She tried talking to Sabine, but the maid had different ideas about love and sex. She was practical and levelheaded, but then again, she’d also never been truly hurt, not like Frances, or lost a baby.
“Sabine, are you in love with your Pierre?” Frances asked as they sipped their hot chocolate. Sabine hardly ever spoke of her lover, but escaped to see him whenever circumstances allowed.
“Of course not,” Sabine replied indignantly. “I enjoy his company and he pleases me in bed, but I am most definitely not in love.”
“How do you know?” Frances persisted. “If you enjoy his company and his lovemaking, why don’t you love him?”
“Because loving leads to promises and heartbreak, or worse, weddings. I am not ready to settle down and spend my days cleaning some mean little house, cooking, washing, and taking care of screaming babies. I like being a lady’s maid. I got to visit Versailles, for the love of God. How many women of my station can make that claim? Besides, men change once they become husbands.”
“In what way?”
“They lose interest since the thrill of the chase is over. You must always remain out of reach, ma petite, in order to keep a man’s attention. Pierre is always going on about marrying me, but I tell him every time that I will not marry him. Not now, not ever,” Sabine said smugly, her dark eyes dancing with merriment.
“But, are you not afraid of losing him?” Frances asked, confused.
“When you become afraid of losing a man that’s when you know you are truly in love. That’s the one you marry. Are you afraid of losing Luke Marsden?”
Frances grew thoughtful, trying to imagine Luke with another woman or back in England. She felt a twinge of jealousy at the thought of being replaced, but the twinge quickly vanished. She liked Luke, but the thought of losing him didn’t cause her any pain.
“No, I don’t suppose I am,” Frances finally replied.
“Then you are not in love. Isn’t it delicious to have a lover?” Sabine asked, her pouty lips stretching into a sly grin.
Frances smiled back at Sabine. The idea had been delicious, but the reality was quite different. Frances felt ashamed, confused, and disappointed. The stickiness between her thighs was only too real, and she suddenly jumped up, desperate to get home and wash away any remnants of Luke.
“But I am not finished with my chocolate,” Sabine whined as Frances tossed a coin down on the table.
“Yes, you are,” Frances threw over her shoulder, already halfway to the door.
May 1686
Aboard the La Belle
Chapter 39
A lashing rain beat against the windows, leaching all daylight from the captain’s cabin. The ship rose and fell as it rode the swells that seemingly came out of nowhere within the past hour, making Max a little nervous about the vessel’s ability to weather the storm. Gone was the blazing sun and the turquoise waters of the Caribbean, replaced by the gray vastness of the Atlantic, which was heaving and churning as if some great beast had stirred to life within its depths and was now roaring and writhing in fury.
It was around noon, but it was so dark that a brace of candles had been lit, and the captain, who normally spent his days on the bridge, was hiding out from the storm and indulging in a game of chess with Max while the first mate manned the bridge. Max could have defeated Captain Benoit several times over, but he purposely made clumsy moves in an effort to prolong the game. He didn’t get to spend much time alone with the captain, so this was an opportunity to drink some good wine, practice his French, and try to further his own interests, despite the gnawing fear that roiled in Max’s stomach every time the ship listed precariously to the side. It was tossed about on the waves like a child’s toy, but the captain seemed unconcerned, which gave Max a measure of comfort.
The captain’s eyes twinkled as he surveyed Max over the rim of his cup, his lips moist with claret. “You are letting me win, Lord Everly,” he drawled, partially annoyed and partially amused by Max’s tactics. “Is it because you think me so dimwitted that I can’t possibly win on my own, or because you hope to placate me before asking me for something?” the captain asked, a knowing look in his eyes. Max was caught red-handed, so he could either play dumb or be honest, which he felt was the wiser course of action when it came to the captain. He was a shrewd man, and a brave one, so Max had to give him his due and treat him with the respect he deserved.
“You are clearly not that dimwitted, or you wouldn’t have discerned that I’m letting you win, nor ascertained the reason for my generosity,” Max replied, enjoying their banter. The captain would be more generous if he were in a good mood.
“What is it that you want of me, milord?” the captain asked with an indulgent smile, curious what his passenger might ask for given that he was hardly in a position to offer anything in return for a favor.
“My kinsman, Lord Hugo Everly and I, have some — shall we say -– unpleasant history. I would like to pay him a visit when in France, but not as a pauper. My downfall would give my cousin great satisfaction,” Max stated, watching the captain to see if he might offer any helpful suggestions, but Captain Benoit remained mute, forcing Max to go on. “I need to find some sort of employment which would allow me to set myself up as a gentleman of my rank would do.”
“Such as?” Captain Benoit asked, clearly amused. “Gentlemen of your rank don’t have employment; they sit back and spend their sizeable inheritances while others break their backs to make sure those inheritances don’t dwindle, but grow with every passing year.”
“As would I, had I not been sentenced to deportation,” Max replied smoothly. “I cannot simply return to England and claim what’s mine, so I must bide my time, and France is as good a place as any.” Max took a sip of claret in order to gather his thoughts. When he had the conversation with the captain in his mind, he foresaw the captain instantly offering him some kind of solution, but the captain seemed reluctant to commit himself to helping Max, despite their mutual respect and budding friendship.
