20. The Hundred Acre Wood
Along with wedding prep, the day to day operations of The Phoenix, and the startup efforts for the shipyard at West Beach, I was also concerned about the refugees-turned-employees on my land over there. They all had pasts like Helene’s - trafficked from their homes, and now stranded on a remote island in the middle of the Atlantic. Now that they were under my care, I wanted to make sure they were as comfortable as possible. I made a note to look through the mountain of items I’d lifted from my sister’s ship; there were bolts and bolts of fabric, tools, and other supplies they would likely find useful.
I continued my search for pure white fabric for my wedding gown - amazed at how luxurious everyone seemed to consider such a request - while looking out towards the ocean for Anne’s boat. I worked on my wedding cake and the other foods I had decided to do personally, I hosted florists and other vendors still hoping to sell their wares and services for my grand event, and I looked for Anne. I wrote thank you notes to all of the ladies who had so generously donated their time to helping me plan my wedding festivities, and I looked for Anne. I worked with Nichte and Lili in the kitchen, I worked with Lili and Liselotte in the garden, I worked on my wedding menu, and I looked for Anne.
My sister wouldn’t really miss my wedding, would she?
“You are rather reserved, Isabelle,” Ian commented one evening in my parlor.
“I would have thought you would have been relieved not to have to fight me off once again,” I replied. Once again, I found myself looking out towards the water.
He hesitated. “It is bittersweet.”
An admission for him, I observed. “I miss my sister.” I added my own admission to the pile.
“Neither of us will have family there,” Ian reminded me gently. “I may arrive in England before my letters about you and the wedding,” he said quietly, then stopped. We never discussed his impending departure. It was a silent agreement between the two of us.
I wondered what sorts of overly glowing reviews he had written about Lady Isabelle. It would probably be a lot to live up to. Ian continued. “Though, I imagine my family has been well-informed by my cousin,” he said, and I wondered if he heard the incongruity of his words. “My youngest sister wrote some time ago to let me know he was scribing to my lady mother,” he added ruefully at my inquisitive look.
“Oh no...” That was horrifying. “Thomas Charles is not very fond of me. I can’t imagine your family will have received a good impression from any of his words.” Especially if his revulsion at my fight training had been any indicator; I could only imagine what he’d thought after the militia attack.
“Nonsense.” Ian took my hand, covering it with sweet little kisses. “They will adore you as I do.” Meeting the family was a problem for another time; I wouldn’t spoil this moment.
“Kiss me goodnight, my love,” I whispered, pulling him towards me.
Ian and I arrived at lunchtime at Andrews’ estate the day before our wedding, accompanied by an entourage of assistants and friends. Most of the nobility had already arrived; those not high-born enough to be accorded a room in the house had been relegated to (luxurious and elegant) tents, visibly sprawled across the grounds. I had partaken of an ample amount of marijuana as part of my preparation for returning (read: I was stoned as fuck). I was getting married tomorrow, and there had still been no sightings of my sister’s ship.
Beside me, Ian was fairly vibrating with energy and excitement.
He beamed down at me, kissing my hand. I smiled back. Inside, I felt oddly empty.
I found myself looking at this place differently now, given all of the new information I’d gained since my last visit. Especially the fact that my sister seemed to be some kind of homewrecker. I was starting to understand why the others felt the way they did about Graham Fucking Andrews. He seemed like damaged goods to me now that I was really learning about him.
Two. Freaking. Years. My sister had never dated anyone for longer than a few hours that I’d known of. It was enough of a departure from the Anne I knew to make me wonder how much of a factor she might be in all of this.
The Anne I knew. That phrasing was laughable, really. Still - could she really be in a serious relationship with a farmer from the 17th century? After making fun of me for doing similar? “Ridiculous But Accurate Sentences for $200, Alex.”
I was still scanning the horizon, constantly looking for her ship. She would be here.
Right?
