculine. When his body was wet, the hair matted onto his chest and abdomen, guiding the rivulets of water down his body in such a sexy way it made Granger swallow. His lust only intensified when his eyes reached Grafton's crotch. Unlike Merrick, the water had no effect on him, or perhaps it simply was not enough to quell the raw excitement of being naked in public, for he was sporting close to an erection, and a big one at that. Mercifully, Granger reached his turn and walked away, trying with a futile effort not to think about him lest his own reaction become too apparent. But it was impossible, a wasted effort. When Grafton was erect, his cock would have to be at least seven inches long, possibly longer, and it was as thick as Travers'.

Granger paced the deck in agony, longing to turn around and see more of this magnificent man, and chided himself as he found his pace increasing. He pivoted on his heel just as Grafton turned around to wash his back, and Granger found this view just as compelling. He had massive shoulders, with his muscles seemingly wrapped around them like rigging, all descending in a “V” shape to his remarkably small ass. Granger decided that was probably relative, since the rest of him was so huge, but he couldn't help but admire the strong indents in his cheeks, so muscular were his glutes. But then it was time to turn and pace away again. Granger noted that Grafton took longer to bathe than Merrick, clearly reveling in the attention to his body.

Just before he could turn back and get another look, Lennox interrupted him. “Sir, signal from Aurore. She seems to be signaling to a ship ahead.” Granger looked down at his tenting trousers, thankful that he didn't have to turn around now that Lennox had given him an excuse to stop, and thankful that he had nothing to hide from Lennox. He looked up at the young midshipman and saw the smile in his eyes, then glanced down and saw his own reaction at seeing Granger's. Horrified, Granger focused on the business at hand. “I couldn't read the number sir. I'm sorry.” Lennox was superb with signals, and any inability on his part when it came to those signals weighed more heavily on him than it ever would with his superiors. But he couldn't afford to think about Lennox in anything but a professional way lest he remember how good the young midshipman's mouth had felt when it was wrapped around his cock, or how good he'd tasted when Granger had returned the favor while they were serving in Intrepid.

“Very well Mr. Lennox.” Springing into action, pulling his mind away from his sexy officers, did much to squelch his erection and Lennox's, and made it possible for him to turn and give the next round of orders. “Mr. Carslake, please have my gig ready to be swung out.” If Aurore was signaling to another ship, then there was a good chance he'd be needed. Then Granger was able to dash below to change into his dress uniform, and to hide his physical distress. He strode confidently into his cabin and looked at his watch. It would take a good 15 minutes to get a picture of who this newcomer was, just enough time.

“Winkler, lay out my best uniform,” Granger ordered. “I'll dress here in the main cabin. I'll be with you shortly.”

“Aye aye sir,” Winkler said crisply, and then vanished into the chartroom where he kept all of Granger's clothes. Granger headed into his sleeping cabin to strip off his trousers for some fast relief. There was no way he could go over to Aurore in this excited state, after seeing two of his officers in such naked and sexy poses. He had just pulled out his dick and started to jack off when there was a soft knock on his door.

Frustrated, Granger pulled up his pants and snapped, “Enter!” A nervous Lennox entered.

“Sir, the ship Aurore was signaling is the sloop Reindeer, 20 guns, Commander Preston,” Lennox said officiously, giving his report just as he should. But his eyes were on Granger's pants, on his straining cock that was now desperate for attention.

“Thank you Mr. Lennox,” Granger said.

“Is there anything else you need sir?” Lennox asked. Then his eyes looked into Granger's, the raw lust almost overpowering. Granger resisted, but he was too horny, too keyed up after the teasing show put on by his lieutenants and then by the beginnings of his jack-off session.

“You haven't visited me for a long time,” Granger said, referring to their brief encounters on the Intrepid.

“I didn't want to impose, sir,” Lennox said. Their eyes locked again, and all communication became non-verbal, though just as effective. Lennox dropped to his knees and Granger took out his dick, guiding it to Lennox's mouth. The young midshipman swallowed him enthusiastically, with a skill that Granger didn't remember him having. Whom had Lennox been practicing with, Granger wondered. That thought left him as Lennox's quick work on his cock brought him close to orgasm. And then he came, blasting his pent up load down the young man's eager throat.

“Thank you very much,” Granger said.

“It was my pleasure, sir,” Lennox said, grinning shyly. He stood up, his own trousers tenting.

“I fear that I don't have time to return the favor, but perhaps you will give me that privilege later on tonight?” Granger asked.

“Aye aye sir,” Lennox said with an adorable smile. He pulled himself back together, adjusting his erection so it wasn't obvious, then strode out of the cabin. Granger followed him, heading over to where Winkler had laid out his best uniform.

