Eight: Victoria Taylor

Whatever excuse Horatio tried to find, it was stopped by some event or other interfering and preventing him seeing Elizabeth. It was nearly a week before Pellew took the hinting and allowed him to accompany him on a visit to the Brocklehurst residence. Mr Brocklehurst, it seemed, was very influential in the navy, and admiral Pellew had several things he needed to discuss, and decided it would do Horatio good to listen to business. At the rate Horatio was traversing the ranks, the admiral wouldn't be surprised to see him very high up indeed within the next few years.

The house was redbrick house nearer to Portsmouth city than the Langdon's, and certainly more humble. It didn't surprise Horatio – Mr Brocklehurst wasn't one for grandeur. They were shown through to a drawing room decorated with dark, velvety green hangings and furniture made of dark polished oak. It was elegant and simple, not at all like Mr Langdon's preference. Taking a seat, Horatio looked at the portrait above the large fireplace. It was a family picture – father, mother, two sons and, of course, Elizabeth, with a rather sweet-looking black, tan and white Jack Russell terrier on her lap. There was a rather large Great Dane at their feet, its blue-grey coat shining and head languishing against one of the son's legs. Mr Brocklehurst was in his finest suit, standing ramrod straight, and one hand on the back of a red-upholstered chair where Emma Brocklehurst sat primly. Her hair was elaborately pinned and she wore a white dress that looked remarkably like a wedding dress. Standing on the other side of the chair, nearly as tall as his father, was one of the boys. He wore a naval uniform – midshipman – and his coppery-brown hair tied neatly. In front of him to one side stood the other son, in proper suit, nearly identical to his pious-looking mother. In front of him lay the Great Dane, and to one side of the painting sat Elizabeth. The only golden-haired child – or one of the family – she was the most striking in a pale lavender dress. The Jack Russell sat in her lap, looking up at her, though she looked straight out the painting. Unlike all her straight-lipped family, her mouth curved into the tiniest of smiles, almost as if she harboured an amusing secret. Her hands cradled in her lap, she looked the most relaxed, and it brought a smile to Horatio's lips. Her eyes were enthralling, even in a painting, and it gave him a shiver to recognise them again. They were eerily familiar and he couldn't place from where. Pellew noticed the captain's appraisal and swallowed a smile as the drawing room door opened and the family came in.

Horatio shot to his feet, bowing respectfully. Mr Brocklehurst returned the bow and greeted Pellew warmly. Horatio kissed Emma Brocklehurst's hand politely. He then turned to Elizabeth, whose eyes twinkled mischievously as he took her gloved hand and kissed the silk knuckle delicately. His lips lingered a second longer than they should have, and his eyes never left hers.

"Good day, Miss Brocklehurst." He said quietly.

"Good day, Mr Hornblower." When Horatio finally did look away, he was surprised to see another man nearby. Instantly recognising him from the painting, the captain presumed this must be one of Elizabeth's brothers – the one not in the navy.

"I don't believe we've met." Came the curt announcement from the man. "Jonathon Brocklehurst."

"Captain Horatio Hornblower." Horatio shook the proffered hand. Jonathon must have been older than Elizabeth by at least four years, and was a serious as his father. He wasn't particularly portly, but he took after his mother, including the long dark lashes around his pale blue eyes.

"Ah, yes. Your name is quite… infamous." He was exactly like his father in personality, and Horatio forced himself not to laugh when he saw Elizabeth's smirk from the corner of his eye.

"It is, sir. Though I wouldn't believe everything you hear."

"Really?" Jonathon twitched an eyebrow. "Shame. I was quite impressed by your… adventures." It was a lie, but Horatio dared not continue the conversation. Instead, he turned to Elizabeth. She looked gleeful that Horatio had so blatantly disregarded her pompous older brother. Emma Brocklehurst took her leave, but Elizabeth lingered.

"I was admiring the portrait, Miss Brocklehurst. Tell me, who is the painter?" Elizabeth smiled indulgently.

"A good friend of father's. I'm afraid he paints little, though we would commission no other for such a piece. He did it four years ago. The dogs are both dead of course – and I dearly did love little Digby." Horatio nodded, noticing the maturity in the real Elizabeth that lacked in the painted Elizabeth. "You enjoy art, Mr Hornblower?" There was meaning to her words, and he ached to accept the challenge. He glanced to Pellew. He wouldn't notice if he excused himself for a few minutes…

"I do."

"Then perhaps you would enjoy looking at some of the other pieces in the house? We have quite a collection." Horatio gave a quick bow.

"I would be delighted." They excused themselves and walked calmly from the room. But when they were in the hallway, they noticed too many servants. Sighing imperceptibly to anyone but Horatio, Elizabeth began to show him some of the artwork, and indeed, it was a marvel to see.