As during our previous visit, we were greeted by the master of the estate and his heir. This time, to my relief, they were joined by Helene. She greeted me with a warm smile and a compassionate hug.
While Ian was incredibly taken aback by her familiarity, I welcomed it. I didn’t feel great about being here, and I was grateful beyond words for her reception.
“Thank you,” I whispered, looking her in the eyes. She nodded back with understanding, then retreated to allow Ian the space to take my arm. He gave the two of us an odd look, then reassessed, taking my hand and giving it a kiss. He was happy that she had helped me, and he cared more about my ease than the appearances of propriety. I smiled up at him.
At that moment, I noticed Mr. Graham Fucking Andrews looking over my party. Judging from the frown on his face, he found it wanting. It was, but how did he know?
“Is this everyone?” He asked, scanning the group again.
I tensed, and Ian rubbed my arm, trying to calm me. Too late. “Does our group displease you, Mr. Andrews?” I asked, not bothering to erase my biting tone.
“You had mentioned bringing a guest. I thought perhaps I’d counted wrong. Helene, please bring them to the dining room. I just have one item of business to attend to.” He rushed ahead of the party to the house, leaving Ian less than impressed with his manners and courtesy. And less than impressed was putting it mildly, judging from the telltale clenching of his lovely jawline. Now it was my turn to do calming arm patting. I was more successful.
I kept my usual quick walking pace, unusually curious to see what our host was rushing ahead for. Why the hell was he so concerned about the number of people in my party? I was probably nipping at his heels, actually. But as he was supposed to be keeping pace with us, his allegedly honored guests, if anyone was in the wrong it certainly wasn’t me. Even if Ian was casting me looks as I dragged him along.
We arrived just in time to see him personally clearing away the setting from the chair that had stood conspicuously empty the last time. Angelica seated us, fuming as Mr. Graham Fucking Andrews swiftly exited through a doorway that led to the kitchen area, judging by the aromas that wafted from that direction. My betrothed looked like he wanted to throttle him. Moments later there was a sound of what I strongly believed to be those same dishes smashing to the ground.
“Oh, dear,” I said, batting my eyes innocently. “I do hope nothing is the matter.” He was upset. I bit back a smile, feeling more malicious than usual. My eyes drifted to the empty chair and place setting, and I reminded myself that I was a Stranger in a Strange Land and I grokked nothing. But I wondered.
‘A long-standing relationship,’ Ian had said. What did that truly mean here, in a place where not a single person thought it odd that Lieutenant Commander Coventry had proposed to a foreign noblewoman who was still wet from her boat ride?
“Excuse me, please,” Angelica said, giving us a polite, strained smile before flying through the same doorway. I heard her say something I couldn’t quite make out, though the tone was definitely one of admonishment. A petulant response from Mr. Graham Fucking Andrews’ deep voice followed. Moments later, the two reappeared. Angelica looked pleasant and calm; he looked like he’d eaten a thunderbolt.
“I trust all is well?” Ian asked, one eyebrow raised in derision.
“Marvelous. Let’s eat.” Our host sat down and started to serve himself until Angelica smacked his hand. Magnus giggled and Andrews smiled at him.
Mr. Graham Fucking Andrews appeared to recover himself enough to have conversation and pretend to have manners. Ian was mollified, even if I wasn’t. During the meal, Mr. Graham Fucking Andrews was perfectly, annoying polite, and I wanted to claw his fucking eyes out of his stupid, handsome face - especially since they kept drifting to the empty chair at the opposite end of the table.
Feeling spiteful, curious, and wicked, I decided to pull out a little grenade and roll it to his end of the table, just for funsies. “It turns out I won’t have a guest coming after all, Angelica,” I spoke up suddenly. “My captain left several days ago, I learned.” From the corner of my eye, I could see Ian eyeing me with curiosity. Among other things. I did not get the feeling that he approved of my outburst, or what he accurately identified as its intention.
