21. Wedding Bells
It was definitely Cabo. There was nothing like the sight, smell and feel of this sunny beach and shore.
“Fetu?” I murmured. My hands were caught up in the light, gauzy fabric of my sundress, blowing up in the ocean breeze. I’d bought this dress specifically for Cabo. For him. He must be here.
“Ah, the bride is starting to stir. Maybe she sensed the change in the winds too.”
There he was in all his glory, oiled up and gorgeous. He grinned at me, his long dark curls blowing in the sea breeze, and my breath caught.
“You can hear me?” I asked, and he nodded. I swallowed. It wasn’t the first time I’d dreamed of my first love, but I’d never been able to communicate with him before.
Something had happened last night.
“Good morning, beloved. I hope you don’t mind me calling you that. It’s what you are, to me, to him, even to that mile of bad road who calls herself your sister. You are beloved.” He smiled down at me, the sun highlighting his glistening, deeply tanned copper skin.
Morning. It was morning for me. It was the morning of my wedding.
“Fetu?” He reached out for me, and his fingertips gently ran across my face, and the tears running down my cheeks drifted off into the ether.
“No one is worthy of you, Pele. But he’ll do.”
“Is this real?” His grip on my hand tightened slightly, and his thumb ran back and forth across my skin.
“It’s real enough. For now.” He frowned, then looked down at me. “Do you understand?”
“Yes.” And I did. Because for now, we were in between. In between the water and earth, waking and sleeping, living and dead....in between night and morning.
Limbo.
“Happy wedding day, Pele,” Fetu said, leaning down to give me the gentlest of kisses.
I don’t know what woke me. Wedding day jitters, maybe.
It was early. Lady Catherine and John Henry were fast asleep beside me; Bessie was tucked away in her corner cot, and as far as I could tell, neither Josefa-Maria nor Lili were stirring in the sitting room.
I should go back to sleep. Instead I sat up, fumbling for the glass of water on the nightstand. My eyes were only half open as they wandered to the window, but I could feel traces of tears on my cheeks. From my dream. I had been dreaming...
And I was dreaming still.
That was the only way to make sense out of what I was seeing. I blinked, rubbed my eyes, even shook my head to make them work properly, but they still insisted that I was looking at the silhouette of the Try Your Luck.
I was dreaming. I wanted my sister here so badly that I had conjured this up in a realistic feeling dream. Anne was home, I reminded myself. She had gone home. Without me.
Josefa-Maria was talking to someone. Lili?
No...
I wasn’t dreaming, and that really was Anne’s ship. Anne was talking to Josefa-Maria in the sitting room.
The old adage to be careful what you wish for floated through my head.
My hands were shaking as I pulled on my bridal dressing gown and fumbled with the ribbon sash. I didn’t know what to make of this early-morning drop in, no matter how much I’d craved her attendance today.
My heart raced as I listened in from behind the doorway, trying to ascertain her purpose in being here. Anne sounded...normal. Whatever that meant these days. She didn’t sound like she was here to kidnap me, at least? Unless that was just her way of tricking me?
...I didn’t know what the fuck to think.
Thinking was overrated.
“Anne?” I stepped into the doorway, feeling like maybe I was still dreaming after all.
“The lieutenant invited me. I hope you don’t mind.” Lieutenant? What lieutenant? I waited, alert for any sudden movements. “I’m not going to take you away. I heard you when you said you were building a life here. I’m not going to leave you either. Not unless you tell me to go.”
Breathless with hope, I stared at her for a long moment. Anne was being genuine; she was really here to support me. I didn’t have words. I just ran over and hugged her. She even hugged me back, and I knew that Anne wasn’t that good of an actor. Cue happy tears from Izzy, of course. Every bride cries on her wedding day, right? “Thank you, Anne.”
Anne whispered back, “I love you, Izzy.” When I finally let her go, she spoke again. “I brought you a dress. I didn’t know if you had one,” she added, ever so casually. As she unwrapped it, a very specific smell from the twenty-first-century wafted over. I froze, stunned as I was instantly transported to mom’s closet, surrounded by gowns and blouses fresh from the organic dry cleaning place she liked.
When I opened my eyes, Anne was holding out an elaborately embroidered - well, the word ‘dress’ didn’t do it justice.
It was an undeniable piece of art.
Grander than anything I’d dared dream of, the voluminous gown had started life as yards upon yard of pale silks, in various shades of cream, ivory, and eggshell. I ran a tentative, admiring finger over the mock standing collar, the large gilt buttons that attached the dress to the skirt, and the tiny cartridge pleats.
Calling the work on this garment ‘embroidery’ didn’t seem accurate either; it was far closer to being a pictorial tapestry on silk.
Josefa-Maria took the dress with careful, reverential hands, setting it up for inspection. The other three girls joined her, mesmerized by the beautiful garment, and Anne went over to them, pointing out various scenes in the intricately embroidered pictures.
I was still mesmerized by the smell. “Wow. You really did go home,” I murmured, engrossed in a particularly elegant garden scene.
I didn’t know if I was more astounded by how exquisite the dress was or the fact that it smelled so undeniably of Home. That opened a multitude of other, incredibly distracting questions I couldn’t possibly tap open in front of an audience.
For example: how could she possibly have gone all the way home and back in such a short period of time? Davies said she had stayed over there for about nine days, and there was no fucking way to sail from Bermuda to Maryland and back in...what? Two days? Then again, I didn’t know how time travel worked anyway. I knew absolutely nothing.
“Marchaud’s, right?” Anne shrugged, confirmation enough. “You saw Mom?” Another rhetorical question, really. No way Anne would have gone to Marchaud’s Organic Dry Cleaners of her own volition. I gave my sister a long appraising look.
In addition to wondering when she had last slept, I noticed that her hair had been trimmed. It was especially glossy too, with the kind of shine that comes from a series of hot oil and deep conditioning treatments at a high-end salon. Now I wondered how she’d been home, managed all of this in my absence, and refrained from committing matricide. I hoped.
“She sent you something.” Anne grabbed a bag from the piles of gifts that filled so much of the space and handed me a very twenty-first-century card.
The stuff the locals used looked like a middle school science fair project in comparison. Mom’s stationery was thick, luxurious, cream-colored paper, with sharp edges, silver calligraphy, and was addressed to Isabelle and Ian. Vivienne St. Germaine’s ridiculously fancy cursive covered every inch of the card, front and back, and I felt myself getting emotional all over again.
My Darling Isabelle,
First and foremost I want you to know how blissful and delighted I was to learn that you've found someone worthy of your affection. Your family was stolen from you so early and I did my best to provide you with the childhood and opportunities and love that you so richly deserve. You are deserving of this happiness. Don't you spend one minute in doubt about that.
If it were at all possible for me to be there to share this momentous day with you, I swear to you I would be. Know that in my heart I am raising a glass to you and my new son-in-law and devoting my every thought to your new life and happiness.
Perhaps one day we'll be together again and I will get to hear all about this day and this person who has captivated your heart. I've included several small presents for you on this day. It is not enough. Nothing will ever be enough to equal the gift you have been in my life. I love you, my daughter. I am honored that I get to call myself one of your mothers. Rose and I spent hours over glasses of wine talking about you girls and how you might grow up and who you might grow to be. I can assure you she would be as bursting with pride as I am.
My darling, I love you madly. Give this Ian a hug from me. Perhaps we will be reunited if the fates align.
I love you. Congratulations on this momentous day.
Mom
My face was a mess of tears by the time I finished reading.
“Come on,” Anne said. “There’s more. Let’s get all the tears out at once.”
I watched her pull out one item after another, each one bearing a label with mom’s fancy script. Our mother’s veil for the old - I recognized the tiara from photos.
Old and borrowed, I thought; she would surely want this piece back. Earrings from my grandmother, a new, simple but elegant pair of diamond studs. Blue was covered by a pair of robin’s egg blue pumps. My first mom’s shoes, and one of many items I had salvaged years ago, before the house had been sold. I’d always hoped I’d be able to fit them one day.
I had been lucky enough to have two great moms who encouraged and supported my talents, and introduced me to new worlds. Rose had raised me in the world of art and make believe; Vivienne taught me how to move through the world in heels. My grandmother Gloria - my (first) father’s mother - had started me on the path of learning about gardening and cooking, and the beautiful blending of the two. It was incredibly poignant for me to have mementos from all of them on this day.
Lili thoughtfully brought me a kerchief to help me mop up the puddle of emotion I had melted into while Anne barreled on. She really did want to get all the tears out now. “This one isn’t a gift. It’s something for you to borrow.” My sister fastened a small, delicate shell around my wrist. What I had thought was a ribbon of some sort was a length of woven grass strands, set through tiny holes that had been drilled in either end and set like a plate bracelet. From the way Anne was acting, the bracelet was clearly meaningful. “I got it a long time ago. I thought maybe you’d think it’s nice.”
I wanted to thank her, but my vocal chords seized up. All I could manage was a pathetic, nowhere-near-good-enough nod of gratitude. In a well-intentioned effort to cheer me up, Lili came over chattering excitedly and dragged me over by the hand to admire the dress.
Josefa-Maria had set the gown up on a stand, and the adornment was even richer and more remarkable in the sunlight. I circled it, looking at the colorful, detailed pictures.
“Anne....this is incredible!” My sister was a very talented seamstress, but I couldn’t imagine how much time it had taken to complete such a vast and complicated piece. Years, surely. I felt like a child, staring up at a Fabergé egg in my mother’s china cabinet; I didn’t dare touch it, even though I wanted to. “Did you do this?” I was full of stupid questions today.
“Yeah. I had some time on my hands.”
I bet you did. I smirked at her double entendre, wondering if it was intentional.
Josefa-Maria brought us a tray of refreshments, and I pulled Anne next to me on the chaise while all six of us gushed over the intricate needlework, passing around lemon bars. I wasn’t positive, but I thought I saw a representation of the shell Anne had tied onto my wrist amidst the embroidery.
This was far more fun than the stuffy dinner from the night before. It felt like a party, even if Anne and I were much older than the rest of the girls - at nineteen, Josefa-Maria was the oldest of the others by a few years.
It was more than simple years, though. They were all of them so...young. Even Lady Catherine, who was married and had a freaking child, was undeniably sheltered. At that age, I had still been trying to make it home in time for curfew, but I knew far more about the world then than she did.
I turned to Anne, bringing my attention back to the present, where she had just been explaining one of the scenes on the glorious gown. “And you’re going to let me wear it for my wedding? That’s amazing. Thank you so much.” Again, words felt inadequate. It meant so much that she would entrust me with such a valuable loan.
“I’m going to let you have it. It’s yours. You deserve it.”
Speechless and overcome, I embraced her again. My sister had come back for my wedding, and it was like something out of a dream. It was almost too perfect. I would have to pinch myself–-
The sudden sound of running footsteps culminated in Mr. Graham Fucking Andrews bursting into the sitting room yelling “Nanette!”
Who? Before I knew what had happened, he had snatched my sister away from me, carrying her off to the bed, where he fell upon her like some feral, slavering beast.
And she had let him. Anne was perfectly capable of fending off one lone man, even one of his size. She hadn’t just let him, she had gone along enthusiastically.
Lili, Bessie and Josefa-Maria were fascinated, while Lady Catherine and I were less so. Lady Catherine - who was clutching the top of her nightgown as though the hint of throat might prove irresistible and subject her to ravishment - gave me a ‘seriously?’ look of incredulity and I snapped back to reality.
I contemplated throwing a pitcher of water on him, but noooo, I decided to be mature and go with words. “Mr. Andrews, if you wouldn’t mind? You are interrupting! And we are none of us dressed to receive men at this hour.” If I hadn’t been in front of witnesses I would have beaten him with a shoe, the fucker. This was not my dream of my wedding day morning. That image did not include Mr. Graham Fucking Andrews and it certainly didn’t include him pawing MY fucking sister.
Anne, said sister, apparently finally remembered that she was not, in fact, in a private location and wrested her face away from his. I was amazed she even had a face left after that attack; he had pounced on her like a shark on a bleeding, struggling surfer. They had some kind of hushed conversation while my blood boiled.
What the fuck was even happening right now?
Finally, to my relief, he got up to leave - except that Anne was apparently going with him. “I know,” she said, before I could get a word out. “But you aren’t the only one I left. I’ll be right back.”
And then she left me.
Again.
I kicked everyone out of my rooms after Anne left. Politely, of course, claiming that I needed some time alone to do some private wedding preparations. Josefa-Maria had thoughtfully refilled my cocktail before slipping out with the others. Reluctantly, I set down the glass before drinking more than a few sips. There were far more productive ways for me to manage my feelings.
One look at my face upon entering the kitchen and Angelica immediately put a glass of wine into my hand. “Lady Isabelle?”
“I’m alright,” I said, not even bothering to sound convincing as I moved to the wash area. The hand soap here had a nice herbal smell, and foamed up nicely. I wondered if Angelica made it herself. “I will be. Just a few details...” My hands were itching to fondle ingredients and utensils, like an addict prowling the streets for a hit of the good stuff.
Angelica, somehow recognizing my need, handed over one of their shockingly modern rosewood handled sharp knives and aimed me at a pile of fruit. Mmmm. Yes. Those strawberries needed to be taught a lesson.
You’re getting married, today, Izzy. What does the rest of it matter? But it did matter.
You aren’t the only one I left.
What a loaded statement.
My sister has a history of running away. When we were teenagers, there were several incidents where she just vanished. Once, she was gone for almost an entire month, and mom and I were pretty sure she was dead. That was the time that Anne missed my sweet sixteen and mom wouldn’t let me cancel it. My sister promised that it would never happen again. (Guess what? It totally happened again.)
So - once again, my sister had fucking vanished, except this time she wasn’t just leaving me at home, she’d abandoned me in the literal dark ages. (Again, I’m no history major, but there isn’t any electricity so this age feels pretty damn dark to me.) And once again, she hadn’t even bothered to leave me a note or anything. I had had to hear about it from freaking Michael Davies, and then she waltzes back in here and immediately runs off with you-know-who?
I couldn’t even believe how mad I was. And for my sister to imply that Mr. Graham Fucking Andrews was in the same category as me in terms of leaving people? ME? Like, what the fuck, you know?
Oh, and it’s my wedding day, too. No big deal! Thought you might have come back to celebrate that with me, but maybe coming back to get laid was equally important. Maybe Izzy wanted to talk to her sister about her feelings on this day, but no, it’s cool. Go fuck Mr. Graham Fucking Andrews. No. Big. Deal.
Eventually, my sister made her way to the kitchen, and the very first thing I noticed was her hair, which was completely different. She had also changed clothing, from a wine-colored velvet gown into a green one, and I tried not to think about all of the things that that entailed. Oh my god, did she have a drawer here?
Grrrrr. I ignored her while she prowled for something edible, violating all manner of defenseless ingredients and preparations. Consoling myself with the knowledge that she would certainly have just washed her hands - also, ewwww - I focused my rage into a pile of dough that needed punching. Lots of and lots of punching. My arms were going to be amazing. Once I finally felt as though I could speak instead of screaming, I did so. “Hello.”
Anne sighed dramatically, then said, “I love him. I have loved him for years. I met him before --”
“What did you say?” I couldn’t have been more surprised if she had told me that she was secretly a lizard in a human suit. Love? The sudden flurry of people in the kitchen barely even registered; I could only stare at Anne. “Love? You’re in love with Mr. Graham Fucking Andrews?”
Okay, sure, I remember weeks ago when I thought he was really good-looking, but that was before I knew that he was a womanizing asshole who dabbled in the slave trade. Instant lady boner killer - for me, at least. There was no way that my sister was that shallow. How could Anne pick him to fall in love with?
I stalled in the kitchen for as long as I could after Angelica kicked Anne out. But then Angelica started hovering, and then tapping her foot on the stone floor.
“Lady Isabelle, the guests are waiting,” she reminded me. Well, of course, who did she think I was prepping all of this food for if not the tables of guests waiting in the dining room? “Do not let her ruin this day for you.”
“Yes.” I gestured to the food I was assembling. “I just wanted to finish these- it’s very precise, you know--”
“Lady Isabelle, we’ve gone over this. I will finish up,” and then Angelica all but shoved me out of the kitchen. I didn’t even get a chance to take my apron off first. I whipped the protective garment off and passed it back through the door before turning to greet the assembled guests.
Holy shit. Anne was sitting at the opposite end of the table from Mr. Graham Andrews. In the chair accorded to the lady of the house. I plastered on a good, socially acceptable countenance. I was a professional.
I raised my glass along with the others, but I barely heard the toast. In a world of strange, I had been assimilating reasonably well. But this? Anne in a dress, looking like a lady and behaving like one, sitting across from Mr. Graham Fucking Andrews - who she was apparently in love with, by the way, no big fucking deal - holding court with all of the local nobility, who apparently not only knew my sister but adored her?
She looked beautiful and happy. Mom would have been ecstatic to see the two of us.
I was jealous.
While I’d desperately wanted Anne to come back for my wedding, I hadn’t anticipated having to share her with everyone. I definitely hadn’t anticipated having her snatched away while we were still reuniting to get dicked down. It also seemed very unfair that Anne had gotten laid on my wedding day before I had. I wasn’t even allowed to kiss Ian in public.
My head was swimming. I wasn’t used to being jealous and petty like this and I certainly didn’t enjoy feeling this way about my own sister. My complete confusion over everything wasn’t helping either.
I carefully took a tiny bite of the fruit sandwich. Officially, courtesy of The Phoenix; in reality, I had spent a good part of my morning angrily slicing perfect pieces of fruit and other finishing touches. On the outside, save for a few unavoidable eye flicks, I was the perfectly restrained lady. Mom would have been ecstatic to see the two of us.
