Treasure

by W. A. Hoffman

  “In my reply,” Theodore said with a smile, “I told him you had indeed married Lady Marsdale, and that she was indeed pregnant. I made no other remark or indication as to the parentage of said child, or to her behavior.”

  “Has there been time to receive a response to that?” I asked.

  Theodore shook his head and shrugged. “With the storm season, nay.”

  “He is an enigma,” I sighed.

  “It is a game,” Gaston said thoughtfully, “like chess, but we do not know if he is planning moves well ahead of us, or merely reacting to unexpected moves we have made. We should ask Pete how to play it.” He grinned.

  I grinned in return. “As Pete is all Horse, he is as mad as we.”

  Theodore frowned and I waved it away.

  “What would you do?” I asked my matelot. “As a centaur: what does your Horse wish to do?”

  He took a deep breath and considered the window for a time. “Fight him, and win. I wish to see him grant you the title and then have you fling it in his face. And even if he will not grant it, I wish to see him have to force you out.”

  I listened to my Horse and found it fond of that idea as well. If I gave up now, it proved nothing. Well, it proved I could walk away; but my father expected me to, and it was what he wanted: I did not wish for him to receive anything he wanted.

  “If that is to be your course,” Theodore said with amusement, “then you should remain married to the woman, and claim the child as yours, and wait and see what move he makes.”

  I swore and slumped in my chair.

  Gaston sighed likewise.

  With surprise I realized my Horse did not view that as being completely odious. It cared not for marrying and having children whoever the dam might be, though it was not pleased that it must be saddled with a wife I hated and probably inferior children. The Man in me was the one who bridled the most, though. He heard what people saw and thought: the shadows on the wall through which they perceived the situation. But that was not truth, was it?

  I looked to Gaston. “Do you truly feel you are willing to risk having children?” I asked quietly in French. “With or without your father’s blessing of your choice of bride?”

  He looked out the window again as he thought on it, and at last turned to me. “Do you truly feel we could mitigate their madness?”

  I did not have to think before answering. “Oui. And even if they are as mad as you, I feel I would still love them. And you are not such a horror that we should not dare inflict another of you upon the world.”

  He smiled. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Then I shall try and make our puppies, and you shall stay married to that bitch to fight your father, and we will see where the game leads.”

  I looked back to Theodore and sighed. “We will fight. I shall not put her out. We will see what she produces. We shall see what my father’s next move is.”

  And I prayed the Gods would smile upon us, and if they did not grant us that which we thought we desired, that They would at least grant us happiness through some other turn of events.

  Sixty

  Wherein We Revisit Meals Left Uneaten

  After all that had been said yesterday, I thought I would feel quite the fool if I were to go and tell Vivian of our new decision so soon, so I lead Gaston past her house and into Sarah’s without so much as a hesitant step.

  “When will you tell her?” he asked wryly, once we were within the comfortable shade of the atrium.

  “I do not know,” I sighed, “and we might change our mind, and I feel it will do no harm if she continues to think I am divorcing her.”

  “It might make her reflect upon her actions,” he said with a shrug.

  “We can only hope.”

  Agnes was about, and I felt some guilt in seeing her. It was foolish: she had never known our plans and probably would have been aghast if she had. Moreover, I could not know how the game would play out and what move we would be upon years from now – or even months from now, for that matter.

  We spent the afternoon engrossed in viewing things through Agnes’ lenses. I was both appalled and fascinated at how common things appeared when magnified, especially insects. They are the most vicious-appearing creatures I have ever beheld, and yet no one thinks of them as such, because they are so small we cannot readily see their wicked hooked claws and strange spiky mouths.

  As all in the household had come to join in the activity of seeing the unseen over the course of the day, our discussion at supper held more talk of the same; the Marquis asked Gaston many questions – and thankfully expressed fascination and not dismay when my matelot told him he thought the medical theories of humors and the like to be foolishness, and not a reasoned way of viewing the human body and how it behaved or the causes and treatment of illnesses.

  After we ate, Agnes brought out the telescope, and we saw what we could. I was disappointed that stars looked much the same through it, only brighter and more colorful on occasion. Then Jupiter rose high enough for us to see, and I was stricken with awe at the wonder of it: to think that the striped, orange disk I beheld was another world like our own was a wondrous thing indeed.

  Several of us, the Marquis included, chose to wait until the moon rose late in the night. Discussion turned as it once had while roving to how the denizens of other worlds might look or behave. Here again, the Marquis surprised me by not deeming the whole discussion blasphemy, and I was proud he showed such interest in the depth of Gaston’s knowledge of things physiological.

  Tired and contented, we slept like babes that night. The next day was very much like the last, only we did not need to go to Theodore’s after frolicking on the beach; instead, we went to the leather shop and tailor’s. My new boots were indeed wondrously comfortable, and the tailor was happy to see Gaston and make a final fitting for his new coat. Then we went to the haberdashery to pay our old friend Belfry a visit and buy any additional accoutrements we would need to appear as fine gentleman. Unfortunately, Mister Belfry was out, and we were left with Mistress Belfry, who although she still stood somewhat in awe of my being a lord, had apparently not forgotten whatever she had witnessed between my sister and Striker in her back room. We bought Gaston a fine hat and gloves to match his coat and left with haste.

