The English Lily (Tales of the Scrimshaw Doll) (2 page)

He let out a long-winded sigh. Oh, yes, he’d deliver the fair Lady Kendra Frazier back to her dear papa as a married woman, using the first eligible man available.

Him.

****

“What do you suppose Viscount Lawrie really wants?” Kendra directed the question to Louisa. She sat on the edge of the small berth in her tiny cabin, studying an ancient doll, generously bestowed by Lady Esmeralda. Not only had Esmeralda married the man Kendra had designated as her own, but she had to turn out nice above it all. Kendra couldn’t even truly hate her.

She smoothed her hand over the doll’s unusually thick, black silky hair, arranged the wispy multicolored skirts, a mix of oranges, greens and blues, then rested her chin atop its surprisingly sturdy head. It was strange, but Kendra felt somewhat comforted by the little gift.

A lovely decorated box containing the carefully packed gypsy doll had appeared in Kendra’s bedchamber at Chalmers just after Alessandro and Lady Esmeralda’s glorious wedding. Kendra was bewildered and, well, touched by the gesture. She and Lady Esmeralda were not what one could describe exactly as the dearest of friends.

It was an odd gift. But as Lady Esmeralda was now tied to Alessandro for life, there was nothing left for Kendra but to move forward. The restlessness that chased her from Chalmers Kingdom fell heavily on her shoulders; her life was empty and desolate. She needed...needed...

Kendra drew in a deep breath.
Something
. She knew not what, but each day grew more difficult to face, knowing what a disappointment she was to her beloved papa. Poor Papa, his only child a girl, with no hope or brains to save her life. She’d heard what the
ton
believed of her.

“Pretty little thing. ’Tis a shame she is so simple in the head.”

“One knows it doesn’t require wits to have children.”

“Yes, though the offspring would likely suffer, I fear.”

The conversation from the retiring room at the Hamdens’ ball during her coming-out season played over and over in her head. Why, if someone were able to invent such a device as would accomplish the same auditory repetition, they’d likely be rich as Croesus. She blinked quickly as the familiar sting pressed behind her eyes.

She’d left all that behind. A new life awaited her in the colonies. After all, she was a woman grown, now. “Do you really think Papa sent out two search parties, Louisa?”

“I wouldn’t know, milady.”

“I venture you would. You are just being tactful, as usual,” Kendra sighed. Her shoulders ached. She did not feel well.

“Aye, milady.”

Chapter Two

The next morning, Joseph skirted the gangway of the sailing ship with a sharp eye. The sails were raised full mast. To his relief, he counted forty-nine guns. He hoped there was an adequate number of cannons, as well. His search for signs of smaller vessels, should there be need to escape, proved not as productive.

Busy deck hands spared him no more than a passing glance. The captain ran a pretty tight ship. But if pirates appeared, as they were wont to do on the open sea, they would not be so lucky. Thanks to Niccòlo’s less than subtle search, the knowledge that an heiress of Lady Kendra’s pedigree might be aboard could be widespread, and the fact worried Joseph, plagued him with thoughts of looming disaster. Perhaps that was the reason she’d falsified her name. No, he couldn’t credit her with that sort of wisdom. She was eighteen, for God’s sake.

Of marriageable age.
Blast
. Well, it wasn’t as if he had to marry her. But he did. The promise to her father was to bring her back married, and he needed coin, and lots of it. It irked, but he’d satisfy his father’s requirements for refilling their coffers and begetting an heir. After his asinine uncle had sundered the estates, he up and tumbled down the stairs, breaking his foul neck. Well, Joseph would deliver Lady Kendra and her fortune to his father, restore their holdings and their good name, and then continue his tour across the continent. Macclesfield, apparently, wasn’t too particular whom she married, just that she did. He almost felt sorry for the chit.

That tentative stratagem decided, Joseph completed his unofficial inspection. Overall, the vessel seemed sound enough. It would be too much to hope Lady Kendra would take her meals in her cabin, he supposed. As if to reinforce that particular assumption, the diminutive blonde gem stumbled into his path. He put out a hand to steady her.