Inside? Oh, I was fucking dying. I sent a silent thank you to Angelica for the wine, the only reason I wasn’t stomping on the tabletop. And of course, everyone else was drinking as well. It was a wonder that everyone in this time period wasn’t dying of liver failure. Maybe they were, I thought, looking around the room. Get it together, Isabelle.
Lili leaned over, and I smiled at her beribboned French braid. “Lady Isabelle, may I tell you about the garden?” She asked excitedly as she smoothed her new flower girl dress, a floral print number in green and yellow, trimmed with colorful ribbons.
“I would love to hear about it,” I admitted. Even if I wasn’t desperate for some sort of semi-suitable distraction I would want to hear about the garden. “What’s new?”
The child launched into great detail: how the various seedlings were progressing, how some of the cuttings hadn’t made it, that the hens were great at aerating the soil, and so on and so forth. “Wire and Nini are doing great, too,” she added, taking a big sip of milk.
“Have you seen the chickens out in our garden?” Mr. Graham ‘my sister is in love with him and they fucked on my wedding day’ Andrews said, daring to enter our conversation. “Magnus, after breakfast you should show the young lady around. We have a whole corner devoted just to lilies.” Magnus and his father both grinned at her, and Lili was charmed.
“Who are Wire and Nini, might I ask?” Ian spoke up curiously.
“Wire is her lizard, and Nini is her kitten,” I informed him. “They’re adorable and useful.” I smiled at Lili, but I couldn’t help flicking my eyes back to Anne, who was currently engrossed in conversation with Davies.
I did so enjoy alcohol.
“My lady?” Ian murmured as I set down my glass.
Silently, I glanced at Anne. His eyes said ‘I know, right‽’ and I stifled a laugh. With a wide smile, he took my hand and gave it a gentle, calming kiss.
“All will be well, my love,” Ian assured me in that gorgeous voice of his.
“You are quite wonderful, you know,” I whispered.
“I say, what a beautiful day for a wedding,” Davies declared. He motioned across the table. “Dear Lady Wallington, tell me, did you and the lord truly get married in the midst of a deluge?”
“Dear boy, we rowed to the church itself on Noah’s ark!” Lord Wallington guffawed.
“My dress was soaked up to the knees,” Lady Wallington exclaimed, then turned to me. “Lady Isabelle, we are all anxious to see what dress you’ve chosen.”
As it happened, I was wearing the dress I’d originally planned to walk down the aisle in. Finding sufficient quantities of white (or cream, or eggshell, or ecru) silk or satin had proven impossible, so I’d gone a different route. The fitted bodice and three quarter length sleeves were pale yellow silk with a low scoop neckline and rows of seed pearls around the collar and elbows. The sleeves ended in long, extravagant, cream-colored lace cuffs that went past my wrists - Alençon lace, shot through with gold thread. The skirt was done in alternating narrow panels of yellow and orange silk, with an overlay of the same Alençon lace, and there was a wide, cream-colored silk ribbon with gold embroidery and seed pearls sewn around the waist.
“The lady has informed me that in the land of California it is bad luck for a groom to see his bride in her wedding dress before the ceremony.” Ian winked at me.
“It’s true. We believe the first time the groom sees the bride should be a wonderful reveal,” Anne replied, and I smiled.
It was nice to have someone here who got it.
“Captain, we’d all love to hear more about your homeland. Tell us more!” Davies urged. He was practically chomping at the bit for information, I noticed with amusement. All of the guests were eager to hear more details, and Anne was unusually talkative. Somehow, while describing the weddings and receptions of home that she’d been dragged to, my sister was truly in her element. Through countless dinners and events, I had never, ever seen her even come close to behaving like ‘a proper lady’, as mom always said, and here she was, hostessing nobility. Through the looking glass indeed. Vivienne St. Germaine would have been ecstatic.
As Anne regaled our table with details of various lavish wedding gowns, elaborate choreographed dances, large numbers of bridesmaids and groomsmen, I found myself loosening up a bit, despite the oddity of it all. Everyday things from home were incomprehensibly opulent by the locals’ standards - like ice sculptures, for example - and the guests were amazed.
“In...California we love to dance at weddings,” Anne said, and everyone laughed.
“We do know that!” Davies said, grinning broadly.
“If the Lady Isabelle is anything like yourself, dear Captain,” Richard Lavigne bantered, “she and the lieutenant commander will need to be dragged off the floor to consummate their vows!” He was definitely enjoying the rum.
As much as Ian and I enjoyed dancing, we had done that before. I couldn’t imagine we’d allow ourselves to be delayed in excess for something as trite as dancing.
And then, I remembered the night of the Wallington’s dinner party, when Mr. Graham fucking Andrews and I had danced in the garden. He had said that he had a very old friend, who was an even better dancer than he was, who had taught him the swing. Your friend must be a dance master, I’d said.
My god, he had been talking about Anne. He had danced with my sister at social events here, and Ian had said that they had a long-standing relationship. Wow.
“Consummate?” Magnus asked. His father whispered something into his ear, and the kid grinned. “Oh yeah.” He glanced at Lili and I stiffened, feeling very maternal and protective. She cleaned up winsomely, and they were close in age--
Magnus.
Oh. My. God. It had just hit me, and I felt like a self-absorbed moron. Here was Magnus, officially named heir to this estate, sitting at about half my age - and thus, also Anne’s. He had two full sisters, two half sisters, and a father and mother who were obviously attached and involved.
And yet. Again, my eyes flicked to the ends of the table as a number of gears creaked along in my addled brain.
The master of the estate. Late thirties to early forties, with five children among the women he owned. Sorry - partnered with. It would take a while to officially switch that ick off in my mind.
My sister. Pretty, young, and white - more appropriate as a public face for the wealthy master of the estate?
After all, he couldn’t very well be seen with an ‘enslaved’ woman. I bit my tongue. It was no wonder that Helene had come to me so openly. What did she have to lose at this point? Certainly not her dignity or pride. Jesus Fucking Christ. And they both loved him.
Despite being a stranger in a strange land, I was certain I was missing something. Or maybe, I was hoping that there was something major I was missing here? The other options swirling through my mind were worse.
While I was long used to giving my sister the benefit of the doubt - and well beyond reason - the events and revelations of the past several weeks had significantly changed what that looked like from my side of things. If the cops had turned up at our house in Maryland asking for Anne, I would have hustled her out the window myself, convinced that she had a good reason for whatever evidence they had found. But this? I had seen and heard far too much to be so naive about--
“With your first child expected within a year’s time, I assume you’ll be handing your financial interests off to the Lieutenant Commander, and Mr. Davies here seems quite well suited to your shipyard. So tell me, are you at all concerned with producing a child at your advanced age, Lady Isabelle?” Lady Wallington’s voice projected loudly enough to fill the room.
I clapped my fingers over my mouth - unladylike, but still better than what would have happened without a physical block. At the other end of the table, I heard Anne choke on her drink. Everyone else seemed to think that my uterus was a perfectly appropriate topic at breakfast.
Thankfully, my intended spoke up. “Unfortunately this leads me to an unpleasant announcement.” Ian stood, addressing the room. “The warship Victory has been sighted not too far, and is due into port within a week or two. We will do our best,” Ian winked at all the men, “but our efforts at a family may be postponed until the end of the war.”
Lady Wallington looked as disappointed as a potential grandparent hearing the news of a delay.
Our host stood and offered his hand, which Ian accepted gravely. “Nothing is harder than saying goodbye to the woman you finally have gotten a hold of.” I watched as he refilled Ian’s drink, wondering what interactions I’d missed since Ian had punched him. “Condolences.”
Then there were toasts of “God save The King”, and more drinking, of course. Talk quickly drifted to business, and especially about how things were progressing ‘next door’ at my acreage; I thought of how Angelica would have clutched her pearls to hear it. Once the parade of courses finally ended, our host and hostess concluded the meal, and I made a beeline for my sister, who was already engaged in conversation with Lord and Lady Wallington, Graham Fucking Andrews at her back.
“We’re going to talk,” I declared, displaying a performative smile for everyone else as I securely tucked my arm in hers.
There weren’t a lot of things here in the 17th century that I was better at than Anne. My sister was an accomplished businesswoman, excellent dancer, experienced sailsperson, and a highly skilled fighter. And apparently, the consummate hostess. But when it came to all things equine, I would always be the master between the two of us.
“Izzy, I don’t like horses. You know this.”
I had already assured her of the mare’s gentle nature, and shown her the lead, attached to my own steed. “Too bad. We’re going riding because we need to talk. Get up.” I helped her up into the saddle and got her secured before jumping up onto my own steed. I glanced over to check on Anne; she looked like I had settled her onto a hungry, fire-breathing dragon. “Let’s go.”
I started us off nice and slow, of course. The horses needed time to warm up, and I was still thinking through my questions. My sister was a tricksy, tricksy person - hence, the horses. I needed her unsettled if I had any hope of getting any real answers.
As expected, Anne started a steady stream of complaints and whinging. Izzy, slow down. Izzy, we’re going too fast blah blah blah. I ignored her; we were barely even moving.
“Oh god. Going to die. Fucking horses,” Anne griped.
“We’re all walking. She literally cannot go any slower than her current pace,” I replied dryly.
“Don’t you think we should go get you dressed? You are the bride. I’m so high up. Isn’t there a shorter horse maybe?”
“Drink up and stop being a bitch.” I tossed her a flask. After watching her fumble with it for an inordinately long time, I opened it for her. Anne gulped down the whiskey then grabbed the reins and held on for dear life.
No time like the present. “You love him?”
“Who? The horse? Take me home.”
“The horse is a fucking girl. I’m talking about the dude who owns this place.”
“Yes. I love him. Please, let’s go home. I’m going to fall off. This thing is moments from bolting.”
I ignored her efforts to change the subject. She’d come in to announce her love for him, obviously she wanted to talk about it.
“How can you love someone who dabbles in the slave trade?”
“There’s no good answer. It started a long time ago. I couldn’t stop.”
That struck me as a dumb answer, even after sitting with it for a whole minute, so I said as much. “That is a dumb answer.”
“I know.”
I sighed. “Why didn’t you tell me about him when I came to see you?”
“Because I never intended to come back here.” The mare tossed her mane, frustrated with our stationary position. I know, girl. I know. I sympathized, but Anne looked panicked at the equine’s sudden motion.
“That’s not what I asked you. Why didn’t you tell me?” I glared daggers at her. Anne had let me ramble on and on about the horrors of this place and how much I loathed the guy who owned it, but she couldn’t bother to insert a ‘oh, by the way, he’s my long-term lover and I have a special chair in his dining room’? “You had all the opportunities.”
“Why tell you about someone who I have no future with? Izzy, this horse is really mad.” Yeah. It was so furious it had paused to munch on grass to fuel what was sure to be an explosive rage. I rolled my eyes. “I think we should turn around. Izzy, I mean it. I was never coming back here. ”
“Alright. I hear you. Hold on tight.” If she wanted to play these little evasive games - well, I hadn’t had a real ride in ages. I took the horses to walk, then up into a nice, casual trot. “Are you ready to talk now?” I called.
“Yes. Just make it stop!” Nah - Anne was only saying yes, she didn’t truly mean it yet. In another, say, half a mile? She would be. “I’ll tell you anything. Just make it stop!”
“Tell me about Helene, Angelica and Yvonne,” I demanded. She looked hesitant. “For the record, that was barely a jog for the three of us.” I almost hoped she’d keep being stubborn.
“No.”
Hardball it was then, I thought, gleefully pressing the mare beneath me into a full trot. “Helene. Angelica. Yvonne.” Yeah, yelling names isn’t exactly polite conversation, but it seemed better than screaming ‘Are you a homewrecking bitch?’, just to put it in perspective.
“Angelica and Yvonne. That’s not a thing anymore. Maybe a long time ago but now they just run his house and business.”
When she offered nothing more, I pressed. “Helene?” She clamped her mouth shut instead, so I sped us up, reveling in the feeling of flying across the ground. After another short sprint, I turned back to her. “Helene?” Still nothing. “Helene!” I needed her to tell me.
“I can’t! Don’t make me!” Anne finally cried out.
That was a major admission in and of itself. “Okay.” I took us back to walking, and Anne finally started talking.
“Two years ago he asked me to marry him.” Only years of training kept me from falling off the horse. Not at the proposal, but at her volunteering information. Anne continued. “I refused. I told him to choose an heir already and stop waiting for me. I wasn’t supposed to come back here. I left.”
I felt like my brain was breaking. I moved the horses to walk side by side, so that it felt almost like Anne and I were walking alongside each other as well. Speak words, Isabelle.
“Because...you don’t marry ghosts?” God. This is what she had been talking about? Your sister’s secrets have secrets. I was honestly afraid of what else she had been hiding from me. “I don’t understand any of this. Obviously, I’m not a fucking fan, but - if you love him, be with him.” Despite the fact that he’s a womanizing asshole. But obviously none of this was news to Anne. None of it.
I needed a drink.
“I’ve seen his grave...and the gravestone next to it. It wasn’t my name written there.”
His grave? My brain shattered into pebbles. “When? When did you see his grave?”
These people are ghosts, Anne had insisted. Don’t get attached.
“Graduation. Bermuda. You saw it too.”
Graduation? Seven years ago. Anne had been obsessed with graves and historical things the entire trip. Mom and I had thought it was really, really odd behavior. I shivered. “Oh, god...” I had walked on the graves of people I was now walking around with and talking to. I remembered my flask and took a long draught.
“We’ve been here before. We’ve been right here. Right here. Their graves – their ghosts– it wasn’t my name written there. It wasn’t my name.”
We’d covered the island during that trip, but The Somers Isles was entirely different from Bermuda. My head spun at the idea that I’d been here before and hadn’t recognized it.
Time travel was a mind fuck.
“Who was - was it Helene?” I forced myself to ask. Anne ignored me. “Was it Helene’s name?” Helene was convinced that somehow this wedding was going to make a difference that their fifteen shared years or so hadn’t. Was she right? “Anne?”
“I loved him first,” Anne rambled, yanking at her clothing. “Get me out of here!”
I dismounted and went to help, but Anne was in a full meltdown and beyond hearing me. I inhaled sharply as she tumbled to the ground, but she bounced up immediately, ripping off her green twill dress. “Anne! Anne?” I paused, holding the reins.
“How could he do this? How could he do this to me? She--”
Anne was having some sort of mental break; this was just like when she had flipped out on the boat, in the kitchen. “It’s okay, Anne. We can walk back. We don’t have to ride--”
“I can’t go. I can’t go without him.”
“Okay, fine.” All of the commotion was already attracting onlookers. “Will you please put down the knife?” Anne blinked, then looked down, surprised she was holding a weapon. She threw it away then backed against a tree, mumbling to herself. I waved down one of the servants, confirmed that he could ride a horse, and sent him to fetch the owner of the estate for my sister.
“Anne?”
“It was just him and me. Young, stupid, gorgeous him. And me.”
“Anne?” She was really scaring me. “Anne, can you get up?”
“I am up.”
Shit. “Okay. He’ll be here soon,” I told her, kneeling down as best I could in my ridiculous clothing. Anne felt a little warm but seemed fine otherwise. Externally, at least; I had no idea what was going on in her head. I put her head between her knees, rubbed her shoulders, and settled down to wait for the person I least wanted to see.
He and Ian arrived shortly thereafter on horseback, with Mr. Graham fucking Andrews flinging himself from the creature before he had even taken it to a full stop. He was already examining Anne by the time Ian finished arriving and dismounted.
“Nanette?” He called to her. His eyes blazed with fury as he turned to look at me. “What did you do!” he demanded.
This motherfucker-- “What did I do?” Ian grabbed me before I got as close as I wanted. “I didn't do anything. This is because you can’t keep your dick in your fucking pants!”
“She hates horses. How do you not know that?”
“It wasn’t being on horseback that did this to her. This is your fault,” I snarled at him, twisting free.
“She said ‘how could he do this to me’! And she wasn’t talking about me or the horse, you philandering bastard!”
He looked like I had stabbed him. Good. “Nanette?”
“You don’t want me,” Anne muttered, and the hurt and pain in her voice broke my heart.
“Anne?” Could she hear me yet?
“Lies, Nan.” He smoothed her hair. “Lies. I’m here. Come back to me.” He gave me another angry glare, and I matched him easily. If this fucker thought he was going to stare me into submission he had another thing coming. “Of all the reckless, ridiculous--”
Ian cut him off. “Mr. Andrews, I will warn you to watch your tone.”
“Watch your young bride a little closer, Lieutenant Commander.”
“You motherfucker--” I hadn’t even realized that I had lunged in his direction until Ian was carting me off. “Goddamn it, Ian--”
“Isabelle! Calm yourself,” Ian instructed formally.
“I would have been quite calm after I had finished unloading about what a piece of shit he is,” I said loudly enough for him to hear me.
“There will be opportunity for such recriminations later,” Ian replied. “We should be returning to the house to prepare. Lest you have forgotten, we have a wedding today, Isabelle,” he reminded me, kissing my cheek.
Behind him, Mr. Graham fucking Andrews was still kneeling down with my sister, soothingly stroking her hair.
“You don’t say,” I smirked back at him, distractedly. Behind him, Mr. Graham Fucking Andrews was still kneeling down with my sister, stroking her hair. I didn’t know what to make of their relationship, and at the moment, I didn’t care. I was just really worried about my sister.
When I approached, that bastard had the nerve to look at me like I was the one who was a threat to her, even going so far as to put himself in between the two of us.
You cannot imagine how much I longed for pepper spray at that moment.
Well, he could make all the stupid faces he wanted, I didn’t care. I was Lady Isabelle, she was my sister, and he was a peasant that I didn’t even like. I looked through him, focusing on Anne.
“I want to go home.” She spoke into her hands.
At this he gave me a pointed look and said “I’ll take you home. Are you ready to leave now?”
“Where’s Izzy?”
“Who?”