  The afternoon and evening were much like the day before, with the distinction of the supper conversation turning to talk of Jamaican politics and economy. Rucker delivered a wonderful lecture concerning his predictions for the future of our fair isle; and though they were sad, in that he saw the influence of the buccaneers waning due to their earnings decreasing considerably after an inevitable peace with Spain, I agreed with him.

  Saturday came, and I realized with dread that we must attend the damn party. We ran several leagues of beach in the morning before picking up our clothes at the tailor’s. Once home, Gaston attempted to distract himself by studying more with the lenses while I sorted clothes from my sea chests. Eventually I was forced to call him up to bathe and dress.

  He stood with his arms crossed and his back to the wall and regarded the clothes laid out on the bed with trepidation. “Perhaps I should not attend.”

  We had not discussed the matter in days; we had simply gone about the business of acquiring his coat and the like as if he would attend. “Do you sense a storm?” I asked gently.

  He shook his head. “Non, I sense… I am afraid I will make a fool of myself and disappoint my father… and you.”

  “Well, that is foolishness,” I chided gently. “However could you disappoint me?”

  He sighed with resignation. “Will, I have never attended a formal affair.”

  I grinned. “My love, this is Jamaica, not the Sun King’s court. There is nothing and no one here that would be considered of merit by people who regularly attend formal affairs. And as for your father, you need not impress him.”

  “I feel I will say or do some stupid thing,” Gaston said doggedly.

  “I feel you will not. You ever comport yourself
as a gentleman. In all the time I have known you, your social deportment when dealing with matters of status and decorum has proven to be as impeccable as your table manners.”

  “I am afraid that I will not be if my Horse becomes spooked about so many,” he sighed.

  “Do you feel you will experience the sudden urge to bite the governor?” I teased.

  “Non.” He snorted. “Nor do I fear striking him,” he added with annoyance. “I fear I will become unsettled and be unable to speak as I should and I will wish to leave in a rude manner.”

  I nodded soberly. “That I can see occurring,” I said gently. “If such a thing does occur, then you shall catch my eye, and then simply walk out the door, and I will make the necessary apologies.”

  “And excuses,” he muttered.

  “My love,” I sighed. “You would be quite surprised at how many men and women suddenly take ill at parties.”

  He frowned. “Truly?”

  “Truly. Parties, dinners, fêtes of all sorts, are battlegrounds of love and politics, and not everyone holds the field. In your case, they know little of you, and so no one will assume you lost the day. And sometimes, leaving is a form of victory or a battle feint.”

  He gave another resigned sigh. “I still know I will stand there as I do on ships when I know few, and not speak and…” He sighed yet again.

  “You will be at my side,” I said reassuringly and grinned. “You know I speak enough for any three men.”

  “Ten,” he said with a small nod and a weak attempt at a smile.

  I chuckled. “Well, there are probably some things you should avoid. Do not drink deeply if it even appears I will begin to spar with some fool. You have a tendency of spitting your food or drink when I say something particularly… witty, perhaps.”

  He smirked.

  “I would not have you spitting on the governor, or Morgan, or… Well, there will likely be so many potential targets. Considering that, if you feel your Horse has the urge to take the bit and speak his mind, say you wish to smoke, and head out to the veranda.”

  Gaston rolled his eyes, but he finally uncrossed his arms. “I will not speak. I feel the Horse will like none of them.”

  “Then perhaps that is best,” I teased. “You should also not drink. Not that you are so very prone to it as I have ever been. For that matter, do not let me indulge in that vice, lest I hand my Horse the reins and then you will be spitting what you sip upon all in attendance.”

  “What else must I not do?” he asked with a smile. “That you would do if your Horse had the reins.”

  I laughed. “Do not become flirtatious with the governor’s wife, or his mistress.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Modyford has a mistress?”

  “I know not. Most men of his station do, but perhaps this island is too very small for such an indulgence. But on that matter, in all seriousness, there will be ladies present, and you will be with the guest of honor, and it is likely…” I grinned and I looked him over. “Non, it is inevitable, that someone, young or old, will choose to flirt with you. Be kind: smile and accept it with dignity.”

  He frowned and then quickly blushed. “I would not,” he said indignantly.

  “My love, you have seldom been around as many women… Damn, it is likely you will never have been around as many women showing décolletage as you will see this night. Even the matrons will have them stuffed above their stays up to here.” I indicated two pomegranates beneath my chin. “A gentleman should not stare. Though when they are young, that is precisely what they wish. And,” I sighed, remembering the first time he had seen a pretty and eligible young lady, “if you should become aroused, sit down if possible, or say you need to smoke and go to the veranda.”

  His arms were crossed again. “And then what do I do?”

  “I will be along to see to you,” I teased.

  He rolled his eyes and then sobered. “I am sorry, Will. If it is as you say, I feel I will be staring at the ceiling a great deal.”

