Master and Commander - 31. Chapter 31

June, 1795

“Sir,” said a voice next to his ear. “Sir, it's time to wake up.” It was Winkler, risking his wrath. He searched his brain in an attempt to orient himself. It had been four days since they'd docked in Philadelphia, and he'd spent the entire time meeting people, dancing with women, and drinking. Just the thought of drinking made his head hurt.

“I'll need a bath,” he said grumpily.

“I'm not sure if there's time sir,” Winkler said.

“A bath,” Granger said, narrowing his brows. There was no way he'd be able to shake this hangover without a bath.

“Aye aye sir,” Winkler said, and ran off to prepare the water. Granger had been staying at the embassy, something he found disconcerting. Being on Intrepid was like being at home in this sea of strangers, but Granger's logical mind recognized that if one is to be out all night at parties and then up the next day for official and social calls, it made sense to stay in town. So he resigned himself to it and took advantage of the only good thing he could find: the large bath tub. Granger made a point to use it every day, to wash the grime of the previous day off before he re-polluted his body.

He went back to sleep until Winkler had his bath ready. Only then did he grudgingly get out of bed and submerge himself in the bathtub, feeling his mood improving with every second he spent in the glorious fresh water.

Winkler appeared with his bathrobe, clearly focused on the time. His task-oriented behavior was irritating and did much to restore Granger's bad mood, but that in turn was eliminated when Winkler threw open the window and brought a beautiful, glorious day into the room. The end of May had faded into the beginning of June, and the change had brought weather that was almost as nice as the Caribbean in March. Granger's stomach growled, reminding him that he was famished and that the sooner he got ready the sooner he could eat.

“Sir, please slow down so I can get this cravat just right,” Winkler said, steadying Granger, who was so anxious to eat he was rushing through his morning toilet. “You have to look your best.”

“You are right, Winkler,” Granger said. Today he was meeting with President Washington, the leader of this country, a man with broad executive power. It was like having the Prime Minister and the King in one person. He'd put on his best breeches, his best stockings, his best shoes, his best shirt, and his best waistcoat. Now he let Winkler hang his best uniform coat over his shoulder, and attach his Spanish medal for good measure. He decided it would do the President no harm to know that the United States was not the first country Granger had done a good deed for.

He found Hammond waiting for him impatiently. “Barely time for breakfast,” he observed sourly. Granger looked at his watch meaningfully, knowing full well he had at least an hour before he had to leave to meet the President. The anxiety of Hammond and Winkler just made him calmer, and in any event, he wasn't about to miss his breakfast.

“The Americans have tried to get away from titles but not honorifics. When you meet the President, you should address him as “Mr. President” and then sir after that. When you bow, don't bow like you would to His Majesty, bow more like you'd bow to the Duke of Portland,” Hammond said.

“Usually when I see the Duke of Portland I end up walking away with a sizable amount of money. Shall I ask the President if he wants to play Hazard?” Granger teased. As if the mention of his father caused him to materialize, Cavendish appeared, fully dressed but clearly hung over as well. When Hammond had discovered that the son of a Duke was on board, he had been adamant that Cavendish must come ashore as well. The young man had been remarkably good company, and proven himself to be a polished young gentleman. It was hard to see him as the boy that was all thumbs when he'd come aboard Intrepid just a few months ago.

“You mentioned my father sir?” Cavendish asked.

“I was just explaining to Mr. Hammond that I have uncanny good luck when I play Hazard with him,” Granger joked.

Cavendish smiled. “I have heard him grouse about it, sir. I fear it is your fault I am here. I was supposed to join the army but he gambled away the money he planned to use to buy me a regiment.” Granger laughed with Cavendish at his joke. Hammond did not. He was too uptight today.

“Mr. Hammond, I daresay that if we had embarrassed you before now you would have admonished us already,” Granger said. “Please have the courtesy to be confident in our abilities to continue on without humiliating you.” That was said with less pleasantness, reminding Hammond that he was dealing with two men who had the bluest of blood in their veins, while he himself was from a more plebeian background.

Hammond shrugged Granger's comment off. “Quite so, but now we really must go. Do you have the document?” he asked. Granger tapped his breast pocket meaningfully and grinned, making Hammond damn near irate.

“Very well then, let's be off,” Granger said. The three of them got into the carriage yet again for the brief ride to the President's house some two blocks away. It was just like London: people didn't even deign to walk next door.