“I’m right here, Anne,” I said, moving into her line of view.
“You need to get dressed,” Anne said.
“I’m not going anywhere until I know you’re alright. I’m the bride, they can bloody well wait while I deal with a family emergency.”
“I’m fine,” she said. “Don’t worry about me. You need to get dressed.”
“Alright. You sure?” She did seem to be recovering. Then again, I wasn’t entirely sure what had sent her into such a tailspin in the first place. Her boyfriend (?) glared daggers at me, but I ignored him for everyone’s benefit.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be home soon,” she said again. Same line from all our Sunday calls. I kissed my sister on the cheek and retreated. Reluctantly.
“What a fucking day,” I mumbled, getting back on my horse. “You can leave if you want,” I told Ian on his gelding. “I’m not leaving until I’m sure she’s alright.”
He scoffed. “As if I could possibly leave you here unattended.”
Eventually her stupid boyfriend(?) was able to get her to her feet and moving again. “Shall I return the horse for you?” I called. There was no way Anne was going to get back on one right now.
“Yes, thank you. And,” he paused, “thank you for sending for me. She terrifies me when she’s like this. I hate the idea of her alone and in pain.”
Instead of making a snarky comment about how she obviously wouldn’t have been alone, since I was right there, I gave him a gracious nod instead. I’ll admit that it pained me. He handed the reins over to Ian - because, of course he did - and we parted ways.
I kept my eyes on my sister until they passed out of sight.
Ian and I handed the horses over at the stable, then made our way back to the house. He listened patiently to me rant and rave, and didn’t even look like he was thinking about running away before we got to the altar.
“...I can’t believe that she’s actually in love with that bastard!”
“I imagine your sister feels much the same about me,” he said after a long, weighty pause.
“What?” I stopped to stare at him. “No, that’s...completely different...” I trailed off, remembering the wraps my sister wore around her still healing wrists.
But that was different. Wasn’t it? I mean, it wasn’t like Ian had forced her to blow up the fucking inn, and the shackles - well, that was more borne out of a sisterly disagreement, which was hardly his fault. Don’t even get me started about the ‘it’s kind of a plantation’ thing, and Ian wasn’t a womanizer! See, it was completely different!
“No, it’s not the same at all! You’re...you know,” I paused to gesture at him, and all of his elegance and everything, “and he’s...a jerk! It’s totally different,” I insisted, then semi-flounced off.
Ian caught up with me after a few paces. “Jerk?”
“Yes. Like, an asshole. Arsehole? You’ve got to know one of those,” I insisted.
“I believe I do take the meaning, yes,” he replied dryly.
“I’m worried about her. She – she kept saying the craziest things.” The fact that we had walked on the graves of people we were wining and dining with was downright insane, of course, but that wasn’t even the craziest part to me. And obviously, the subject of ghosts wasn’t one I wanted to spend too much time thinking about now, not on my wedding day. I tightened my grip on Ian’s arm, and pushed the thoughts of ghosts out of my mind.
‘These people are ghosts, don’t get attached,’ my voluptuous ass. Obviously, Anne had been dishing out advice that she hadn’t been taking.
It was just him and me. Young, stupid, gorgeous him. And me.
None of it made any sense, but she hadn’t been ranting mindlessly. No, Anne was convinced that what she was saying was true.
I also found it very strange that Mr. Graham Fucking Andrews called me Ian’s ‘young bride’ when I was the eldest of us by a few months. Maybe Anne had been lying about her age? She wouldn’t have been the first girl to say, meet an older guy at a club she got into with a fake ID (or whatever the seventeenth century version of that was). I felt like I had been trying to solve the world’s most convoluted Rubik’s cube, and I was getting a headache.
“Ian, I need to ask you for a favor...”
Lady Catherine and Josefa-Maria pounced on me as we reached the front entrance; there had been no small amount of panic that something horrible had happened when Ian and the other one had sped off, and we were the first to return.
They whisked me upstairs, as fretful as if I had arrived caked in mud with ten minutes to go. We had hours, and I obviously wasn’t filthy.
Upon reaching my chamber, it made a bit more sense. They had laid out the equivalent of a seventeenth century spa preparation, including a bath with rose oil and petals, trays of fruit, wine, and appetizers.
“Did you make me cucumber water?” I asked Josefa-Maria, who beamed back at me excitedly. I was impressed; I had no idea that she listened to my dumb stories so closely.
After luxuriating in the hot water, I did some very indulgent face-to-feet skin care, then sat at the vanity in my dressing gown.
I had decided to do something different with my hair for my wedding. I didn’t straighten it very often, but I had brought my very old-school pressing comb. In addition to Anne telling me to prepare for anything (hahahaha!), she had also said, and I quote “don’t count on having electricity,” which seemed hella weird because, hello, we have solar power on the boat.
Anyway - I had straightened my hair, and I’d been keeping it pinned up and under a hat to keep it a surprise from Ian and pretty much everyone else. When I had shown Bessie the ‘marvelous tool’, she had volunteered to help me with my hair, fascinated by what seemed like advanced technology. Now it sat beside a small brazier, waiting to be warmed for touch-ups.
I hoped Anne was doing better. I couldn’t stop thinking about the heartbreaking hurt in her eyes as she sat against the tree, staring off into some awfulness that only she could see. And that bastard blamed me for her condition. While Anne didn’t love horses, I had taken her riding with me a number of times and she’d never reacted like that to being on horseback before.
I was taking my hair down from the French braid I had pinned up when I heard a knock at the door. When I heard my sister’s voice, I jumped up from the vanity and swept Josefa-Maria out of my path.
“Anne!” I flung myself on my sister. I was so glad that she didn’t hate me, and I just started rambling. “I’m so sorry, Anne. I didn’t know- and I would never- I’m sorry. Please, I want us to talk about...all of this, more, later. But only if you’re okay with it. Alright?”
Anne wouldn’t meet my eyes for some reason. “It’s not your fault,” she told the floor. “You don’t need to worry about me. Just been a long day already. I didn’t sleep much the past week while sailing.” She paused, and I realized she was embarrassed. “I didn’t get you with that knife at all did I?” Anne let out a short, crazed attempt at laughter.
“No, I’m fine. So is the horse,” I added, then hugged her again, relieved. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
She brushed me off. “I’m not the one we need to worry about. You’re getting married today. So let’s get you dressed, shall we?” Anne disengaged, moving to fuss over the dress.
“Anne, stop.” I grabbed her hands, forcing her to stop and look at me. “I’m allowed to care about you too. Even if it is my wedding day. And I really do want us to talk about all of this.” She looked like she was actually about to cry, for fucks sake. God, she was exhausted, and here she was worried about getting me dressed! “When’s the last time you slept?” I demanded, maneuvering her into a chaise.
“I don’t know. I’m fine. Don’t worry.” She attempted to brush me off again, but this time I was having none of it.
I pushed her back onto the cushions. “Josefa-Maria, can you bring a pillow and blanket?” Anne made a feeble effort to rise, but the fact that she didn’t straight knock my hand away was all the confirmation I needed.
“I’m fine. Don’t worry,” she mumbled.
Since her eyes were half closed, I ignored her, pulling off her boots and tucking her in nice and cozy with a blanket.
Anne was fast asleep within moments.
I let her sleep while the others quietly fussed over me and indulged my various cravings for refreshments. Water was my favorite thing right now, especially the flavored varieties that Josefa-Maria had been concocting for me.
There was another knock at the door, and Josefa-Maria answered. “Is she still here? Nan -- Anne, I mean.”
Jesus, this fucking guy again? I raised an eyebrow at him. “She’s sleeping.” I mean it should have been obvious, since she was passed the fuck out under a blanket right under his nose, but some people are dense.
“I’m happy to take her--”
As if. I stepped in front of him, hands on my hips and daring him to argue with me. “She’s fine right here,” I hissed.
He backed down right away, saving both of from the a viciously whispered fight I’d been gearing up for. “Do me a favor? Don’t take your eyes off her. Maybe sit that girl there to keep watch?” He gestured at Lili. “Nanette has a habit of...slipping away.”
“Don’t I fucking know it,” I muttered. Though why he called her by that name - and even more, why she responded to it - I couldn’t fathom.
“Yes, I suppose you might.” He paused for a moment, then left. I breathed a bit easier once he was gone again. I was still deeply unsettled by everything Anne had said and inferred.
Finally - as much as I wanted to let her sleep - it was time to wake my little sister. But gently. She had had a really, really hard day…at least, I thought, thinking of her words earlier. Probably more like weeks. I picked up one of the bouquets I’d constructed and waved it under her nose. “Annnneeee,” I said in a soft singsong. It took a few times before she started to show signs of life. “How was your nap? Do you feel like you can get up now?”
Anne blinked a few times, then nodded, stretching.
“Oh dear,” I muttered, noticing her hair. “I can’t have my maid of honor – could someone please help her with that?” I gestured, and Josefa-Maria and Bessie flew into action; apparently I wasn’t the only one offended by the status of her tresses.
“What’s a maid of honor?” Lili asked from across the room. She was practicing needlework.
“A special position chosen by the bride, usually a family member or a very close friend,” I rattled off automatically. An idea was occurring to me. I’d learned that prancing about under the guise of foreign nobility allowed me to get away with a great number of unusual things. “As a matter of fact, my maid of honor and I have some traditions that we need to observe, privately, while she gets me ready,” I explained to the others. As expected, they thought it was odd but no one protested. “We’ll see you in the chapel,” I smiled, closing the door.
I sighed with relief. It was nice to be alone again – Anne didn’t count as people for this. I could just be myself, Izzy.
...Even if Lady Isabelle and Izzy had sort of begun to blur to a point where I wasn’t entirely sure where one ended and the other began.
Anne still looked bleary eyed, so I left her on the chaise. I could get myself dressed; despite being ridiculously luxurious, the dress was also pragmatic. As I passed, Anne suddenly reached out and grabbed my hand. She pulled me down to the chaise beside her and gave me a big hug, a rarity. I mean, I hugged Anne all the time, and she suffered through it, but she was almost never one to display affection first.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” she said softly, kissing my cheek and resting her face against mine. I hugged her back, and we sat there for a good long sisterly snuggle. Eventually, I dragged myself away. I would start crying otherwise, and I didn’t want to mess up my makeup.
Anne layered me into one piece after another, and I watched as I transformed. “He’s going to love you in this.”
“He already loves me,” I marveled. “At least, he’s convinced he does.” I had missed these moments with my sister. “Do you know he told me that he would have proposed even earlier, but he didn’t want to scare me off? What a world.”
“I imagine he wanted to propose as soon as he saw the sun shining through your nightgown in port that first day.”
“What‽” I grabbed her. “What are you talking about?”
“He didn’t tell you?” She smirked. “Oh yeah, you were displayed in all your glory up there as he came to check on my ship.”
“Oh my god.” Vaguely - very, very vaguely - I remembered that there had been two military guys taking Anne’s paperwork when we had first arrived. I had been very distracted by having been kidnapped at the time, go figure.
“Ian was one of those guys on the dock? And he still liked me after that?” I hadn’t realized. And of course he hadn’t told me. I would have probably died on the spot of mortification. I consoled myself with the knowledge that at least I looked really good naked. I should, with all the exercise and healthy eating and all, but still. Geez.
She raised an eyebrow at me like I was being a naive child. “Yeah. I’d say so.”
“It’s a different time.” I shook my head. “I’d think he’d be appalled by such a display.”
“Men haven’t changed so much throughout time.”
My sister could be so cynical sometimes. Of course, now that I knew what she had been doing when she was ‘sailing,’ I had a new perspective on her point of view. “I would like to think there was more to his proposal of marriage than that. Especially since he still won’t,” I gestured, “you know, yet.”
“One hour left. You can do it. Then you can...ugh, really? He’s who you want?” Her face was priceless. You would have thought that Lieutenant Commander Ian Alexander Coventry was a Quasimodo-level sea serpent instead of a jaw-droppingly handsome officer and gentleman.
I laughed, turning to give my hair a final once over. I had bumped my ends, and Bessie and I had left most of it out, securing only a few small front sections up into place so there would be an easy, stationary spot to attach the veil. It was a gorgeous, antique piece with long, ivory lace, and the small pearl and crystal tiara also served to hide the comb that would hold it in place.
“I know you two don’t like each other very much,” I said, trying not to choke on the vast understatement. “But I do love him. I wish you had gotten to know him the way I have. He really is amazing and - god, Anne, I can’t even explain all the things he’s done for me. I know this seems crazy, but I have a really, really good feeling about this. And him.” I dabbed on lip gloss. “And it’s quite appealing to be with a powerful Roman when in Rome,” I admitted, grinning at her before I moved to the mirror and slipped on my heels.
The gown looked fantastic. Although Anne was taller and curvier than I was, the garment still fit me wonderfully.
“I don’t see it.” Anne scoffed. “But I’ll suffer this young lieutenant as an in-law since you love him so much.”
“Lieutenant Commander, Anne. He’s not a lieutenant. And thank you.” That couldn’t have come easily for her.
“He’s an ass--Fine. This...Ian...seems to love you just the same way back.” Anne carefully placed the veil on my head, inserting the points of the comb.
Not bad, I thought. My hair was flowing and gorgeous and the veil accented everything perfectly. Mom really did have excellent taste.
“Your hair looks wonderful. When did it get so long?” She narrowed her eyes, smoothing my hair, and I felt very loved as she picked over me, adjusting things that no one else could see.
“I know, right? It’s hard to tell when it’s all curly.” And I pretty much always wore it braided or curly these days. I felt very loved as she picked over me, adjusting things that no one else could see.
“Did you smuggle a hot comb on board my ship?”
“I hardly smuggled it!” I pointed it out on the stand. Metal and wood, all perfectly normal materials if in an odd arrangement. “It fits all of your parameters!”
“Yes, yes. Okay.” She fussed over me, straightening my veil. “Mom wouldn’t shut up about this veil as she wrapped it up. Got to hear the whole damn wedding story all over again. I hope you appreciate my sacrifice.”
That reminded me. “Right, didn’t you just leave yesterday? That’s what Davies told us. But you said you had been sailing for the past week? How did you manage any of this?” All of the timelines in my head were confused.
“I’ve been sailing for three weeks. Time travel. Duh.”
Weeks? I blinked at her. “Oh. Uh. Okay...” I didn’t want to push her, but I was dying. “Can you give me a little bit more than that?”
“Yeah, what? Like, I sailed home. Mom yelled at me. I sailed back here in time for the wedding? Or do you want, like, science? Because I have theories, dimensions and branes and – magic feels appropriate too. Or rather, the old gods still messing about.”
My sister used something akin to magic to hurl herself back and forth through time. Just another Friday. “Huh. Well...okay. I guess that makes about as much sense as anything else that’s happening. Thank you for giving me a straight answer for once.”
“I always give you straight answers. I don’t lie to you, Izzy.”
“You don’t volunteer information, either, Anne.” I made a very pointed look around at our surroundings. You know, the place owned by your secret boyfriend, Anne?
“That’s fair.” She conceded.
Mollified, I changed the subject. “How was Mom? And - what did you tell her?”
“She’s fine. Mimosa lunches and all that. I told her you were getting married and she spent the rest of the time in motion getting all this stuff for you.”
“That’s it? She didn’t think it was weird that I was getting married when I wasn’t even dating anyone? Or - oh, god, did she think I didn’t want to invite her?” But she’d sent such a beautiful, heartfelt card - and Vivienne St. Germaine wasn’t one to dissemble in such a manner.
“Mom...she...has suspected me for a long time. She never says anything outright but I’m sure she knows. Apparently ‘whether you want to see it or not, Diane, you’re very much like your father.’” Her impression of Mom was uncanny.
“Wait a minute. Like Da?” I repeated. Da had disappeared. Anne had disappeared - repeatedly. How had this just dawned on me? “Anne. When you kept running away - is this what you were doing? Were you coming back here?”
Anne was holding various accessories up to me with a critical eye. As if I could reasonably handle another single piece of jewelry or adornment. Between the bracelet, the diamond earrings, the heirloom pendant - not to mention the huge rock on my finger - I was pretty much covered. “Yeah. Of course. Here, there, other places. I get around. When I couldn’t navigate the portal right I would miss days and you all thought that I’d run away. Really I’d just blown my exits.”
‘Here, there, other places?’ There were other places? What did that even mean? I’d come back to that later.
“And you guys think that Da might be here in 1649 too? I mean, that’s--”
“What?” Anne scowled. “No. I don’t know what Mom thinks. What I think is that Dad was a bad sailor and didn’t make it through the portal. Not everyone does.”
The portal? I tucked that away and pounced on the other tidbit. “But you do think he might have tried?” I hadn’t had anything even approaching hope about our father’s disappearance in years. “Because anything could have happened--”
“Izzy, stop. It’s an impossible question. All that’s important to know is that he was a piece of garbage who left in the first place. Nothing matters beyond that.”
Da had been declared lost at sea back when Anne and I were in middle school. But Mom had always seemed appalled at the idea of dating. Though the rest of the world thought of her as a widow, she considered herself married.
As a teenager, I had contented myself with the romantic idea that he was still alive, somewhere, living a calm and peaceful life (albeit with long-term amnesia). Usually, I envisioned him tending to roses in a seaside cottage. Unlike Anne. She had accepted the dead-beat dad story and wrapped it around herself like a warm, spiky blanket.
But maybe my daydream of him with amnesia by the sea wasn’t absurd. I could just change the setting to include more carriages and swords, and less accessibility to phones and internet.
I wasn’t about to dig into this old fight with her again, so I veered for the new part. “Anne, it does matter! Don’t you understand? It’s crazy here, and anything could happen! Maybe he just got lost, or wrecked his boat or something, but -- this is amazing news!”