In retrospect, the explosion was grander and more devastating than I had expected; the dejection in Mr. Graham Fucking Andrews’ eyes was sudden and cutting, and it took every bit of my good breeding not to point and laugh in his face. Well. That was interesting. I took a delicate spoonful of stewed fruit, which suddenly seemed just a little sweeter, and our ‘host’ immediately excused himself from the table.
I frowned after his retreating figure, irritated. I couldn’t even enjoy having figured out another of Anne’s secrets! What a little bitch. How dare he sulk more than me over MY sister missing MY wedding. Still. The less time I had to spend making polite conversation with Mr. Graham Fucking Andrews the better.
Ian was pissed at yet another breach of decorum, which he clearly viewed as an insult. He set his fork down on his plate with a controlled motion, jaw clenched, looking for all the world as though he might challenge the other man to fisticuffs or something.
Yvonne leaned across the table, smiling (for once) and said, “We are having a party tonight, to celebrate the end of the hurricane. We would love to have you come.”
Hurricane? There had been a few summer storms, sure. Maybe hurricanes had a different definition here, hundreds of years before climate change?
“I love hurricane parties,” Magnus piped up. “You will love them too. Please say you’ll come!”
“Magnus, the lady can make her own choices. You are of course welcome, Lady Isabelle. I would be happy to come and escort you down to the bonfire and festivities when it’s time,” Helene offered.
“I thank you for the enthusiastic recommendation, young Master Magnus. I do enjoy a good bonfire.” I grinned at him before turning to his mother. “Who usually attends?” I asked cautiously. The last thing I wanted to do was party with fucking Mr. Graham Fucking Andrews tonight.
“All who live and work on the grounds are invited.” Helene said.
Well, probably not then. I was preparing a polite excuse when Magnus spoke up again.
“Father never comes though. He just drinks in his room. But don’t worry, all the others get to the bottom of a few casks. Especially Mother!” He grinned.
“You are excused now, Magnus.” Helene replied sternly.
“But I’m not done with --” Magnus protested.
“Now.” His mother was clearly not going to suffer his embarrassing comments another second; I couldn’t help but to chuckle into my hand.
“Children,” I replied once Magnus had left, obviously disappointed with his dismissal. I was still mirthful, though trying to be subdued. “They do say the most amusing things.”
After Magnus’ unintended reassurances regarding his father’s absence, I decided that I would, in fact, attend.
Josefa-Maria and Lili were waiting upstairs to help me change for the evening. Lili was excited to be helping and present at my wedding, especially with so many people in fancy clothing. She greeted Ian and I at the door to my room with a huge grin, bouncing up and down.
“Hello, Lili,” I smiled at her, taking in the new pink linen dress she’d gotten on my expense account with Matheo.
“My lady, Lieutenant Commander,” she said, and curtseyed.
She had improved. “Very nice. Have you been practicing?”
Lili nodded eagerly before being whisked away by Josefa-Maria. I felt guilty. Lili looked good, but she always seemed busy lately; I hoped Nichte wasn’t overworking her.
Ian spoke again. “The ladies Aaoka and Alice will be here to take you to the ladies dinner and drinks festivities.”
“Dinner? Seriously?” I sighed. With this group, that was guaranteed to be a boring bachelorette. Thank god I could go to a real party later. “What will you and the other gentlemen be doing?”
“Cigars and whiskey, I imagine,” he replied with a bright smile.
“Well that sounds like fun,” I complained. “I think I’m actually jealous!”
Ian grinned at me, chuckling. “They are apparently very much looking forward to seeing you again. You have been quite the topic of conversation in our circle since the events with the militia.”
Events. What a polite way to summarize an ambush, assault, attempted rape, and everything else that had happened. Including the arrows I’d put into those men.
“I shall return to escort you to your second celebration. If you are quite certain you wish to attend?” He raised an expectant eyebrow at me.