“True,” Captain Benoit replied thoughtfully, “But what is it you are really asking me, milord?”
“I’ve given the matter some serious thought, and it would appear that the only employment I might be suitable for is that of a tutor. I am well-educated and can teach mathematics, philosophy, and English.” Max had thought long and hard about what type of skills would be in demand in seventeenth-century France, but he had no knowledge of Latin or Greek, could hardly teach physics or chemistry since he had no idea what was actually known and accepted in this time period, and knew very little about astronomy.
“Hmm, that’s a thought. Are you well versed in Greek, Latin, and theology?” the captain asked with a chuckle, already knowing the answer.
“No, but I can teach English, which can be useful to someone with political aspirations or mercantile connections to English-speaking countries. It won’t be long before there’s brisk trade with the American colonies, and English will become the language of commerce.”
Captain Benoit tilted his head to the side, deep in thought. “People who wish to trade with France should learn to speak French,” he finally said, but the idea had been planted, and Max had to be patient. The captain was a businessman, one who made a living by smuggling and piracy. Perhaps he could find some use for Max’s talents, especially if he hoped to branch out.
“Another game, mon capitaine?” Max asked as he surveyed the captain over the board. The captain had won, but they both knew his victory was a false one.
“Only if you play fair this time, milord,” Captain Benoit replied as he refilled their cups. “I would rather lose after putting on a brave show than win unfairly. I might be a pirate, but I am an honorable one,” he added with a wink.
Max bowed in acquiescence, ready to take the captain at his word and defeat him in under ten moves. Thunder cracked outside, and a flash of lightning momentarily lit up the cabin, illuminating everything in a bluish hue and making everything appear like a still from a bla
ck-and-white film. If they survived this storm, they’d be docking in less than a week. The thought made Max’s stomach clench with anxiety. While aboard the ship, he felt a certain sense of security, knowing that he couldn’t do anything until they arrived in Europe, but now the moment was almost upon him, and he had to find a way of putting his plan into action.
May 1686
Paris, France
Chapter 40
William Trumbull quivered with rage as he reread the letter from England. He had been reluctant when His Majesty King James II appointed him as Envoy Extraordinary to France, but had accepted nonetheless, and had done his best to make his time in France meaningful. But this latest assignment was an absolute slap in the face. Trumbull was well aware that his anti-Catholic views had garnered him enemies, particularly at the Court of Louis XIV, and his attempts to better the conditions for French Protestants after the Edict of Fontainebleau had raised a few eyebrows, but he was convinced that the final straw had been his unwilling association with Hugo Everly. Sir Trumbull tried his best to avoid Everly at Court, but to blatantly ignore a man who’d been welcomed by Louis with open arms was an insult to the monarch and a testament of his own feelings, which he wasn’t allowed to have, at least not in public.
Sir Trumbull had been forced to welcome Everly to France and to speak to him for at least a few minutes every time their paths crossed, despite the fact that he would have liked to throttle the man with his bare hands. The nerve! The absolute nerve of showing up like that. And how in the world had he managed to escape from Barbados? That was a question that tormented Sir Trumbull, who secretly believed that the wrong man had been sentenced after all. That poor wretch who claimed to be a cousin or some such, had paid the price for Everly’s sins, and was now toiling on some plantation while Hugo Everly was sipping champagne and enjoying the best that life had to offer, with two women by his side, if the gossip was to be believed. What a contemptible libertine, Sir Trumbull fumed as he crumpled the letter and threw it across the room in sheer frustration.
The new assignment was a punishment, Sir Trumbull was in no doubt about that, and it was to the last place on earth he wished to go. Being surrounded by Catholics was difficult enough, but in Constantinople, where he was being sent effective immediately, he would be surrounded by Mussulmen; men whose Saracen religion was abhorrent to him and defied everything he’d been raised to believe. To make matters worse, his dear wife would have to endure life in Topkapi Palace, if that’s where they’d be quartered, and come into possible contact with the women of the sultan’s harem. What an insult to a good Christian woman to have to witness such degeneracy, Trumbull raged as he refilled his wine glass.
However, to refuse was unthinkable, so he would just have to find a way to make the new posting bearable. At least Luke Marsden would be coming with him. Unlike himself, Luke was a charming young man who often added great social value to a situation. He managed to smooth ruffled feathers in a way that was so subtle as to make the subject of his efforts regain good spirits, without ever realizing that they were being skillfully manipulated. Of course, Marsden would have to give up that little strumpet of his. That was actually for the best, because the younger man was clearly besotted despite the girl’s association with Everly and Sir Trumbull’s warnings. Nothing he said had made a dent in the young man’s ardor, not even the rumors about the chit and Everly.