The knowledge that he could actually be alive somewhere was the best wedding gift I could imagine. I couldn’t help grinning at our reflections. Over time it had become impossible to believe that he was still alive - surely he would have called, or written, or something - but if he had been trapped in a different time period? That was something. That meant that maybe he might still come home.
“Maybe. Sure. Are you ready?”
I nodded; we looked amazing. Then I sighed. “We are missing one thing.” I grinned at her. “I really, really wish we could have pictures. Even just a few selfies, you know?” The seventeenth century wasn’t super accommodating in this regard.
“I know. This wedding is dangerous enough though. Let’s not add a camera into the mix. But maybe we can add a little to your dress here in memory?” Anne pointed to a small area on the dress. “Maybe a nice ring or – hey, is that one of my diamonds?” She had grabbed my hand and was staring at my engagement ring with an odd look approaching something like avarice.
Of course she’d recognized it.
“Yes.” I took my hand back, attempting to maintain some dignity. “Speaking of you doing nice things for me, your sister, who you love and kidnapped? I need a couple of small favors.”
“Uh oh.”
Then I heard Lady Catherine and several of the other noblewomen chattering with excitement as they came to retrieve me. I needed to talk fast. “I need you to take Lady Catherine off this island, I need to get some supplies to some impoverished refugees, and I need to get my almost-husband inoculated as best I can before he goes off to war. Will you help me? Please?”
Anne was open-mouthed with shock, but before she could respond, the door flew open and I was swarmed by a cloud of silks, satins, and lace in the forms of perfumed ladies, eager to cart me off to the chapel. I only had time to send an apologetic smile/wince back to Anne before we were gone.
I was about to get married.
Married.
Married, forever.
Marriage? I was fucking certifiable. Clearly. I couldn’t get my brain to stop screaming at me, even after several calming alcoholic sips.
This new information regarding Ian’s very first impression of me was unsettling, to put it mildly. I had a flask in one hand and my bouquet in the other, and Josefa-Maria was attempting to calm my nerves. All I wanted was Anne, and the maid had already sent Lili to get her.
Anne finally arrived in the small lobby area of the church and I fell on her in something close to panic. “Anne!” I hissed her name frantically. “Oh my god, Anne, what am I doing?”
Her immediate response was to snatch the flask from my hand, promptly throwing it out the door. “Getting married. If you spill anything on this dress I’ll kill you.”
“Why did you do that? It was calming me!” Anne looked me over critically - looking eerily like Mom - and seemed less than convinced. “No, you’re right, I am obviously a crazy person! Being in love with someone doesn’t mean that you just marry them! This time is bonkers!” I paced a bit more. “And now, I can’t stop thinking, ‘what if he only wants to marry me because he saw me naked that first day’?”
“I gotta say, I’d respect him a lot more if that’s the reason. It’s a good, honest reason.”
“What‽” I shrieked, forgetting to keep my voice down.
Anne shushed me and dragged me off to the side. “Izzy, I can offer you the chance to walk out of here right now. I can take you so far that you’d never ever need to see or think of this moment again. But you can’t say yes to that, can you?”
That wasn’t what I wanted at all. “No. No, I’m not leaving.”
“Then this is your moment. Just live it and enjoy it. It’s a good one.”
I took a deep, calming inhalation of my bouquet, idly admiring the peonies and roses (courtesy of Lady Wallington) and wishing Mom could have been here.
“What did Mom say? When you told her?”
“‘Stop being a jealous bitch and go to your sister’s wedding.’ More or less.” Anne frowned. “Also. That you’re different. You have always wanted a family of your own. And that you aren’t leaving anyone behind. You’re adding to your life. Because that’s what you do.”
Impressive. Mom could be quite insightful. I paced a bit more, wishing I still had my flask. Flowers were nice, but they weren’t alcohol.
I peeked into the chapel. Ian was amiably chatting with Lili. He actually seemed engaged in the conversation, and Lili was delighted.
A flutter of guilt went through me. Ian and I had had a great deal of detailed conversations about life and plans for our marriage over the weeks since our engagement, ironing out the broad strokes of how things would look between us.
“I- I wonder if I’m being unfair to him. I brought up the concept of family planning and it was such a foreign concept I never even got close to talking about the Pill. He thinks it’ll just happen when it’s supposed to.” Yes, Ian, I understand that, but what if you could select the right time? He’d stared back at me as though I was asking him to seriously envision sprouting wings and flying.
“Men are funny about their children,” Anne said cryptically. “But in order to have any with him you are going to have to have sex. And to have sex with that...Ian...you need to get married first.”
“Yes. You’re right.”
And that was when it dawned on me that there was always the possibility that Ian had come to his senses. Suddenly filled with a new and different anxiety, I chewed on my thumbnail. “Do you think he’s actually going to go through with it?”
My sister nodded at me firmly. “Yes. Wait right here.” Anne disappeared into the church proper.
Josefa-Maria handed me the flask. I smiled at her gratefully. “Just a sip, my lady. For your nerves,” she said, then stashed it away somewhere in her clothing.
When Anne returned, she linked arms with me, fully prepared to drag me down the aisle to where I needed to be if my feet suddenly forgot how to work. I was thankful for the support; I was feeling jittery as hell.
“Let’s go, Lady Covington.”
“Coventry,” I corrected her distractedly.
“For fucks sake. Let’s do this already, I’m starving.”
I bit back my nervous laugh. Compose yourself, Isabelle.
Lili marched ahead of us, flinging rose petals from her basket out into the air. I held onto my sister’s arm for all the support I could get, trying to keep my breathing steady and even. I watched the pink and white petals flutter to the pale stone floor, just in time for us to step on them and flood the air with their fragrance.
And then we had reached the front, and the priest was saying something, and Anne patted my arm before letting me go.
Ian’s outstretched hand came into my eyeline. “A few more steps to go, my love,” he murmured encouragingly, and I finally looked up to see Ian, resplendent in a rich navy brocade with gold buttons. The loving expression on his face warmed me, and I felt myself tentatively smile back at him as I closed the distance and took his hand.
“Hi,” I whispered.
“Hi,” he smiled back at me.
The cleric was talking but it was all background noise to me. I only had eyes for Ian.
We spent the rest of the ceremony gazing at each other. The groom’s vows were first, then mine, and then we each had lines to repeat. The priest paused briefly, then made a small aside to the audience that there would be a few additions to the proceedings, including an exchange of rings instead of simply a gift to the bride.
Everything else passed in a blur, until the cleric announced that we were man and wife and gave Ian permission to kiss me.
My husband looked pleased as could be as he lifted my veil and leaned down to press his lips to mine. As we exited the chapel to the sounds of violin music and well-wishers, I felt like I was floating.
“Lady and Lieutenant Commander Coventry!” Our guests were effusive, showering us with all manner of flowery congratulations. My sister came out and I grabbed her into a big hug, embarrassing her with affection until she melted off into the crowd. My cheeks were hurting from laughing and smiling by the time the last few people trickled away.
“My darling wife,” Ian intoned, “I have something for you.”
Wife. I smiled up at him. “You do?”
“Indeed. Come with me.”
“What, right now?” He nodded back at me. “But Ian, our guests--”
“Right now. We will return shortly,” Ian replied, delivering a genial smile to any onlookers.
“Are you serious? It’s a bit rude, isn’t it?”
Ian looked down at me, his eyes intent. “I am quite serious. Right now.”
He led me to the guest house, mischievously silent. Then he opened the door, scooped me up into his arms and carried me across the threshold, kicking the door closed behind him.
Feisty. I leaned up to kiss him, a move he eagerly returned. In a few strides, Ian had crossed the room and deposited me onto the bed, our lips still locked. For the briefest of moments, I wondered what he had brought me here to give me, but once he began unlacing my dress it became obvious.
I sighed with pleasure as his hands and mouth made their way across my skin, then moaned as he took a nipple into his mouth while simultaneously pushing up my petticoats and shift with strong, confident hands.
“I have dreamed of this moment,” Ian murmured as his fingertips pressed into my thighs.
Wait... While we were still in the middle of our wedding? “Now?” I managed.
“God, yes. Now,” Ian said adamantly, his voice husky as he divested himself of his trousers. He paused. “Unless...?”
I pulled him back down to me, shutting him up with a kiss.
Ian’s hands were wandering along my legs when he paused and looked at me with an alarmingly mischievous and lust filled grin.
“Finally,” he breathed, then shifted, staring at everything under my skirts before he yanked them off. My faced warmed as his smile widened, his fingers rubbing over me, watching me squirm while he looked into my eyes. “Wondrous,” Ian declared, pushing my thighs back. And then his mouth and tongue were busy so he stopped talking.
I melted into him and writhed until he locked me into position, keeping me how he wanted while he worked. “Ian, please,” I moaned loudly, begging for him. “Mercy.”
A low chuckle emerged from his throat and then he moved over me, his eyes burning into mine all the while. Ian pressed his hips down and we cried out together as we joined for the first time. I whimpered as he partially withdrew, wrapping my legs around him to keep him close, then moaned loudly when he pressed forward once more, gaining progress. I cried out with every new inch he gained, and only grew louder when he found his pace.
Ian drove into me with strong, deep strokes, gasping out his pleasure along with my own as he withdrew completely then slammed back in, an action I encouraged loudly. And then I was there, and he was just pounding into that spot over and over. I cried out his name as I exploded, and he groaned deeply, crossing the finish line hot on my heels.
“Isabelle,” he sighed, collapsing with a languid smile.
Once I had finally recovered enough to string words together into sentences, I mused aloud that we ought to be returning to our guests. “Where I’m from, this would be considered very rude behavior.”
“You are not where you are from, Isabelle,” Ian whispered, removing the rest of my clothing. We’d been in a hurry.
“We’ve been gone for a while,” I protested lamely. I was in no hurry to leave.
“Mmmhmm,” Ian replied, rolling over to kiss his way across my torso while pressing his resurging erection into my leg. “What is this?” He paused, transfixed by my belly ring. “Does it mean anything?”
“It’s only a piece of jewelry,” I replied, caught off guard. But of course he had never seen it before. He’d never seen me naked before right now.
He ran a gentle finger across the delicate jeweled butterfly at the end of the banana bar. “Wondrous,” Ian breathed. “Now - where were we?”
We compromised...by having sex again. A leisurely event that consisted entirely of Ian staring into my soul while he slowly worked me with painstakingly deliberate movements, drawing out one climax after another before he finally let himself go.
My husband (!) was ambulatory far more swiftly than I was, much to his pleasure. I could tell that he was enjoying the view - me, quivering, with bones of jelly.
“Did I mention that I have been preparing for this day?” He asked me with a smirk. I raised an eyebrow at him. “I have been feasting on oysters daily for over a week,” Ian proclaimed.
“I hardly think you needed the oysters,” I replied feebly. “All the running with buckets of rocks probably gave you more than enough stamina.” Another shudder ran through me, and Ian grinned in a very self-satisfied manner.
After a few glasses of water, I was able to pull myself together enough to redress. With Ian’s help, that is. He wouldn’t dream of allowing me to summon anyone, insisting that he would help me with anything I needed. It was very sweet, and I liked having him lace me up.
I sat on the bed to slip my feet back into my shoes, and took a breath, still trying to steady myself. God, I was going to walk out of here looking like a freshly fucked virgin. In front of our guests, too.
Our guests.
I dropped my comb. “Oh my god!” I looked up at Ian - my husband - who was still making the final touches on rearranging his own clothing. “Ian, our guests! There are over a hundred people out there - they probably heard everything!”
Ian looked amused. “I imagine so,” he said cautiously. “However, they would have inferred as much from my leading you away in such an urgent manner.” He grinned.
I gaped back at him as his words registered. “Do you mean to say that everyone knew--”
“That we were eagerly consummating our marriage?” He nodded at me as though I were an addle-brained but well-intentioned child.
Eagerly consummating our marriage. What a very fancy way to say we couldn’t keep our hands off of each for another minute.
I buried my face in my hands. “Oh my god, this is so embarrassing.”
Ian snorted back laughter. “You would be most appalled to know of some of the traditions in my homeland.”
“I believe I’ve read of some,” I replied, cringing. I’d read plenty of romance novels set in medieval England that mentioned or included bedding ceremonies. What a nightmare those sounded like. It was embarrassing enough that so many people were milling about; the thought of people actually being in the room and then hanging up a bloody sheet (or in my case, not) was more than I could handle.
“Then you understand that a marriage like ours requires witnesses, Isabelle,” he replied, with an elegant shrug. “Any groom in my position would have been just as eager to consummate their marriage.” He gave me a meaningful look, and I felt my face warm.
“You’ve shocked me, Ian Alexander Coventry,” I told him, smoothing my skirts in the long mirror.
He raised an eyebrow at me. “Oh?”
“Yes. I thought we were going to wait until tonight, once all of the festivities were over,” I admitted.
Ian made a dignified scoff. “You must think me a saint, darling wife,” he said, planting a kiss on my lips. “I felt quite in a rage with passion for you, and was fairly certain I would go mad if I waited any longer.”
My hair still looked great, even after my ‘bridal surprise’ from Ian. I wrapped my veil carefully, replacing it with a few of the smaller flowers from my bouquet. We made our way over to the patio, where the reception was in full swing. The music was playing, drinks were flowing, and everyone was dancing.
To my shock and consternation, we were greeted by loud applause and raucous male cheers. They were not of the ‘it’s so sweet that you just got married!’ kind. Definitely more of the ‘congrats on all the sex you just had’. My hand flew to my mouth and I stopped in my tracks, mortified beyond belief at the welcome we had just received.
“My lady,” Ian murmured, gently trying to urge me forward. “There is no reason to feel disgrace.”
“Disagree,” I hissed back through my fingers, planting my feet all the more firmly. Not that it mattered, because several of the men were heading in our direction, well into their cups and chock full of colorful commentary.
“She can still walk, Coventry, go back in there!”
“There he is, you look much relaxed, sir!” That was definitely Davies. Sure enough, he emerged with a cigar and whiskey for Ian.
“Couldn’t have done a good job, those silks aren’t even wrinkled!”
“I heard the lady myself, the lieutenant commander certainly fulfilled his duties!”
“Oh, my god.” I was kind of wishing for the ability to sprout wings and fly away. Hole in the ground? Something. I was so out of my element. Izzy could dish it out and take it, but Lady Isabelle had no idea of the appropriate way to respond to such antics.
Luckily, the ladies in attendance arrived to whisk me away into their circle, offering solace. The men’s voices sounded behind us as they took him off. “He’s still stiff! The lady best prepare for a long night!”
Lady Catherine pressed a drink into my hand, uncharacteristic emotion and concern on her face. “I will go and bring your captain,” she assured me, then took off.
Someone came around with a tray of drinks, and then another, staving off conversation for a while as we partook of the refreshments. The other women began exchanging looks. You say something. No, you say something. Well, someone say something to the poor thing!
I composed myself. “I am alright,” I assured their sympathetic faces. I wouldn’t have thought this group even had this much compassion in them.
Anne eventually sauntered over, whiskey in hand and wreathed in the potent aroma of cigar smoke. She was trying to hold back her laughter and mostly failing. I wondered how Lady Catherine had convinced her to come over; I was sure she would have strongly preferred Ian’s group to mine.
Lady Wallington made soft tsking noises. “You don’t have to be brave for us, Lady Coventry.” I blinked, but she only returned a perceptive nod.
“Lady Coventry, the first time a husband has his wife is often difficult.” Anne said, her eyes positively brimming with mirth. “He must have been gentle with you. You are lucky.”
“Mmmm,” I managed, nodding as I sat down gingerly. Some thoughtful soul had left a soft cushion on my chair.
Lady Coventry. I’d been informed by the ladies over dinner that calling a new bride ‘Lady Surname’ was a local wedding tradition. Soon enough, everyone would revert to the proper ‘Lady Isabelle (Coventry)’. Both versions were going to take some getting used to.
“Indeed,” Thomasin nodded sagely. “We have all of us been there, my lady.”
Then there were a number of quiet, commiserating titters, followed by bits and pieces from the other ladies - all veiled terms regarding their wedding nights.
“Were you hurt at all?” someone asked.
Lady Alice leaned forward. “Do you have any questions?” Unlike the majority of the women, she seemed much less inclined to assume trauma. Then again, I knew that she didn’t seem to suffer through Richard’s attentions. Lady Aaoka and Milicent Carew were also exchanging subtle, amused looks. Hmmm. It was a very interesting gauge.
“Do you understand the reason for it?”
“I know it’s detestable but we must do it for our husbands.”
“Occasionally it is less so, but I do so fear when I see him high in his heat.”
“It is a mercy when they are fast and we can resume our evening activities.”
I was horrified for them. Lie back and think of England, indeed. It was a wonder the human population hadn’t died out entirely if this sentiment was as common as it appeared to be. Were all of their husbands selfish bastards?
Then Anne spoke. “Lady Isabelle, the male body is nothing to fear. If you have any questions I’m happy to answer them. I know you have never been bedded before.”
“Mmmm,” I replied. I was going to kill my sister; she was laying on a bit thick, I thought, but none of the others seemed to pick up on it.
The general consensus was that I was holding it together far better than expected though I was obviously disoriented. I mean, they weren’t wrong. I was hella disoriented, and still reeling from the reception at our reception (and it wasn’t even the first time I’d had my sexual antics cheered).
“I do appreciate all of your kindness,” I said finally. “My lady mother prepared me for this eventuality and...I believe I am quite fortunate with my husband.”
That pronouncement was met by stunned silence, which was then followed by a flurry of murmuring and confused faces. One might have thought I had accidentally lapsed into Swahili or something. Mostly there was a lot of blinking.
“You were quite fortunate with your lady mother as well,” Thomasin declared finally. “Such a blessing, preparation.” Several other ladies nodded, and I took it that sex ed wasn’t a thing yet.
“California is a rather foreign place,” Lady Catherine observed, then turned to Anne. “Captain? Have you seen many...male bodies?”
