A Woman Made For Sin

by Michele Sinclair

  Aimee shook her head and turned around. Crossing her arms and leaning back on the rail for support, she said, “It may sound courageous, but I assure you it was far from it. Did Mr. Collins add that I took so long getting down that I became the target of a wave, scaring me and terrifying half the crew?”

  “No, your Mr. Collins was intelligent enough to keep that to himself,” said Annabelle softly, laughter still laced in the sound. “So then the sea does not agree with you.”

  Aimee stood straight up and moved to face the woman, shaking her head. “Oh, very much the opposite. Though this was my first voyage, I immensely enjoyed being out in the open with the wind in my face and hearing the splashing sounds of the waves. No, Mrs. Shay, I love the sea.”

  “I believe you. It is just that very few women, including captains’ wives, feel the way you and I do. They are tolerant, but this life does not inspire them. But there are some of us who have a passion for the water just as strong as any man’s. It is a shame women with your family connections are discouraged from ever getting the chance to develop a love for the sea.”

  Aimee took a deep breath and after several seconds, exhaled. “I did not realize you know who I am.”

  Mrs. Shay curtsied and habit drove Aimee to return it. “You are Lady Wentworth, brother to the Marquess of Chaselton, who oversees London management of W & H Shipping, and is a co-owner of this ship.” Then she flashed Aimee a wide grin and gave her a wink. “Mr. Collins made sure that Henry and I were very much aware of who you are.”

  Aimee stood perplexed. Annabelle Shay’s actions varied from the mannerisms and demeanor of a lady, taught the courtesies demanded by the ton, to a relaxed friend, comfortable doing and acting as she pleased. Aimee wanted to assure her that she did not wish to be treated differently because of her title. “Please tell no one. Believe me when I say I neither require nor want all the formalities that come with my station.”

  Annabelle waved her hand, dismissing the notion that she would believe otherwise. “My father was a lord. Not wealthy like your family, and he had three sons and five daughters. I cannot remember a time my father was not stressed financially, but I still understand in a way. I was the sixth child and not the first daughter to wed an untitled man, but you would have thought I was the only one to defy expectations. Marrying non-gentry was not done. And yet I married Mr. Shay anyway and never once regretted it.”

  “I would have felt the same as you,” Aimee stated without equivocation. “Moreover, I am fortunate that my mother would have been supportive of my choice. It is the man I attached my heart to who has issues with my place in Society.”

  “Ahhhhh,” Annabelle said, drawing out the word.

  “And though I am unsure what lies in my future, Mrs. Shay, I cannot imagine it not involving the sea in some way.”

  Annabelle shrugged her shoulders and took Aimee’s hands in hers. “You never know. Maybe your future is on board this very moment.”

  Aimee exhaled sharply. “Even if he were, he would not want me. I practically threw myself at a man this past month, and despite everything I did or said, I was not enough. I may be a curiosity to seamen, but I am not what they are looking for in a wife.”

  The intensity of Aimee’s words and the honesty with which she spoke them astonished Annabelle. She considered telling the young woman that after years of experience in meeting captains and their officers, she was exactly what they dreamed of finding for a wife. Annabelle was somewhat thankful she was not twenty years younger and having to compete with the tall, blond beauty. And yet Aimee’s heart had undoubtedly been broken. To contradict her notion that she was undesirable would be a waste of air, for she clearly believed that nonsense.

  Annabelle wanted to ask if it was Reece Hamilton who had broken her heart, but decided she did not need to. She had seen him board some time ago to meet with her husband. There had been time for only a quick glance, but it was enough to tell her that Reece had not come to pay a mere visit. She stole a glimpse at Aimee. The young woman was again leaning over the rail, trying hard to hide the tears that were falling. At that moment, Annabelle decided Captain Reece Hamilton did not deserve Aimee. And as soon as she saw her husband, she would make her opinion known.