What was wrong with young men these days? Why could they simply not marry a comely, God-fearing woman of their parents’ choice as he had? Sir Trumbull had never lusted after his wife, nor felt any undue sentiment, but they had a good, solid marriage; the type of marriage a gentleman should have, rather than this sordid, lustful union Luke was so intent on. Sir Trumbull performed his husbandly duties once a week, but the few minutes it took were never less than chaste, with his wife fully covered, and himself wearing his nightshirt. In all his years of marriage, he’d never seen his wife unclothed, and he liked it that way. He was able to show her respect and deference, something that might not come easily had he ever viewed her as an object of sexual desire. And there had been a few in his youth, but that was all behind him now. Desire had no place in his life.
Trumbull pinched the bridge of his nose and sucked in some air in an effort to calm himself. He would have to tell his dear Elizabeth of the new post, and offer her the option of returning to England. She could wait for his return in the country of her birth where she wouldn’t have to be exposed to the depravity and unchristian principles of the heathens who populated the Ottoman Empire. Elizabeth was a devoted wife and would likely offer to come with him, which he actually hoped for, but he had to give her the choice nonetheless. No Christian woman should ever be forced to go to such a barbaric country, and should only go willingly if she were a missionary, devoted to spreading the word of God.
William Trumbull finally managed to regain some control and penned a quick note to Marsden, asking him to call at his earliest convenience. Seeing the look on Marsden’s face would actually be something of a treat, if William were honest with himself. Luke would do his duty, just as the Trumbulls would; he had little choice. William Trumbull sent off the note with a servant and resumed his pacing, his blood boiling once again at the insult King James had issued him for recognizing that traitor Everly. Yes, Trumbull would make the voyage to Turkey and put a good face on it, but he would be damned if that reprobate benefited from his disgrace.
Whatever Everly had done to avoid deportation to the West Indies would not help him now. There were discreet ways of getting rid of someone, and people who were only too willing to accept the task with the minimum amount of questions. William Trumbull finally stopped pacing and sat down at his desk. He had letters to write, lists to make, and an assassination to plan.
Chapter 41
Luke tried to still the hammering of his heart as the carriage stopped by the Jardin des Tuileries. He’d gone over his speech a hundred times during the short ride to the gardens, but it didn’t sound any better. The news had come as a shock, and he secretly agreed with Sir Trumbull that it was a form of punishment rather than an opportunity to further his political aspirations. Luke wouldn’t have minded going to Constantinople if it weren’t for Frances. How would she take the news? He thought he was finally on his way to winning her heart, but now he felt as nervous as a small boy waiting for his father to mete out punishment for some transgression, and fearing the worst.
Frances gave him a wan smile as she ascended the carriage steps and sat across from him, as if desperate to put distance between them. Her eyes darted nervously toward the closed door, but she remained seated, waiting to hear what he had to say. On any other day, Luke might have wondered what cooled her ardor since their last meeting, but today his mind wasn’t on making love. He wanted her as much as ever, but couldn’t bring himself to perform when he was in such turmoil. The conversation had to come first.
“Frances, there’s been a development,” he began as he reached for her hands, fooling himself with the illusion of his ability to keep her close. Frances allowed him to take her hands in his, but they were cold and limp, even when he tried to thread his fingers through hers.
“What kind of development?” Frances frowned at him, clearly taken aback by his tone. She might have been expecting a renewal of his proposal, despite their agreement to wait a while, so the tension in Luke’s voice made her nervous, and she drew her hands away and folded them in her lap.
“Sir William Trumbull is being recalled from his post in Paris. He’s being sent to Constantinople, and I am to go with him. Do you know where that is, my sweet?” Luke asked carefully.
“Yes, I do. Lord Everly has been teaching me geography. I quite like it,” she added, still gazing up at Luke with an air of expectation.
“Do you understand what this means, Frances? I’m leaving Paris in a few weeks, after I’ve completed the arrangements for Sir Trumbull. He’s leaving next week. He will first go to England with his wife, then travel to Constanti
nople on his own. His wife has refused to accompany him,” Luke added as he watched Frances nervously, praying that she wouldn’t use Elizabeth Trumbull’s refusal to accompany her husband as an example.
Frances smiled at Luke warmly. “It will be very exciting, don’t you think? It must be a terribly exotic place.”
“Sweetheart, I want you to come with me. We can be married before we leave Paris, and you’ll come as my wife. Just think of all the wonderful experiences we can have. It will be a great adventure. Please say yes, Franny.”
Luke hadn’t realized he was holding his breath, but had to eventually suck in some air because Frances was taking too long to answer. She was studying him as if he were some unknown specimen, her face going through a myriad of emotions right before his eyes.
“Frances?” Luke prompted, desperate for her to agree.
Frances reached up and cupped his cheek, her eyes moist with unshed tears. “Luke, I care for you, I really do, but I can’t go with you.”
“I will take good care of you; I promise. I won’t be like your husband. I will be kind and loving, and make your happiness my priority,” Luke pleaded, but he could see that the girl’s mind was made up.
“I know you would be a wonderful husband, Luke, but I simply can’t bear to be separated from the only family I have. I’m too frightened to put myself at the mercy of a husband again, not without a family to turn to. Lord and Lady Everly are the only family I have, and I won’t be parted from them, not ever. Being with them makes me feel safe and loved, and I can’t agree to follow you to the other side of the world on nothing more than a promise of love and kindness. I hope you can forgive me,” she added meekly.
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