The English Lily (Tales of the Scrimshaw Doll)

by Wheeler, Kae Elle

  “Kill whom?” she hiccupped. Her body convulsed in a shivering mass.

  “Niccòlo. What did he do?”

  “W-what a-are you t-talking about?” Her teeth chattered so hard, he could hardly discern the words.

  Joseph’s gaze strayed to her luscious red lips. Breath hitched, he froze. Something intense flared through his entrancement. Suddenly, unable to help himself, he leaned in and brushed his mouth against hers. She tasted of sweetness, innocence. Too much to resist. He coaxed her mouth apart with his. After her initial shock, she melted into him, and he devoured her mouth, stroking his tongue against hers, over and over. And hot. Very hot. His hands fell away and he stepped back, appalled by his abrupt lack of control.

  Her face was like fire, her one hand ice cold. “Find your maid,” he growled, and spun on his heel.

  Joseph cursed himself to hell and back, hunting down the cook. Sometimes he was the most insensitive clod. How could he expect Kendra to accept his hand in marriage when he accused her of being an imbécile, for God’s sake? And who the hell had made her cry?

  He found the cook deep in his cups, reeking of gin. Joseph snatched him up by the neck of his worn shirt. “Send tea to Kend—Lady Kate’s quarters. Hurry it up,” he snarled. He paused. “Wait, just prepare it. I’ll deliver it myself.” Satisfied with the fear in the man’s eye, Joseph let go and darted back to the group gathered in the commons. At first, nothing appeared out of the ordinary. His gaze fell on Niccòlo conversing with Juliette Chylton.

  That should certainly work to his advantage. His boot crushed a piece of metal. Joseph glanced down and noticed a scrap of white peeking from beneath his toe. He reached down and picked it up. Soft white muslin with an intricate border of silk thread was stained with blood and drooped round the now-ruined hoop.

  Pulling the delicate fabric from its frame, he stuffed the scrap in his pocket and returned for the tea.

  ****

  Kendra could not quit shivering, and Louisa was nowhere to be found. She’d sack her, that’s what she would do. What good was a maid who wasn’t there when one needed her? Her fingers fumbled clumsily with the buttons on the back of her dress but kept slipping. Tears of frustration spilled down her face. Tea. Tea would help.

  A sharp knock sounded at the door, and it opened before she could answer.

  “I told you to get out of those wet clothes,” Joseph growled. He set the tea service on the table.

  “Quit yelling at me, blast you! I-I’m trying.” The note! She’d almost forgotten. She dug it out of her pocket, fearing it ruined.

  “Where is your maid?”

  “I’ve no idea.” Her teeth chattered, yet her face felt hot. Goose bumps covered her arms.

  Joseph spun her around and with deft fingers had her dress sliding from her shoulders, his experience telling.

  “Are you mad?” she gasped. “You must leave at once. If anyone sees you near here, you…you—”

  “Will have to marry you?” he demanded softly. He turned to the bed and snatched up her dressing gown. “Would that be so terrible, Lady Kendra?”

  “I couldn’t possibly t-tie myself to someone who c-considered me an i-idiot,” she snapped. She ground her teeth together for control.

  “I never called you an idiot.”

  “N-no, y-you d-didn’t. Y-you c-called m-me a-an imbécile.” Something was very wrong. Why wouldn’t he leave? “Leave. I wish to be left alone.” She fought back the tears, but they were violently close.

  Instead of leaving, he grabbed a serviette next to the wash bowl and stalked her like a large jungle cat. Before she realized his intentions, he had tugged the pins from her hair and was scrubbing her head dry with the towel as if she were a small child.

  “Drop the dress, ma chère.”

  “I-I c-couldn’t p-possibly.”

  “Of course, you can. If you do not, I shall do it for you,” he said with deadly calm. She believed him.

  Joseph’s threat did more to unman him than he’d conceived possible. Yet, somehow, he managed to keep his eyes from straying to Kendra’s most enticing parts. Fortunately, the graceful curve of her nape diverted his attention. Frozen to the touch, Kendra had likely taken a chill. What she needed was a hot bath, but given the circumstances that was impossible.

  Once she’d planted the idea of possible discovery, he couldn’t seem to let go of the thought. It was the ideal solution. Let her maid storm the cabin or Niccòlo de Lecce issue his challenge. Kendra was as good as his.