In several paintings, the brother in naval uniform appeared at various ages, and, unable to hide his curiosity, Horatio asked:

"Who is he?" Elizabeth blushed and looked away.

"He was my older brother." She looked defiantly at him. "He died two years ago – killed in battle."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. We've grieved too long for Henry." She answered brusquely, watching the servant polishing the silver candlestick at the other end of the room. They had gone to several rooms, all occupied, including at one stage by Emma Brocklehurst. The pretence was inwardly killing Horatio, he just wanted to snatch her up and kiss her for all the world to see. "If we go into the dining room, I can show you the landscape of our country home…" Elizabeth gathered herself mentally and led him through yet another door. For such a humble-looking house, it was remarkably like a maze inside, with far more rooms than needed. At the door, Elizabeth hesitated as she stepped through, and he soon saw why. The room was empty. At last… He walked past her and turned to watch her calmly close the door. When she turned to him, she nearly knocked him over as she flew into him, kissing him furiously. He returned the kisses with equal passion, revelling in the sweetness of her. He stumbled backwards, knocking the back of his legs into the mahogany dining table that stretched the length of the room. He heard the tinkle of silverware touching, but didn't care if it was too loud. They pulled away breathlessly, Elizabeth's eyes shining and her cheeks flushed. "I couldn't help myself." She admitted sheepishly.

"I'm glad of it, else I would have had to kiss you, even if it was in front of your mother!" Horatio exclaimed, receiving a reproachful look. He grinned wickedly.

"You wouldn't have dared."

"Oh no?" He leant in again, grasping her waist and pulling her tight into his embrace as he kissed her. Moving away from her mouth, he placed tiny butterfly kisses along her jaw and cheeks to her ear. He heard her breath coming out in quick pants, and flicked his tongue out, kissing her lobe.

"Horatio!" She gasped. She had placed her hands on his arms, and he felt her fingers dig into his clothes. She relinquished her grip and used one hand to move his mouth back to hers. When they eventually parted again, she laughed airily. "You make me feel so…"

"Immoral? Disreputable? Reprehensible?" He supplied, she slapped his arm, tutting.

"Mr Hornblower! And you claim to be a gentleman." He rolled his eyes and she laughed as he quipped:

"Now you sound like all the other prim, upper-class ladies." Knowing they had to return, they kissed again, and Elizabeth took him back to the drawing room. Horatio was sure they hadn't even noticed that he had gone. Elizabeth made to leave, but two things happened at once. Pellew, Mr Brocklehurst and Jonathon all rose to bid their goodbyes, and a butler entered, holding a sealed letter and looking very grave. Everyone stopped their farewells as the butler approached Elizabeth and handed it to her. Frowning at the scrawled letters on the front, she turned it over and broke the red seal (Horatio wondered why it still seemed a little wet). Still frowning, she read the letter, her face etched with horror as she finished it.

"Oh my!"

"What is it?" Mr Brocklehurst asked sharply as Elizabeth's hand flew to her mouth.

"It's Victoria Taylor, father. She's fallen ill and asks I come to visit as she's terribly unwell and bedridden." Mr Brocklehurst tutted.

"I know I should not slander a friend, Lizzie, but Victoria Taylor has been asking you to visit rather a lot recently. And for long periods, dare I say."

"I know father, but she really is quite poorly." Elizabeth looked at her father, begging him with wide eyes.

"Very well. I'll get Samuel to get the coach ready."

"Thank you father." She kissed him lightly on the cheek, shot an unreadable look to Horatio and darted from the room. Pellew looked curiously at Mr Brocklehurst, who simply shook his head.

"Some pen-friend or other Lizzie visits often near London. I believe she's a terribly sickly creature, and I rather pity the girl. If Lizzie is her only friend, I'd prefer that my daughter visit an ill girl than have it rest on my conscience." The men agreed, but Horatio said nothing, having a creeping feeling of suspicion rising the hairs on the back of his neck. Mr Brocklehurst might be gullible to believe that Victoria Taylor was an ill friend, but Horatio guessed there was more to that story. Another man – some scandalous affair? Jealousy boiled in him at that thought. No, it must be a female friend – perhaps a disreputable one, someone that her family would disapprove of. That was more likely it, but why such secrecy about it? Surely Elizabeth would delight in horrifying her family. Pellew and Horatio went back to the dock in silence, only then the admiral informing his captain of another important mission that he would only give to his best. He explained the situation, and Horatio agreed to do it. Pellew told him carefully that he himself would be on hand to help, but Horatio knew that it was more for his own comfort than the captain's.