I choked on my drink.
“A lot happens on the sea, Lady Catherine,” Anne replied. The gleam in her eye made me wary. “There be monsters.” She raised her dress with her finger, initiating a rising erection, and she and Lady Alice collapsed on each other, laughing.
“Oh no, really?” Lady Catherine asked, wide-eyed.
Yeah, Anne, really? I had only just realized how drunk she was.
“I’ll tell you a secret,” Anne said, leaning in and lowering her voice. My heart stopped. “I like their bodies. If the bed is right, there’s no reason for fear at all.”
Hear, hear, I thought as I finally breathed again. The other ladies were intrigued at the notion.
“Like Mr. Andrews? You don’t fear him?” Lady Catherine looked across the patio as though she might discern the secrets to life from our host.
“On the contrary, he terrifies me,” Anne said, eyes fixed on him. My sister was in love with someone she considered to be a ghost. I imagined that would be downright horrifying. Mr. Graham Fucking Andrews came over, said “Nanette? May I have this dance?” and swept her away.
Someone came by to inform us that the food would be served momentarily just as Ian arrived to escort me to our table.
The ladies had done a lovely job with the centerpieces. I’d given them some sketches and descriptions, and somehow they had managed everything I wanted, from the flower arrangements to the shallow glass bowls of water that held floating candles, flowers or both.
“You’re rather drunk,” I noted to Ian as we walked along the path. “But at least you don’t smell as strongly of cigars as my sister.”
He snorted with laughter. “Yes, I imagine that to be so. She certainly went through more of them than I did.”
“Is that why you smell like pot?” And lavender, of course.
“Perhaps,” he replied, and his eyes were twinkling as he helped me into my seat.
My husband (!) was in rare form, making constant dirty jokes and comments into my ear about his plans for me later that evening. Our table was set apart from the guests, and between the long linen tablecloth and floral arrangements, we were fairly obscured from view. I wondered if that was intentional.
“I do believe I could get you to break a glass with a scream--”
“Ian!” I hissed at him. “You are not as quiet as you think you are.” He chuckled and gave me a lascivious look while sipping from his drink. “Oh look, it’s food,” I announced delightedly as the procession of dishes began. “You’ll need to soak up some of that liquor if you have any hope of carrying through on your promises, my dear husband.”
“It would take vast more quantities than I am capable of imbibing to keep me from--”
“Ahem,” I said, trying to spare the young serving girl’s ears as she approached with our tray. “You and I are starting with my own personal dishes,” I informed Ian, grinning saucily, “and I’ll be feeding it to you.” French onion soup. Duck confit. Spiny lobster spring rolls (and I noted that Lili had done really, really well with the wrappers) with a variety of sauces. “Where shall we begin?”
As usual, he claimed to love everything, and ate like he meant it. I enjoyed watching him try these exotic and foreign (to him) foods, putting on a brave face like he wasn’t at all intimidated. We laughed together at every new bite he tasted.
The duck confit was a dish he was familiar with, though of course aspects of my preparation were novel. Ian insisted on making sure I ate as well, even though I didn’t think I was hungry. As it turned out I was ravenous. Ladylike bites and all, but I absolutely destroyed a pile of food.
“Excellent,” he remarked into my ear. Under the table, his hand had begun to glide up my bare leg. I inhaled sharply. “You are going to need your strength, my lady, because I--”
“Coventry!” Thomas Charles boomed out, startling the bejesus out of me - and not just because of how high Ian’s hand had progressed. The valet and several others of the men were approaching our table behind a servant carrying a tray of chilled oysters.
Ian devoured several in record time while the male onlookers cheered him on. I chuckled at his serious expression, but it’s not like I didn’t know plenty of people back home who swore by oysters as an aphrodisiac.
Luckily by this point, I was feeling somewhat less embarrassed. Or maybe I was just feeling somewhat more drunk? Anyway - I did not melt under the table. Instead I finished my drink and turned to Ian.
“I love oysters.” I batted my eyelashes at him. “Am I allowed to have any? Or will it ruin whatever it is you’re doing?” I giggled.
In response, Ian held a half shell up for me, carefully tilting it into my mouth. More cheering. They were all so drunk at this point they would have cheered for anything even approaching a sexual nature. Shortly after that, someone began tapping on their glasses, and the ritual of the groom kissing the bride began. And then the groom also began secretly groping the bride under the table.
By the time we went to dance, we were both pretty drunk. In the middle of the waltz, he suddenly leaned down and kissed me, and I mean full on, right in front of everyone. My face flushed, Ian grinned down at me, and the nearby onlookers cheered. And that was when I realized that everyone was wasted. Before the end of the song, Ian had spun me off into an unlit corner for more of the same.
“Someone will see us,” I whispered. He had moved beyond kissing; I hadn’t even realized a person could be felt up through this numbers of layers but he was doing a magnificently effective job.
Ian stopped, groaning with frustration, then took me by the hand and led me into the house. We made it most of the way up the stairs before my husband (!) was overtaken by desire to start kissing me again, pressing me against the wall to do so.
“What’s come over you, Ian?” I asked, breathless.
“You did not belong to me before, and now you do,” he replied, “and I’m going to have you.” A shiver went through me at the intensity in his voice.
Luckily my rooms were right at the top of the staircase, and somehow we made it through the door. Once inside, he swept me up onto the nearest flat surface, pushing up my skirts with one hand and relieving himself of his trousers with the other, his mouth on mine all the while. I cried out into his shoulder when he thrust; Ian let out a deep groan of relief, then set about burying himself in me in earnest. I arched up to him, whimpering as he pressed into those deep, perfect places with a sublime rhythm that made me tremble. I cried his name as I peaked, taking him over the edge with me.
“Damn,” Ian muttered, bending over to examine the table, dismayed.
I was rearranging my hair, yet again. Somehow, I was not bothered by the need for it. “What is it?”
Ian looked positively stricken when he straightened. “I believe I will have to recompense Mr. Andrews for this table.”
“Geez, Ian, I thought it was something serious. It was an accident. We’ll apologize and pay for the table and life will continue. Maybe save that facial expression for a sweeping forest fire or a tsunami or something?”
The flowers were done, I decided, pulling them from my hair and setting them aside to save and dry later, and so was this topknot thingy. I pulled out the hairpins, added a sparing drop of smoothing serum and arranged everything into something respectable looking. If I could stay off my back for more than an hour--
“Your hair looks very different today, Isabelle,” Ian said curiously.
“That was a loaded statement,” I replied dryly, turning to face him. “You don’t like it?” I tossed my tresses for good measure, admiring the way the sunbeams played up my natural copper highlights.
“I like it very much,” he hastened to assure me, reaching out carefully to let a few strands fall through his fingers. “But it is different, is it not?”
“I’m just messing with you, Ian. It’s very different.”
We were finally both ready, but a new thought had occurred to me. “Oh goodness - they’re not going to cheer again, are they?” Ian laughed, and I swatted him. “It isn’t funny! If they’re going to do that again, I swear, I will feign an injury and hide out for the remainder of the evening.”
“I believe they have had their amusement, my lady,” he said, eyes twinkling.
“Ewww. They were saying things?” Of course they were.
“No, Isabelle,” Ian replied. “In truth, they were much restrained this evening. Perhaps because of the presence of your sister, who was at the ready with rejoinders.”
I bet she was. I chuckled.
“Also,” he added, “they are likely to be beyond noticing.”
There was a slight smattering of male cheers when we reemerged, but even that was quickly shushed by their wives. I noticed a number of sympathetic looks from those same wives, all kindly troubled on my behalf; I could almost hear their thoughts. Poor little thing, dragged off by that big, manly husband of hers twice already. However will she survive the night?
Don’t worry about me, ladies, I wanted to shout from a tabletop. I suffered not at all.
Angelica’s daughter Beri was playing violin; her mother and (stepmothers?) sat nearby. I greeted all of them as we made our way around the floor.
I stopped when I saw Anne, dancing with our host. Dancing was putting it mildly - they were whirling around the dance floor like something out of a movie.
...They really were our host and hostess. And she loved him. I didn’t understand it - I wasn’t sure if I ever would - but it was lovely to see her happy, and I settled back to watch her.
Ballroom dance was the one, and I fucking mean The One, activity encouraged by Mom that Anne had actually settled into without protest. Enthusiastically, even. And he made a worthy partner - dancing wise, anyway.
My sister was definitely his dancing friend, I thought as I watched them.
“I am eager to try these fruit tarts that you have been so besieged by,” Ian intoned, distracting me.
“Tartlets.” I dragged my eyes away from Anne. “Not tarts, tartlets. But, then I wound up going with galettes anyway.”
“I see,” he replied, meaning he didn’t. I smirked up at him. “Well, I do hope you will enlighten me regarding those fine points, my love.” Ian punctuated that with a kiss on my cheek and led me back to our table.
I had spent hours upon hours in the kitchen, cooking on my own and reviewing recipes with Nichte and Lili, then going over a number of details with Angelica. Angelica’s experience combined with fluent literacy had made that part a lot easier, as she had mostly been able to simply read my notes and duplicate instructions. Helene’s daughter Amelia was also adept in the kitchen and had volunteered her services; she’d showed off an amazing new set of knives and we’d spent an enjoyable time doing fig pastries.
Yesterday, I had baked a small vanilla cake for Ian and I to share, and was very excited for him to taste it - along with the galettes. I had also made a batch of pot brownies for the daring - served in tiny squares and with a warning - and set aside a few for Ian and myself to have later.
“I don’t understand why we can’t have any of those now,” Ian said, once again.
“Because you’re a lightweight with pot and you’re already drunk. If you ruin our wedding night by needing assistance to make it to bed, I will be livid. Just, putting that out there.”
Ian grumbled, then slowly ate a piece of the cake.
“Well?” He looked very thoughtful. “You don’t like it?” The taster cake had been great. I took a sample of this one. Also great. “What is it?”
He leaned over, brushed my hair away from my face, and very, very precisely nipped the side of my neck, sending a shiver through me. “Needed more sugar,” he murmured, before returning to an upright, reserved position.
Fucking swoon.
When I looked up, a very inebriated Anne was heading our way, with a look of determination. “Oh boy...”
“Lady Covington, I’d like to have a word with you.” Beside me, Ian stiffened, turning to look at her.
“I will kill you, Anne.” She looked confused. “Cov-en-try.”
“Cov-en-try.” She repeated, mocking me and then grabbed a fork, eyeing the food on our table.
I shot Ian an apologetic smile. “Darling, would you be so kind as to give me a few minutes with my very, very drunk sister?”
He gave me a kiss, gave Anne a brief, narrow-eyed look of suspicion, then excused himself to the patio, where he was met with hearty claps on the back and more drinks and tobacco. By the time I turned back, Anne was absolutely devouring Ian’s piece of cake.
“Jesus, Anne,” I swapped out Ian’s slice for my own. “So what’s up?”
“Three. Three, Izzy. Good cake. Needs a little more sugar though.”
“It does not!” I frowned at her. “Three what now?”
“People, Izzy. Lady Catherine plus two.” It was difficult to make out some of what she was saying over all of the cake. Not to mention the alcohol. “Makes three. I don’t take passengers.”
“What?” She just nodded for emphasis. “Well, don’t think of them as passengers. Think of them as survivors of the system that you are going to spirit away to safety!”
“I’ll take care of the sails, but you,” She reached over my arm for another piece of Ian’s cake, specifically, “you will have to take care of the spirit. Think she’ll sleep in the kitchen bunk? Who are the other two? Better not be a man. That rule isn’t changing.”
“The baby - male, but only a year, so I think you’ll allow it - and Bessie.” That Dom kid was pushing it, by her usual terms; he was far too old to be in the women’s locker room.
“BABY! Oh no, no, no, no. No babies.”
I grabbed her arm and shushed her. “Anne. Listen, and keep your voice down, because this is literally a matter of life and death.” After a surreptitious glance around, I leaned over, speaking in a whisper. “Lady Catherine is in love with Bessie’s brother - he works at the blacksmith - and they have a baby together. Her husband is the commander, and there’s no way she’s going to be able to keep passing John Henry off as Bessie’s once he’s back.” I took a deep breath. “And he’s coming back on the same ship that’s taking Ian. So this is very, very urgent.”
Anne grimaced. “Ugh. I do hate that commander.” I held my breath while she thought. “Pompous ass. Fine. I’ll do it. How quick can you pack up?” She went for more of Ian’s cake, and this time I smacked her hand.
Wait, what had she just said? “Pack up? What do you mean?”
“You’re going with me. Duh.” I gaped at her. She was deadass serious.
“I can’t go with you!” This was a terrible time for me to leave, with so many things up in the air here. “I have business interests here! I’m running an inn - that we’re expanding - building a shipyard, not to mention a house with my new husband--”
Anne shook her head resolutely. “Not leaving this island without you. You stay, I stay, Catherine stays. Baby stays. We all--”
“We all stay, I get it.”
Fuck. Okay, well it wasn’t like Lady Catherine wanted to sail with us, specifically. There were just certain parameters she was looking for. “Are there any reputable female captains here in the Somers Isles?”
Anne beamed smugly at me. “Just the one,” she replied, waggling her eyebrows like some roadside busker.
Great. “She’s very concerned about sailing with men,” I mumbled into my glass. “Doesn’t trust them at all.” I turned back to my sister. “How long do you think I could successfully hide them? I do have 200 acres...”
“Up to you. It’s a small island.”
It was a dumb idea. I didn’t know enough about how things worked here to try to pull something like that off with someone like this Commander. Besides, if hiding was a serious option, they would have already thought of it. And I had to help her. I sighed. “She wants to go to Europe. You mentioned needing to be in Europe by fall.”
“I’m not going without you.” Anne stated once again.
“Yeah, you said that. Can we do it?”
“Yes. We can do it.”
I nodded. I had never sailed to Europe, and the idea suddenly sounded very exciting. Far more exciting than sitting around and waiting for Ian to return. “How long will it take to sail there?”
“I have a few stops to make. Probably four months.”
Four months. The inn was already a well oiled machine, and Anika was more than capable of overseeing the gradual additions that were already in the works. I’d given myself a modest salary, and it was amazing how much more Anika was able to accomplish now that the owner was investing in the place and not drinking the profits. The shipyard was brand new, but Davies and I had outlined over a year’s worth of start up procedures as well as backup contingency plans.
“And how long would it take to sail back? Are there any seasonal patterns or anything like that that would delay a return trip?”
Anne paused. “Do you have a time you need to be back?”
“Next summer at the latest maybe?”
She paused for an uncomfortably long amount of time, then said, “Next summer’s not great for me. Can I interest you in a nice 1670 or 1680? I hear their Bordeaux are drinking nicely,” her expression guarded and thoughtful.
I stared at her. “You do realize I got married today, right? I’m not interested in a ten to twenty year separation.”
“That’s not–sure. Yup.”
Anne nodded again, not meeting my eyes and then it hit me. In a year, the English civil war would still be running its course; I doubted Ian would be finished with his tour by then. I did not entertain the idea of him not surviving.
I suppose I could make that work....it’s not like the war was going to be over yet, anyway. Still. An extended absence would put a major wrinkle in my plans. “You love sailing. Why do you need me, again?” It was exceedingly rare for Anne to desire company onboard; that why was her invitation had been so shocking.
“Don’t be an idiot. I love you, you loser,” Anne said over a mouthful.
“Oh!” I leaned over to squeeze her, my heart feeling thrice as big. “You should have led with that. Alright.” I glanced over at Ian, who was staring at us with a mix of curiosity and wariness. He was probably terrified of what the two of us might get up to alone together, not that I could blame him. “I don’t think I can tell him any of this,” I said, stricken. “He wouldn’t understand.”
His elder brother was currently on wife number three. The first one had died from some horrible medieval sounding disease, but the second one had run away, which was apparently A Very Big Deal and A Scandal. From Ian’s description of wife number two - which included an inseparable female friend with whom she exchanged missives multiple times per day, who was also discovered to be missing at the same time - I was fairly certain she was a lesbian, something Ian couldn’t even seem to wrap his head around. He was familiar with the concept of women loving women, but apparently all of the ones he knew also liked men. Or at least pretended to. That had been an interesting conversation.
Anyway, I was certain that my husband would definitely not approve of my involvement in helping a wife abscond from her husband.
Anne made a face. “Tell him whatever you want.”
She was looking for more to eat, so I pushed the rest of my cake in front of her and waved over one of my new barmaids. Once word of my labor policies had spread, women from all over the island had come to the shipyard and The Phoenix seeking employment. “You’re obviously starving. What do you want?”
“Cheez-Os.”
Ewww. I winced. Those might be even worse than the Starcakes. “How about pretzel bites and cheese sauce?”
“There’s no way. No way you have that.”
“Are you serious?” I asked, and my sister nodded. “They were supposed to make sure all the tables got to try everything! Tell me every single thing you ate tonight. Go!”
“I ate whiskey, rum, wine, cigars,” she recited. Dear god. “There was something with some sauce, and then something in a bowl. Then more wine. Then there was a thing wrapped in a thing.” Her vague descriptions of my culinary efforts were killing me, but she continued on, blithely unaware. “Thought I saw some oysters but then they disappeared. Then rum again. Oh! Then cake.” She emphasized that by eating more of it.
“Eat up.” I ordered new food for Anne when the girl arrived. “I want a review for everything,” I demanded, watching my sister shovel food into her face. “Did you really think the cake needed more sugar? Ian said so too, but I thought he was just...never mind.” I tasted the cake again. No. It was still perfect. Anne was just being a sugar fiend, as usual.
I followed her gaze to the dance floor, where her boyfriend (?) was dancing with a very delighted Lady Wallington. That woman definitely had a crush on Mr. Graham fucking Andrews.
She swallowed a piece of fruit galette. “Hey, how would you like to travel east? I have a friend there. Oh! But you know. Yeah, you know.”