“I am going to live dangerously and associate with peasants tonight,” I said dryly. I punctuated that by daring to kiss him on the cheek. Hopefully that incredible forwardness would be forgiven if we were spotted.
“How do you manage that?” Ian had an affectionate look as he gazed down at me. “I truly do not understand how you move through the world, comfortable among those of any class.”
“I suppose things are just different in California,” I said after a pause.
The ladies’ dinner was just as boring as I thought it would be. To my surprise I enjoyed the calm, and the event made a decent distraction from all of my thoughts.
Angelica’s food was quite delicious; a reminder that I hadn’t sat down to relax in some time. Hell, I had conducted a meeting with my staff while the manicurist was working on my nails in my parlor, and dictated letters while conditioning my hair in the tub.
If I took even two moments to myself I might be forced to think about Anne.
In the background, I could hear the distinctly raucous sounds of the other two festivities - instruments, loud singing and laughing. I could even see people dancing around the distant bonfire outside the open window.
...Maybe Anne wouldn’t come back for my wedding after all. After all, my sister had been shackled to a wall because of me, coerced to kill, because of me. We hadn’t even had a chance to discuss that yet. I wondered if we ever would.
What if she didn’t even love me anymore?
I was stricken by the thought. This is what thinking gets you, I told myself sternly, taking a deep drink of my cocktail.
Yes, we were having cocktails. Yvonne had mentioned something to Angelica about my drinking preferences, and our hostess had thoughtfully included two options along the rest of the spread. Cocktails without ice were bullshit, but it was still delicious. And most importantly, full of alcohol. The bartender had a lovely heavy hand.
No, but seriously, my brain insisted, what if she didn’t even love me anymore?
I was still feeling deeply pensive when Ian and Helene arrived to retrieve me. The woman again deferred to Ian’s claim over me, but stayed on my other side, like a protective shield.
Instinctively, I offered Helene my free arm. She took it at once, giving my elbow a maternal pat. On my other side, Ian glanced at me in confusion; I smiled up at him reassuringly, and he let it go. Maybe there was some hope for him yet.
The party was in full swing when we arrived. There were drums, accompanied by violin and flute, and everyone was dancing like there was no tomorrow.
“Now this is more like it,” I murmured, rubbing my hands together approvingly; Ian didn’t know what to make of it. He reminded me of Baby in Dirty Dancing when she gets her first look at the dancers in their natural habitat.
“My lady, this is most unsuitable,” Ian said, observing two young men kissing.
I rolled my eyes but Helene beat me to it.
“Do you not consider your lady capable of discerning what is suitable for her and what is not?” She addressed Ian directly.
Oh boy, I thought, watching a myriad of emotions play across his face. Among them were shock that a ‘servant’ was addressing him at all, not to mention so boldly, annoyance at the gist of her words - and the understanding that I would almost certainly agree with them.
“Yeah, Lieutenant Commander,” I chimed in, lightly elbowing him in the side. I was starting to feel my drinks. “Don’t be a spoilsport. Don’t ruin my fun,” I amended to his confused expression. “Back home, we party like this all the time, and I never get to do so here. The ladies here...are rather stiff. And of course, I don’t get invited to these sorts of things back in St. George’s. Because it wouldn’t be suitable.”
He narrowed his eyes. “If you insist on attending, Lady Isabelle, I shall insist upon setting a few of my men out here to stand guard over you.”
I grimaced. “Fine. But they have to stay out here at the perimeter. I can’t have them cramping my style.” The drums had started on a new beat, and I was already swaying to it, snapping my fingers in rhythm.
Ian gazed at me while he parsed my words, but to his credit he didn’t need to ask for clarification out loud. “I will accommodate your request. They will come to your aid if there is even the slightest hint of trouble.”
“Perhaps you might instruct them to wait until and unless there is actual trouble? I don’t need a pair of overprotective soldiers thrashing someone just because they dared to talk to me.”