  He situated her in her bunk and poured her a cup of tea, but her eyes drooped so that she could barely keep them open. In one hand, she still gripped whatever she’d pulled from the pocket of her dress. He reached for it, but her fingers tightened. A myriad of thin slashed scars on the back of her hand were white with the grip she held on the missive.

  Joseph pressed his lips together, biting back a demand for an explanation. One could certainly ascertain they were not scars from birth, but still they were years old. He counted eight on one hand, eleven on the other.

  “What is that you are holding? It wouldn’t be a lover’s note, now would it?” He forced a teasing tone, though he’d never felt less like teasing. He’d hate to have to kill his friend’s younger brother.

  The itch to run his fingers over those tiny scars pestered him, but he dared not. Her fingers relaxed and she released a yellowed paper into his hand.

  “Read it aloud, please,” she whispered, eyes closed.

  “Mais certainment,” he promised. Joseph smoothed out the wrinkled communiqué. A tingling sensation raised the hair on his neck, but he would do as she requested. “Anyone disloyal or who tries to harm you shall suffer. Only true love shall break this curse.”

  A smile touched her lips. “Thank you,” she whispered. Those were her last words before she dropped into a fitful sleep.

  The door burst back and her maid stood there panting, gaping at him. “My lord, what are you doing here? This is most inappropriate!”

  “Your mistress has taken a chill. I saw to her comfort, as you were nowhere about.”

  Two bright spots of red appeared on her cheeks.

  “Never mind. I plan on marrying her, regardless.”

  She swallowed and gave him an owl-eyed stare. “Have you mentioned as much to Lady Kendra?”

  “We touched on the subject, briefly,” he said. He decided to steer the conversation in a different direction and held out the note. “Have you perchance seen this before?”

  “I—” She stopped.

  “Have no fear, s’il vous plaît,” he said gently. “She gave it to me to read.”

  “Yes, my lord,” she said carefully. “I would see her studying it, though she would hide it when I came near.”

  Joseph looked at the note. “Why is that, do you suppose?” he said more to himself.

  “I don’t know, but there is something odd in the way she looks at it.”

  He glanced up at her. “Have you read it?”

  “Oh, no, sir. I never learnt to read. I’m only a lady’s maid.”

  Joseph pocketed the note. “Where did it come from?”

  “I believe ’twas packaged with the doll, sir.”

  “The doll?”

  She pointed toward the table. Funny, he hadn’t even noticed it in the chair before. Its skirts were whimsical bright-colored fabrics resembling the garb of a gypsy dancer. She wore a bright orange sash, and a small pocket on a frayed vest. Strands of gold chains with coins hung about her neck. He smiled at the tiny gold bangles that wrapped her ankles and wrists.

  “Where did she come from?” Joseph stood and moved to the table.

  “I believe ’twas a gift from Lady Esmeralda.”

  “Indeed?” He poked his finger into the tiny pocket. No doubt that’s where the missive had been stashed. “She is quite old, non?”

  “I wouldn’t know, my lord.”

  “No! No, please, I-I’m trying. I promise. I’m trying,” Lady Kendra cried out. She sat straigh
t up in the small bed, eyes blank, terror written in every line of her face.

  “What the hell!” Joseph rushed back to the bedside. “Kendra.” He took her by the arms. Her face was flushed, and he laid his fingers across her forehead. “She’s burning up. Fetch water. Vite! Vite!”

  Her maid dashed from the room.

  “Kendra, listen to me.”

  She shook her head, wildly, trying to shake him off. “Please, don’t! I promise,” she sobbed. “I’m trying. I’m trying!” Her voice rose to a hysterical level. She rubbed her hands together, over and over, as tears ran down her cheeks.

  Joseph started to panic. He had no idea what to do. Her skin was so hot to the touch.

  “Here, my lord.” The maid returned with a pitcher of cool water.

  “Dampen a cloth. Hurry.” Joseph tried to ease Kendra back, but she refused. Her delirious state gave her unexpected strength for someone of such petite stature. He mumbled incoherent words, trying to soothe her.

  “Sir.”