There were soldiers here, guarding this man who was father of his country, military hero, and leader all at the same time. They saluted briskly while Granger returned the salute, inspecting their appearance as he went by. He'd learned how to do that from his own marines, and found that they appreciated his attention and his acknowledgment, even while saying nothing, that they were properly turned out. A chamberlain of sorts met them in the grand entry way and guided them to an ante-room off to the side, then vanished, leaving them to themselves. Evidently it was the custom to make people wait, reminding Granger of those times he'd had to do the same thing at the Admiralty. They sat there in silence for the first five minutes, and then began chattering about nothing in particular. Finally, some 20 minutes after their arrival, Hamilton appeared to escort them in.

Hammond took over then, leading them before a tall imposing man. Hammond bowed a bit lower than Granger did. Granger decided that was appropriate, and smiled to himself as Cavendish mimicked his behavior. Exactly how low should the sons of a duke and an earl bow to the leader of a Republic? “Mr. President, may I present two of my countrymen who escorted me back to Philadelphia?” Hammond asked. “Commander the Honorable George Granger, of His Britannic Majesty's ship Intrepid, and Midshipman the Right Honorable Lord Frederick Cavendish.”

“Welcome to America gentlemen,” Washington said with a wry smile.

“It is a beautiful country, Mr. President,” Granger said. “I only wish we had time to see more of it.”

“Perhaps when your country is at peace you can find the time to return,” he said, but it came out sounding like ‘if your country is ever at peace’. As if Britain was a war-like nation. Granger refused to allow his irritation to show.

“We all look forward to that day Mr. President,” Granger said formally. “The merchants most of all.” He shot his smile at Washington with that one, making sure he knew it was a joke, and got a chuckle from the man. There was something about him that was imposing, like the King, yet it came not from his position but from his personal charisma. Granger understood now why starving men had followed him all over the Americas and had still been able to defeat the most professional army of Europe.

“I understand you had a matter of urgent importance to speak of?” Washington asked, getting to the point now that the niceties were over.

“I do, but I would request that I be able to speak with you alone sir,” Granger said. Cavendish and Hammond appropriately took their leave, as did Washington's aide that had unobtrusively sat in the corner. Then finally they were alone.

“Mr. President, on our way to Philadelphia we encountered and captured a French brig carrying grain and dispatches. Among those was a letter from Monsieur Fauchet to the French Foreign Office. Its contents are shocking, both in the disparaging way that they talk of the United States and its government, and for the source of the opinions Monsieur Fauchet expressed,” Granger said earnestly and handed Washington the letter. It was in French, and Granger wasn't sure how well Washington spoke or read that language.

In any event, he didn't read it at all; he just took it from Granger and laid it nonchalantly on his desk. The gesture was dismissive, which would have irritated Granger had he not expected it. “You will forgive me for observing that this is a most self-serving document, and it will be suspected of being a ruse.”

Granger answered him, using the statement he'd practiced in his mind. “Yes sir, that is why I wanted to deliver it personally, so I could explain to you the circumstances of its capture, and to pledge my personal word of honor that it is a true document, just as we captured it.” Washington just stared at Granger, waiting for him. Granger explained their stealthy approach up to the Frenchman, how surprised they'd been, and how he'd found the French captain in his cabin trying franticly to destroy the documents.

“There are those who will point out that the disparaging things Monsieur Fauchet says are not dissimilar to the same things said by Mr. Hammond,” Washington said. Did he have spies in the British embassy? Granger filed that away and made a mental note to mention it to Hammond.

“Those men would be wrong, sir. I have spent the last month with Mr. Hammond and have heard nothing but admiration and affection for this country. Were Englishmen to despise it as much as Frenchmen, would we have fought so hard to keep it in our realm?” Granger asked cheekily, using his smile to charm this wily statesman.

“Your countrymen did indeed fight hard Commander. I have never known a British peer, or the son of one, to knowingly pledge his honor in a lie, and your reputation precedes you to such a degree that I cannot, in good conscience, even contemplate that you would perpetrate such an act of dishonor. I will treat this letter as a legitimate document. How and when I act on it remains to be seen, so your continued confidence will be appreciated.” There was a lot to digest in that, not the least of which was the flattering comments he'd made. But most important of all, Granger noted that he didn't say ‘if’ he acted on it, he said ‘when’.

“You are too kind sir,” Granger said. “My father always told me that a gentleman's word is his bond, and without that he is no gentleman.” Washington nodded briefly. “As for confidentiality, I assure you that we will keep this matter secret until you act.”

