statement—Patience, Lady Hervey, or his father. Anne, for one,
looked thrilled. She was no doubt wondering if she could go
to the docks herself and commission a captain and a ship if
it meant she would be rid of him. Teach’s irritation with the
girl took on illogical proportions. She definitely needed to be
taught her proper place in this household.
“But surely you don’t mean that,” Patience said, leaning
forward and revealing a dangerous amount of décolletage, no
longer content to let her mother steer the conversation.
It was Drummond who spoke next, his face hard. “No, he
does not mean it. Edward’s time at sea has passed. I granted him one year, to get it out of his system,” he said, glowering. “He had a bit of excitement and adventure, but now it’s time to get serious again about his future.”
Lord Hervey took a sip of wine before turning to Teach.
“You spent several years at Eton, didn’t you? A most excellent
school. I remember my days there,” he said fondly, clasping his
hands in front of him. “What was your favorite subject?”
Teach shrugged but made no comment, knowing his father
would not take kindly to his saying he cared more for naviga—
tion than Latin.
4 5
Drummond sat up straight. “At my request Edward was exposed to many different subjects, and he enjoyed them all.
He excelled at Greek and Latin. Mathematics also appeared to
be to his liking,” he said. “He read the works of John Milton
and other renowned authors. While I do not approve of Milton’s disdain for Catholicism, Edward learned a great deal.”
Lord Hervey slapped Drummond on the back. “If he went
to Eton, it was more likely gambling and drinking that he
learned.”
Only the slight tightening of his lips displayed Drummond’s
displeasure, but he was discreet enough not to correct the baron’s statement.
It was William who added a bit of levity to the conversation. “Oh, no, he was a model student. Despite my attempts to
lure him into shocking dens of greed, your son stayed clear of
the gaming tables and drinks so that the rest of us had something to be good at,” he said, with a self-deprecating smile.
Some in the party laughed, and the moment passed.
Teach shook his head, wondering how much longer this
inanity would continue. He did not feel well and wished
to retire as soon as possible. His head pounded, and he was
uncomfortably warm. But it was the lesser of two evils to obey
his father and simply remain where he was, a helpless bystander
in this farce.
Not to be forgotten amidst the talk of personal edification,
Patience cleared her throat. “Who is John Milton?”
4 6
Teach groaned inwardly. She was a baron’s daughter. How could she not know of Milton? Teach’s mother had often read Milton’s works in the evening. He remembered sitting near the fire, listening, inspired by the prose so full of passion for freedom and self-determination.
He glanced at his father, wondering not for the first time if
he was still intent on joining his line with the Herveys’.
The fork in Drummond’s hand stopped midway to his
mouth, for Teach was not the only one surprised by her lack of
knowledge. “John Milton was a poet,” he said, speaking as if to
a child.
Patience nodded, pretending understanding. In truth,
Teach knew she cared far more about her appearance than her
education. She could paint a pretty landscape or stitch an altar cloth, but she’d once told him that literature and poetry would likely blemish her complexion with concentration lines.
Teach felt an inexplicable need to break the uncomfortable
silence. “Don’t worry, Miss Patience. I’d be happy to introduce
you to the works of Milton. Paradise Lost is one of my favorites, and I believe you’ll be a very quick study.”
“I look forward to it,” she said, smiling, no doubt remembering the last time they had been alone.
William spoke up. “That’s Teach for you,” he said, a grin
on his face.
“Teach?” Drummond asked.
William nodded. “That’s what we called Edward at school.
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If you were willing to learn, he was always willing to teach you.”
“Well, I’m a very willing pupil,” Patience said.
Lady Hervey glanced between the two of them, a frown on
her face. “I wrote a poem once, when Patience was just a child.”
“Oh, no, Mama, please—” Patience began.
Ignoring her daughter’s protest, Lady Hervey launched
into her text. “Patience is a virtue, virtue is a grace. Both put together, make a pretty face.”
William choked on his food, his face turning red. Drummond and Lord Hervey smiled politely. Lady Hervey beamed as
if lauded with praise. It took considerable effort on Teach’s part not to burst out laughing, for he could not tell if the mother had been trying to outshine her daughter or praise her with that poem. In either case, the poem was a disservice.
His gaze found Anne. It was apparent by the frown on her