  “It sounds like you fell in love with what my mother called a ninnyhammer. Thankfully there are precious few of those aboard the Rebel. Take our chief mate, Mr. Haskin.” Annabelle pointed to a tall, dark man standing in the shadows. Even from a distance, it was easy to see that he was self-confident and comfortable with authority. “Many women think he is very good-looking. Even myself.”

  Aimee cocked her head to one side and studied the officer. The man definitely exuded masculinity. He was also tall and had an air of confidence that undoubtedly would attract a fair share of eligible women. “If Mr. Haskin truly desires to be married, then why is he not?”

  “I’m not sure exactly. Henry hired him over a year ago, but Mr. Haskin has yet to reveal his many secrets and I am sure he has several. Still, if I were to guess, it is because he has not found someone who awakens his soul and makes him eager to meet the next day.” Seeing Aimee’s disbelieving look, Annabelle shrugged her shoulders and tried again. “Perhaps it is because he has not found anyone willing to live this way of life—either here with him or at home and alone much of the time. As I said, there are very few women who are. But now that you are here, maybe he will not have to search much longer. You are surrounded by eighty men. One of them is sure to catch your eye, as I told you before. I know you have already caught theirs.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” Aimee replied noncommittally. Then with more conviction added, “I have spent my entire life believing there is only one man for me. He is now in my past. Perhaps it is time I finally start looking to another possible future.”

  “Good,” Annabelle said encouragingly. “I’m going back in to find out just what is causing our delay and when we are going to leave.”

  Aimee waved her good-bye, and when she was alone once more, she turned to the water and made a private vow. “By the time I reach London, I will have forgotten Reece Hamilton ever existed.”

  Before Annabelle had reached the stairs, Reece was back in the cuddy, speaking with Captain Shay. After overhearing the two women, he realized his original idea of finding Aimee and going to the church was not going to work. In fact, nothing about his plan was going to work. He had to abandon his thoughts of quickly resolving the mess he had created and develop a new strategy to claim Aimee as his own.

  “Hurry,” Shay said. “We will be leaving the moment everyone returns.”

  Reece thanked him and disembarked, being careful to remain unseen by Aimee or Mrs. Shay. He was surprised he had received no resistance from the captain, considering their earlier heated conversation, but Reece suspected Shay could see that there was nothing that would sway him from his new objective.

  He had little time and much to do. First, he needed to let Collins know that his chief mate was temporarily in charge of the Sea Emerald. Reece intended to return to London on the Sea Rebel. Meanwhile, Collins was to work with the harbormaster to get the shipment of goods headed for Spain on board as quickly as possible. The change in destination would soothe all the merchants Reece had irritated this morning when he declared that England—not Spain—would be his first stop. But for the next few short weeks it would be Collins—not him—in charge. Once Collins finished in Spain he was to meet Reece in England.

  Once Reece finished with Collins, he had to grab a change of clothes. Then he needed to find Gus and retrieve an item Reece had carelessly given away. Last, he needed a new plan. One that would eventually include marriage, but only after he reminded Aimee that she loved him. Her little pledge to forget him was never going to happen.

  Reece smiled. The approach was obvious.

  He would plague her thoughts and dreams as she had done to him.

  Chapter 26

  November 7, 1816

  When Millie started to turn down yet ano
ther narrow backstreet, Evette grabbed her arm, forcing her to a stop. “Would you please explain to me again why I let you convince me to come with you?”

  Millie sighed and shifted the large bag she was carrying to her other shoulder. Then she hooked her arm in Evette’s thin one and began walking once again, coaxing her friend along. “As I told you before, someone I work with is highly sensitive to the idea of an imbalance of kindnesses. I need you to help correct any perceived inequity.”

  Evette’s blond brows creased. She understood Millie’s convoluted explanation, but it really did not answer her question. “Do you not already owe me several favors?”

  “I do,” Millie agreed. “I have found that in most cases a direct approach is preferred in handling situations, whether they be serious obstacles or the repayment of debts, monetary or not. However, I’m sure you would agree that to be locked in to such an approach and never consider other possibilities would be a foolish mindset. Fortunately for you, I have decided to take a circuitous path to settling any favors between us.”