‘Why would you wish to talk to them?’ Ian was clearly about to ask before thinking better of it. “Very well, my lady.”
With Ian still watching, Helene took me to the refreshments table, and pressed some sort of rum punch drink into my hand. Once Ian had decided I was not at risk of being consumed by the lower class he left and turned my care over to his soldiers.
Helene escorted me into the center of the dancers, who were performing some sort of group square dance, and I discovered that this was a welcoming group. A well-dressed, healthy, happy looking group. They swept me up into their midst, showing me the steps.
Helene introduced me to Elaheh, a graceful woman of vaguely Iranian appearance who kept my cup of rum punch full; trays of delicious treats were constantly being passed around as well. Everyone was friendly, and I found myself exchanging pleasant small talk with lots of new faces. I was surprised to see a familiar one.
“Bessie?” I blinked. The girl was standing on the other side of the bonfire, wearing a sleeping baby and twisting a handkerchief in her hands. Her face lit up when our eyes connected, and she quickly came around to my side.
“Lady Isabelle, may I speak with you?” She looked around furtively.
“Sure.” I gestured for Bessie to follow me, taking her off some distance from the others. “Is everything alright?”
“I wish to speak with you plainly, my lady.”
“Of course. What is it?” The girl was radiating urgency.
“I need to entrust you with a secret. About...my friend.” Bessie rubbed a hand across her face.
Yes. Her ‘friend’. “I am excellent at keeping secrets, Bessie.” She had no idea. I nodded at her, and Bessie took a deep breath before spilling everything.
“Lady Catherine is married to the commander but she’s in love with my brother and-- She and the baby have to leave before he returns.” Bessie stoked the child’s curls, gazing at me with wide, fearful eyes.
“Oh. I see,” I blinked, trying to take everything in while also keeping my jaw from hanging. I gazed at the child wrapped to her. He was barely a year old, with dark hair and eyes, and tan skin. I’d assumed he was Bessie’s, and hadn’t thought twice about his coloring. But things were different here. People were different here - racial blends that would be common to me were as of yet unheard of.
...Like Black American, I thought, remembering how my ‘suitors’ had tried to place my land of origin - and yet none of them had guessed an African country, despite the (to me) obvious similarities.
This baby, however, would be marked as biracial by all.
“The baby--”
“John Henry, my lady,” Bessie interjected.
“John Henry,” I amended. “So he’s your nephew? And the two of you have been passing him off as your son?”
Bessie nodded. Her eyes were wide with fear.
“It’s alright, Bessie. Thank you for trusting me. I promise I would never say anything.” I was still processing the massive information dump she had just laid on me.
“You won’t tell Lieutenant Commander Coventry?”
“No, of course not,” I said at once, frowning. “It isn’t any of his business.”
Bessie nearly sobbed with relief. “Thank you, my lady.”
This put everything in an entirely different perspective. As Commander, Lady Catherine’s husband, Commander Sutton, would outrank Lieutenant Commander Coventry - even if they weren’t going to be trading off the post. It was no wonder the woman was anxious to leave. And she and I both wanted that incoming naval vessel to be as delayed as long as possible. Of course now, I no longer had access to a boat. And even if I did, I didn’t really think I was capable of sailing that far as both captain and navigator. Certainly not without technology or the guidance of someone far more experienced.
“I will do everything I can. But I will need to think.”
Even that small amount put her at some ease. “Thank you, Lady Isabelle,” she curtsied, then retreated into the mass of partygoers.
Elaheh, who Helene had appointed as my personal guide, gave me a garland of delicately scented white and pink flowers and greenery, fastening it around my neck when it was clear that I was too inebriated to do so. I giggled. At that point, Helene, who was laughing and dancing and generally holding court among a huge crowd, broke away and pulled me into her circle.
“We have a wedding gift for you.” Helene told me as she downed a cup herself.
