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speak.
    William grasped Julia’s purpose, also wanting to allay an explosion of temper by his superior officer. “Aye—yes, Miss Witherington. Tonight, I shall inform my crew they will be dismissed tomorrow for a few weeks’ home leave, but we shall weigh anchor at the end of August.”
    “And I hear you’ve seen much action during the war.” Julia glanced at her father, worry still shading her green eyes when she returned her gaze to William. “Could we trouble you for an anecdote?”
    William did not find speaking of his own exploits enjoyable, but a soft huff from Lady Pembroke decided him.
    “Yes, Ransome. Tell them of your first command on Hope .” But Admiral Witherington didn’t give William a chance to draw a breath, much less begin the story. “Ransome here had just taken command of the Hope, a thirty-eight gun frigate, his first assignment as Post Captain, and sailed to the East Indies.
    “He ran up on Adamant , a seventy-four gunner, just off the coast of Circas.” The admiral’s eyes gleamed as he warmed to his topic. ‘Adamant had come under bombardment by a French privateer and was hulled, burning, and sinking fast. Ransome made all sail to intercept, got the weather gauge of them, and commenced firing.” Admiral Witherington regaled them with details of the engagement William could hardly remember.
    William kept his attention trained on his commander, embarrassed by the knowledge that those outside of the Royal Navy took no interest in such recitations.
    The dishes rattled when Sir Edward brought his palm down on the table in an enthusiastic punctuation to the story. “Not only did Ransome’s gun crews stave off heavier cannon from the French, he captured the privateer and launched boats to pick up survivors from Adamant.”
    Heat itched under William’s collar. “The French ship had taken damage from Adamant’s guns. And we did not come away unscathed, Admiral. Hope took heavy damage during the rescue attempt. We barely made it back to Madras, and the poor girl was scrapped for salvage.”
    Julia frowned and leaned forward. “A thirty-eight, fully crewed holds how many? Three hundred?”
    “I had two hundred seventy-five souls aboard the Hope when we left port.” William raised his eyebrows, encouraging her to continue.
    For the first time since he’d seen her in the drawing room, Julia’s air of aloofness vanished. “A seventy-four, like the Adamant , holds up to six hundred forty, not including the Marine contingent. Your ship wouldn’t hold that number of men, even standing shoulder to shoulder.”
    He nodded, impressed but not surprised that she would so quickly be able to calculate the ships’ capacities. “Yes, nearly nine hundred on a frigate would be nigh impossible. But Miss Witherington, keep in mind Adamant had been under bombardment all morning.” Remembrance of the tragedy nearly locked his voice in his throat. “We only rescued eighty-three.”
    She closed her eyes briefly and shook her head. “I’m so sorry.”
    “God protected us long enough to keep those men safe and return them home to their families. My family was one of those blessed. My youngest brother, Philip, served on the Adamant as third lieutenant.”
    Pain flickered through Julia’s green eyes before the guarded expression returned. William wished he could recall his comment—as it had only served to remind Julia of the loss of her own brother at sea.
    “Ah. I see.” Pembroke jerked as a footman accidentally brushed his arm while refilling his wine. “You stayed to mount a rescue attempt not from some altruistic reason like the fraternity of naval officers or Christian duty. You stayed only to try to rescue your brother.”
    Julia gasped and glanced at her cousin. At the head of the table, Sir Edward slowly rose, his face a mottled purple. “Do you dare impugn the reputation of one of the most highly decorated captains in the Royal Navy, sir?”
    “Father, please. I am certain Sir Drake