  He snatched the wet cloth from the maid and smoothed it over Kendra’s brow. “L’eau. Bring the water, s’il vous plaît.” It took several long moments before she lay back without a struggle. The cool water seemed to help, so he didn’t stop.

  “What is your name?” He directed his question to the maid, though his ministrations remained on Kendra.

  “Louisa, sir.”

  “Does she have nightmares like that often?”

  “It hasn’t happened for some time. I expect the fever brought it on after this long.”

  “What is she afraid of?”

  “I don’t know, sir. She won’t speak of it. She just pretends nothin’ ever happened.”

  Joseph drew Kendra’s hand into his, brushed a forefinger over the tiny scars. “What about these? Do you know about these?” He turned her palm up. Dried blood drops stained the tip of her middle finger, explaining the scrap of fabric secured in his pocket.

  “No, my lord.” Louisa smiled, a self-deprecating turn of the lips. “Lady Kendra is not the sort to invite questions, if you know what I mean.”

  He flashed a quick grin her way, though worry consumed him. Kendra was a puzzling minx. On the one hand, he was quite certain to have figured her out as the spoiled debutante daughter of the Earl of Macclesfield, impulsive to act with no thought to anyone besides herself. On the other, she was young and lost, a waif rousing his instinct to protect. “I quite know what you mean, Louisa.”

  Chapter Five

  The next day those cool showers turned into a tumultuous storm, tossing the vessel like a toy boat in a copper tub. The day was long, and Kendra’s fever raged.

  Joseph was at a loss. The one doctor aboard left him shuddering with nightmares at the incompetence. Most of the passengers were seasick and cabin bound. It would assure Kendra her solitude—if she came out of this alive. He pushed such thoughts away. She had to live. She was too young, too strong, too beautiful.

  Joseph cupped her heated face. Red spots dotted high on her cheeks, yet she remained pale about her mouth, her skin translucent. “Come back, Lady Kendra. Please don’t die. I shall keep you safe,” he whispered.

  He scrubbed a palm over his stubble of beard and reached for the cloth, then dipped it in the basin for what seemed the thousandth time. The words she’d called out played over in his head: “Please don’t!” and “I’m trying.” There’d been no other such outbursts, but it was clear she’d suffered something traumatic. Her father doted on her. Could he know what she’d endured?

  “What are you afraid of, Lady Kendra?” he asked softly. Joseph stood and stretched. His gaze found the odd gypsy doll, and he wandered over and picked it up.

  The door opened and shut quietly. “I’ve brung you something to eat, my lord. And…and broth, in case…” Louisa swallowed her tears. “In case Lady Kendra wakes and is hungry.”

  “Merci,” he said. “Did you eat, Louisa?”

  “Oh, no, my lord. I couldn’t poss—”

  “Eat,” he commanded. “We shall all get past this.” He put out a palm when she started to argue. “I said eat, s’il vous plaît. We must keep up our strength for Lady Kendra.”

  “Of course, my lord. Thank you, my lord.”

  “And, quit ‘my lord’ing me, s’il vous plaît.”

  “Yes, my—” She stopped. “Yes, sir.”

  Kendra began thrashing about, and Joseph rushed to the bed, doll still in hand. He lowered himself to her side and touched her forehead. A tingle shot from the arm encircling the doll and through his chest to the fingertips resting on Kendra’s burning face.

  Seconds later, the flush subsided and her cheeks cooled into a clammy sweat. The sweet sound of a dry-croaked voice. “Louisa? Water, please.”

  “Oh, thank the heavens, milady.”

  Joseph let out a slow breath, not daring to believe his ears. He laid the doll beside Kendra and filled a cup with tea. He lifted her head, encouraging her to sip. Something shimmered in the atmosphere he couldn’t identify, but Louisa’s prayer resonated deeply within him.

  “Lord Lawrie?” She frowned. “What on earth are you doing in my quarters?”

  Joseph ignored her weak outrage. The rush of relief that surged through him had him blinking quickly, and he let Louisa answer for him.

  “You’ve been terribly ill, milady. Lord—M-Mr. Gray, here, has seen you through the worst.”

  Kendra tried to sit, but was too feeble to manage it. “You must leave, sir—you look awful. Have you had no rest, yourself?”