“Thank you Commander,” Washington said, clearly indicating that as far as he was concerned, business was taken care of.

“I must thank you for taking time from your busy day to meet with me,” Granger said formally, then smiled. “I suspect that foreign naval officers are not easily granted such a privilege.”

Washington laughed at that. “No, they are not, but then again, most foreign naval officers don't have their own contingent of admirers that they've saved from a life of white slavery.”

“It is most gratifying to be able to meet these people at last sir,” Granger said honestly.

“I thank you for the letter and for your visit. I hope you will not be a stranger to our country, provided you come in peace,” Washington said.

“I can think of no other way to come here, sir,” Granger said. Then recognizing that the interview was over, he bowed again politely and exited the room. Of course Hammond was on pins and needles, wanting to know how it went, but he couldn't really discuss it in front of Cavendish, even though the boy would say nothing.

It wasn't until they reached the embassy and rid themselves of Cavendish that he was able to relay the conversation to Hammond. “So he accepted your word, and that the letter was legitimate?” Hammond asked.

“That is what he said,” Granger said.

“If he says he did, then he did,” Hammond said. Granger eyed him carefully, wondering if His Majesty's ambassador wasn't a little too enamored of his hosts. He put that thought aside. Hammond was doing a fine job, and in any event, he was tired of American parties and tired of American politics.

“He also suggested that Monsieur Fauchet's comments to his foreign office would not be too dissimilar to yours,” Granger noted. “I assured him he was mistaken, and that you are quite taken by this new country.”

“And indeed that is the truth,” Hammond said, but Granger caught his look. He would ensure his correspondence and papers were more well-guarded in the future. No more needed to be said about it.

“Then, having concluded my business, I will return to England,” Granger announced. He waited for Hammond to argue, but instead he handed Granger a diplomatic pouch with a smile.

“I expected that you would say that,” Hammond said. “There is a pilot waiting to guide you down the river, and the tide has just turned, so your departure must be imminent.”

“Thank you Mr. Hammond,” Granger said. “It has been a pleasure working with you, and getting to know you.”

“The pleasure is most assuredly mine,” Hammond said. He rang a bell and a servant arrived almost immediately. “See that Commander Granger and his men are taken to the dock at once.” The servant rushed off to do his bidding while Granger, Cavendish, and Winkler headed back to the ship.

“Did you enjoy yourself Mr. Cavendish?” Granger asked.

“Yes sir. I fear I enjoyed myself a bit too much last night. A certain young lady may be looking for me today,” he said with a grin as he blushed.

“Well then it is a good thing we are leaving,” Granger said indulgently. Cavendish would be hard for any woman to resist, even as an adolescent.

He arrived on the dock and hurried to Intrepid as fast as he could while still maintaining his dignity. He boarded his little ship with relief, so much that he couldn't stop himself from smiling.

“Welcome back sir,” Calvert said.

“Thank you. Let's get underway at once, Mr. Calvert,” Granger said.

“Aye aye sir,” he said automatically.

“Once we clear the Delaware River and drop off our pilot, set a course for Bermuda. And after that, we're going home.”

“Aye aye sir,” Calvert said again, only this time with a lot of feeling.

Granger watched the beautiful island of Bermuda fade into the background as he finally turned Intrepid toward England and headed home. It had taken them a week to reach the island, a trek largely out of their way, but there was an unspoken code aboard the ship. They take care of their own. The thought of Lennox and five of his men languishing away in Bermuda was too much to bear.

He'd almost been worried they'd be gone, but he needn't have. Bermuda was far enough off the beaten path that ships didn't travel from there to England all that often, or at least, fortunately, for that week or so that Lennox had been stuck there.

“Thank you for diverting to pick me up,” Lennox said, breaking into his thoughts.

“We had no choice. Cavendish doesn't have the signals down. How would we communicate when we got home?” Granger teased. Lennox just smiled shyly.

“How long will it take us to reach England sir?” he asked.

“It could be two weeks, it could be a month, we are at the mercy of the winds,” Granger said. “But it's summer now, so the weather should be good, just like this, perfect for sailing. Calm seas and brisk winds.”

“I'm anxious to get back, sir,” he said.

“I think we all are,” Granger said. He looked up at the rigging. “Mr. Carslake, let’s get the royals on her.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said. The men climbed up to the Intrepid's highest yards and let out her royals, and even though they were small sails, Granger could feel the difference immediately. He gauged the strain on the masts, then ordered the studding sails to be set as well. Lennox wasn't the only one anxious to get home.