“For me?” The music was loud and the drinks were strong. Far stronger than I’d had in St. George’s. My interest was piqued.
“Would you like it now?” She asked.
Why not? I nodded enthusiastically and raised my glass. “I’m getting married tomorrow!” I toasted and the whole crowd raised their cups and cheered and drank. Helene and Elaheh ushered me out of the crowd and away from some of the noise.
There was an older Black woman sitting at a fire pit in front of what appeared to be a small – perhaps cauldron of sorts? The tendrils of steam coming from it smelled strongly of eucalyptus. Not what I had been expecting.
“Your gift, my lady. We’d like to offer a blessing, for you and your marriage.” Helene guided me into a seated position, and she and Elaheh spoke to the old woman they called ‘grandmother’.
“A blessing? I’m honored.” I was intrigued and also oddly at peace. “What do I do?”
“Do what I do,” Elaheh instructed me. A basin of water with herbs and rose petals appeared in front of us. Elaheh dipped her hands into it, then cupped them to pour the water over her forearms. I mimicked her motions. The old woman handed Elaheh a wooden cup and she drank. I sniffed at it.
“It’s part of the ritual, my lady,” the old woman said, watching me closely.
The drink had a very potent aroma that I couldn’t place, and there were bits of herbs floating on the top. “It’s bitter,” Elaheh warned me.
It was extremely bitter, even with the obvious addition of honey. The moment it touched my stomach, I felt a flare of something go through the scar on my wrist - all that was left from Anne’s vow to take me home. I rubbed it briefly, but it was already gone, leaving me covered in goosebumps.
And then I felt very warm. That feeling when you’ve been lying on the beach, on a perfect day, when the sun is at a perfect position to warm you, but there’s also a little bit of cloud from time to time, and a good, steady breeze.
Grandmother - who up until this point had been quietly studying me - suddenly grinned. “Lady Isabelle does not walk through this world alone,” the old woman met my eyes with a stare that took my breath away. “A great, bronzed warrior of a man, with long dark curls.”
I gaped at her. Fetu?
“He would like to say hello.” She closed her eyes and reached for me. As she touched my hand, my mind filled with the sound of waves.
We were on a beach with other revelers. These were all scantily clad in serape and spandex. There was a bonfire here too and delicious aromas and a beautiful young girl sat on my lap.
No – it was me, I was sitting on Fetu’s lap as he held me against his chest. But I was him, feeling his emotions, seeing through his eyes, hearing his thoughts. I was me, back with my first love, safe under the stars.
I had long since - No, Fetu had long since stopped trying to reach out and touch anyone. Only in her most relaxed moments did he think that she –me – that his Pele actually understood him.
“No one is worthy of you, Pele. But he’ll do.” I – He whispered in my ear. Pele. It had been Fetu warning me in the forest just before the ambush.
And then I was no longer in Bermuda. I was firmly in Fetu’s arms. Thinking his thoughts.
I was in Cabo... holding a younger version of myself. The fire was warm, the drinks were flowing, and the ocean air was--
No, wait.
I was here in Somers Isles. It was a different fire, different drinks, different ocean air.
Overwhelmed, I steadied myself by focusing on the bonfire.
Wait. Which bonfire was I looking at?
The fire was warm tonight, almost as warm as the beauty in my arms. Tonight I was feeling brave and hopeful. This woman, this beauty, Pele, rekindled a fire long doused. She’d accepted my lips, my hands, my attention. For the first time in ages there was reason to keep this world spinning. There under the stars and firelight I felt like myself for the first time in a long time; someone worthy of love and beauty.
“You are choosing love. That isn’t wrong.” His deep voice echoed through me. The sounds of the hurricane party overtook the noises of our beach in Cabo. I opened my eyes to see the three women staring at me. Fetu, he was here. What horrible timing this was.
“Oh my god,” I breathed, feeling woozy.