Anne waved her hand in an ‘I forgot that you know’ sort of gesture, and I smiled and nodded at her. She was so drunk. Oddly enough, I was one of the most sober people in attendance. It was probably more of a question of who didn’t have liver damage.
“I have a boat in port in Madagascar I sometimes switch to in the Pacific. It’s a catamaran style, less-in-your-face European, I can get into better ports that way.” I watched her stuff her face, wondering where the hell she was putting it all.
“This amount of traveling would take some time,” I said slowly, watching her polish off another serving of duck while my alcohol sprinkled brain desperately tried to keep up with her words.
“Lucky for you, I specialize in just that very commodity.” Anne grinned, taking a forkful of crab cake.
That sounded promising, even if I didn’t exactly understand how any of it worked. Okay, I understood absolutely nothing about how it worked, but it still sounded like something I could work with. “So we might even be able to send messages and plan out some kind of itinerary?”
“Well, if you want to portal just pick a date. Boom. So long as you don’t die you can be back whenever.” She made it sound as simple as booking a flight online.
“Well...I just want to be able to find Ian.” I didn’t even care how lame it sounded. I missed him already, and he likely wouldn’t be returning to the Somers Isles for sometime-- “Would we be able to go to England‽”
“I try my best to avoid that place. Too busy. Not much sun.”
I rolled my eyes at her. “Let me try this again. I want to be able to go see my husband. Can we fucking do that?”
“I mean, sure.” Anne grimaced. “But isn’t he going to be at war a while? We could travel the world three times over, arrive back tomorrow. He’d never know you were gone. Why sit and pine for him here, doing needlework or whatever for two years when we could just skip to the end of the war. He probably wouldn’t be gray by then or anything. Just older. Besides, London is way expensive.”
I was either too drunk or not quite drunk enough to parse her words. Either way - “We’ll talk about those...details later.” I gestured vaguely. Oops. Lady Isabelle should not be doing that. Lady Isabelle Coventry. I paused, looking at my rings, and felt a warm glow spread through me.
When I looked up, Ian was gazing at me from across the patio. I blew him a kiss - I have no idea if he even knew what I was doing - and he smiled back at me, raising his glass. I dragged my attention back to Anne.
“Sooo you mean to say, we could leave, do our errands or whatever, and then come right back? Like almost no time had passed at all?” Ooooh. I gasped. “Like you did!”
“Well, no time will pass for him.” Anne grinned at something on the dance floor. “But yeah.”
Oddly, that kind of made sense. “Right. Like you did...” Anne said she had been sailing for weeks, but to us she had just left yesterday. “Hey! Did you refill the ollas, or are all of my plants wilting?”
“What are ollas?”
What an incredibly unnerving reply. “My plants in the kitchen, Anne! The ollas are a watering system, remember? You set them up for me.”
“I don’t remember. But yeah, they’re probably dead.”
I groaned. Those plants were even more precious now, what with all of the centuries worth of agricultural development they represented, and I didn’t have seeds for all of them. Another disturbing thought had just occurred to me. “...Have you had any of the brownies?”
“No, but they look good.” Anne was eyeing the platter.
“No. Remember, you’re not allowed to have any.” I had learned that lesson during the time Anne and I had shared an apartment in the real California while I was in college. Every single guy I had set her up with at a party had been like ‘Uh, what’s up with your sister?’ and then proceeded to detail the paranoid, delusional ramblings that she had spun into while making out or fooling around or whatever. Of course, knowing what I knew now, the stories of pirates, sword fighting and naval attacks sounded less crazy. Still - there was no way I was giving her ass a fucking edible right now. “Not even in 1649....probably even more not in 1649.”
“Why not? I love brownies. Got to be better than that cake.”
“No. Anne? Anne? No!” Anne was drunk, and as I may have mentioned, a sugar fiend. I was definitely out of my fighting class and my reminder that they were special brownies seemed to fall on deaf ears.
“Mr. Andrews!” I called out loudly. Desperate times, desperate measures.
He looked alarmed and suspicious at being summoned by me, but saw Anne and came over. Ian, who had already been eyeing us, arrived with him.
By the time they arrived, I was practically sitting on her. It looked like we were hugging, but I was really just hedging my bets that she wouldn’t dump me on the ground. Especially not in this dress. At least not before help arrived. “She can’t have any of those chocolatey squares,” I told her boyfriend (?). To ensure that he took me seriously, I added, “if you can’t control her, she’ll be your problem once the stuff kicks in.” And then I made a big production of pretending to wash my hands ala Pontius Pilate, complete with flicking my imaginary leftover water droplets on his face. He blinked, as if I had actually conjured water from someplace, then turned to Anne.
“Up you go, Nanette. Lady Wallington is going to get the wrong idea if I keep dancing with her.”
No kidding. Even now the woman was gazing after him wistfully. It was no wonder, from her point of view - objectively speaking, Mr. Graham fucking Andrews was a very handsome man and a superb dancer. Lady Wallington probably got closer to an orgasm dancing with him than she did having sex with her husband.
“Good. She needs a good long hard--” He kissed Anne, most likely to shut her up, then said, “Come along, Nanette.” He whirled her out onto the dance floor and they began a stunning tango.
“That dance does seem familiar.” Ian’s face was very thoughtful.
“I imagine it does. They’re doing the tango.” I studied them for a moment. “A modified version, I believe.”
Ian suddenly stood, then gave me a huge, beautiful grin as he held out his hand. “May I have this dance, my love?”
Eventually, Ian and I decided we had put in enough of an appearance and we were ready to retire. Anne and her boyfriend (?) were still going strong on the dance floor, so we snuggled up on the sidelines until they took a breather.
Finally, we could touch each other in public, and I was taking advantage. I rested my head on his chest, winding my hands under his coat while his hands gently rubbed my shoulders and back. Heaven. I was vaguely aware of the curious gazes of some of our guests, but mostly I was watching Anne. As disgusted as I was over her choice of companion, it was impossible to deny how happy she looked.
“Finally!” I exclaimed when I managed to catch her attention at the end of yet another dance. “I’ve been waiting to say good night to you for what felt like ages.” I grinned and gave her a big hug. That was something that felt familiar - finding my sister and giving her a hug good night. Old and new.
“You didn’t have to wait for me.” She stepped back, looking me over. “Haven’t you ‘gone to bed’ like eight times already?”
I elbowed her as Ian let out a shocked laugh. “We did have to wait for you, because we’re well-mannered and you two are our hosts.”
Anne hesitated. “I suppose we are, aren’t we.”
The man at her side grinned, pleased by her response. “No need for fisticuffs tonight, Coventry?” He asked, turning to Ian.
Ah. So he did remember. My husband (!) paused for a moment, and I wondered if he would take offense at the casual address.
“I should say not, Andrews.” The two men shook hands; apparently they had come to some sort of an accord.
“Don’t wear him out,” Anne said with a huge smirk. “He looks fragile.”
I flicked Anne before putting on a cheery smile for the others. “So, good night then?”
Satisfied with the damage she had done, she grabbed me and kissed me on the cheek, stunning me with the unexpected display of affection. “Congratulations on your wedding,” she whispered. “I wish--you all the best. Good night.”
From the way they were dancing... “I imagine that you will have a pleasant night as well.” I curtsied to them. “Good night, Anne. I love you.”
“Love you too. Go get ’em tiger.”
“Do we leave tomorrow?” I asked Ian as we strolled back to the house. “And also--”
“Either tomorrow or the following day.” He grinned back at me, shaking his head. “I shall not provide you with any further details.”
“Booo,” I whined, but I didn’t push any more. He had remained steadfast in keeping the honeymoon plans a surprise.
The rooms were well stocked and prepared when we arrived - pitchers of drinks, platters and bowls of food, the lamps and fireplace lit.
“Leave the shoes on,” he ordered as he bolted the door, and the excitement in his tone set my pulse racing. “If you please, Isabelle?”
“Yes, alright,” I agreed, intrigued. Ian had already removed his shoes and coat.
“I admit to being torn, darling wife.”
“Oh?” I moved the mirror and began to unlace the front of my dress.
“Allow me.” He crossed the space, taking the strings from my hands within moments. “I am torn,” he continued, his voice low, “because of my impatience earlier.” Ian lapsed into silence, his expression thoughtful while his fingers deftly worked the fastenings.
“Impatience?” I prompted.
“Yes.” He stopped, leaning down to kiss me then continued. “For example, I had longed to do this. To carefully peel away one layer after another,” Ian said slowly, matching actions to words as he spoke, and my petticoat, corset and shift joined the dress in a pile, “until you stood before me in the nude, unwrapped like a present on a special day. And there you are,” he said quietly, his fingers gliding up and down my skin.
“Except for my shoes,” I murmured, shivering.
“Yes, except for your shoes,” he agreed. I gasped as he lifted me off the floor, wrapping my legs around his waist as he walked us into the bedroom.
When we reached the bed, he set me down and stepped back, staring. “Ian...” Self-consciously, my hands drifted up to cover myself.
He stepped forward with a devious look in his eyes, bending down to run his hands up from my calves to cup my hips and rear.
“Turn around,” Ian said as he stood, his voice deep and commanding. He made a noise of approval as I did, his fingers moving up around my waist, his hands cupping my breasts, his thumbs pausing at my nipples. I sighed and leaned back against him, enjoying the feel of his hands on my skin. “Bend over,” he whispered into my ear, making me quiver.
Okay. The shoe thing was making a little more sense now.
Again, I did as instructed, stretching my upper body out onto the bed. Behind me, Ian pressed a hand on my lower back, a gentle weight to firmly hold me in place. He moved, sinking down to a kneeling position behind me - and there he stayed, one hand still on my back, the other running up and down my legs and rear.
Umm. Like, yes I do Pilates and I’ve been on this amazing new 17th century diet this summer, and there’s only firelight and candles in the room, but suddenly....I’m feeling very exposed.
“Ian...?”
“You are exquisite, my love,” he said breathlessly, then slowly began to kiss his way up and down my legs. In between kisses, I could barely make out bits and pieces about how soft and smooth my skin was, how long and graceful my legs were, and other words of praise, his hand still on my back.
Oh god. I was going to die from a sensory overload but it was going to be worth it.
And then I heard the sound of Ian undressing - one handedly, yet again - and the very distinct sound of his breathing, growing more and more ragged. He kissed his way up my legs and then settled his mouth firmly between my thighs, keeping me in place with the palm of his hand while I squirmed under the attention of his oral ministrations. My legs were getting shakier and shakier, and there was only so much I could take.
“Oh god, Ian, please,” I pleaded.
He paused. “Are you impatient for me?”
“Mmmhmm.” I wiggled my hips at him. “Please,” I mumbled again.
Ian let out a low, deep chuckle, then gave me a series of very provocative licks while I whimpered for him. “Please, Ian. Please--” Then his legs pressed against the back of mine as he eased into me, driving out moans with every bit he advanced.
Once Ian was finally sheathed inside me, he kissed his way up my spine, delighting in making me shiver and tense and gasp. He pressed his weight onto me, just enough to pin me in place as he moved, then shifted slightly, placing his mouth at my ear.
“Isabelle,” he breathed, then began whispering a series of very graphic descriptions of how my body felt to him, giving emphasis with a thrust or kiss or squeeze.
Then I cried out, Ian pressed fully down and forward, did one additional something, and suddenly I was a rippling, shaking pile of screams.
The level of the bed was fortunate; my legs did not need to work to keep me up. Not that there was any danger of me moving anywhere with Ian’s energetic pacing.
“Isabelle,” Ian let out a low, intense shudder. “Are you ready for me?” Oh dear god was he asking me for permission? That was unbelievably hot. A long quiver shot through me, and his voice was very strained when he spoke again. “Isabelle?”
“Mmmmhmm,” I finally managed to mumble, and in response Ian gave me everything he had, groaning with satisfaction as he finally climaxed.
“My sister told me a funny story about when we first arrived,” I said afterwards as we laid on top of the covers.
“Mmm?”
I rolled over to look at him. “Tell me about your first impression of me.”
Ian paused, then shifted awkwardly, opening and closing his mouth a few times with no words coming out before lapsing into silence.
“Oh my god, she was right?” I sat up, clutching the sheet to my chest. “Anne told me that you saw through my shift, and I couldn’t stop thinking that what if that was why...you know.” He raised a questioning eyebrow. “If that was why you proposed.” I waited, barely breathing.
Ian groaned, shaking his head, then sat up, bursting into laughter.
“I hardly see the humor.” I crossed my arms and glared at him.
“Forgive me, my love.” Ian swallowed his laughter and composed himself. “I will admit, that yes, Isabelle, you attracted my carnal interest first. I was captivated, to be frank, and I can assure you that I would have been even without that stunning view.” He closed his eyes briefly and smiled to himself.
I was giving him a narrow eyed stare when he met my gaze again.
“I am impressed with you no matter your attire,” Ian said, holding his hands up in surrender. “A woman captain introduced you as an esteemed lady, traveling across the Atlantic. Such things are unheard of. Then you appeared, full of fire over who even knows what, and I was entranced.”
Ian chuckled to himself, and I bit my tongue. I had been full of fire over being fucking kidnapped. JFC, that seemed like an entire lifetime ago. Before buying the Sea Wind, trading the arms and ammunition for a vast swath of land, before learning about Anne’s severely clandestine split personality...before falling in love with Ian. “As we have discussed, there were a great many reasons why I wanted you as my lady wife.”
I brushed and flossed, then sat at the vanity and started taking off my makeup. God, I was going to miss micellar water. And makeup. I remembered that most makeup in this time period was full of toxic things like lead and arsenic. No thanks.
I drank down two big glasses of water and reminded Ian to hydrate before bed as well before turning back to the mirror. Moisturizer. Now that would probably be easier. I could always cold press my own oils if I needed to. And maybe I could learn more about safe herbs and flowers to use for color to make my own makeup products. Shea and cocoa butter, argan, jojoba and coconut oil - I wondered how many of those items had even been discovered in their home regions at this point in time. In the meantime, I would have to be sparing with my beauty supplies.
Ian had already finished cleaning up for bed, but of course it was a much faster act for him. He pulled up a chair and sat down next to me, watching as I went through my ablutions.
“Hi.” I smiled at him, feeling oddly shy under his gaze.
“Hi,” he said quietly. “Our first night together. Properly, that is,” Ian amended.
I dabbed on some moisturizer - sparingly, of course - and then brushed coconut oil through my hair. “It is.” I parted my hair and started working it into two French braids. This procedure of getting ready for bed together, alone in the room, no servants - it was wonderfully, gorgeously intimate. “The night of the storm was different in every way.” I finished the braid on his side first, and he reached forward to gently wind it around his fingers, watching me while I did the other.
“Will you leave that off for a while?” Ian asked as I moved to tie the silk scarf around my head.
“Alright,” I agreed, twirling the scarf around my fingers nervously before draping it over my shoulder. I actually felt flushed from the intensity of his attention. I should be used to it by now, I thought, watching Ian move to turn down the covers. My husband (!) was a very intense man.
Ian held out his hand for me and led me over to the bed. I took off my dressing gown and hung it up, shivering slightly now that I was nude. Attentive as always, he quickly added some wood to the fireplace.
“Join me,” I said when he turned back to me.
“Of course.”
“No.” I laughed. “Take that off. Join me in sleeping naked.”
I watched him strip off his shirt and drape it over a chair, licking my lips involuntarily as his muscles rippled.
“Wow,” I breathed, watching him walk back to me. Tall, broad, wonderfully muscular but not in a bulky, overdone way. Not to mention his other magnificent...endowments. “You really do have the perfect body,” I told him.
Ian flushed pink with pleasure, smiling slightly, and I laughed. He looked adorable.
“Am I embarrassing you?” I teased, giggling until he stepped forward and kissed me again, shutting me up.
He helped me up into bed before climbing in beside me. Not that I needed the help, of course, but he wanted to, and it was sweet.
Ian wrapped an arm around me and I sighed, contented as I rested my head on his chest. “This is really, really nice.”
“To be finally alone, as man and wife,” Ian brushed a kiss along my temple. “It is incomparable.” He chuckled.
I snuggled up against him. “What are you laughing at?”
“I was remembering the night of the storm.” Ian sighed, a low rumble spreading through his chest. “I have never been so thoroughly tested and tempted. You were in the bath, warming your dainty, feminine figure, enticing me to come and look upon you, with your shoulders and arms and upper chest bare as though it was nothing, then dangling your legs over the edge with the same naïveté. I could see your breasts through the bubbles.” He sighed again. “Then you were in my shirt and that thin cover, walking about with your legs exposed as though that too was nothing, and the rest of you only barely more hidden. You were so oddly innocent, traipsing around as though your breasts and other female parts were the only arousing aspects of you. Then you climbed into my bed,” he made a small groan and trailed off.
“Just my presence in your bed?” I let my hand play across the hard surface of his stomach. More than a six pack, for sure.
“Indeed,” he sighed. “The scent and sight of you in my sheets, wearing my shirt, your nipples taunting me through the thin fabric, and the knowledge that you desired me, as I desired you - it was maddening. You were laid there, soft, warm, and willing and yet you were not mine.”
“I understand that our worlds are very different, but I was yours, because we had said so.”
Ian exhaled. “I hope you understand that it was words like that that made it all the more difficult. I wanted nothing more than to claim you then and there and make you mine. I now understand why my lady mother always discouraged lengthy betrothals,” he added, then turned to blow out the candle.
There was a pause.
“What is a tiger, Isabelle?” He asked in the near dark.
Yes, he was serious. “It’s a species of large cat. They are ferocious.”
“Similar to a lion?”
“Sort of, but larger. And striped.”
“Indeed?” He nipped my neck and I shivered. “And which one of us, pray tell, was your sister referring to with that remark?”
