“Oh,” Clark said. “But if the case did go to court, then you’d have the opportunity to share what terrible things they did over there. Despite all of us being allies.” His face darkened, and Griffith felt the injustice of it all over again.

“It’d be easier to enact change if you’re in a position of power,” Frederick added.

The only solace to his current situation was that as a duke he might be able to address some of the problems with far more effectiveness than as a renegade captain.

“Well, since you won’t be heading out to sea again, my lord, would you mind writing me a letter of recommendation?”

Griffith shook his head. “No.”

Clark leaned forward, his expression confused. “No?”

“No, because I want you to come work for me as my valet or secretary or whatever it is you think you’d like to do.”

Clark’s face cleared, and it was obvious the notion pleased him. “Yes, absolutely! I have no obligation to the Royal Navy as of the moment we came ashore.” He grinned. “As long as I don’t have to climb rigging any longer.”

“There is a scarcity of rigging involved in being a duke,” Frederick said dryly.

Griffith took a deep breath. His friend, his closest friend for the past five years, would be on hand for him to talk to. To work out just what this new life might mean. It had only been a few days, but he’d felt strangled with all this new responsibility. Not knowing what to do, or how to do it.

Clark’s presence would help that, even though Clark had no idea how to be a nobleman either. As far as Griffith recalled, Clark came from a family of turnip farmers or something.

“Well, as your new employee, I shouldn’t be sitting in this fancy room as though we were all the same,” Clark said as he sprang up from his seat.

Griffith winced. “No, the whole point is that we are the same.”

“Except that you have a title and will own more land than my family has ever seen,” Clark replied.

“He is not wrong,” Frederick commented.

“Be quiet, both of you,” Griffith replied, glancing from one to the other. “And sit down, Clark.”

Clark sat, a grin on his face.

“Fred, if you expect me to be the kind of duke that sits around musing on his own importance, you might want to reconsider asking me to stay. Because I won’t do that.”

Frederick smiled. “I know you won’t. What I do know is that I’ll be leaving the title in good hands when I am gone.”

When I am gone. Fred spoke so matter-of-factly, as if his dying wasn’t something to be feared. Perhaps it wasn’t, since it was obvious that the event had been coming, and had been foreseen, for a long time now.