And yet, the man who could give the order to have a seaman who'd stolen from his mates flogged was also the man who held Dulcie on his lap, teasing her and kissing her until she hugged him tight. He was a thoughtful man, patiently teaching Tristram about the sea, untiringly explaining to him about charting and measuring the stars, even allowing him to take a measurement with the cross-staff he used to chart the Madrigal's course toward home.
Once, when she had still been recovering from her fever and had yet to leave the cabin, Lily had caught his eye on her and had blushed rosily, modestly pulling the short shift she wore down below her knees as she sat on the bunk. For the first time, Lily had been aware of herself as a maturing young woman who would have to dress accordingly. The next day she had found on her bunk one of her mother's gowns from the hut. It had been shortened and taken in by a tuck or two in the appropriate places. Embarrassed and indignant, she had not thanked him. But when she had gone on deck and felt herself the cynosure of all eyes, she had belatedly realized that Valentine Whitelaw had acted to protect her from further embarrassment at the hands of his crew. Although not a woman yet, she was old enough to attract the roving eye and ribald comment of sailors who'd been at sea for months.
Valentine Whitelaw spoke eloquently of many things. He had traveled the world and could spin a tale as well as Basil or her father ever had. Lily had sat watching him, spellbound, her green eyes glowing like emeralds. Gradually she had become less ill-at-ease when around him, her curiosity and returning amiability drawing her more and more into the conversation, until one day she found herself smiling into his eyes unself-consciously. And when he had come to stand beside her on the deck and placed his arm across her shoulders to steady her as the Madrigal's bowsprit swung to starboard, she had not drawn away. She had gazed up into his face, responding to the smile that came into his eyes as he drew her closer and they stood there in companionable silence.
Lily's spirits had soared and reality had fled. She'd become lost in a young girl's romantic dreams, and Valentine Whitelaw, unaware of his godlike stature in her eyes, became the object of her tender passion. After that, the voyage to England passed all too quickly. Then one morning, just as dawn broke through the heavy clouds hanging low against the eastern horizon, she had heard the cry "Land-ho!" and hurrying on deck had seen the misty shoreline looming to larboard. England. From the deck of the Madrigal, it looked cold and forbidding, not the land of rolling green hills covered in wildflowers that Basil had spoken of with such fondness.
But Lily was still lost in the enchantment of having fallen in love. She was as yet unaware that her future might not be what she had so innocently envisioned in her most treasured dreams. It had not been until they had reached Ravindzara and Lily had met Valentine's family, and the lovely Honoria Penmorley, that she had discovered a very real world existed beyond their isle in the sun and the magical seas the Madrigal sailed.
Honoria Penmorley was a part of that unfriendly world, and Lily's spirits sank as she remembered the reflection of a thin, brown-skinned girl that had met her eyes this morning in her looking glass. Why couldn't she be as beautiful as Honoria Penmorley? she wondered despondently? The woman's skin was pale and soft, and there wasn't a freckle to be seen on her nose. Lily stared down at her own small, brown hands, then thought of the sprinkling of freckles across her own nose. Honoria Penmorley had slender hands with long, tapered fingers that moved gracefully when she spoke. Lily pushed back a long strand of dark red hair that had somehow managed to free itself from the neat braid Quinta Whitelaw had tried to pin fashionably on top of Lily's head. Honoria Penmorley never had a curl out of place. And her hair was a pale, soft color.
Lily puffed out her cheeks, trying to fill in the curving lines of her heart shaped face. Her chin was too pointed, not nicely rounded like Honoria Penmorley's. Everything about Honoria Penmorley was pale and delicate and softly rounded, Lily thought in growing despair, afraid that she would lose Valentine Whitelaw to the unfairly favored Honoria Penmorley.
Hearing approaching steps, Lily quickly closed the window. Pulling the velvet hanging across the part of the window embrasure where she sat, Lily moved deeper into the shadows, unwilling to reveal her presence, especially when she recognized the voice that drifted to her along the hall.