“I’m sure I haven’t the faintest idea,” I murmured as he moved over me.
We spent the entire next two days locked away, recovering from the exhaustion of our wedding day and of course, enjoying our new favorite pastime.
“You are going to have a bath,” Ian announced when I woke up from a nap.
“I am?”
He nodded. At some point, he had put on trousers; happily, he was still shirtless. “I’ve arranged it all. Come along.” Ian held out his hand for me. Sure enough, there was a very warm floral scented bath. It looked quite inviting.
I adjusted my scarf, then tested the water. Perfect. “Why do I feel as though this is just an excuse to see me naked?” I arched an eyebrow at Ian.
He grinned down at me, then slipped off the thin linen wrap I had tucked around myself sarong-style.
“Into the tub with you, wife.” Ian punctuated that with an exhilarating squeeze of my rear end as I stepped in. “Even better than I hoped,” he mused aloud, with a libidinous look that made me feel even more naked as I lowered myself into the water. “This time there aren’t any damn bubbles, and I can take you to bed afterwards. This nearly makes up for the last time.” Ian sprinkled a handful of fragrant flower petals into the bath.
“You’re even allowed to look at me now.” I grinned up at him, and he grinned back, moving to sit beside the tub.
“More than look.” Ian soaped up the washcloth and began gliding it over my skin. “I’ve dreamed about this,” he murmured, leaning forward to kiss me.
The bath led to Ian oiling me up, which of course led us back to bed, and after another very satisfying round with my husband (!) we shared a joint. Lieutenant Commander Ian Alexander Coventry was a keeper, all the way around.
“I’m glad that mostly everyone’s gone by now. Since all of our guests learned rather instantaneously that our marriage had been made ‘official’,” I said, including the physical air quotes to his likely confusion, “I think that we can and should spare them the additional confirmations.”
Ian let out a deep throated chuckle as he traced the curve of my waist. “I can see the letters now. Dear Lady Avington, congratulations on the marriage of your second son.” The wicked sparkle in his eye contradicted his formal tone. “I am certain that you will be welcoming a grandchild from this union in less than a year.”
I laughed at the absurdity, only stopping once I realized he was serious. “My goodness- they wouldn’t really, would they?” He only raised an eyebrow at me. Duh, Isabelle. “Ewww. That’s pretty gross.”
“I imagine that England would be an adjustment for you.” It was far more of a statement than a question.
I shifted against him. “Well, yes. Your homeland is very different from my own.”
He nodded. “We get away with a lot out here, in the frontier, away from civilization. Things are much more starched up in London.”
“You needn’t worry that I will embarrass you in front of your peers. I am capable of behaving in proper company.” Provided I wasn’t unduly provoked, I amended mentally. “Speaking of your home, will you tell me about Avington?”
He seemed pleased at my interest. “I think you would like the stables. We have bred horses for generations.” A beautiful smile spread across his face as he leaned back and started to talk. Horse breeding was a family hobby, but one they also made money from. Horses were a very expensive hobby in any time period.
As he spoke about the estate, he wove stories about his youth and his siblings into descriptions of the family lands. His father was Lord Avington, and his elder brother was Lord Parque - who was a viscount, apparently, under his father’s title? The Coventry family had owned a large and productive shipyard for generations as well, and their farms supplied a significant amount of the flax and wool used there. I smiled and nodded as he talked, reminded of just how much more research I would need to do. The more he talked, the more of a picture I began to get.
Holy shit. I knew I had married into genuine nobility, but geez. I saw Ian’s consistently tasteful yet understated wardrobe in a new light with the new knowledge of what he had grown up with.
“I know it is a perilous journey,” Ian said softly, “but I would be overjoyed to ride through those gates with you. And it would be even more joyous to have a child along with us. Perhaps in a year, maybe two, before we depart for California.”
I sighed, feeling mildly guilty, and not for the first time. “Ian...it’s highly unlikely that we will conceive a child before we part,” I finished lamely. And that was the easiest part to say.
“So you have said. But you cannot know that for certain.”
“This is really part of a much larger conversation,” I began, “but, yes, I can and do know that with a significant degree of certainty.” He stared at me blankly, and I reminded myself of how little people in this era knew of such things. “Knowledge of certain workings of the human body are a large part of the reason for my kingdom’s prosperity. We’re very big on medicine, I suppose you might say. My diligent hand washing, for example - it is an easy and highly effective method of reducing the transmission of disease.”
Ian leveled a remarkably piercing gaze in my direction. “And what is the understanding of fertility in your native California?”
Careful, Isabelle. “Well, it’s very complicated. But to start, there are only a few days a month that a woman can conceive. And of course, there may be a number of other factors.”
“This is part of the family planning that you spoke of previously?” I nodded. “How was this vast knowledge gained?”
“Years and years of research and experiments,” I replied after a moment of thought. “It is only science.”
“It is a most interesting theory. I must warn you - there are many who would label you a heretic for saying such things. You must not share these thoughts with any others, my love.”
Heresy. I knew that was a dangerous word. I nodded, thankful for his words and guidance. “Alright.”
“Isabelle...” He kissed my cheek, drawing me close to him. “Belle...Does anyone call you that?” I shook my head. “Belle,” he said again, his voice soft and thoughtful. “Do you like it?”
I smiled. “I like it when you say it.”
“Perfect,” he murmured.
“Belle, my love.” Ian’s voice was gently coaxing me into something approaching consciousness, but I didn’t need to open my eyes to know that it was obscenely early. “Sweet Belle?”
“Mmmm,” I replied. I was so comfortable, and it was far too early to wake up, even if his words were lovely. I shifted fully onto my stomach, pulling the pillow more firmly over my face.
However.
It is very, very difficult to stay asleep when you are being spooned by a velvety-voiced, hard bodied man with adept hands who is also kissing your skin and making loving and appreciative noises.
I mean, if you’re into that sort of thing.
He gave my rear a particularly enthusiastic squeeze and I let out a soft sound. “Belle,” he whispered. His fingertips were tickling my thighs.
“Mmmm.”
“Belle,” Ian said again, softly. I felt the warmth of his body as he moved over me, and my nipples stiffened in anticipation before his fingers even reached them. “Will you have me?”
Wordlessly, I let him nudge my legs apart. I would wake up enough to remember the skill of speech at some point. Luxuriating in the feel of Ian’s kisses on my back and shoulders, I was working my way up to asking him how he wanted me when he thrust.
Ian groaned and I let out a decidedly audible cry of pleasure, finally opening my eyes. In the hall, I heard someone gasp, swiftly followed by the sound of something shattering on the floor.
He growled into my ear, each stroke pressing me just a little deeper into the bed. My god, he felt amazing. I was completely, deliciously trapped, and Ian was making very deliberate movements deep within me. It didn’t take long for him to find his mark, sending me straight into an orgasm that hit me before I knew it was coming.
Oh. A new favorite position.
Ian delighted in his prowess, keeping me moaning and quivering beneath him.
“My God, Belle.” Ian shuddered along with me as I peaked again. “I’m nearly there,” he uttered hoarsely, fulfilling his promise a few moments later.
We cuddled up and went back to sleep afterwards, officially waking up at a much more reasonable hour.
By the time we rose to dress for breakfast, the sun was at a much more tolerable position in the sky.
In the hallway, Angelica was sweeping up a pile of broken porcelain, and paused, giving us an incredibly dirty look. I was confused until I remembered the sound of something breaking in the early hours of the morning. Yikes.
I mouthed a ‘Sorry’ to her, but the woman was unmollified, only frowning harder before redirecting her focus to the mess at her feet. I wondered if she knew about the table. Double yikes. It was a good thing that we were leaving today. I made a mental note, adding my written apology to her to the vast number of thank you notes ahead of me.
At my side, Ian took me by the hand, still musing aloud about which leftovers from the reception would make the best breakfast options; I wondered if he had noticed either the broken ewer or the woman. Probably not. He seemed to take as much note as I did of my robot vacuum cleaning a spot in the hallway.
Downstairs, Mr. Andrews brooded at the dining room table over coffee and a book. We exchanged cordial greetings, and after suffering silently through several minutes of Ian’s highborn pleasantries with the man, I interrupted. “My apologies - do you know where my sister is?”
“That damn ship. Where else?” He sounded just as resentful as Mom did with that answer. “As it is still here I assume she’ll be back up for breakfast,” he added.
I’d heard that before. So had he, judging by the sour look on his face. I regarded him for a moment. “I am going to be cooking. Should I include you in the head count?” He nodded with interest, so I barreled on. “Do you have any allergies or anything?”
“No allergies. And thank you. Much appreciated.” I blinked. That was a much nicer response than I had expected from him. “Angelica left you a basket of ingredients and clean utensils. She asked if you would consider leaving any extras you make for the children’s lunch and that you refrain from breaking any of the tables in there.”
“Mmmm.” I gave Ian a chiding look, immediately followed by stealing a kiss from him - propriety be damned - and headed into the kitchen.
In the dining room, Ian and Mr. Andrews struck up an amicable conversation. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but the steady, relaxed rumble of their deep voices carried through the walls.
Someone - Lili, I amended - had already made rosemary bread and an olive oil spread of some type. I took a cautious bite. Mmm. Garlic. We had been practicing recipes for weeks, and I was glad to see how well she was managing independently.
I decided to make rolls and pancakes with fruit compote, and a veggie scramble, along with leftover duck and ham - a simple breakfast, but nutritious and filling. And there would be plenty left over.
Preparations were well underway when Anne entered the kitchen.
“Good morning!” I might have been a bit too chipper, judging from her expression. Either way, Anne moved into my path, and thus began our usual kitchen dance: I attempted to fend my sister off while she filched still cooking food. It was as annoying as it had always been, but it was also comfortingly familiar.
My sister burned her mouth on the hot compote - again - and I once again attempted to switch it out for something else. You know, like something that was ready to eat now? “At least wait for the compote to cool, Anne! Geez.”
“It’s cooler now. Ouch. Nope. Ouch. Not yet. Damn, that smarts. Ouch.”
I smacked her hand and moved the tempting pot out of reach, looking her over. Anne had her usual ‘preparing to sail’ look, her hair braided and everything.
And soon, I would be going with her. I felt an odd mix of excitement and trepidation over our upcoming voyage. Especially since I had come to the conclusion that I was going to have to tell Ian something. Not about Catherine, but at least to let him know that I had a journey planned.
“We should probably discuss those favors I need from you.”
“Probably.”
I popped her hand as she reached for a piece of dough and launched into it, my knife flying over the vegetables on the cutting board. “I have some crates of supplies. There are these refugees who barely escaped being enslaved, and now they’re working at the shipyard--” I paused as her eyes glazed over. “ - Anyway, I just want to help them with a few basics.”
I had written out a sort of grandfathering tenancy rights agreement for the refugees we had hired, all of whom were already squatting on the land I had purchased. They would not only be allowed to stay, but would also be allotted some materials for housing and general maintenance. It was an investment, really. My hope was that giving them something close to stable housing, in addition to employment, would not only improve their situation but make them more reliable employees. In my experience, genuinely giving a shit about people did make a difference. They had done their best to survive here, and remained decent and humane despite all of the horrors they had experienced. The least I could do was give them some food and tools.
“I’ve already talked to Davies, and he mentioned that Mary would be in charge of those things. The same Mary from your boat?”
“The same. Ouch.” She was still determined to take from the compote pot, despite the temperature. “Fine, I’ll bring the stuff over. Where is it? Ouch.”
“I brought the crates and things here. Angelica let me store them.”
“I’ll get it over. What next?”
I lowered my voice. Insulation free walls were amazingly thin. “Medications. I need to try to give Ian as much protection as I can before he leaves. I figure TDAP, MMR? Maybe a few others?” I chopped some herbs. “Smallpox?” I wasn’t sure what the big dangers were here.
Anne nodded. “I’ve got it. But clearly you know that already.” I nodded; I’d seen her cache. “I’ve been vaccinating this place for years. I loved stabbing Yvonne more than I’ve ever loved anything I’ve ever done.”
I stopped cutting to stare at her. “Stabbing Yvonne? What are you talking about?”
She grinned at me. “With a needle,” Anne clarified. “Not a knife...not yet.” She had finally settled on bread and garlic spread, a much safer choice.
“You vaccinated your boyfriend’s other girlfriends? Concubines? I don’t know what the proper terms are.” I couldn’t make heads or tails of anything with this complicated relationship, and I was pretty close to shrugging, throwing up my hands, and moving on. What was one more mystery where Anne was concerned? “Okay, whatever, I’m not judging the details of your sex life.” I mean, I was trying not to. I was on my honeymoon; I had my own sex life to concentrate on.
“Concubines?” Anne scoffed. “God no. If anything he was their whore.” I didn’t even know what to do with that. “And I was vaccinating the kids. I made her sit there and take it to show the kids they’d be fine.”
Mmmhmm. Anne had definitely not just vaccinated her for the kids. I wondered if she had done it for Mr. Andrews. “I see.” I didn’t, not exactly, but I busied myself with food for a moment before moving on. “Regarding our secret mission. Since we’re going to be at sea for so long, I want you to tell me things. Like, all of the big things you’ve been hiding.” I directed a pointed look towards the dining room, where the men’s voices were still drifting through the wall. “Deal?” I waited.
“Izzy...that is a complicated request.”
“I’m sure it is.” Her secrets have secrets. The sheer volume of things I had learned about my sister over the past few weeks was enough to make a person crazy, and I was asking for more. “Will you do it?”
“I can promise to try. It’s just complicated.”
I set down my knife and turned to face her, crossing my arms and giving her a firm stare. “Then try now. Tell me something real and don’t bullshit around about it.”
“Like what?”
“Dealer’s choice.” I had played this game with my sister before; I knew better than to give her any excuses not to answer me. “Just tell me something you’ve never told me before.”
“Okay.” I watched a myriad of thoughts and emotions play across Anne’s face. “Okay. Here’s one, this isn’t the first time you’ve time traveled.”
“What‽” I hissed, then clamped my mouth shut. She was completely serious. “Really?”
“I had to make sure you’d survive the portal. So we did some test runs.”
‘I did test runs to make sure you’d survive the portal’ sounded an awful lot like my sister had been secretly dosing me with iocane powder to build up my resistance. “Do I dare to ask any more details about those test runs?”
“Oh, I’m sure you remember it very vividly.” She grinned at me, swiping a handful of something or other before I even saw what she had.
My mind was swirling, running through possibilities. We had gone sailing together dozens of times over the years, and I had never noticed anything like this before.
“Anne!” She was practically bouncing with glee. “Tell me! I’m going crazy over here.”
“You went to the 1960s,” Anne drawled. “You met one of my best friends and proceeded to hump his brains out. Is that enough of a hint?”
I shushed her - very aware of how thin the walls were - then gaped, my jaw completely unhinged. “Are you seriously talking about Fetu? Cabo was in the 1960s‽” My voice was pretty much made of hissing whispers.
Anne swallowed and nodded, brimming with her revelation. “Sure was.”
I sank into a chair, feeling for all the world like she had just knocked the wind out of me.
Cabo was the 1960s. Holy shit.
It was our senior year of high school and Anne had been asking to sail together. I’d made her a deal: if she stopped running away and passed her midterm, I’d go on a sailing trip with her for spring break. My only demand was a beach and firepits. She’d taken me to Cabo. She’d taken me to Fetu. She’d introduced him by his nickname, Maui, but his true name was Fetu. Fetu, a soldier who had gone off to war and not returned. Fetu, who I’d had a spiritual encounter with last night.
“No one is worthy of you, Pele. But he’ll do.”
“See, I can say things.” Anne was practically giggling. Her voice yanked me back from the shoreline in my dreams where Fetu had given me his blessing for my marriage.
“Yes. Yes, you can.”
And suddenly I found that I had so many questions. Fetu and I had had lots of pillow talk sessions over those spring breaks, and now I was thinking back on some of his more cryptic comments. I had asked him about the art between his shoulder blades, an exact copy of the wicked looking brand that my sister sported in the same location.
Where did you get it? I had asked him. We were someplace we shouldn’t have gone. It means I can go anywhere I want. I can go any time I want. Any time I want... I thought he meant, I can leave whenever I want, but now? I wasn’t so sure. “Does this have anything to do with that brand? Was Fetu a part of this too? How did you learn about this? Does it have anything to do with that liquid you poured on my wrist? How does it all work? Anne?”
“Sounds like it’s going to be a fun cruise to Portugal.” Anne took two plates - which I hadn’t even realized I had served - and said “See you on the ship,” beaming at me saucily as she all but sprinted out of the kitchen.
“Well, fuck,” I mumbled to myself.
By the time I had pulled myself together enough to leave the kitchen, Josefa-Maria was there, distraught by the sight of me cooking. She very sweetly kicked me out, promising that the rest of the food would be plated and served shortly. I put on my game face and headed out to the dining room.
“Anne?” Ian and Mr. Andrews were the only ones there. I sighed. “Did my sister leave?” They nodded. Oh, well. At least she’d eat.
Our meal passed civilly and without incident. Towards the end, Thomas Charles entered the room and exchanged some sort of furtive, silent communication with Ian, who turned to me with a huge smile as his valet left.
“All is ready. Once we have finished at table, we shall depart. Our honeymoon awaits.”
“I am very intrigued,” I replied as he kissed my hand.
And that was when my sister blew back into the dining room like a bat out of hell - aimed squarely at Ian. “Your plan is to take my sister on some craft-project boat of yours around the island? With no crew? How exactly do you plan to navigate safely when you can’t keep your dick out of her for even an hour?”
My ever-so-charming sister, ladies and gentlemen. I set down my coffee, looking back and forth between the two of them. Between Anne’s accusation and vulgarity there had been something about a boat. At the end of the table, Mr. Andrews put down his book, also paying close attention to the proceedings.
