Elizabeth Boyle (98 page)

“Ah, you see, Miss Fenwick,” the Earl of Hawksbury was saying. “You have nothing to fear from my uncle. For he is quite occupied at the moment. And from what I hear, he will be for the rest of his life with yonder leg shackle.”

“Whatever do you mean?” she asked, glancing back at Julien, but still unable to see his companion.

“Why, Miss Cottwell, of course. The betting book at White’s is rife with speculations and wagers. It is said my uncle has finally fallen under Cupid’s arrow.”

Miss Cottwell?

Maureen looked again. The crowd parted, and she could see Julien bent attentively over the young lady’s shoulder. Certainly, he was spending an inordinate amount of time with the girl, but Julien in love with the likes of that simpering, arrogant little snip?

Hardly.

“Given what I have heard about your uncle,” Maureen said, “I doubt his affliction is serious and hardly as fatal as you seem to believe.”

The Earl of Hawksbury laughed. “Would you care to wager, Miss Fenwick?” His tone implied something altogether different from a friendly exchange of coins.

“I haven’t anything to bet,” she told the impertinent young buck.

“Ah, but you do. Perhaps a kiss?”

Maureen nearly choked. A kiss? This boy was her nephew. “I don’t think that is at all proper,” she finally managed to say, doubting the young man would have made such an offer if he knew he was proposing it to his aunt.

“Then a ride in the park. I will bet you that my uncle will be engaged to Miss Cottwell before the stroke of midnight at my mother’s masquerade next week.”

“Engaged?”

“Yes, engaged. Do you agree to the wager?”

Julien, engaged? How could he? He was still married. Married to her. Had he forgotten the words he said aboard her father’s ship eight years ago?

‘Til death do us part.

How could he have forgotten? It wasn’t every day a man said them with a cutlass nudging him in the back and a pistol aimed at his head.

But he’d said them, and said them quite willingly. Or at least she thought he had.

“M
aureen Margaret Hawthorne, where the hell have you been, lass?”

Her father’s voice bellowed across the deck, cutting through the still calm of the predawn with the ferocity of a cannon shot.

“Damn,” she cursed under her breath, as Julien steadied the rowboat alongside the
Forgotten Lady
. They’d tarried too long on the beach, and now with the sun just starting to rise, they’d been spotted coming from shore.

Even as she caught the line to pull herself back aboard, she heard the unmistakable click of a gun being cocked.

“Give me one good reason, you rutting bastard, why I shouldn’t blow your head off,” her father hollered over the rail.

Maureen looked up to find him aiming a pistol straight at Julien.

“Papa!” she called out. “What are you thinking? Have you gone mad? Put that away; Julien has done nothing.”

“
Julien
, is it now?” Her father’s eyes narrowed. “I told you, lass, not to go over to his ship alone. I told him that as well. Ye both promised, but I see he couldn’t honor his word, so I have no use for the man.”

She stepped back in the boat and put herself in front of Julien. “You’ll not shoot him, Papa. Not unless you want to shoot me first.”

Julien pushed her down onto the seat and out of harm’s way. “Sir, if you would let me explain. I didn’t take your daughter to my ship, on that you have my word.”

“Bah!” her father responded with a wave of the pistol.

For a moment the two men stared at each other, each weighing his opponent, but then the sun twinkled up and over the horizon, dropping a single ray of light on the beach where Julien and Maureen had spent the night.

Her father seemed to take this as a sign, for he looked from the beach back to Maureen and Julien. She could see he’d come to his own conclusions.

Unfortunately, they were entirely correct.

“Papa, I didn’t break my promise. I love Julien. I always will. Please don’t shoot him. If you do I’ll never sail with you again.”

The gun in his hand wavered, then fell to his side. “It looks like you won’t be sailing with me anyway, lass. For if you’ve gone and done what I think you’ve done, there’s only one solution to this.” The pistol raised again. “Captain de Ryes, I take it this is your rather unconventional way of requesting my daughter’s hand in marriage?”