"I did not think I would need my cloak whilst taking a moment's exercise in the hall, but there is an uncommonly chilly draft. 'Tis worse than if we were walking outside in the rain," the voice complained between chattering teeth. Safely tucked away in the darkened window seat, Lily watched the two people approaching.
Honoria Penmorley was dressed in a gown of brown and gold brocade of a severe cut with just a touch of lace at the wrists and a small, discreet ruff about her slender throat. Her light brown hair was dressed in neatly wound braids, and covered by a white silk attifet, the heart shaped headdress sitting attractively on her fashionably coiffed head.
" 'Twas most hospitable of Valentine to invite us to stay overnight. It would appear as if the rain will continue till morning," she continued conversationally. "I had not looked forward to the ride back to Penmorley Hall in darkness. I fear the lanes will be virtually impassable."
"Yes, it was very gracious of Whitelaw considering he has more house guests than normal and the work on the Hall is not yet completed. Indeed, I would foresee many more years of construction before the Hall is agreeably habitable. "Twould seem, however, that Quinta and Artemis have coped well enough," Sir Rodger responded.
"Did you know that he plans on adding two more wings?"
"Yes, I had heard. Soon the Hall will rival Penmorley once again. I trust his purse equals his enthusiasm," Sir Rodger advised. Cautious behavior was always uppermost in Sir Rodger Penmorley's mind.
"Thus far, I think his efforts have been quite successful, although why he wishes to have the new windows overlook the sea is a mystery to me. He will have to keep the hangings drawn most of the day because of the glare," Honoria said. With a sideways glance at her brother from her light brown eyes she added, "Now that he plans on living here permanently, he has great ambition for the Hall and for reestablishing is family in Cornwall."
"And you, my dear?" Sir Rodger inquired, glancing down at his sister's face, though little of her expression could be seen in the shadowy hall.
"I?" She asked coldly.
"I do not mean to pry, Honoria, but I am your brother, and I cannot have helped but notice a certain tendresse in your eye when you speak with our host."
"I will not deny that I have speculated on the possibility of becoming mistress of Ravindzara."
"I would caution you, my dear, that Valentine Whitelaw's infections may already be engaged elsewhere," Sir Rodger warned his sister.
“Cordelia Howard?"
"You know?"
"I may lead a very sheltered life here, but I am not ignorant."
"I never--" Sir Rodger began, and said kindly, "I only mentioned the lady because I did not wish you to harbor false expectations."
"No, of course not, and I appreciate your brotherly concern. But you must understand that I have given the idea more than a passing thought. My decision comes not of a lovesick young girl’s penchant for her heart's desire, but of a woman's careful consideration of her future. Valentine may discover it rather more difficult than he imagines to find a wife when she discovers his intentions of making her mistress of Ravindzara. Not many young women, accustomed to the amenities of London and the peaceful countryside of Hertfordshire or Kent, would look forward to the isolation of Cornwall. I, on the other hand, would choose to live nowhere else. Why do you think I have turned down most of the proposals I have received, despite how acceptable they might have seemed to you? I can afford to be particular, Rodger, and I intend to remain in Cornwall, near Penmorley Hall.
"Therefore, the ideal arrangement would be to marry Valentine Whitelaw. He would be most suitable. His mother was a Polgannis. The name is still very much respected in the country. He inherited the Hall and
intends to restore it in a fashion much to my tastes. When the Hall is returned to its former glory, under my guidance of course, I could accept this as my future home. Although I would prefer he made his fortune in a more circumspect fashion, it would appear Valentine is most successful as a privateer. It would also seem as if great profit can be realized from these voyages. I believe he will be quite wealthy one day. He is in good favor with Elizabeth. In these perilous times, it would be to our advantage, Rodger, to at least have one of us wed to a Protestant. It would bring us more influence and perhaps guarantee our safety should there be more riots against the Church. And, should the winds change more favorably and a Catholic monarch once again rule, then our family is of the Faith. We stand to gain either way," Honoria told him in her soft, thoughtful voice, but every so often, the dulcet tones became harsh, grating as much as surprising the listener. "I get along well enough with Quinta and Artemia, and I know they would respect my wishes and position as the new mistress. Valentine will expect them to remain in a residence, and I shall, of course, welcome them into my home. I would not have it said that I would turn out of my home an old woman and a cripple. They will have comfortable rooms in one of the wings. Their presence will be companionable while Valentine is away on his voyages, and they will be able to help with the children."