  Taking the long-winded hint, Evette sighed and allowed herself to be led down another alley, wondering anew at Millie’s ability to sway people to comply with her wishes. She was confident, but most of all she was persistent. Millie just wore down those around her until they had no choice but to follow her lead. It was a skill Evette had at first disliked; now she just wished she could emulate it. Maybe then she could get Madame Sasha to believe in her abilities as a seamstress.

  “I do not trust you, my lady.”

  Millie decided to ignore the intentional reference to her real identity. “I know you do not, but you really should reconsider your opinion of me. I’m an excellent ally.”

  Evette rolled her eyes and Millie gently nudged her side with her elbow. “Fine. Then come with me because you are curious. I am quite aware that you and the others in the house wonder where I having been venturing to the past several days.”

  Evette said nothing, but both knew Millie was right.

  Millie grinned and suppressed a chuckle. If anyone had told her a week ago just where she was going every afternoon, she would have found it not only difficult to believe, but impossible. And yet, here she was on her way to visit Bessie’s home for the fourth day in a row.

  The night Millie suggested they pool their tips, Bessie had practically demanded they meet in front of Ollmanders four hours before their evening shift. Millie had first been wary of the idea, but curiosity had compelled her to go. Bessie was there waiting, and before a hello barely passed between them, Bessie had begun to lead Millie back through several narrow alleyways to the place she called home. The structure was cramped, but it had three small rooms—a bedroom, front room, and a kitchen—a fact of which Bessie was quite proud.

  She made them a small meal, which was astonishingly tasty and far better than the fare Henry typically served. But only after helping clean up the dishes did Millie learn just why Bessie had invited her over.

  “I am goin’ to show you how to make a pocket that’ll hold your tips,” Bessie announced. Then she went over to a box and pulled out a rolled strip of thin cotton Millie guessed had come from a worn-out shift.

  Immediately she had put her hand up in protest. “I cannot sew.”

  Bessie searched the box, found a needle and some thread, and handed them to Millie. “I’m not talkin’ about makin’ clothes. I only wish I knew how to do that.”

  Millie stared at the needle and the thread for several seconds. Shaking her head, she tried to hand them back. “I truly mean what I say, Bessie. This is one of those intricate feminine talents that I could never perform, even poorly.”

  Bessie stared at Millie disbelievingly. “Everyone can sew. Even longshoremen know how to darn holes in their clothes, and that’s all we’re doin’. I promise we’ll keep it simple.”

  Millie wanted to argue, to explain that it was not for lack of trying, but that she really could not sew. Needlework, for a mysterious reason, was a skill every gentleman’s daughter had to not just learn, but master. Unsurprisingly, Aimee was good at it. Jennelle much preferred to read, but if forced, her embroidery was passable. Millie, however, had been deemed a hopeless case. Even Mother Wentworth had announced that a needle in Millie’s hand was a danger to others.

  “All you have to do is tack the material to your inner skirt. You can pull it up in your lap so you don’t have to take it off. Then I’ll help you attach the strip to your pocket so you can drop the coins in.”

  An hour later, Millie had given up sewing the material to her inner skirt. What little she had done was far from straight and nowhere near the pocket. Bessie swallowed and said, “I guess it’s nice to know there’s somethin’ you’re bad at. Tomorrow, come again, and this time I will do it.”

  Millie nodded. “But I will bring the food.”

  Bessie snorted. “I’ll even let you cook.” Seeing Millie’s stricken face, she slapped her knee and began to laugh. “You can’t cook either?”

  Millie shook her head, embarrassed. “My mother died when I was young, and while I loved the woman who tried to help raise me in her stead, I was not always the best pupil when it came to domestic things.”

  Bessie crossed her arms and smirked. “You liked learnin’ how to fight.”

  Millie shrugged. “Much to everyone’s dismay, you are correct. I much prefer physical activity over being sedentary.”