Maureen looked up and over her shoulder at Julien. For the merest of flashes, she saw something that sent a sudden chill whispering along the nape of her neck.

His eyes held a myriad of emotions. And none of them looked like love.

Julien was hiding something.

How had she never seen this before? And it went beyond her, she suspected, beyond even him.

Even as her questions and fears started to run faster than a full-moon tide, he looked down at her and smiled.

The light in his eyes bathed her in the same passion they’d just shared. She’d never had a man look at her like that, as if she were the only woman on the face of the earth.

Whatever uncertainties she’d fallen prey to melted away with just one glance from him.

He loved her. There was no doubt in that. Whatever his secrets, they meant naught, for Julien truly loved her.

“Well, Captain de Ryes,” her father called down. “I would have an answer from you, and fast.”

Julien’s hand went to her shoulder. His fingers were warm, his grip sure and confident. “Aye, sir. I would be honored to take your daughter as my wife. With your permission, that is.”

Her father nodded. “Then consider her dowry my sponsorship into the Alliance. By noon the rest of the brethren should be here. We’ll have your sworn oath and then your wedding.” He paused. “But until then, you don’t mind being my guest for the remainder of the day?”

Julien agreed, climbing aboard the
Forgotten Lady
, following Maureen’s course up the side of the ship.

It was clear her father was still unwilling to trust Julien. At least not until he was safely wed to her. Maureen knew his misgivings would be only temporary, for eventually her father would see what a good man Julien was. She knew he would.

“Lass, can you have yerself ready before sundown?”

“Aye, Papa,” she said. Turning to Julien, she told him, “I even have the dress.”

As weddings went, it was by all accounts the most beautiful one Maureen had ever seen. Of course, it was the only one she’d ever seen.

One of the captains in the brethren, Captain Smyth, had been a vicar of a fashionable London parish for five years before some scandal had driven him from England. Though his holy orders were in question, the man was more than pleased to perform the ceremony, assuring Maureen’s anxious father it would be considered legal and binding by any court.

So with all the arrangements well in hand, the only thing left for Maureen was to get dressed.

She stood in her cabin for almost an hour, staring down at the dress Julien had given her.

How could she even think of wearing such an elegant and daring gown? She’d look ridiculous. The white silk seemed to melt beneath her fingertips, and the seed pearls and gold embroidery were worth a small fortune.

What if she ripped it? Or snagged it on a beam?

But in the end she’d overcome her anxieties and carefully put it on. To her amazement the bodice fit perfectly over her unbound breasts, and the length of the skirt fell precisely to her toes as if it had been made for her by the best modiste in London. Simple in cut and design, the elegance of the gown was in its understated use of lace, embroidery, and pearls.

Even her wild dark hair seemed to cooperate on this special day, brushing into long coils that she tied up with the only ribbon she’d ever owned before Julien gave her one—an ivory piece of satin that had once been her mother’s. She cut the blue one from Julien in half and used the two pieces to tie up her stockings.

Her father tapped on her door a few minutes after she’d finished her preparations. When she opened the door, he stared at her as if he were seeing his daughter for the first time.

“Reenie, lass,” he said, a mist of tears rising in his blue eyes. “You’re the image of your beautiful mother, God rest her soul. I don’t know why I never saw it before.”

She smiled at him, not sure what to say in the face of this unprecedented display of emotion. Especially now that she noticed he, too, had gone to great lengths with his appearance.

He wore his best coat, and his whiskers had been trimmed and combed.

“I’ve got something for you,” he finally said, holding out his hand. “Your mother would have wanted you to wear these today. She wore them the day I married her. A gift from her Aunt Pettigrew.”

Maureen took the small pouch he offered and opened it up. Inside was a pair of diamond earrings. Priceless, glittering gems set in gold. She held them for a moment and, for the first time, felt a connection to the mother she held no memories of—a warmth and feeling of love that this long-lost woman had given her daughter before a fever had separated them.

“Thank you,” she said, wiping at the unfamiliar tears filling her eyes.