  He pressed his hand into her shoulder. He could feel her collarbone. “Lie back, Kendra. You are not quite ready to storm the ship, I fear.” He wanted to kiss her, if only to soothe his own relieved feelings after the terrifying hours of her illness. But he dared not.

  Her brow wrinkled. “I’m hungry.”

  Thank God.

  ****

  The next morning, Kendra felt almost new. The storms had subsided and her walk above decks left her winded, but, all in all, she felt quite ready to embrace the world. First on her agenda was a private meeting with one schoolmaster, Mr. Charles Thomas. She made her way to the top deck, desperate for the fresh sea air. They were to meet near the stern. She cared naught about the impropriety. ’Twas too late for that. Besides, there were plenty of crewmen about.

  “Lady Kate. You look none the worse for wear, my dear.” The gruff voice reminded Kendra of her late maternal grandfather, though Grandfather would not have grasped her hand in such an intimate gesture. And he would have let go.

  She tugged her hand from the Marquis Bute’s stubby fingers, shivering inwardly. “My lord, indeed, I feel like a new person.” She smiled, politely.

  “I’ve a matter of utmost import to speak to you. Mayhap, you’ve a spare moment?”

  “I’ve other business—”

  He took up her arm, most possessively, despite her protestations. His high-handed maneuver set her teeth on edge. The aggression with which he directed her sent a prickle of unease up her spine. His clasp, firm, allowed no quick escape.

  “Lady Kate, there you are. I understand you were desirous of speaking with me.” Charles Thomas offered a short bow, eyeing the marquis.

  Kendra swallowed and managed to disengage herself from Bute. He had no choice but to let go, lest he risk a scene. “Yes. Yes, I was, Mr. Thomas.” She turned to Bute. “If you will excuse me, my lord.”

  The marquis’ nostrils flared, fury obvious. The menace in his eyes frightened her. Surely he would not dare anything uncommonly bold before a witness.

  “Of course, Lady…Ken—Kate.” He tipped his hat and moved aside.

  A flicker of apprehension coursed through her, and she stepped back. He would be a dangerous man to cross. “If you would permit me time at a later date, my lord?” she said not meeting his eyes.

  “I shall look forward to it.” His voice conveyed a pledge she would have difficulty avoiding.

  Kendra clasped Mr. Thomas’s arm. Once she and Mr. Thomas we
re beyond sight of Bute, she said softly, “My sincere thanks, Mr. Thomas.”

  “I fear you may have provoked an adversary, Lady Kate.”

  “ ’Tis of no consequence,” she said, not without impatience. Relieved to find no one within earshot, she said, “There is another matter on which I wish your indulgence, sir.”

  “Of course. What is it you wish to know?”

  Kendra cleared her throat. Now that she had Mr. Thomas’s complete attention, a wave of heated embarrassment swept over her. “In the course of your career, have you ever run across—” She paused. “That is, have any of your pupils—” Kendra inhaled deeply and looked out over the open sea. Frustration filled her. How did one ask for help without sounding like a complete simpleton?

  “My dear,” he said gently. “I’ve no idea the question you wish to pose, but if it will appease your fears, please take heed that I have seen much in my decade of teaching.”

  “Yes, yes, of course, you have. It’s just a…a difficult subject for me to broach.” She took another deep breath and plunged forward. “I-I have trouble reading, sir. What I mean is, I don’t see letters properly. They shift from—well, from one letter to another. I’m certain this makes no sense...” Her voice trailed off at the humiliation of what she’d confessed.

  He nodded slowly. “Ah. I have seen this phenomenon on occasion.”

  “I am not…not stupid,” she said—a bit angrily, she was appalled to note.

  He smiled, a very kind smile that began to lessen her discomfort. “No, of course you are not. I believe it is a matter of processing. In fact, the individuals I’ve observed with similar conditions are highly intelligent, and creative to boot.” Mr. Thomas had his hands clasped at his lower back and was studying the wooden deck. He looked up quickly, piercing her with a sharp glance. “I daresay I witnessed the delicate pattern you were working on before you took ill. It was quite intricate, if I may say so.”

  “Thank you, but what has that to do—”

  “I would wager you were not working with a pattern? That what flowed from your fingers was an extension of your mind?” His questions were pointed and so matter-of-fact she found it difficult to take offense.