  “There you go again,” Bessie said as she picked up the hem of Millie’s dress and fingered the expensive silk. “Talking like that. No one I’ve ever met speaks the way you do. You just can’t help yourself, can you?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at Millie.

  Millie raised her chin slightly and stared back.

  Bessie dropped the garment and shrugged. “Don’t guess it matters how a body ends up at Clive’s. We all have our stories.”

  “Including you?”

  “Everyone,” Bessie repeated.

  The next couple of days, Millie had brought meat and bread and they talked while Bessie sewed a thin strip of lining into Millie’s dress. When it was done, Bessie looked disappointed. There was no longer a reason for them to meet, and both women had been secretly surprised to learn how much they enjoyed the other’s company.

  “Bessie, thank you so much. I know you said we were even just by giving me this suggestion. However, I could not have done this without you. I feel I owe you something in return.”

  Bessie looked uncomfortable and glanced back at the kitchen. “You brought food. ’Twas no favor I did.”

  The small gesture confirmed Millie’s suspicions. The food she had been supplying was helping to offset Bessie’s living expenses. “I disagree, as you had to do the cooking for both of us. If you could partake in just one of the meals being prepared in the house I am staying in, you would realize that dining with you benefited me far more than you.”

  “Little missy, you can make a head spin using all those fancy words. I said we were even, and I meant it.”

  Millie shook her head. This time she refused to let Bessie dictate the terms of their developing friendship. “Then I will simply say that you may believe we are even. I do not.”

  Bessie’s pride surfaced and her chin rose in the air. “I won’t accept coin.”

  “Excellent, because I have too little to offer you,” Millie lied. “However, tomorrow I would like to return, if you would agree. And when I come, I shall bring you a surprise. One you cannot refuse.”

  Bessie had crossed her arms and tried to look intimidating. “Well, if you are goin’ to force it on me, it better be somethin’ I will like.”

  Millie smiled and knocked on the door with her free hand. Her other arm was still hooked with Evette’s, and she had no intention of setting it free. The battered door opened and Millie smiled as she saw the shock on Bessie’s face upon seeing Evette. “Don’t tell me that she’s my surprise.”

  “I’m a what?” Evette murmured.

  “Indeed she is,” Millie told Bessie,
ignoring Evette’s question.

  Bessie pulled in her chin and looked Evette up and down. “What? You’re leaving and she’s going to take your place at Clive’s?”

  Evette sharply turned her head toward Millie and said, “That better not be your plan.”

  Millie rolled her eyes and walked inside, dragging Evette with her. “Evette, this is Bessie. Bessie, please say hello to Evette. She also rents a room in the house where I am staying.”

  Unhooking the bag from her shoulder, Millie went into the kitchen to put the food she had brought onto the table. Bessie followed and immediately took the meat and prepared it for the oven. Meanwhile, Millie offered Evette the one seat at the table and went to grab a wooden crate from the other room to use as a stool.

  When she came back, she saw Evette helping Bessie chop vegetables. Both women stopped, wiped their hands, and turned to look at Millie. “I think we deserve to know why you asked me here,” Evette said without preamble.

  Millie grinned at them before diving back into the bag and pulling out scraps of material. They were Madame Sasha’s discards and were going to be thrown away until Millie had intervened. All the cloth was of quality, but Millie had done her best to select only the more durable, less fancy materials.

  Bessie swallowed and walked over to the table to take a closer look. “Where did you get these?”

  “From a seamstress who was going to throw them away.”

  Evette narrowed her eyes, but Millie ignored her. “Bessie, Evette has been training with one of London’s best seamstresses, but needs the opportunity to prove to her mentor and herself that she is more than capable of designing and sewing a dress on her own.” Evette opened her mouth to protest, but Millie continued before she could utter a word. “Evette, I’ve seen what you have done on my gowns.”

  Bessie’s mouth gaped. “You did hers?” she asked Evette while pointing at Millie.