by Cheryl Holt
Matthew gave a quiet order. From out of nowhere sailors emerged and efficiently went about their tasks. Slowly, imperceptibly the ship left the land and found itself caught by the river's strong current.
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Harold Westmoreland waited impassively next to his carriage until the ship disappeared from sight.
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Penny was fascinated by the Sea Wind. She lingered much longer than she'd intended, encouraging Harry and Paulie to show her every nook and cranny.
In all the romantic stories she'd read as a girl about pirates and sailing heroes, none of them had ever mentioned how cramped the quarters were. Or how dark and dreary. The galley was the only area of any significant size, being where the food was cooked and eaten, but it was also where the sailors slumbered in shifts, hanging from hammocks in the corner. There were no portholes to welcome daylight, and the ceiling was terribly low. In several spots she was forced to crawl on her knees in order to move from one section to the next.
She couldn't imagine how a person remained in such a place for weeks or months at a time, though to be fair, she forced herself to remember that the Sea Wind was a working vessel, not a pleasure craft.
Toward the rear of the ship there was a handful of cabins where the officers slept, tucked along either side of the curve of the stern. Peeking in, she could see that they contained only enough space for a narrow cot and small trunk. The center hallway ended at the captain's chamber. It, too, was small and cramped, and nothing at all like the rooms of her imagination. She'd always envisioned a ship's captain as living a life of luxury whenever he came belowdecks.
The cabin was austere in its furnishings, with another low ceiling that provided a claustrophobic ambiance. A desk sat in the middle, covered with maps and logbooks. There were bookshelves lining the walls, filled with volumes on science and ocean travel. There wasn't even a bed! Paulie showed her the roped hammocks, the same as those used by the older sailors, that were pulled out at night and hung for the boys to sleep in.
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From the looks and sounds of it, the entire affair of sea voyaging was some sort of fantastic male adventure, where they were constantly forced to rough it, and she decided that was why so many men were drawn to be sailors. They could play at the type of hard life men seemed to enjoy without any women hanging about and ordering them to bathe, dress, or eat better. By its very condition, the boat wouldn't permit them to engage in hygienic habits.
Lucas's presence in the cabin was strong, the very essence of his spirit ingrained into the planking. She sensed him overwhelmingly, so she was unable to prevent herself from dawdling. It was the last occasion when she would be near him or his belongings, and she suffered from an irresistible impulse to make a final good-bye. She couldn't prevent herself from committing everything to memory.
Much longer than was wise she tarried, reading the titles of his books, running her finger across his handwriting in the ship's log, looking through one of his trunks. When she realized that the clothing so carefully folded inside was the same that she had lovingly touched in his armoire during the short time they'd lived together, she hastily closed the lid.
Her heart pounding, her face unexpectedly hot, she had to get out of the stuffy, confined enclosure and into the fresh air. Immediately! But a quick escape was no easy task. From the manner in which they'd come down, winding and crawling through the stacks of provisions, storage, and supplies, it would take several minutes to accomplish an exit. As she requested that the boys show her the route back to the top, she took slow, measured breaths, trying to calm her shattered nerves.
Why, oh, why, had she ever been so foolish as to come on board?
The trip out of the narrow, dimly lit passage seemed more difficult than it had been when she'd first begun exploring. There was a slight sway now underfoot, making it harder to find purchase. Finally she espied the base of the ladder near
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the bow, the bright swatch of sunlight shining in, and she eagerly rushed to it.
She stepped to the bottom rung and began to climb. As she neared the top, a hand extended down through the hatch to help her navigate her ascent. Glad for the offer of assistance, her eyes on her feet and her full skirts, she grasped it tightly. Her foot reached the last rung, and she maneuvered onto the deck, blinking in the bright daylight as she readjusted from the darkness of the hold.
The helping hand still held hers, and she gazed around, trying to make out images while her vision cleared. Finally she was able to see the face of her attendant.
"Hello, my pretty Penny," Lucas said, smiling, his eyes full of love and desire.
Unable to believe what she was witnessing, she blinked numerous additional times before managing to convince herself that she was truly seeing Lucas. He wasn't an illusion, and for a moment, a single one, the same look of love and desire shone through her own eyes.
Although she didn't want it to be so, he was just as tall, just as sturdy and broad as she recalled. Her vivid imagination hadn't embellished reality. If anything, he was more handsome than her memories. The hopeless attraction she always felt for him was alive and well. Her pulse beat a trifle faster at finding him so near, her skin tingled, her cheeks flushed, and she breathed a bit more rapidly, needing to nil her lungs with the scent of his skin and clothes.
With a wifelike attention to detail, she noticed that he'd trimmed his hair. It was several inches shorter but as thick and dark as ever, and she caught herself wishing she could run her fingers through it, then lay her open palm against his beard-stubbled cheek.
Lord, but it was so good to see him again. The day seemed more cheerful, the sky bluer, the ache in her heart a little less severe, but as quickly as the potent feelings rose to the surface
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and swept over her, she tossed them down into the absurd pit from which they'd sprung.