“How are you settling in?” Granger asked Winkler, making small talk while he got dressed.

“Right fine, sir,” Winkler said, looking at him a little nervously.

“What do you make of the crew?” Granger asked. Winkler was one of the few people he could trust, and who would give him accurate feedback. He'd had to explain that concept to Winkler when he was a lieutenant on the Victory, but since then, Winkler had never let him down.

“Pardon me, sir?” he asked. He was clearly upset about something.

“What are you nervous about Winkler? I just wanted to know what you thought about the crew. If you will recall, there was a mutiny in this very ship not two months ago,” Granger said, unable to hide his irritation.

“I'm sorry, sir,” he said, relaxed. “From what I understand, most of the bad lot went off to Holland after the mutiny. These men weren't part of that; they didn't want no truck with mutiny. I think they've fit in quite well with the Intrepids.”

“Well now that is good news,” Granger said. “But that doesn't tell me why you were so nervous?”

“Keeping up with you does tax my mental talents, sir,” Winkler said with that cheeky attitude that always made Granger smile. “Sometimes I can't react as quick as you want.” Granger rolled his eyes, making a mental note to watch out for Winkler, as if he didn't have enough to worry about already. Granger eyed himself in the mirror, admiring the beautiful cut of his coat and the quality of the gold lace, before pulling himself together and climbing up on deck.

“Reindeer is in sight now, sir,” Carslake reported. “Will you want your gig swung out?”

“Not until I'm ordered to go aboard,” Granger said. There was no way he'd look anxious. When the summons came, he wanted to look efficient, but not anxious.

“Aurore is signaling Reindeer's captain to come aboard, sir,” Lennox said. Granger took his glass and peered at the figure in Reindeer's boat. Preston had been first lieutenant of the first ship he'd joined, HMS Barracuda. Stiff, impersonal, and imperious even then, he'd been a good and efficient officer. Granger noted that Travers hadn't ordered them to heave to, so that meant Reindeer had to turn and sail with them, going downwind from her apparent destination. That would no doubt rankle Preston almost as much as finding his former third lieutenant and midshipman were now post-captains, and thus outranked him. Clearly, Travers was in a hurry to get rid of this convoy and return to the Mediterranean. Granger wondered sadly if Travers was just as eager to be rid of him.

“Signal from Aurore, sir,” Lennox called. “All captains to repair on board.” That was interesting. Travers was even calling the captains of the transports over. This must be important.

“Now you may clear away my gig, Mr. Carslake,” Granger said with a smile. So well-prepared were they that Belvidera's gig was in the water, with Granger inside, and on her way to Aurore before the transports had even completed swaying theirs out. As it should be, thought Granger with self-satisfaction.

What had seemed like calm seas were considerably rougher when in a small boat, but it was a short trip, and the wind was with them. His gig swung nicely up to Aurore's main chains and hooked on. Granger braced himself and leaped for them, but in some weird fluke of bad luck his hand slipped and he dropped a few rungs, allowing his shoes and stockings to fully submerge in the cold Atlantic. Irritated at his own clumsiness, and at being soaked from the knees down, Granger paused to collect himself before climbing up through the entry port. Still, he was in a foul mood when he made it onto Aurore's quarterdeck.

Granger was greeted by Lieutenant Robey. “Wet trip sir?” he asked, being a smart ass and increasing Granger's bad mood.

“Mind your damned manners Lieutenant,” Granger snapped. He saw the horrified look on Robey's face, and decided that was as it should be. He knew Granger had an unfortunate slip on the climb up, so pointing it out was bordering on insubordination.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” Robey said, so sincerely it was apparent that he was trying to smooth things over. Granger had forgotten about Robey's playful nature, and recalling that made him think about Calvert all over again. “Won't you follow me?” Granger chided himself for letting his emotions get away from him, for letting his conflicts with Travers spill over onto Robey.

“That's quite alright Mr. Robey. I can still find the great cabin on this ship and you'll have other visitors along shortly, when they eventually figure out how to sway out their boats,” Granger said pleasantly, trying to gloss over their brief unpleasantness.

“Thank you, sir,” Robey said. Granger nodded to him and headed below. He'd once commanded Aurore for a brief period, so being aboard should seem familiar, and in a way, it did, but it was difficult not to notice the differences between Aurore and Belvidera. Both were originally French frigates, but Aurore had been designed by Sané, the architect who created the standard designs for French frigates and many of their ships of the line. Belvidera was designed by Forfait, a more innovative and daring designer, though not always successful. Belvidera was longer, with cleaner lines, and according to Meurice, she had a much more pronounced “V” shape to her hull than Aurore. Even looking at Aurore's scantlings, it was easy to tell the difference, to see the extra strength built into Belvidera. Granger put those thoughts aside as he strode up to Travers' cabin, the marine guard snapping crisply to attention as he opened the door for him.