“He is right.” The old grandmother smiled and motioned for the other two to hold me steady.
We were joined by a number of other women. There was a circle, chanting, some sort of dancing that Elaheh guided me through. Then she took me back to the old woman, who sat me down in front of her cauldron. She instructed me to breathe in the steam, moving her hands like she was examining my aura.
She paused near my midsection with a look of concern. “You have...hmmm. The circle, it will not close, my lady.” Her eyes narrowed, as though she was listening to something I couldn’t hear. “It is not permanent.” Her hand hovered over my lower abdominal area, gliding back and forth. “It is a block of your own devising,” she announced with delight.
My birth control pills, I realized belatedly. I probably ought to have felt very violated, but I was too fascinated. And high from whatever was in that drink.
I could still feel Fetu’s presence nearby. It was fragile, like a wisp of spider’s silk; I dared not reach out to touch it.
The older woman brought out a small glass vial of some sweet smelling oil, and she, Elaheh, and Helene dabbed it on my skin - wrists, hands, face, neck. The next thing I remembered, I was sitting back at the bonfire, Helene and Elaheh on either side of me. Helene gave me a cup of water to drink, and somehow, I knew it was safe. I drank deeply.
Helene delivered me to Ian when he reappeared, searching for me anxiously. I was more clear headed than I had expected, considering I’d literally just seen and spoken with a ghost. While I was still drunk and reeling from my blessing and all that it had entailed, I was feeling light. Giddy, really - Fetu had given me his blessing.
“Hi!” I tripped up to Ian. “How was your night with the gentlemen?”
“Hi. It was quite favorable.” Ian replied, distractedly. He was looking me over for damages. “You seem well.”
“You seem surprised,” I returned. “As though you didn’t have four terrified soldiers out there standing guard over my every move. They weren’t nearly as subtle as I hoped.” At least they hadn’t crashed my blessing. That would have been hella awkward.
“Did you enjoy the festivities?” He asked.
I nodded and took his arm again, grounding myself in his solidity. “Tell me about your party?”
Ian was describing the whiskey when I noticed Mr. Graham Fucking Andrews, crossing the field towards the dock, bottle in hand. In the nearby distance, sails appeared. My heart leapt for the briefest of moments, even though I knew they weren’t the right shape. Our host’s pace quickened, and I found myself wondering if he was looking for Anne too. I felt oddly jealous at the idea that he might be.
As it turned out, the sailboat was bearing Davies, who greeted Mr. Graham Fucking Andrews with an enthusiastic handshake and a hug and then launched into a flurry of speech, accompanied by his usual animated hand gestures.
Davies was still going by the time Ian and I reached the pair of them. “...coming along nicely. Oh, and here’s the happy couple! Coventry, I was just telling Andrews here how thrilled I was that you felt moved to release the captain after all.” I bit my lip. Yikes. Also - had Davies seen Anne? “...She really is a good soul, just gets mixed up in it sometimes. But don’t we all! Don’t we all!” Davies laughed in his usual hearty manner. “Anyway, she really set the operation in motion over there. I’ve even got several letters here I’d like to post from your port. Letters she’s written to contacts to help us develop into rather an astounding business if they follow through,” he explained, passing the letters to me. My heart skipped as I saw Anne’s handwriting.
Damn. How had she gotten so good with a quill? I’d been practicing for weeks and I still struggled--
The hackles on my neck rose as Mr. Graham Fucking Andrews looked at the letters in my hands with open avarice. He had better fucking not.
Davies was still talking.
“...Stayed about nine days to help us do it even though I know she was anxious to leave. Andrews, do you know, I asked her where she was heading and she answered ‘home’. Home! I’ve never heard her mention a home before, just figured she was born and bred on that ship!”
Davies paused to chuckle at the image, and I shifted uncomfortably on Ian’s arm.
Nine days. Home. I swallowed.