“I'm wondering if we'll start flying soon sir,” Calvert said as he came up to relieve Carslake. He had a broad grin on his face. Calvert loved speed, and he was never happier than at times like this, when Intrepid could spread out all of her canvas safely and tear through the water like a fish.

“We may very well do just that,” Granger said. “And I couldn't care less, as long as nothing carries away.”

“You are that anxious to get home?” Calvert asked sadly as they began to walk together.

“I am,” Granger said. “I need to set things right with Caroline, I need to see my family, and I need to give you the opportunity to make them like you.”

“I'm a bit daunted by that,” he said.

“Why? You are one of the most charming men I've ever met,” Granger said. “My grandfather adores you.”

“That's just it,” he said nervously. “I'm good at dealing with men, but not with women. I've never had an inclination or desire to do it, and I haven't spent much time with them. They make me nervous and I get tongue-tied.”

“I figured a man like you, as handsome as you are, you'd have a lot of experience under your belt,” Granger said.

“Do you?” he asked. “With women?”

Granger felt himself blushing. “Not with women. Caroline was the first and only woman I've been with.”

“Yet you are even more handsome and charming than I am, and you are an aristocratic scion as well. If you cannot bed women like crazy, what makes you think I can?” Calvert teased.

Granger chuckled. He loved times like these, when he and Calvert could walk the deck and not be naval officers, not be lovers, but just be young men. Friends. “You do not have to sleep with women to flirt with them, and that is all that is required. Pretend that you want to sleep with them, pretend that it is your one and only overriding goal, pretend that you would trade your life for one fuck if you only had less regard for her honor.”

“I'll have to practice,” he said. “Maybe I'll make Mr. Cavendish wear a dress and use him as my target.”

“Based on his success in Philadelphia, you should have him teach you,” Granger teased.

“When you're in America and your father is a duke, you don't have to charm or flirt, you just have to pick the one you want,” Calvert joked.

“You may be right. It's amazing how obsessed they were with that,” Granger said. “It was almost worse than in Britain itself.”

They walked and talked, conscious of the winds and strains on the ship, just enjoying each other's company. Granger wondered if they'd be able to handle things better when they got back to England.

June 1795

“We certainly timed it better this time,” Calvert observed to the deck in general as Intrepid glided up the Thames. It was warm and sunny, more glorious weather, the perfect day to go yachting. Yet these men wanted nothing more than to end their long voyage.

“We left England some fifteen months ago,” Granger said, “and in that time we've sailed to India and back, to the West Indies, to America, and to Bermuda, and then finally back home. Quite a trek.”

“Yes sir,” Carslake said. “And this little ship is just about the best sailor I've ever seen.”

“No arguments there,” Granger said. “We'll take her up to Woolwich if we can.” His last sentence changed the environment from one of mindless rambling to a return to duty.

“Aye aye sir,” said Calvert.

“Mr. Carslake, I'll want my gig swung out as soon as we anchor,” Granger ordered. “I'll be taking Mr. Cavendish and Mr. Lennox ashore with me.” They would want to see their families, and being the sons of dukes had some privileges.

“Aye aye sir,” he said. Jeffers would know to get the gig crew together. Granger stood on deck then, motionless. It seemed as if Intrepid was stationary and it was London that was coming closer and closer. Granger thought about his family, about Caroline and the children, his parents, and even Freddie, and found his anticipation growing with each inch of river they navigated.

Now they were in the heart of London, and there were people on the shore pausing to look at the little ship as she whisked past them. When Intrepid passed, and they saw her name, they started cheering. Granger found that curious. He'd never been cheered from the shore like that before.

“Woolwich sir,” Calvert said, pointing to the massive dockyard.

“Very well, anchor, Mr. Calvert,” Granger said. “Call away my gig.” These evolutions, both complicated, began to happen perfectly, seamlessly, and Granger found himself thanking his lucky stars for his superb crew.

“Gig's alongside sir,” Carslake said.

“Thank you,” Granger said, grabbing his bag of dispatches. “Mr. Calvert, you have the ship.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said. “Should we re-provision?” Intrepid, while sound, needed some attention from the dockyard. If they were going to work on her, there was no point in loading up stores only to have to unload them again.

“I will send word after I meet with their lordships,” Granger said, referring to the Admiralty. He nodded to Lennox and Cavendish who preceded him into the gig. “Don't wander off too far,” he told them pleasantly as they rowed toward the shore.

“No sir,” Lennox said, answering for both of them. Both of their families had substantial country estates, but if they went there it might just be a bit far away, and Granger had no idea how long he'd be in port this time.