I saw the telltale clench in Ian’s jaw as he briefly closed his eyes, restraining his temper, before turning to me with a smile. “Surprise, darling. I am sailing you around the island, to all my favorite places, just the two of us. As I’ve mentioned, I’ve spent several years preparing a personal ship for my own usage, and I believe you’ll find it full of the comforts of home.”
Ian had mentioned his boat project, namely during our first date, but I had been under the impression that it was still a work in progress. I grinned up at him, delighted. A pleasure cruise!
Anne, however, was underwhelmed about Ian’s honeymoon plans. “She is not stepping foot on that so-called ‘boat’ until I inspect it.” Then I noticed the red mark on her cheek. But before I could say anything, her boyfriend (?) stood up.
“Nanette.” Mr. Andrews’ voice was firm, filling the room. “A word, please?” He held out his hand for my sister in that way that men did here when they wanted to escort you someplace.
Anne was so not ready to be escorted. “Just a moment--”
“Nanette. Now.” He insisted, and pulled her into the kitchen. To talk. And the walls were so thin...
I grinned at Ian.
“Belle,” Ian started, but I shushed him, intent on shamelessly eavesdropping.
Mr. Andrews began. “What happened?”
“Nothing.” She was clearly brushing him off. I knew that tactic.
“Nanette? Talk to me.”
“It doesn’t matter. That ship--”
“He’s a naval officer!” Mr. Andrews shouted, and Ian nodded absentmindedly as he sipped coffee. “I’m sure that ship will float around the island just fine. What happened?”
“What happened is I came back. I came back and I am not your wife. I have no claim here–”
I looked at Ian with wide eyes and he shifted uncomfortably. “I do not believe we should–”
“Ian, hush!” I glared at him for making me miss a chunk of something good.
“--and maybe you’ll hear me. What happened to your face?” Mr. Andrews was loud and angry.
“That son of bitch out there struck me because I have no business being here. And he’s right!”
Someone had hit her. I turned to Ian, but he only shook his head.
I wanted answers, and I wanted them now. I stood, shaking off Ian’s whispered urgings to stay seated and mind my own business.
As much as I disliked Mr. Andrews, being on this estate was giving me more information than I had ever gotten about Anne before. He was still yelling when I entered the kitchen.
“So make him wrong! Say yes, goddammit! Be my wife. I won’t have you hurt on our own land when it was entirely avoidable!” His face was still full of fury as he registered my entrance.
Yikes. “I’m very sorry to interrupt what was clearly going to be a successful marriage proposal, but you mentioned that someone struck you? Who?” I demanded, hands on my hips.
“Not now, Izzy,” Anne growled.
“Answer her, Nan.”
Oh. I hadn’t really expected to have backup in this. I nodded at him anyway, then crossed my arms, waiting for Anne to figure out how she wanted to go with this.
“No.”
Predictable.
Her boyfriend spoke up again. “I told you I won’t take another no from you!”
“Then stop asking!” Anne fired back.
She was being ridiculous. “Why won’t you just tell me? You know I’m perfectly capable of getting the information.”
This was obviously related to Ian’s boat; all I needed to do was ask him to go talk to whoever had brought it over. Like, duh, and let’s just get this over with already, shall we?
“Why does it matter? It doesn’t matter!” Anne shouted at us, backing up until she was firmly in the corner.
Fine. Enough of this bullshit. “Lieutenant Commander, would you join us please?” I called out in a sugary-sweet voice. Lieutenant Commander... That felt super awkward now that we were married and all.
“No! Izzy, what the hell? I’m going back to my ship.” I moved to stop her but her boyfriend was much closer, and Anne didn’t fight him when he hugged her to keep her in place.
Ian came through the doorway, looking between the three of us with a troubled expression. The rudeness of our intrusion, I’m sure, plus I was forcing him to stand in a kitchen.
“Dear husband, would you be so good as to find out which of your men was so bold as to strike my sister in the face?” I asked through gritted teeth. “I would be most grateful.”
He frowned as he gave Anne’s cheek a hard look. I knew that my husband wasn’t my sister’s biggest fan, but he was also not a man who approved of striking women, regardless of their affinity for trousers, independence, or foul speech.
“Was it my valet? Tall, blue eyes and a blue jacket?”
He had certainly arrived at that conclusion swiftly. “Anne?” I stared at her.
“Nanette?”
“I can deal with him on my own. Everyone just leave me be.”
I exhaled. That was as close to a yes as I expected to get from Anne. “It was him,” I told Ian, then raised myself up on tiptoe to whisper into his ear. “He must apologize or be punished. I insist.” He drew back to look into my eyes, trying to ascertain the depth of my words. “Yes, I am serious. Now, please?” He nodded, giving me a kiss on the cheek before withdrawing. “Well, that will be handled.” I swallowed my anger - for now - and turned back to give Anne and Mr. Andrews a formal smile. The sight of her reddened cheek made me angry all over again. I kissed her other, resolving to see the matter handled now. Fucking Thomas Charles.
Anne shook her head. “Izzy, this isn’t your fight.” I gave her my patented Smile and Nod™, and she turned to her boyfriend. “You cannot protect me from every danger.”
“I could if you’d let me,” he said.
“No.”
Soooooo awkward. “Okay! Well, I’m going to let you two get back to whatever the hell you’re doing in here.” I said, then turned on my heel to follow Ian.
“My lord?” I called. He stopped, turning to look at me with surprise, and I paused. “It is proper for me to call you that now that we’re married, isn’t it? I don’t know how you English do it.” I frowned. “At home, I could just call you ‘Ian’, even in public. Calling you ‘Lieutenant Commander’ feels very strange.”
“It is not improper.” He smiled at me as he backtracked to take my arm. “Merely unexpected from you, my lady wife.”
“I think simply ‘husband’, perhaps in the future?” I mused.
“That is perfectly wonderful.” Ian chuckled. “I feel honored to have that title.”
“Husband,” I said sweetly, peeking up at him while he grinned, “are you going to wear that sword aboard the ship?”
He scoffed at me, genteely. “I always wear my sword.”
“Well,” I cleared my throat suggestively. “Not always.” Ian laughed lightly, and I forced myself to focus. “Regarding your cousin--”
“His behavior is distasteful and repugnant.” Ian shook his head.
“Why would he do such a thing?” We lapsed into silence as we walked through the house to the door. “I take it you have not shared that Anne and I are sisters?”
“I have not.”
“He needs to understand that such disrespect will not be tolerated. And he shouldn’t be going around just hitting people anyway!”
“I do adore your fire, my love.” Ian murmured, a heat in his voice.
Focus. “Are you going to speak to him or am I?” I asked. “His actions are wholly unacceptable and an insult to my family. I demand satisfaction.”
“And it will be yours. However,” he hesitated. “I have seen the manner of your ‘satisfaction’ before, and I would prefer that I speak with him before you have your say. You are rather like a loaded cannon, Belle.”
“I am not!” I protested. He raised an eyebrow at me. “You are only used to ladies of a different sort of upbringing.” And more tolerance for bullshit owing to a lack of options.
“Hmmm,” was his only reply.
“It’s a lovely day for sailing,” I observed as we crossed the grounds. The sky was clear and sunny and the weather was mild. As we neared the dock, I saw the two boats moored at the end: the Try Your Luck on one side, and a smaller sailboat on the other. At about 30 feet, it was dwarfed by Anne’s much larger ship, but it was a perfectly gorgeous vessel.
“Oh, Ian! It’s beautiful.” He was beaming with well-deserved pride. The sailboat was built of lacquered wood - cedar, most likely, as I remembered Ian telling me that the boat had been built here - and sat sparkling under the sun. “Does she have a name?”
“Not currently,” Ian replied. “Would you care to help me select one?”
“Really? You want my help?” I smiled, touched.
“Of course, my sweet.” Ian kissed my cheek. “You have an educated, creative mind.” I was still basking in the glow of his affection and compliments when Ian patted my hand and let me go, walking down the dock towards his ship. “Charles!” I nearly jumped at Ian’s tone, actually gasping and moving to clutch my pendant in shock. I hadn’t even seen him come above deck. “Did you have a quarrel with the captain of that ship?” he demanded, gesturing at Anne’s boat.
“I would hardly quarrel with a woman.” He sniffed, squeezing even more disdain into his manner. “It was rather more of a chastisement.”
My breath caught, and Ian tensed. “Go on.” His voice was like ice.
“She thought to question our arrival at this dock, and persisted when told to leave. Her and that little upstart bastard of that lowborn man,” Thomas sneered. “They do not know their place, Cousin.”
“What do you mean by that?” My voice was calm and even, but I was furious. Ian looked down at me appraisingly. “Do you mean to say that you struck her because you felt she was out of line?”
He nodded at me imperiously. “Naturally.”
“I find that you are quite out of line, Mr. Charles.” He glared back at me, clearly dying to level an insult. “What if I were to tell you that without an apology to my Captain, I shall return the same treatment to you?”
Ian’s voice was cool. “You are aware of the aftermath of the militia attack, Thomas.” He was at peak noble-neutral. Thomas Charles would have no reprieve from the lieutenant commander.
He looked me up and down with a sneer, all but spitting his next words at me. “You must be mad. I am not going to apologize to that bitch captain--”
Good enough for me. I backhanded him with my left hand, relishing the shock wave that shot through my arm as he staggered backwards.
“Don’t you ever forget your place with me again, Mr. Charles,” I hissed as he grabbed his face, his eyes watering from the sting as he glared at me in anger and shock.
“Lady Isabelle Coventry is correct.” Ian stressed my name. “Remember your place, Cousin.” Thomas stormed off. “Was it truly necessary to use your ring hand?” He asked me quietly.
“Oh dear, I’m sure I hadn’t realized.” I busied myself with adjusting the ribbons on my cuffs. I am left handed. I’m sure the diamond had nothing to do with it.
“That wasn’t necessary.” I whirled around to see Anne behind me, standing on the deck of her ship. “But thank you,” she added.
“It most certainly was necessary. I don’t know where these cowards get off striking women all the time!” I projected after his retreating figure. “A time of chivalry my round ass,” I mumbled to myself.
Anne crossed over to us. With a cautious, practically respectful tone she addressed Ian. “I’d like to inspect your boat. Permission to come aboard, Cov-ing-try?”
Well, she was trying at least. I grinned at both of them.
“Permission granted.” His voice was formal, but not unkind, and I got the sense that between the two captains it might have been downright friendly.
Anne stepped on board and immediately began going over the place like she had received an anonymous tip about a bomb. Ian chuckled and took me by the hand, leading us to follow her around the ship.
It was the perfect vessel for the two of us. “And it will be just the two of us, truly?” He nodded, and I clapped with joy, elated that he had listened. I’d had to convince him - repeatedly - that I was being sincere when I said I wanted us to be completely alone. And yes, that included no servants. Not that there was room for them on the ship anyway.
“That is an awfully small bed, husband,” I murmured to him as we peeked into the tiny cabin. His bed in the fort and mine at the inn were both about queen sized; this was maybe a full.
“We will not need much space, wife,” he replied, running a finger along the neckline of my bodice.
“She cooks. A lot,” Anne turned back to grill Ian. “What’s your fire suppression system?” She asked. He frowned with confusion, and not just because of the sudden mental shift.
I chimed in to translate. “If a fire breaks out, what precautions are in place?”
“There are buckets of sand there and there.”
Begrudgingly, Anne nodded, accepting that before moving on to the next item on her mental checklist. “Where’s the lifeboat? Do you have an accessory boat when this one goes down on the reefs?”
“Jesus, Anne,” I mumbled, but Ian was unbaited.
“There’s a small detachable raft attached off the port side.” He pointed to the wooden raft on the side. It was no dinghy, but it did appear to be sturdy and well lashed together. Still - an actual raft? Like, woven from branches and shit? I made a mental note to never be in full dress onboard. I shuddered to think of the hindrance the weight of my clothing would be if I suddenly found myself needing to swim; it wasn’t as though disrobing was a quick process.
“We shan’t ever be far from land,” he continued. “The reefs are quite a ways out to sea from my projected course.”
“Which is what, pray tell?” Anne asked, looking at him intently.
After Ian gave her the rundown of his planned itinerary, Anne pressed on with more and more questions. How far had the vessel traveled? What issues had she had? The next thing I next knew, Ian was giving her a detailed tour and the full Carfax report about his boat. It was entrancing to watch him in his element, expertly detailing all manner of boat things, but after a while even that grew dull as he and my sister continued. Good lord, Anne. I appreciated the full OSHA/Coast Guard routine, but come on.
“Lady Isabelle!” Lili was waving her arms vigorously from the shore, standing beside Josefa-Maria. I waved back, and the girl ran down the dock, grinning. “These are for you!” She exclaimed, handing over a small bouquet of wildflowers tied with a bit of ribbon. “Magnus helped me pick them,” she informed me, grinning.
“They’re beautiful!” I exclaimed, and she took off to collect seashells.
“Keep an eye on her,” I told Josefa-Maria. “The last thing she needs right now is to get pregnant.” I’d seen the looks being passed between the two of them, and it wasn’t like I could give the girl a Depo shot. God only knew what the two of them might get up to, and no sex education classes to be found for...well, I honestly didn’t even know. Miles? Countries? Years? Decades?
“Yes, my lady. I know you have hopes for her.” Josefa-Maria smiled at Lili, then waved toward the house, where Bruno of The Phoenix was emerging with a trunk. My trunk.
“An entire trunk?” I asked her. “I thought everything would fit into one of those leather satchel thingies.”
“Please, my lady.” She giggled. “I have you well prepared. I have included all of the special things you wanted for your alone time with your new husband.”
“I have never doubted it. Thank you for all of your hard work, Josefa-Maria. Did you get my note?” I asked her. I had written a detailed list of the items I wanted to take on my post Somers Isles journey and left it on my table with her name on it.
“Yes, my lady. I will have everything ready before you return.”
Josefa-Maria and Lili wished me well, the latter promising to care for the garden, practice her cooking, and mind her tutor. When I returned to Ian and Anne, they were not only still chatting but had even started drinking together.
I paused to watch them. It was sweet to see my two favorite people in this era actually getting along for once, exchanging stories of their perils and adventures on the open seas. I also noted that despite all of my sister’s talk of despising England, they knew a number of people and places in common. For all of the discord between them, they had a remarkable number of similarities.
“Oh my god,” I breathed to myself. How had I not seen it before?
I had married a male version of my sister. That was what introspection got you.
Well, that was enough of that.
“Hello!” I called. “Are you two quite finished?”
It was as though I had broken through some sort of maritime spell; Ian was taken aback to discover that he was not only having a drink with Captain Anne (The Bitch Captain of the Seven Seas), but also enjoying himself. He handed his empty glass back to my sister.
“Of course, darling. Provided your sister is satisfied as to your safety upon my vessel?”
“Fair winds and following seas, Lieutenant -- Lieutenant Commander.” I smiled at the familiar toast, and she raised her glass to us. “I’m about to head out myself. I imagine the next time I’ll see you is in St. George’s. Enjoy your time together. It’s a gift you got any at all.”
The reminder of Ian’s impending departure plucked my stomach, but I pushed it down and gave Anne another hug. I’d missed her, and now we were parting again. At least on good terms, this time. “I love you. Be careful, and I’ll see you soon?”
Anne’s eyes widened. “Right. One moment. A last parting gift.” And she ran back to her ship, quickly disappearing below.
“Oh! I have an idea. I’ll be right back,” I told Ian, dashing off behind her. I had already secured several small gifts to give Ian, but I had just had a brilliant idea for another. I hurried to my galley - surprised and delighted to see that Anne had already refilled the ollas. “She remembered!” Some of the less drought tolerant plants looked wan, but I was hopeful.
Three weeks she’d been gone, my sister had said. Three weeks crammed into the space of a day. I would think about that later; our upcoming voyage was sure to be full of revelations.
I had time traveled before! How do you just casually drop that on someone while scarfing down bread? I mean, I had asked for it, and I was glad that she had, but geez. And then she had just dipped, giving me no time to press her for follow up information. Grrrr.
I should hurry. If I took too long, Ian was sure to grow concerned, and god forbid he request permission to step aboard the Try Your Luck. Anne would probably accept on the condition that he hand over his penis first. No, thank you. I had lots of plans for that appendage.
“There we are,” I said to myself, reaching into the small cabinet. I looked up at Anne’s footsteps.
“Here. Everything you need.” Her expression was unusually stern as she held up the vaccine kit. “Do not lose it. Do not sell it. Do not trade it. No one sees this.”
“Of course. I understand.” I was already taking a chance on giving Ian modern medicine.
“No, Izzy. Hear me. No street children, no refugees, no enslaved people. Ian. That’s who gets it. The wrong word in the wrong ear and you will be put to death.”
“Yes. I understand. Ian has said as much, about some similar topics.” She accepted this and handed it over. These items would be close to magic, here. I hoped that would be enough. “I don’t know if it will matter, but I have to try to do something to help him.” Vaccines. I might as well send him into war with a pack of bandages.
“It’ll matter. You are doing what you can with what you have.”
I brightened a little at that. Moments. “Exactly! Like the refugees. Thank you for handling that. They’ve been through so much, Anne--”
“Literally never mention it again,” she said crossly, waving me off.
O-kay. I changed the subject. “Look what I’m going to surprise Ian with.” I held up my prize, a decorative tin I used to store loose leaf tea. “He’s never had tea before. Do you think he’ll like it?”
“An Englishman liking tea?” Anne was wry. “You never know.”
I laughed, then grabbed a jar of pot and added it to my bag.
“Go on that honeymoon already and don’t get pregnant.”
I decided to give my sister one last colorful reply, smirking as I secured my items. “I am mildly concerned as to whether or not my pills are up to the phenomenal challenge they’ve been put up to.”
“Get out before I vomit.”
I giggled and gave Anne one last kiss on the cheek before sprinting out.
