divert Lady Mary herself. The ubiquitous little clerk had done that for her quite nicely.
After a quick check of the shop, she found, much to her disgust, there was no sign of the blackguard, at least none that she could see about the front of the shop. When she was about to instigate a hard search, her sharp gaze fell on the small, neatly lettered sign above a shelf in the back that read naval histories.
It struck her that perhaps Julien's proof lay there, and he'd sent her here to Hatchards with the express purpose of having her discover the truth about her father for herself.
She wouldn't put it past the coward to leave his dirty work to someone else. Not that she believed him for a minute, but, anxious to prove him a liar yet again, she headed straight for that section.
An elderly man with white whiskers took offense to her arrival in this clearly masculine realm. He glared at her as if to drive her away, but Maureen ignored him, and soon he left her alone with muttered words about "indelicate snips not knowing their places."
She smiled to herself before turning to let the titles wash over her, most of them with familiar names and places and words. After scanning three shelves, one title finally stood out.
The Registry and Recent History of His Majesty's Most Honorable Navy, Published 1780.
Surely, if her father had served in the British Navy, as Julien claimed, he would be listed in this book. For the entire story to be true, her father would have had to be in the Navy before he met her mother, which had been two years after this book was published.
As if any of Julien's ranting held any hint of the truth. Still, she leafed through the dull book, the pages holding a faint damp, musty scent.
Names of ships and captains, some familiar and some unknown, drew her attention away from her surroundings, until she'd all but forgotten she was supposed to be a lady looking through the pages of some edifying piece of literature, not a manly volume. Then, toward the middle of the book, she found pages listing all the active ships in the various theaters, their commission dates, and their commanders.
For some reason she stopped, as if willing herself not to take the next step.
What if it were true? What if her father had sailed in the British navy? Did it really matter so much?
"Drat, Julien," she cursed. The scoundrel still had the power to twist her in the wind. His outrageous lies had lit a curiosity inside her. And yet, what if everything she knew about her father turned out to be fiction rather than fact?
She told herself she was continuing only to prove that Julien was the liar. To add another nail to his already far too long delayed coffin.
Slowly, she ran her finger down the list, certain she wouldn't find the evidence he'd so confidently boasted of, until she came to a standstill at an entry that left her shocked and stunned.
Capaneous,
Third Rate; Commissioned, June 1779; Commander, Ethan, Lord Hawthorne.
She read it again, taking in each word slowly, running her fingers over the printed letters as if to verify that the ink and typesetting were truly real.
Ethan, Lord Hawthorne?
She shook her head at the name. Her father? It couldn't be. Her father had never said anything about having a title, let alone being an English nobleman. She tried to tell herself the similar names were a coincidence, a convenient one that Julien was using to turn her world upside down.
Yet in a blinding flash she knew this Lord Hawthorne was her father. As much as she wanted to deny it.
It explained too much, too many things she'd never questioned and probably should have.
The countless times her father had seemed to innately guess the movements of naval vessels they'd wanted to avoid. His lack of an Irish accent, which he'd explained away by saying he'd spent his early years working on the docks in Liverpool, where the other lads had beat the lilt of his homeland out of his speech. The hours he'd spent arguing philosophy with
After a quick check of the shop, she found, much to her disgust, there was no sign of the blackguard, at least none that she could see about the front of the shop. When she was about to instigate a hard search, her sharp gaze fell on the small, neatly lettered sign above a shelf in the back that read naval histories.
It struck her that perhaps Julien's proof lay there, and he'd sent her here to Hatchards with the express purpose of having her discover the truth about her father for herself.
She wouldn't put it past the coward to leave his dirty work to someone else. Not that she believed him for a minute, but, anxious to prove him a liar yet again, she headed straight for that section.
An elderly man with white whiskers took offense to her arrival in this clearly masculine realm. He glared at her as if to drive her away, but Maureen ignored him, and soon he left her alone with muttered words about "indelicate snips not knowing their places."
She smiled to herself before turning to let the titles wash over her, most of them with familiar names and places and words. After scanning three shelves, one title finally stood out.
The Registry and Recent History of His Majesty's Most Honorable Navy, Published 1780.
Surely, if her father had served in the British Navy, as Julien claimed, he would be listed in this book. For the entire story to be true, her father would have had to be in the Navy before he met her mother, which had been two years after this book was published.
As if any of Julien's ranting held any hint of the truth. Still, she leafed through the dull book, the pages holding a faint damp, musty scent.
Names of ships and captains, some familiar and some unknown, drew her attention away from her surroundings, until she'd all but forgotten she was supposed to be a lady looking through the pages of some edifying piece of literature, not a manly volume. Then, toward the middle of the book, she found pages listing all the active ships in the various theaters, their commission dates, and their commanders.
For some reason she stopped, as if willing herself not to take the next step.
What if it were true? What if her father had sailed in the British navy? Did it really matter so much?
"Drat, Julien," she cursed. The scoundrel still had the power to twist her in the wind. His outrageous lies had lit a curiosity inside her. And yet, what if everything she knew about her father turned out to be fiction rather than fact?
She told herself she was continuing only to prove that Julien was the liar. To add another nail to his already far too long delayed coffin.
Slowly, she ran her finger down the list, certain she wouldn't find the evidence he'd so confidently boasted of, until she came to a standstill at an entry that left her shocked and stunned.
Capaneous,
Third Rate; Commissioned, June 1779; Commander, Ethan, Lord Hawthorne.
She read it again, taking in each word slowly, running her fingers over the printed letters as if to verify that the ink and typesetting were truly real.
Ethan, Lord Hawthorne?
She shook her head at the name. Her father? It couldn't be. Her father had never said anything about having a title, let alone being an English nobleman. She tried to tell herself the similar names were a coincidence, a convenient one that Julien was using to turn her world upside down.
Yet in a blinding flash she knew this Lord Hawthorne was her father. As much as she wanted to deny it.
It explained too much, too many things she'd never questioned and probably should have.
The countless times her father had seemed to innately guess the movements of naval vessels they'd wanted to avoid. His lack of an Irish accent, which he'd explained away by saying he'd spent his early years working on the docks in Liverpool, where the other lads had beat the lilt of his homeland out of his speech. The hours he'd spent arguing philosophy with
Similar Books