"I would hardly call Artemis a cripple, and I have never yet met a woman as capable as Quinta Whitelaw," Sir Rodger commented.
"I did not mean to be cruel, but Artemis does have a limp. Unfortunate, since she is a very attractive young woman, but I dare say she will always be something of a burden to Valentine. You cannot deny that, my dear. A pity, for I would have liked to have seen her married before I assumed my position as mistress. However, I think we will deal together well enough."
Sir Rodger eyed his sister as if seeing her for the first time. It was apparent that she had every detail planned. " And our host? How would you deal with him? Are you in love with Valentine Whitelaw?" he asked curiously, a slight smile curving his lips as he noticed her sudden agitation. Apparently Honoria was not as cold-hearted about the affair as she would have wished to appear.
"Undeniably, he is a gentleman of honor and breeding," was all Honoria allowed before quickening her step to reach the end of the corridor without further delay.
"I must congratulate you, my dear, for you have indeed given this a great deal of thought. I would, however, remind you that you have yet to receive Valentine Whitelaw's proposal of marriage. I do not believe the gentleman is even aware of your intentions. How do you intend to convince him of the suitability of your plan?"
"I shall leave part of that up to you," Honoria replied.
They had not quite reached the window where Lily still sat in silence, her presence undetected, when Sir Rodger halted to stare in surprise at his sister.
"I happen to have complete faith in your abilities to capture the hand of Cordelia Howard."
"I see," Sir Rodger said slowly, a strange look on his face that momentarily puzzled Honoria. "I am flattered, my dear, by your confidence in me. And with the fair Cordelia no longer available you expect Valentine Whitelaw to turn to you."
Honoria glanced down modestly at her carefully folded hands.
"You are a very beautiful woman, Honoria. Our host would have to be blind not to appreciate your sterling qualities as a future wife and mistress of his home," Sir Rodger spoke the appropriate words.
"Thank you, that is very kind of you."
"You know it is true. Indeed, Valentine Whitelaw should think himself lucky that I would even consider him as a possible candidate for your hand," Sir Rodger said.
"Oh, Rodger, please, you will not be difficult when Valentine comes calling. Promise me, you will not interfere," Honoria pleaded, concerned now that she had revealed her innermost thoughts to Rodger. If he ruined all that she had worked for because of a misplaced pride and need to prove himself superior to Valentine Whitelaw, a Polgannis. . . .
Reading her mind, Sir Rodger patted her arm. "I promise I will not thwart you on this, Honoria. In fact, I promise that your wedding will be the envy of all of England and your dowry will rival that of a queen's," he told her. "I only wish I were as certain of my future."
"What do you mean? Surely you do not doubt that you can win the affections of Cordelia Howard? I admit that I am not overly fond of her, but that is because she prefers the gaieties of London. I am a far more serious-minded woman. However, she would make you a good wife, Rodger," Honoria said a trifle urgently, lest Rodger not continue his pursuit of the beautiful Cordelia. "She is considered a great beauty. She is popular at court. She has a respectable fortune. She has influence which could be useful to you. She would prove a valuable hostess when you entertained in London. She is witty, indeed, she is far more intelligent than she would have her gentlemen friends believe."
"You need say no more, my dear," Sir Rodger said, raising his hand in supplication. "You do not need to convince me of the charms of Cordelia Howard. I am well aware of them. And I will do my best to see that Valentine Whitelaw marries you and not her. I only hope he will realize how fortunate a man he is."
"Thank you, my dear. I knew I could count on you," Honoria said, smiling for the first time as she tucked her slender hand around his elbow.
"I think you may have forgotten something," Sir Rodger said as they resumed their walking.
"Oh?" Honoria inquired doubtfully. "And what could that possibly be? I think I have been most thorough."