Granger walked into the cabin and his eyes immediately locked on to Travers'. There was so much there passing between them, sadness and an apology on the part of Travers, a willingness to forgive on the part of Granger. But they had business to attend to first, before they dealt with their own personal issues. “Thank you for arriving so promptly,” Travers said.

“I see you've made post, Granger,” Preston observed acidly. Granger felt the anger rising inside. A commander never addressed a post-captain in such a cavalier fashion unless it was intended with the utmost disrespect. Granger looked first to Travers, not asking for permission to respond, but to make sure he had heard Preston correctly. Travers' stunned expression seemed to indicate that he had, and Granger guessed that Preston had been similarly rude to him. Well, it may be fine for Travers to put up with such rude treatment, but it wasn't fine for Granger.

“I would have thought, Commander, that having noted that you would have the decency to address me in a civil manner,” Granger replied.

“I most certainly did not mean to offend you,” Preston said, with a tone that was as good as saying, “Fuck you.”

“Sir,” Granger demanded. “You address me as sir.” He used the same tone he'd used with midshipmen ever since he'd been first promoted to lieutenant.

“Yes sir,” Preston said, although with distinct disrespect.

“I suspect, Commander, you will find that with your attitude you will find it difficult to achieve that promotion to Captain,” Granger observed dourly. A note to Caroline may make that a reality, he thought cynically. Then he turned away from Preston and his idiocy. “I am assuming that you asked me here for a reason other than to be insulted, sir,” Granger asked Travers playfully.

“Along with his inappropriate demeanor, Commander Preston brings us two pieces of news,” Travers said, giving Preston a very dirty look. “It seems our fears of a detente between France and Spain were correct. They signed a peace treaty on July 11, so we are without our erstwhile Spanish allies now.”

“Are we at war with them, sir?” Granger asked.

“No, we are just not allies. They are at peace with both France and England,” Travers observed.

“That will most probably be but a temporary state of affairs, sir,” Granger observed.

“Pray enlighten us as to why?” Preston asked. Travers glared at him. “Sir,” he added belatedly. Granger ignored him.

“Why do you think that?” Travers asked.

“Because that was part of what was being discussed in London, that any peace treaty with France would most likely contain clauses requiring Spanish entry into the war on the French side at some future time, sir,” Granger said. Travers nodded, taking in that bit of knowledge.

“The other piece of news is that Reindeer sighted your old nemesis, Floreal, a few weeks back,” Travers said. Floreal was a nemesis indeed, and a dangerous one. A French ship of the line, modified to look like a merchantman, she would make short work of anything other than another ship of the line. Granger thought about Zenith, and how her insane captain had encountered Floreal and been captured by her. And that made him think about Calvert, and how he'd barely escaped dying in that encounter.

“You avoided capture?” Granger asked Preston, feigning innocence.

“Of course,” Preston snapped. Granger and Travers glared at him until he added “sir” to the end of his statement. “We sighted her just north of Madeira, and the reports on her were so good we knew what she was so we avoided her.”

“Thank you,” Granger said. Preston stared at him strangely. “I wrote the reports on Floreal. Please go on.” Preston glared at him while Travers smiled.

Travers pulled out a map and they looked at the position where Preston had sighted Floreal, and where they were now. “What was her course when you sighted her?” Travers asked.

“She headed toward us,” Preston stated. “Sir.”

“Before that,” Travers snapped.

“She was headed north,” Preston said.

“As if she were making for France?” Travers asked.

“That would be a possibility,” Preston said. They glared at him again until he added “sir” to his sentence. “She gave chase but Reindeer is a fast sloop, and we ran her under the horizon in half a day.”

“What are your orders?” Travers asked him.

“My orders were to take news of the peace treaty first to Madeira, and then to London. I was led to believe another ship was being sent there directly, so I am the backup courier to London, sir,” Preston said with an assumed air of importance. Granger rolled his eyes. A backup courier was not nearly as important as a primary courier.

“We will inform the other officers of the situation, then I will draft a report for you to convey to their lordships,” Travers pronounced.

“I am ordered to make the utmost haste, sir,” Preston protested. “I must proceed at once.” Granger couldn't quite get Preston's attitude, and why he would treat him and Travers this way. They'd been shipmates, and up until this point Granger would have considered him a friend. He was allowing jealousy, professional jealousy, to short-circuit his own career.