Her father wrapped her in a warm embrace and escorted her to the deck. It seemed every man from the
Destiny
, the
Forgotten Lady
, the
Avenger
, and the half dozen or so other ships in the Alliance that had joined them during the day hung from every yardarm, railing, or spare space their ship could afford.

The men cheered wildly at her appearance, their rowdy voices raised in raucous “huzzahs” and whistles of appreciation.

To her surprise, garlands of flowers decorated the rails and mast, while the lines were filled with long streaming ribbons, fluttering happily in the light breeze.

“Your husband-to-be’s doings,” her father told her. “Sent his entire crew ashore to gather the blasted flowers and put them up. Even brought enough rum and food over to feed every man within fifty leagues. Never seen a man more intent on getting married.”

Even then she could smell the scent of roasting pig wafting from the beach and the sweet scent of something heavenly rising from the direction of the galley.

She glanced up and saw Julien standing near the wheel, dressed in the clothes of a gentleman. A black jacket and buff breeches transformed him into a London dandy. The white shirt gleamed in the afternoon sun.

Beside him stood his ship’s surgeon, Roger Hawley, the only cloud in this otherwise brilliant day. The dour-faced man had come over for dinner with Julien on several occasions and, even today, glared from his place as best man as if the entire proceedings were complete and utter folly.

Another of Julien’s crew stepped forward and shyly handed her a bouquet of island blossoms.

“From the Cap’n. With his compliments, ma’am.”

She brought the flowers to her nose and inhaled deeply, swearing never to forget their exotic Caribbean scent.

“I think he’ll do right by you, Reenie, if this is any indication of how much he cares for you.”

“I love him, Papa.”

Her father held her hand for a moment and looked into her eyes. “I know you do, lass. And that’s what scares me.”

Before she could ask her father what he meant, he escorted her across the deck to the sounds of a pipe and drum. Soon she found herself holding Julien’s hand before Captain Smyth.

She glanced back at her father and saw he had retrieved his pistol, while his good friend, Captain Jacobsen, held a cutlass. Both were pointed in the direction of the groom.

Julien glanced back and laughed. “I’ll do this with or without your help, sir.”

“My help it is,” her father said with a loud laugh, at which all the crews joined in.

They made their vows as only it seemed they should. The sun shone down on them, while beneath their feet the
Forgotten Lady
danced and swayed to the gentle rhythm of the water.

With steady assurance, Julien professed in a deep, steady voice his commitment to love her, honor her, and keep her always. If she had any doubts before, she set them aside, happy in the confidence that the man who was becoming her husband loved her with all his heart.

She added her own vow, and before long she found herself pronounced Mrs. Julien de Ryes.

With that, her husband took her in his arms and kissed her soundly to the wild rejoicing of their audience.

She was his, now and forever.

Maureen wondered if every bride was this happy on her wedding day.

Before long the celebration started, with the food and rum and ale passing freely among the crews. For the officers and captains, Julien had produced several bottles of fine wine. The party continued well into the evening, and as the sun started to set, Julien glanced over at her and smiled.

She knew exactly what he wanted—the same thing she did—to be alone.

“Come, let’s steal away from all this,” he whispered in her ear.

She nodded happily. As they sneaked over to the railing, she saw a lone rowboat rounding the point of the bay and disappearing from sight.

“I wonder where that boat is going?” she said aloud.

Julien looked up, and for an instant she swore she saw his eyes fill with the same indecision that she had seen earlier. But he quickly masked his expression, and before she could ask anything further, he caught her in a kiss.

“Just one of the lads. Probably going to a neighboring island, hoping to find a treasure equal to what I’ve discovered here.”

She blushed and said no more as they climbed down to the rowboat awaiting them and headed toward their new destiny.

She thought it strange that Julien sent her to his cabin on her own, but he said he wanted to check over his ship before he joined her.

And then he leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Unlatch the rear window and wait for me.”

Entering his cabin, she almost laughed at her earlier speculations as to the decor of his pirate den. It was neither the Turkish harem she’d imagined nor the stark world of a puritanical American.