Because along with the love and longing he instilled, she also remembered everything else. The betrayal, the loss of trust, the failure of love.
She hated him!
"You!" she said, yanking her hand away and taking a step back, but her legs were unreliable, and she swayed precariously.
“Easy,'' Lucas cautioned, grabbing her elbow and steadying her.
"Don't you dare touch me!" she declared, shaking him away and balancing herself by grabbing hold of a barrel.
Frantic for rescue, she cast about from side to side, but nothing looked familiar. For one dizzying moment she questioned whether reality had slipped and she had entered some sort of altered dimension. Her entire surroundings were different, and her mind couldn't process what she was beholding.
The busy docks were gone, the long line of tall ships a speck off in the distance, and London was briskly disappearing. She could barely make out her father's extravagant coach. He was standing next to it, unmoving. If he also saw her, he didn't wave or give any indication.
And she was encircled by water stretching in every direction. Ahead, the Thames grew wider and wider, awaiting its chance to sweep her out into the vast, huge ocean.
"What have you done now?" she wailed, running to the rail and glancing about agitatedly while calling, "Father! Father!" even though he was far away.
He couldn't have agreed to this! He wouldn't have!
She whirled on Lucas, and he was standing there, looking so serene and content, he was lucky she wasn't holding a loaded pistol. She'd have shot him in the chest without a second thought or moment of regret. For the first time in her life, she understood what circumstance would reduce a person to commit murder. The desire was so overpowering that she could feel the steel of the trigger in her hand.
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As she stared him down, a clear picture of duplicity began to form, one that only fueled her anger. Lucas and the duke had met secretly, plotting how the duke would lure her to the ship; Lucas would be allowed to steal off with her.
Fuming, she
speculated as to when and where they'd completed their clandestine discussions, what sorts of bargaining they'd resolved in order to arrive at their decision. Had the boys and Colette offered assistance? Was no one in the entire world her true friend?
What would they all have done if she hadn't been so atrociously gullible and walked aboard on her own two feet. What then? To what lengths would they have stooped? Would they have bound and gagged her, then dragged her onto the ship kicking and screaming?
Why had the duke proceeded in this fashion? Did he care so little? Despise her so much? She thought of her home in London, and the life she'd passed there with her parents. How unhappy she'd been! How lonely! How desperate for some scrap of attention that never came her way. Yet, twenty years later, she was still pining away and wondering why he'd never been fond of her.
What a pathetic creature she was!
Harold Westmoreland was a man who would abandon his daughter to the likes of Lucas Pendleton! who would entice her and trick her so that Pendleton could abscond with her anew. He'd delivered her, then walked away. To Lucas! To the man who might as well have ripped her chest open and torn her heart out with his bare hands! He was to have her now, after everything.
Her father was all despicable characters rolled into one, yet she mourned this most recent betrayal as though it were the first.
Fool!
Over her shoulder the water was rushing by, gradually moving faster. A sail was hoisted, then another as they gained speed, each knot taking her away from England and her father,
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stranding her with Lucas. For a brief moment she considered jumping the rail and letting the river swallow her up so that she'd never have to set eyes on either one of these detestable men again.
As quickly as the notion arose, however, she realized she'd never commit such a cowardly act. She was too angry, and she intended to live to a ripe old age in order to spend the rest of her days planning and taking her revenge against both of them. It would take decades to sufficiently vent her wrath!
The nerve of them, imagining they knew best! After all their games and manipulations! For the two of them to decide what the future course of her life should be! The gall! The arrogance!
"Turn this ship around, Mr. Pendleton," she commanded. "Right now!"
"Sorry, but I can't."
"Why?" she asked bitterly across the expanse of deck. "Why would you do this to me?"
He took one step toward her, then another. "I wanted you to come with me. I always did."
"I hate you!" she insisted as he advanced.
"No, you don't."
"I do!" Another step. "I really do!"
"I saw how you looked at me just a moment ago."
"How?" Another.
"You were ecstatic."
"And you are a dreamer!" He was only a step away, so close that she could see the gold flecks in his dark eyes, the spot where he'd nicked himself shaving.
Softly he asserted, "You're glad you're here with me."
"I'm not. I swear, if I had a pistol, I'd shoot you right through your black heart."
"No, you wouldn't," he said, smiling brazenly.
"I would," she said, nodding vehemently. "You're a swine, a bug, a gnat—"
"You're mad about me."
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"No! Oh, no! I think you are the most contemptuous, conceited, overbearing, pompous—"
He cut off her tirade with a kiss. It was light as a butterfly, so fleetly begun, she hadn't time to prevent it, and so promptly concluded that she almost couldn't tell if it had truly happened.
"Don't be angry," he said good-naturedly. "This is for the best. You'll see."
He looked so smug, so self-assured, so presumptuous, and his confidence in his ability to judge her wishes made her so indescribably furious that she moved back, wound up, and slapped him just as hard as she could.