“I would like an opportunity to collect letters and dispatches for Reindeer to carry back as well, sir,” Granger said. That would delay Preston even more, and it clearly infuriated him.

“Very well. You will maintain course with us until we have passed dispatches over to you, Commander. Then you may proceed back to London,” Travers said. Preston made to argue, but Travers stared at him squarely, his eyes making Preston back down.

“Aye aye sir,” Preston said. Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the three commanders of the transports. Travers filled them in on the news Preston had brought, while Preston wisely sat in the background and said nothing.

“We should be a match for this Floreal, shouldn't we sir?” asked Grimble, captain of the Cybille.

“Floreal is a ship of the line made to look like a merchantman. She could blast Aurore or Belvidera into a wreck with one well-aimed broadside,” Travers observed. He didn't even bother to mention what they would do to the virtually unarmed transports crammed full of troops.

“A ship of the line, sir?” Brathwaite, captain of the Hidalgo, sputtered. “What will we do if we meet up with her?”

“Aurore will close with her and attempt to divert her while Belvidera escorts the convoy to safety,” Travers said. Granger looked at Travers, stunned. What was he thinking? Surely, he didn't mean that. Their two ships together could give the Frog a pasting, and all they needed to do was board her with the help of one of the troopships and it would be all over. “We cannot risk the men of His Majesty's army in a hare-brained attempt to board her,” Travers said, aiming his comment at Granger, and answering Granger's objections before he could make them. He looked around the group of men, waiting for arguments or discussion, but it was a waste of time, because the only argument would come from one man, and that man wasn't about to voice those objections publicly. No, Granger would wait until they were alone to speak his mind.

“Very well gentlemen, return to your ships. You should alert your crews and passengers about our change in status as regards Spain. Reindeer will be sailing to England, so any letters and dispatches should be sent to her immediately.” That served to break up the party.

Preston stood up to leave, but Travers stopped him. “You may proceed with your voyage home only after I have signaled you to do so. Am I clear?”

“Aye aye sir,” Preston said. Then he was gone, and it was just the two of them.

“I know what you're going to say George, but it's too risky. What if Floreal disables both of our ships and there are other privateers or warships out there? Then those troopships will be sitting ducks. We have over 2000 troops in our care. We can't risk that.”

“Between the two of us, our ships, we could at least cripple her. With Aurore alone, you're fighting a battle against almost unwinnable odds,” Granger said.

“You have such little faith in my abilities?” Travers asked, only Granger could tell he was teasing.

“No, I have more faith in them. I think we could beat her together,” Granger replied with a grin.

“I am just glad that you still care about me,” Travers said. That hit Granger like a rock.

“I care about you, I love you, that hasn't changed, but I am still vexed at you. I thought we were partners, and here you are holding back information, part of you, and I don't understand why,” Granger said sincerely.

“As an officer, you know that sometimes you can't divulge everything,” Travers said defensively.

Granger felt bad for taking them to this place, for making Travers defensive. He didn't want another unpleasant encounter. The last one had drained his emotional reserves as it was. He realized that now, realized that his curtness with Robey and his unwillingness to tolerate fools like Preston were merely symptoms of that. “When we first met, you were not the most politically astute man, as I recall,” he said, gently teasing Travers and getting a smile for his efforts. “My family has gone out on a limb for you, and with good reason, but it makes me nervous that you will wander into a political situation and get taken advantage of, and that may mean danger for you and have an impact on them.”

“A lot of confidence you have in me,” Travers snapped. “You are calling me disloyal, and an ingrate!”

Granger walked toward him and put his hand on Travers' shoulder. Travers shrugged it off angrily, but Granger returned it to his shoulder and Travers let it rest there. Granger could feel his body quaking under his hand, in irritation and anger, and that made him seem even sexier. “No, I know those are things you could never be. I'm accusing you of being naïve.”

Granger was worried that he'd hit the tone wrong, which was unusual for him. He usually had a good feel for people, and how to push their humor just to the limit. In this case, it worked perfectly. Travers smiled. “It seems that when I was politically naïve, you were just learning what a backstay was. As you are now a post-captain, let us assume that I have grown in knowledge to a similar degree.”

Granger laughed with him. “Fair enough.” Then they kissed a deep meaningful kiss that pulled them together like never before.

“No time for a proper reconciliation,” Travers groused.

“I don't need one. My feelings for you are here,” Granger said, pointing to his heart. “Now I must go and slaughter Preston's reputation in London.”