  I shrugged. “As I recall, the governor has many fine chandeliers. I can only see so many happy mounds before my cock, too, begins to wonder what will explode from beneath a dress. And I will not take offense as long as you are not inviting young ladies to the veranda to smoke with you. So let them flirt… Many will flirt just to see if you will regard their bosom. You can look if they are at that: just do not allow them to spook you.”

  Then I realized another aspect of the matter. “And, as you are with the guest of honor, there will be men who will flirt, too. They will be courting your attention just as much as the women, though for other reasons, of course.”

  He frowned. “So I should be polite and smile and nod to any who flirt with me and show their bosoms. What if it is the governor?”

  As always, I marveled how he could jest so deftly with such a stony face. “In that instance, you may be as rude as you desire,” I said with as little amusement as I could manage. “As all who understand the Ways of the Coast know us to be matelots, if Modyford is flirting with you and revealing his bosom, it will be as insult to me, and I can guarantee you I shall duel him. Then it will not matter how your rudeness is interpreted: we will have to leave the island anyway.”

  Gaston finally dissolved into laughter and came to embrace me.

  “Do not leave me alone,” he whispered in my ear.

  “Never.” I kissed him.

  We climbed down the cistern and took turns bathing in the tub and then shaving one another’s stubbly faces and shearing our hair to less than a finger’s breadth. When we returned to our room, we eschewed wigs despite our shorn hair: I decided they would simply have to gaze upon our ear rings and appreciate the fine shape of our skulls when we doffed our hats. My azure brocade coat, sans lining, fit comfortably over a blue-grey shirt with fine white lace at the wrist and collar. My charcoal wool breeches were a bit more fashionable, and thus baggier and shorter, than I would have liked, but the best I had. My new suede boots were black, and fit as they should, all the way over my knee to the cuff of the breeches.

  We had rinsed the salt from the fawn suede breeches Gaston had worn during our swimming escapade several days ago, and allowed them to dry in the shade since then. After such treatment, where they had been taut across his thighs and buttocks before, they were now remarkably so: to the extent that, with his high suede boots, he appeared to be clad in skin-tight brown leather from toe to waist. I found it quite fetching. I had chosen for him a snowy white linen shirt embroidered in gold thread with a very small pattern of entwining ivy vines. He took time to study the design before donning it, and pronounced it quite pleasing. His new forest green coat matched it all quite well, and hung so as to prevent me – or anyone else – from spending the evening staring at his arse. Knowing the leather-clad firmness of it was just beyond the loose velvet was enough to stir my cock.

  I grinned as he donned his gloves and hat. “I feel I will be staring at the ceiling all night,” I said.

  He frowned, and then grinned as he saw my smile and hungry eyes. He looked me over appreciatively, but not lustfully. “I will stare at you,” he said.

  “And not need a walk to the veranda,” I teased.

  He came to me, and nuzzled my ear lobe while brushing his fingers over my crotch. “It is good your pants are so baggy,” he hissed playfully. “Because you are ever on display. I can exercise control.”

  I cast all playfulness aside, and took his shoulders to push him to arm’s length and regard the taut leather across his crotch with dismay. “You best do so, my love, or keep your eyes steadfastly on something chaste and innocuous, or everyone will surely know your thoughts. As much as I adore those breeches on you, perhaps…”

  He moved quickly to smother my words with a deep kiss. I surrendered to it, and my great desire of the moment, and slipped my hands beneath his coat to caress and cup his arse. He ground against me slowly, only to stop a minute later and reach into his breeches to adjust his member in its close confines – much
to my amusement.

  “You best tend to me now, then,” he growled huskily in a way I adored far more than the breeches.

  “How?” I teased.

  “I have bathed,” he said with a mischievous grin.

  “That you have,” I sighed happily, and pushed him back to the bed where I knelt between his knees and nuzzled his suede-covered bulge. “I will wish to do this again: after you have worn these long enough for your skin to smell and taste like them.”

  He gave a happy gasp at the idea as I applied myself to the task. His cock proved eager for my tongue, and we made regrettably short work of the endeavor. Mine ached with need as he finished, but we heard Striker calling for us from the atrium.

  “They can wait,” Gaston murmured, and pulled me into his arms as we stood.

  “Non,” I said. “It is a pleasant thing, and well-disguised. I will savor it.”

  His only argument was to hold me in his arms a moment longer while gazing into my eyes with great regard, and then kissing me, such that I savored my aching member all the more.

  We at last descended the stairs to meet the Marquis, Dupree, and Striker with happy smiles and good cheer. Sarah pronounced us pleasing, if a little rakish, as we buckled on our sword belts. Striker was dressed in an unadorned but nicely fitting dark brown coat and breeches, with high leather boots, much like the ones I had left to the sea. He looked handsome and like many of the other captains I had seen at the few gatherings I had attended. Gaston’s father appeared every bit the lord, dressed in a finely worked pale blue satin ensemble of coat, breeches, and vest, with flounces of delicate lace at neck and cuff, and blue gems adorning his accoutrements, including the buckles of his blue suede shoes.

  Agnes was regarding us all with a cocked head from the doorway to the foyer. When I met her curious gaze she remarked, “All your coats match your eyes.”

  I looked around and saw she was correct: even Dupree’s elegantly tailored golden coat complemented his light brown eyes.