‘I do have a confession,’ he said, as the post chaise slowed and turned into a lane which must have been lovely at one time, but which now was overgrown and rutted.
It can’t be worse than my omission, she thought. ‘I’m all a-tremble,’ she said, feeling like the biggest hypocrite who ever wore shoe leather.
He chuckled, and touched her knee with his hook. ‘Sophia, I promise you I do not have a harem in Baghdad—too far from the coast—or an evil twin locked in the attic.’ He didn’t quite meet her gaze. ‘You’ll see soon enough. How to put this? I didn’t precisely buy this property for the manor.’
He had timed his confession perfectly. The coachman slowed his horses even more on the last turn, and then the estate came into view. What probably should have been a graceful lawn sloping towards a bluff overlooking a sterling view of Plymouth Sound was a tangle of weeds and overgrown bushes.
The admiral was watching her expression, so Sally did her best to keep it entirely neutral. ‘It appears you could use an entire herd of sheep,’ she murmured. ‘And possibly an army equipped with scythes.’
She looked closer, towards the front door, and her eyes widened. She put her hand to her mouth in astonishment. Rising out of a clump of undergrowth worthy almost of the Amazon was a naked figure. ‘Good heavens,’ she managed. ‘Is that supposed to be Venus?’
‘Hard to say. You can’t see it from here, but she seems to be standing on what is a sea shell. Or maybe it is a cow patty,’ the admiral said. He coughed.
There she stood, one ill-proportioned hand modestly over her genitals. Sally looked closer, then blushed. The hand wasn’t over her privates as much as inside them. The statue’s mouth was open, and she appeared to be thinking naughty thoughts.
‘I think this might be Penelope, and her husband has been gone a long time,’ Sally said finally.
She didn’t dare look at the admiral, but she had no urge to continue staring at a statue so obviously occupied with business of a personal nature. She gulped. ‘A very long time.’
‘No doubt about it,’ the admiral said, and he sounded like he was strangling.
I don’t dare look at him, else I will fall on the floor in a fit of laughter, and then what will he think? Sally told herself. And then she couldn’t help herself. The laughter rolled out of its own accord and she clutched her sides. When she could finally bring herself to look at the admiral, he was wiping his eyes.
‘Mrs Bright, you would be even more shocked to know there was a companion statue on the other side of the door. Let me just say it was a man, and leave it at that.’
‘Wise of you,’ she murmured, and went off in another gust of laughter. When she could muster a coherent thought, Sally realised it had been years and years since she had laughed at all, let alone so hard.
‘What happened to…ah…Romeo?’ she asked.
‘My steward—you would probably call him my butler—whacked him off at the ankles. I suppose he hasn’t had time to get around to the lady.’
The admiral left the post chaise first. She took his hand as he helped her out. ‘I can scarcely imagine what delights await me indoors,’ Sally said.
‘Oh, I think you can,’ was all he would say, as he put his hand under her elbow and helped her up the steps. ‘Careful now. I should probably carry you over the threshold, Mrs Admiral Sir Charles Bright, but you will observe the front steps are wobbly.’
‘I shall insist upon it when the steps are fixed.’
‘Oh, you will?’ he asked, and then kissed her cheek. ‘Hopefully, our relationship will continue after your first view of the entry hall.’ He opened the door with a flourish. ‘Feast your eyes, madam wife.’
The hall itself appeared dingy, the walls discoloured from years of neglect, but the ceiling drew her eyes upwards immediately. Her mouth fell open. She stepped back involuntarily and her husband’s arm seemed to naturally encircle her waist.
‘At the risk of ruining my credit with you for ever, Sophia, I saw a ceiling like this once in a Naples bawdy house.’
‘I don’t doubt that for a minute!’ she declared, looking around at a ceiling full of cupids engaged in activities the statue out front had probably never even dreamed of. ‘Over there…what on earth…? Oh, my goodness.’ Sally put her hands to her cheeks, feeling their warmth. She turned around and took her husband by the lapels of his coat. ‘Mr Bright, who on earth owned this house?’
‘The estate agent described him as an earl—the sorry end of a long line of earls—who had roughly one thing on his mind. Apparently, in early summer, the old roué used to indulge in the most amazing debaucheries in this house. After that, he closed up the place and retreated to his London lodgings.’
She couldn’t help herself. She leaned her forehead against her new husband’s chest. His arms went around her and she felt his hook against her waist. ‘There had better be a very good reason that a man of sound mind— I’m speaking of you—would buy such a house, Admiral Bright.’
‘Oh, dear,’ he murmured into her hair. ‘Not two minutes inside your new home and I am back to “admiral”.’ He took her hand. ‘Yes, there is a good reason. Humour me another moment.’
She followed where he led, her hand in his, down the hall with its more-than-naughty inmates high above, and out through the French doors into the garden, which was as ill used as the front lawn. Beyond a thoroughly ugly gazebo was the wide and—today—serene expanse of the ocean. It filled the horizon with a deep blue that blended into the early summer sky. Sea birds wheeled and called overhead and she could hear waves breaking on the rocks below. In the distance, a ship under full sail seemed to skim the water as it made for Plymouth.
The admiral released her hand. ‘One look at this and I knew I would never find another place so lovely. What do you think, Sophia? Should I tear down the house and rebuild?’
She turned around and looked at her new home, sturdy with stone that might have once been painted a pastel; elegant French doors that opened on to a fine terrace; wide, floor-to-ceiling windows that would be wonderful to stand behind, when the day was stormy and still the ocean beckoned.
‘No. It’s a good house. Once a little—a lot—of paint is applied.’
‘My thoughts precisely. I got it for a song.’
She had to smile at that. ‘I’m surprised the estate agent didn’t pay you to take it off his hands! Have your sisters been here?’
‘Once. Fannie had to wave burnt feathers under Dora’s nose, and they were gone the next morning before it was even light. I confess I haven’t done anything to the house since, because they assured me they would never return until I did. Until now.’ He sighed and tugged her over to the terrace’s stone railing, where they sat. ‘It worked for a few months, but even these imps from hell weren’t strong enough to ward off the curse of women with too much time on their hands. Fannie is planning to redecorate in an Egyptian style, and Dora tags along.’
‘When?’
‘Any day now, which is why my cook is on strike and…’ He put his hook to his ear, which made her smile. ‘Hark! I hear the thump-tap of my steward. Here he is, my steward through many a battle. John Starkey, may I introduce my wife, Mrs Bright?’
Yesterday, she might have been startled, but not today. From his peg leg to his eye patch, John Starkey was everything a butler was not. All he lacked was a parrot on his shoulder. If he had opened his mouth and exhibited only one, lonely tooth, she would not have been surprised. As it was, he had a full set of teeth and a gentle smile, even a shy one. She looked from the admiral to