“You would do that?” Travers asked.

“A man so unbalanced as to show his feelings like that is too unbalanced to command a King's ship,” Granger observed sagely. Travers just nodded. He escorted Granger over the side, and then went back to write his own report. He knew that his comments on Preston would have a minimal effect compared to what Granger would convey to Caroline and the Earl.

The boat ride back to Belvidera was easy, since she was astern of the convoy. All they had to do was basically lie there hove to, waiting for Belvidera to catch up to them. Granger saw none of this, heard none of their comments, so deep in thought was he at this latest development. He had the ability to think strategically, and he knew that if Spain entered the war, Britain would have a tough go even maintaining a base in the Eastern Mediterranean, much less a naval presence. His transfer there may prove to be quite eventful after all. He mounted the side and gave orders to Winkler to plan a dinner for his officers, then went below to finish writing his dispatches.

He left finishing his letter to Caroline last. He made a point to write a few lines at least every day or so, so when the mail came, he had only to dash off a final update:

Reindeer has come to us with news of peace between France and Spain, and that the ship that sank Zenith, Floreal, is on the loose again, so I must finish this letter and send it over to Commander Preston.

Granger paused for a minute, trying to decide whether to dash Preston's career into oblivion, and changed his mind. For all of his outrage, he could never knowingly destroy a man for his failure to show slavish devotion.

I am not sure who John Travers has watching out for him in London, but I sense from my conversations with him that it may be a sensitive matter. If you try to find out, be careful, and do not feel obligated to do so.

Please know that as I sail around out here in the Atlantic, my thoughts are never far from you. You told me when you so brazenly seduced me that you thought you could learn to love me, and that I could learn to love you. You were so very right about that, I do love you, and I feel complete knowing that you are my partner. I ache for my return, when I can see you again, touch your face, feel your body and your warm caresses. In the meantime, I have that memory of our last beautiful time together to inspire me.

All my love,

George

“Winkler!” Granger yelled, having finished his letter.

“Sir?” he answered. He still looked nervous. What was bothering the lad?

“Signal Reindeer to send a boat for dispatches,” Granger ordered. Let Preston's men do all the work and get soaking wet. “Then I'll need to seal this letter to Mrs. Granger.”

“Aye aye sir,” Winkler said, and scurried off to do his bidding. Granger paused to think about his words to Caroline, and found that he sincerely meant them. He never thought they'd be able to develop the bond that they had, and he never imagined he'd end up loving her as much as he did. Part of him reasoned that it was inevitable, that two opportunistic people would make sure they fully utilized each other for their mutual gain. But he tended to discount that, and attributed it to her discovery and acceptance that he liked other men. Removing that huge block from their relationship, that big lie, did away with the only thing that he could not be completely honest about with his wife. Granger's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone being piped over the side. He stood up instinctively, wondering who it could be. The only options were Travers, one of the commanders, or one of the army officers, although he'd had little to do with them so far. He was about to walk up to the quarterdeck when his door opened and Preston came in.

“I came to pick up your dispatches personally, sir, and to apologize for my earlier behavior,” Preston said. Granger knew he was gaping at the poor man, so stunned was he, so he pulled himself together as quickly as possible.

“It was just so unlike you,” Granger said, relenting. “You were always the picture of decorum on Barracuda.”

“It isn't always easy to see those who were your subordinates bolt up the chain of command while you do not,” Preston observed. “Especially when my wife is most pointed in reminding me of that fact.”

And now it made sense. Granger had heard that Fiona Preston was a voracious social climber, that she'd brought a goodly amount of money to their marriage with absolutely no social pedigree at all. Preston was from an old naval family, a good match for her, or so he should have been.

“You should have told me that sooner,” Granger said in his friendliest tone. “I am married as well.” He thought about his latest lines to Caroline and how hypocritical that made him sound, but what he wrote to her was the truth. Here he was just trying to help Preston save face.

“Yes sir, I should have,” he said, and actually smiled. Granger had to search his mind to think of another time Preston had actually smiled. He was quite handsome when he did.

“Some unsolicited advice,” Granger said. “It's not a good idea to annoy those who consider you a friend, and could otherwise be of help to you.”

“Unsolicited, perhaps, but good nonetheless,” Preston said. “Thank you sir.”

“You're welcome Commander. We end up with too few friends in this life to willingly throw away those that we have,” Granger observed sagely. Then they shook hands and Preston left, preparing to take Reindeer back to England. Granger avoided homesickness by focusing on his upcoming dinner, but he was only marginally successful. He found himself pining away for home, and wishing he were in Preston's shoes, commander or no, on his way back to London.