“Well, there are quite a few magnificent parties going on here. I’ll just go help myself, shall I!” Davies trotted off, oblivious of the bombs he had strewn in his wake.
Mr. Graham Fucking Andrews opened his mouth.
“I shall post these myself,” I declared, forestalling the question that was surely coming; he hadn’t stopped staring at the letters since Davies had handed them over to me. With a grumble, Mr. Graham Fucking Andrews stalked off to the patio.
Ugh. “He is such an ass,” I remarked to Ian, seething.
“He is lowborn,” Ian scoffed. “Proper breeding cannot be imitated.”
Home. Anne had gone home, without me. I stared at the ocean accusingly for a while, until Ian gently prodded me to allow him to escort me back to the house.
Ian paused. “Although first we must say goodnight to our ‘host’,” he said scathingly.
I rolled my eyes, but he was right.
“Do you know, he did not even have the good grace to make an appearance at the revelry.”
“Rude. Let’s get this over with.” It was the principle of the thing, after all.
My betrothed cleared his throat as we approached, drawing our host’s attention to our presence. “Lady Isabelle and I wish to bid you a good night, and give thanks for your generosity--”
Mr. Graham Fucking Andrews finished the last of his drink, said “Yeah. Night,” and promptly threw the empty bottle into the ocean.
I stiffened, shocked by how rude he was being to Ian. What the fuck. You can’t pull it together for two seconds to say good night? Even a pack of rabid raccoons could have managed better than that.
Ian released my arm, motioning for me to remain where I was as he approached our host. Shit. Nothing good could possibly come from this. For the first time, I realized that Ian was rather into a few drinks himself.
“Ummm...” I murmured after him, but it was too late.
“It is rather clear that you find the hosting of this event inconvenient,” Ian said sharply, “but I will need you to remember your place and apologize to Lady Isabelle for your untenable rudeness.”
Mr. Graham Fucking Andrews’ response to that was to stagger-march his drunk ass alllll the way up in Ian’s face and say “Fuck. You.”
Before I could do more than gasp, Ian had decked him, sending him backwards onto the grass - where he remained. Mr. Graham Fucking Andrews was out cold. Holy shit.
“Shall we, my love?” I blinked up at Ian. I was still staring in shock, my hand over my mouth. Helene appeared, looking over her lover’s unconscious form and shaking her head in annoyance. She was obviously unconcerned.
“You see the kind of man the lower class breeds? That man hit success somehow yet will never be true nobility like you and I.”
True nobility just punched him out like he was in a bar fight, I thought, bemused.
The flurry of activity in the sitting room connected to my bedchamber revolved around floral arrangements. There were bouquets and nosegays and buckets of flowers on every surface. Lady Catherine and Bessie, along with Josefa-Maria and Lili, were all within, serving as a bridal party of sorts as they tied together sprigs and buds, fussing over details of this and that for the big day.
“Lieutenant Commander, Lady Isabelle,” Lady Catherine greeted us warmly.
I looked at her differently now, having had some insight into her life. She couldn’t be more than sixteen. Lady Catherine cleared the others through into the bedroom, supposedly to give us privacy. There was little chance of that with only an open doorway separating the two spaces.
I took Ian by the hand and led him out onto the balcony. It was a gorgeous oceanfront view, and several small potted plants provided pleasant aromas.
“This time tomorrow night, we’ll finally be able to share a bed together,” I whispered to him.
“Yes, my soon to be lady wife, for the very first time.” He gave me a conspiratorial wink.
“We’ve been playing with fire,” I acknowledged, “but it really will be.”
“I’m going to kiss you goodnight now,” Ian murmured.
“Really? You don’t think it’s too risky?”
“If we keep ourselves restrained, no one will judge us for sharing a brief kiss on this night.” His eyes twinkled. “You could always say that I pressured you for a token of affection, in my impatience.”
I laughed at how absurd that sounded. Then he kissed me, and I stopped laughing.