It was a quick trip to the Admiralty steps, with the last of the tidal current whisking them up. Granger jumped out and then nodded to the young gentlemen as they scrambled out, releasing them to go find their families. “Jeffers, you can go back to the ship. I'll take a shore boat back.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said reluctantly. Jeffers didn't like it when his captain didn't take his own boat. To be truthful about it, he and Winkler sometimes were like mother hens, watching out for him, and while that was quite flattering, there were times when it could grate on Granger's nerves. He stopped himself and forced himself to be thankful that they cared enough to worry, then pushed all these thoughts behind him and strode confidently up toward the Admiralty building. He'd made it about 20 feet before a crowd of people descended on him.

“It's Granger!” shouted a man. “Way to give it to the French!” shouted a woman. They were all yelling things at him, to him, words of encouragement. He felt hands clapping him on the back, and found that he felt very vulnerable and uncomfortable.

“Busted 'em up, that's wot 'e did,” said another man. Now there were more people and they were cheering him as he walked up the steps to the Admiralty. Granger walked on silently, forcing himself to smile. He was so stunned by the display that he barely remembered to take off his hat to acknowledge their cheers. He was truly mindful of their compliments, but this concept of being renowned didn't quite sit right with him. He was used to living in his own world, all nice and ordered. Having these people hovering around made him feel as if they were part of his private world, and Granger knew that he didn't want that.

He eyed the gates to the Admiralty building with resolve, knowing that he would be able to rid himself of the crowd once he got there. It seemed to take forever, but slowly he got closer and closer until finally he was there. He passed through the gates, guarded menacingly by a squad of marines, and paused to thank the crowd. He found it odd that he felt compelled to thank these people for making him feel uncomfortable. He moved indoors, remembering not to sigh with relief.

He was conscious of the change in environment immediately. Now he was no longer the public idol, now he was simply Commander Granger, another supplicant to see their Lordships of the Admiralty.

“Good afternoon,” he said to the clerk. “Commander George Granger of the Intrepid. I have dispatches for Lord Spencer.”

“Please sign the register, sir, and I'll take your dispatches to his lordship.” Granger signed the register, and then reluctantly handed his papers to the clerk, feeling somehow vulnerable without them. It was hard to release state secrets to a mere clerk. “Please be seated.”

“Thank you,” Granger said politely, and then looked for an empty chair in the crowded Admiralty waiting room. He found a seat on the end next to a very handsome lieutenant. He must be older than Granger, but only slightly, with blond hair that was a little darker than what Granger saw when he looked in the mirror. His eyes were a pale blue, remarkable for the lightness of their shade and as his nose was rather flattened and round, they seemed to protrude out from his face that much more. His whole face seemed rather round in shape, nicely matching his nose. He didn't have that classic male beauty that Calvert had, with an oval face and high cheekbones, rather he had the look of an egg, a soft round egg. It was very compelling.

“Lieutenant Grafton, sir,” he said, holding out his hand politely.

“A pleasure to meet you Mr. Grafton. Commander George Granger,” he said, returning the man's greeting and shaking his hand. He had large, strong hands and a firm handshake.

“The pleasure is mine sir,” Grafton said. “You're quite famous.” Granger sat next to him, noting that the man's shoulders were so broad he couldn't help but rub his arm against Grafton's. He fought down the reaction in his groin.

“I can't imagine why,” Granger said, although he actually could. He was the dashing young aristocrat with swashbuckling stories. That was sure to ignite the public fancy; he was just uncomfortable with it.

“The way you burned that ship of the line in the Caribbean and walked off with two prizes was an amazing piece of work sir,” Grafton said, his eyes full of admiration.

“Thank you Lieutenant. What brings you here today?” Granger asked, desperately needing to change the subject.

“I'm third lieutenant on the Belvidera, sir. There's been some problems and I've been called to explain them, to the degree that I can.” He became quite nervous then, so nervous his voice softened. But worst of all, he said the name of his ship with shame.

“Problems?” Granger asked.

“Yes sir. I'm sorry sir, I'm not supposed to talk about them,” he said nervously.

“The apology should come from me Lieutenant. It was not my intention to pry,” Granger said politely. “I have not run across the Belvidera in my various travels. Tell me about her.”

Grafton’s eyes lit up at that. “She's a 32 gun frigate sir. We captured her from the French last year, so she's fast like all their frigates. And she packs a mean punch. She's got 18-pounders on her main deck and 32-pound carronades on her quarterdeck. Up forward are two smashers.” Smashers were massive carronades that threw a 68-pound ball.