“Ah. Lord Lawrie. There you are. I’ve been searching for you.” Her breathless tone teased him.

“It appears you have found me,
mademoiselle
.” He offered a slight bow, irritation filling him. She had no inkling of the dangers surrounding her. He managed to bite back the aggravation. “How may I be of service?”

She gave him a blinding smile that immediately raised his suspicions and his pulse. “I thought you might be so inclined as to escort me to breakfast.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Of course, I would be honored,” he said, offering his arm. They walked in silence for a moment, but he had a point to raise. “Now might be a good time to mention your wisdom in keeping that false name, my lady.”

“Of course, I should,” she agreed. “I’m an heiress, after all.” A grim smile touched her lips. “You must think me a complete ninny.”

He wisely held his tongue and ushered her to the common area adjacent to the galley. It was dark and large, but at least clean and well-scrubbed. It mollified him some. She wore soft white gloves, but he could feel the heat of her palm as if they hadn’t a stitch between them.

“
Grazie a Dio!
”

“Ah, hell.”

“Niccòlo? I-I mean
Signore
de Lecce?” Kendra dropped Joseph’s arm and darted forward.

“
Si.”
Niccòlo grabbed both her hands and brought them to his lips.

“What are you doing here?” She sounded—winded, of all things.

“Yes, Niccòlo, what
are
you doing here?” Joseph repeated.

“Looking for you, Lady Ke—”

“Lady
Kate
is famished, I vow,” Joseph interrupted quickly. He disengaged Niccòlo’s hold on her and saw her seated. She flashed him a dimpled grin—the minx—before turning back to his friend’s younger brother—his very distinguished friend, whom the younger brother favored quite pointedly. Of Italian descent, he was tall—nearly as tall as Joseph with dark brooding eyes and longish midnight hair. Another two or three years and Niccòlo would have the breadth of shoulder that inspired the romance of poets and artists.

“How did you find me, Nic—uh,
signore?
”

“It was not easy.” Niccòlo dropped into the chair beside her, forcing Joseph to sit across. He lowered his voice. “I had to stoop to asking questions dockside.”

Perfect
. Joseph quashed the inclination to roll his eyes and considered the Pandora’s box Niccòlo had possibly unleashed. He should have the two of them marry. Unfortunately, he needed her fortune. It left a bitter taste in his mouth. Besides, ’twould be most unfair to poor Niccòlo. She would chew him up, spit him out, and toss him overboard for fish food.

Joseph glanced at the other patrons seated throughout the makeshift dining area just off the galley. To his annoyance, several male members of the group were sitting straighter, adjusting cravats, staring at her generously displayed bosom with avid interest. Too much interest. Particularly disgusting was the elderly rotund gentleman with the calculating eyes and heavy gray beard filled with bits of gravy. Somehow he didn’t think the earl would appreciate a son-in-law who might have twenty years on him. A shudder rippled up his spine.

“Sir, there be trays of grub on the sideboard.” The statement came from a snaggle-toothed seaman.

“Merci.
” Joseph stood and made his way to said sideboard and filled a plate with eggs and rashers, even a scone. He glanced over his shoulder to where Niccòlo and Kendra had their heads together like two children in a whispering contest. He sighed and filled another plate.

“Your daughter?”

Startled, Joseph glanced up quickly. Gray-Bits Beard was asking if Kendra was his…he almost choked…
daughter?
Hell, he was all of nine-and-twenty!

“Ah, I can see from your reaction she is not. Allow me to introduce myself.” His voice deepened. “I am the Marquis of Bute, John Trumball.”

“My lord. Viscount Lawrie, Joseph Gray.”

“Ah, I am aware of your father. Yarmouth, is it not?”

“Yes.” Tension pinched Joseph’s shoulders. He could see the questions in the old man’s piercing stare.