"The child."
Honoria laughed. It was one of the few unattractive qualities about her. "The child? Oh, Basil's daughter."
"Yes, I should think Valentine, and Quinta and Artemis, being the child's only living relatives, would wish to have her live here at the Hall," Sir Rodger predicted, bringing up a possibility Honoria had not had proper time to deal with.
"That is a situation I will not allow. I will suffer his aunt and sister's presence in my home, but not his brother's illegitimate children," Honoria declared.
"There would be only one," Sir Rodger corrected her.
"Do you really believe that the boy is not Basil's son? I seem to recall that Geoffrey Christian and his wife had only one child when they left England. The boy is not old enough to be anyone's son but Basil's, despite what the brat claims."
Sir Rodger frowned. "Why, if the boy is Basil's son, would Basil have led the child to believe that he is Geoffrey Christian's son? He recognized the girl as his daughter."
"My dear, 'tis obvious," Honoria said rather impatiently. "Basil, thinking they might one day be rescued, wanted to protect the lady's reputation. To have become lovers so soon after her husband's death, especially when Basil still had a wife in England, would not have been at all seemly. Indeed, I wonder if they may not have been lovers even before they left England. Why else was Basil Whitelaw aboard that ship? Not that I am surprised about what occurred on that island. Magdalena Christian was never decorous. I was always of the opinion that Geoffrey Christian made a mésalliance when he wed that foreigner. And now the boy stands to inherit Highcross Court, if, of course, his claim can be proven. Which I think is doubtful. There is no record of his birth. He was born on the island within a year of their being stranded. I should think most people will find it hard to believe that he is Geoffrey Christian's son. He does no even resemble him."
"Either way, 'twould seem as if Hartwell Barclay loses. If the boy's claim is denied, then the girl, as Geoffrey Christian's only child, inherits the estate. And," Sir Rodger added a bit maliciously, for his sister's smug assumptions had irked him, "Valentine and his wife inherit Basil's children."
Honoria Penmorley's lips tightened into a thin, unattractive line. "We shall see," she said unpleasantly, her steps more purposeful and nearly outdistancing her brother's as she hurried along the hall, her ladylike decorum temporarily forgotten in her haste.
Lily's lips were trembling with anger as she listened to the footsteps fading down the corridor.
&n
bsp; "She just can't marry him," Lily whispered. How dare she say that about Tristram, Lily thought, her fist clenched. It wasn't true. Worriedly, Lily wondered if Valentine would try to keep Dulcie. Artemis was always holding Dulcie on her lap and fondling her and kissing her, as if she were her own little girl.
Lily pulled back the heavy curtain and crawled from the window seat. Standing up, she straightened her gown and tried to smooth the wrinkles from her underskirt. With a look of dismay, she noticed the streak of dirt marring the pale yellow silk. She must have dirtied it when she'd crawled beneath the bed to catch Cappie, who had been chased underneath by one of the maids.
As Lily looked closer, she became aware of a rip along the seam of the bodice, and that she'd caught the toe of her shoe in the hem. Lily could imagine the horrified expression on Honoria Penmorley's face when she caught sight of the elegant gown she had donated to Valentine's orphaned charge out of the goodness of her heart. But Lily had heard Honoria claiming later that she seldom wore the gown since she found the color less than agreeable.
Lily stared down at the yolk-colored material of her gown and for once had to agree with Honoria Penmorley. The color was ugly. It made her sun-darkened skin look sallow and dirty, and the dark red hair Basil had always claimed was so beautiful suddenly seemed a brassy color.
With a defiant shrug, Lily stomped along the corridor, knowing she could delay no longer in joining the rest of the guests in the great hall below. But when she reached the top of the stairs, she hesitated and stood looking down at the crowded room, a sudden awkwardness over- coming her. Surely all eyes would be watching her and noting the ripped seam, stained underskirt, uneven hem, and the strand of hair that hung so unattractively across her cheek. Lily swallowed the painful lump rising in her throat and knew that her cheeks were burning with embarrassment.
Wild Bells to the Wild Sky Page 22