“She sounds like a splendid ship,” Granger observed. “I had the honor of briefly commanding a French frigate in the Mediterranean a few years back. She was fast and handy.”

“Yes sir. Belvidera flies through the water and can sail closer to the wind than any other frigate I've seen,” he said. This man had no issues with his ship, so clearly the problems must be internal, with the people.

“Sir, the First Lord will see you now,” said the clerk. Granger had so enjoyed his conversation that he'd missed seeing the clerk walk up. He stood up and motioned for Grafton to stay seated.

“It was a pleasure to meet you lieutenant,” Granger said.

“The pleasure was most assuredly mine sir,” he said. Was there a twinkle in those pale blue eyes? Granger put that thought aside, straightened his uniform, and followed the clerk down the hallway to Spencer's office.

He walked in and found the First Lord, looking the same as he did last time Granger was here, not surprising since it had been a mere five months ago.

“Well Granger, you've made it back safe and sound,” Spencer said, sounding surprised.

“I have, my lord,” Granger said cheerfully. “And I've brought your lordship lots of reading material.”

“I got the dispatches on your escapades on St. Martin two weeks ago. You may find it difficult to get around London without an escort. You're quite popular with the mob,” Spencer said.

“Yes, my lord. Perhaps I can just try and keep a low profile,” Granger said.

Spencer laughed. “Let me know how that works out, Granger. I'm sure Nelson would like to know your secret when you find it. So you took Mr. Hammond to Philadelphia?”

“Actually, my lord, we had a bit of an adventure along the way,” Granger said sheepishly.

Spencer laughed again. “Why am I not surprised? Tell me what happened.”

“We captured a French brig right outside Philadelphia, my lord” Granger said.

“You weren't in American waters at the time were you?” Spencer asked, almost snarled.

“No, my lord, we were well out to sea.” He saw Spencer relax a bit. Granger explained the capture in succinct terms. “We also captured a letter that Mr. Hammond felt had some value.”

“Indeed?” Spencer asked.

“Yes, my lord,” Granger responded. “It was a letter from the French ambassador to his government in Paris. In it, he made a number of scathing remarks about the United States and its government.”

“I should think that was not unusual. My experience with diplomats is that they usually make it sound as if they've been sent to hell and are living in squalor.”

“Yes, my lord,” Granger said, “but what was most unusual about this letter was its source. The ambassador attributed most of his remarks to the American Secretary of State.”

Spencer almost gasped at that, should such a reaction be consistent with his dignity. “Well that would make it a bit more interesting.”

“My lord, Mr. Hammond felt it was important for me to remain in Philadelphia to validate the letter to President Washington,” Granger said. “My orders were to proceed home with all speed, but I felt under the circumstances it was wise to yield to Mr. Hammond's request.”

“Quite right,” Spencer said. “I have lots of captains who can follow orders, but not all of them can think.”

“Thank you my lord,” Granger said, acknowledging the implied compliment.

“What is Intrepid's condition?” Spencer demanded.

“Good, my lord. There are a few matters that could use the attention of the dockyard, but nothing that would impair her ability to fight,” Granger said honestly.

“Excellent,” Spencer said. “How old are you, Granger?”

Granger swallowed. “I'll be twenty this coming January, my lord.”

“Gads that's young,” Spencer said, eying him carefully. Granger said nothing; there was no response to that. “I'm sending Intrepid back out shortly, but you won't be going with her.”

“My lord?” Granger asked, concerned. He really loved his little ship.

“It seems that you bring an irresistible mix to the table, Granger. You come from a good family, everyone likes you, from the King and the Prince of Wales down to the politicians, except for Fox, yet even that is a positive mark in your favor.” Granger couldn't help but smile at that. “It appears you are to be one of the youngest Post Captains ever appointed.” Granger just stared at him, stunned. He'd thought about it, but never really believed it could happen, never thought he'd get promotion this soon. He'd be on the Captain's list, fixed there, steadily moving up as his superiors either died or retired. “And not only that, Granger, but you are charming as well, except for right now. I do believe this is the only time I've ever seen you speechless.”

Granger pulled himself out of his internal reverie. “I am sorry, my lord. I am just so overwhelmed; I do not know what to say.”

“Then say naught. You've earned it. Although you may not thank me when you get your new assignment.”

“My lord?” Granger asked.

“You're being given the Belvidera.”