Yes. His mother was French. He was reared French, at least early on. And not many approved. Not many of the English aristocracy, leastways. Joseph happened to revel in the fact. There was also the minute issue of the Yarmouth Holdings, its lack of funds, and the neglect in which his late uncle had left the estate. Joseph offered a condescending smile, daring the old man to say what he so clearly was thinking.

At times, Joseph dearly wished his father had been the youngest of three sons rather than second, thus leaving his cousin Seth to inherit. But, alas, that was not the case, and the line had fallen to his father and himself, and he’d need an heir of his own. The responsibilities would eventually fall to Joseph, which was just as well. Seth was a selfish
rogue
, renowned for his scandalous outbursts in gaming and whoring.

Bute cleared his throat and sipped his tea, his gaze riveted on Kendra. “She’s a lovely piece, no? I’m on the hunt for a new wife, myself. She would do nicely. My last wife left me with three daughters, no sons. She died giving birth to the last.”

“Indeed. And how old is the last?” Joseph inquired politely, though something in him bristled at the label “piece.”

“Three or four, I’ve lost count,” Bute said cheerfully.

Joseph was appalled.
Mon Dieu
. “Three years old?”

“Three months, maybe four. Like I said, I’ve lost count.”

Joseph turned his attention to his food and observed Kendra from a hooded gaze. She was lovely. He considered his last thought—an heir—and watched her gloved hands flit about gracefully as she whispered animatedly with Niccòlo.

He shifted his gaze back to Bute. He’d kill the
bâtard
if he kept looking at her as if she were a side of beef. It was that thought that explained the next words to fall from his mouth like a gushing waterfall.

“I fear her father has already promised her hand in marriage.”

Chapter Three

Kendra sat in her cabin at the bolted down table, her only company the gypsy doll in the chair across. A rush of heat, then cold, prickled her arms. She really did not feel well. But she was determined to decipher that piece of paper if it killed her.

She passed a hand over her aching eyes before she spread the yellowed note out with one hand and bent over it intently. The script was lavish and difficult to read. A bitter bark of laughter escaped at that irony. ’Twould not matter if it were printed in blocked letters etched with genuine gold. She would still struggle with reading it. Such was her lot in life.
If only
…

But, still, she concentrated fiercely on the words. There were two sentences, she could make out that much. She glanced over her shoulder to the door, listening to make sure Louisa was not approaching. All was quiet, and she went back to the task at hand. She brushed damp palms over her skirt before handling the missive. She blinked hard, then shook her head and forced her attention on the note.

“Or, to, you…” she whispered. Her heart pounded in her chest. Unfortunately, the “to” sometimes looked like “ho” or “bo”—was “bo” a word? She squeezed her eyes tight, and pressed fingers to her temples where a palpitating pulse throbbed. Pride kept her from inquiring as to Louisa’s competency in reading.
Why?
she demanded silently.
Why is it so difficult?
Kendra breathed in as deeply as she could, but the air scarcely filled her lungs; the strangling confines of her corset had her near blacking out.

She drummed her fingers on the table, studying the small slashes on the back of one hand. She hadn’t counted the scars in quite some time; there were eight of them, remnants of the punishment a frustrated instructor had inflicted on an inadequate student. Almost too small to be of note, but there all the same.

There must be some easier way to learn the contents of this missive. A brisk tap at the door startled her. Quickly she slipped her hands into her gloves before answering.

“
Signorina
.” Niccòlo clicked the heels of his boots together, extending a formal bow. “I thought you might appreciate a turnabout, topside. The air is balmy, and the captain feels the weather is too good to waste.”

She actually felt somewhat feverish, but to refuse would be churlish. “Of course. I’ll just get my bonnet.” Kendra grabbed her hat from the foot of the bed.

“What is this?”

“What?” She glanced over her shoulder to where his gaze rested on the doll. “Oh, that was a gift from Lady—er, the Countess de Lecce. Lady Esmeralda.”

“Are you certain? ’Tis very odd-looking, no?”