Without another word she pushed past and went below. As she settled in her cabin for a nap, he was still rubbing his sore jaw.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Penny stayed in her cabin for six days. At least she thought it had been six days. Being down in the hold with no window, she could only guess at the hour. One dark, dreary moment seemed very much like the next. The only change was in the level of noise, although even that was minimal. Occasionally sounds would drift in her direction from the galley located at the other end of the ship, making her suppose the sailors were eating or their work shift changing.
Her cabin was one of the tiny hovels along the stem. Nothing about the small enclosed space offered comfort. It was stuffy, hot, dismal, and she languished, minute after dragging minute, on the miniature cot, feeling the sway of the hull and listening to the creak of the ship's timbers as it glided through the water.
Twice a day Colette laid a tray of bland lukewarm food outside her door, along with a tiny basin of water for washing. She'd give a quick knock and ask if Penny needed assistance, to which Penny always advised her to depart immediately. The boys stopped by sporadically, speaking softly and trying to cajole her to emerge. Since they were children, she could hardly blame them for the scheme that had landed her on the Sea
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Wind, so her answers were more polite but still the same: Go away. Leave me alone.
Her door didn't have a lock, and there didn't appear to be any method of securing it. To keep others out, she'd heaved one of her two large trunks in front, using it as a barricade against anyone who might try to enter. No one had. If they'd wanted, they could have simply shoved hard enough against the door to move it aside, but apparently they'd all decided to permit her to suffer in solitude while she came to terms with what had happened.
They had all conspired to bring her to this unbearable juncture, and as she rested on the lumpy mattress, her gaze shifting from the low ceiling to the narrow walls, then back again, she endeavored to find one positive point, but nothing came to her. She was trapped for the duration, and she wasn't certain what to do about it.
The space on the vessel was too limited to allow for any privacy. If she walked into the corridor, she'd instantly be elbow-to-elbow with a group of people she detested, none of whom she wished ever to set eyes on again. There was nowhere to take a unaccompanied afternoon stroll, no place where she could sit quietly and read a book or look out at the rolling waves. So she remained where she was, flat on her back in her cabin.
From where she lay the view was extremely depressing, mostly because the only objects she had to look at were the two trunks containing her clothing. They'd been stuffed full of her belongings and delivered to the ship without her knowledge, and already stowed away by the time she'd arrived. Somebody had gone to a great deal of trouble to prepare the luggage, and to ensure that it contained exactly the items she would require for comfort during the lengthy voyage.
After reviewing the contents, she decided that Colette had done the packing, and the realization of how her maid had connived with the others to bring her on board was shattering. She must have secretly toiled away, right under Penny's nose,
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in order to have the lot ready on time. For years Penny had felt as though Colette were her only friend, and the betrayal hurt, although she couldn't lay the entire blame at her servant's feet.
There was no doubt that Lucas had a hand in the arrangements. The dresses were all in shades and styles he liked. They were simple, lightweight, and easily laundered, as though he'd taken time explaining what would be best for Penny to wear. When she imagined him giving Colette instructions and wardrobe suggestions, her temper flared anew.
No one was safe from Lucas once he started in on them with that silver tongue of his. Lies and falsehoods swirled out of his mouth with ease, and even suspicious, reticent Colette hadn't stood a chance. Wholeheartedly she'd jumped into the middle of this latest scheme, playing her part well and doing everything she could, along with the rest of Lucas's accomplices, to guarantee that Penny wo
uld be at Lucas's mercy.
And hadn't they all succeeded beyond their wildest dreams? For what was she to do?
The crossing to America would take many weeks, so she could hardly stay locked in her cabin. Lunacy would overtake her if she tried. On occasion she would need to find the necessary fortitude to leave the cabin in order to enjoy some exercise and fresh air. There had to be some method she could use for moving about on the deck, while at the same time managing to keep her anger sufficiently contained so that she didn't murder anyone on sight.
However, so far the prospect of peaceful interaction with her shipmates was out of the question, chiefly because she'd had such a lengthy opportunity to ponder the quandary into which they'd forced her, and she couldn't figure out how to fix the situation they'd taken such care to create.
After they arrived in America, then what? She didn't know anyone who lived in Virginia or anywhere else on that continent. One casual acquaintance resided in Jamaica, but even without checking a map she was certain that the island was quite a
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distance from the Pendleton home. If she'd felt comfortable sending a letter to the friend—which she didn't—and asking for assistance, she had no money with which to mail it.
Going back to England was absolutely out of the question. She had no funds in order to book passage. But even if she returned, to where would she travel? She wouldn't dare once again to place herself under the duke's protection. Talk about walking back into the lion's den! Bearing in mind what he'd accomplished so far during the two decades she'd lived in his home, she wasn't about to let him take another stab at orchestrating her future. She'd suffered through an abundance of his attempts at guardianship and was ready to risk it on her own.
Which meant she had no options at all. Other than to stay with Lucas. But stay as what? She refused to put her tender heart at his mercy by marrying him a second time. As far as she was concerned, the knave had had one shot at her affection, and he wasn't going to get another.