“What you need, my dear, is a good husband to tame you,” the admiral said, gulping down another swig of wine.
“I will never marry.” Faith shook her head and gave her father a stern look.
The admiral huffed. “Don’t be absurd.”
Sir Wilhelm cleared his throat and exchanged a knowing glance with her father—a glance that sent dread crawling over Faith.
“If a woman can provide for herself,” she said, “she needn’t subject herself to the tyranny of a man who restricts her freedom and forces his every whim—”
“As I have informed you, my dear Faith,” her father interrupted, his voice strained to the point of exploding, “should you ever find yourself in possession of so great a fortune, I have promised not to arrange a marriage against your will.” The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes seemed to fold together as he stared at her.
“Then I hold you to our bargain.” Faith squared her shoulders, daring to hope that she could indeed fulfill her end of it. “If I amass this fortune you speak of, you will force neither me nor my sisters into marriage?”
“Yes, of course.” The admiral dabbed his mouth with the edge of the tablecloth. “But time runs out. With your mother gone and me so often at sea, I may have no choice but to ensure your future happiness. The sooner you are all married, the better.”
“And pray tell, Miss Westcott, how do you intend to procure such a fortune?” Sir Wilhelm asked with a hint of sarcasm.
“I have started a soap-making business, which I can assure you will be quite successful.” Faith stiffened her jaw and focused on her uneaten plate of food.
“Which I have yet to see any evidence of, I might add,” the admiral said with a chortle.
Sir Wilhelm joined in his laughter, and Faith reached for her side where her cutlass normally hung but found only her beaded sash. Not that she would have stabbed the horrid excuse of a man, but it would have been amusing to see his face if she had tried. Instead, she rubbed her fingers over the smooth beads.
Grace leaned toward Faith, her mouth pinched in concern. “Marriage is a blessed union of God and should be honored.”
With a sigh, Faith returned a gentle smile to her sister. Sweet Grace. So young and naive, but with such a heart of gold. Faith sometimes wished she had been born with so agreeable a nature. But alas, that was not to be. “It is a union not meant for all.”
“Nevertheless,” the admiral began, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands over his belly, “I believe I have been more than generous with you girls. In the five years since your mother. . .since your mother has been gone, you could have chosen any one of the fine young men clamoring for your attention in Portsmouth.” He raised a cynical brow toward Faith. “All of them in possession of a good fortune, I might add.”
“Oh pish, Father. They were naught but pompous bores.”
The admiral shifted his inquiring gaze to Hope. “And you, my dear?”
“There were far too many of them. I simply could not choose.” She waved her hand through the air.
Pursing his lips, he gazed at his youngest daughter. “What say you, fair Grace?”
Grace played with her fingers in her lap. “Like Faith, I do not wish to marry. The apostle Paul instructs that ’tis best to serve the Lord wholeheartedly without the distractions of a husband.”
“Ah yes,” the admiral sighed. “Grace’s pursuit of holy living has kept many possible suitors far away, I am afraid. There’s the rub, if you will.” He shifted a stern gaze over his daughters. “I fear my only mistake has been in giving any of you a choice. Despite your fallacious opinions, I made a fine match for your sister Charity, a man of title and wealth. I only delayed in procuring the same for you because of your constant bickering and complaining.”
“Father.” Faith dropped her fork on her plate with a clang. “Despite his title and wealth, Lord Villement is naught but a—”
“Enough!” His roar echoed across the room, silencing all noise save the patter of rain on the window. Then, composing himself, he smiled at Mr. Waite. “So you see my dilemma?”
Sir Wilhelm’s salacious gaze slithered over Faith. “Not so daunting a dilemma, Admiral, that a bit of parental discipline could not solve.” Then, plunging the last bite of roast between his slimy lips, he patted his stomach. “Delicious.”
The admiral poured himself another glass of wine and slowly sipped it as the maids came with pudding and tea. His eyes began to glass over. Shame instantly dissolved Faith’s fury. She had upset and embarrassed her father again—and in front of guests. Perhaps it would be better if she excused herself, along with her sisters.
She pushed back her chair, the scrape of wood only adding to her annoyance. “Mr. Waite, you seem like a fine man—,” she began, intending to apologize for her brash behavior.
“I am happy to hear it, Faith,” her father interrupted. “Because I am making him guardian over you and your sisters until I return from Spain.”
Mr. Waite set his teacup onto the saucer. “With all due respect, Admiral, I must refuse the honor, sir.” He sat straight in his chair and met the admiral’s gaze head-on.
“Refuse?” The admiral slowly rose, his face reddening, his tone filled with incredulity.
“Our guardian?” Faith could not believe her ears. “We do not need a guardian, Father. We have Lucas and Edwin. They can watch over us.”
“I think it is a fine idea,” Hope added, fluttering her lashes.
“Why ask a complete stranger?” A sultry grin spread over Sir Wilhelm’s mouth as his gaze swept over Faith. “It is obvious he protests. I would be honored to protect the ladies in your absence, Admiral.” He pulled a jeweled snuffbox from his pocket and snorted a pinch of dark powder up one nostril.
Faith shuddered.
The admiral loosened his white cravat. “Nay, you have far too many responsibilities, Sir Wilhelm, plus your other involvement with this family.”
“What involvement?” Faith demanded.
Mr. Waite shifted his stance and gave the admiral a level stare. “Admiral, might I suggest you choose from one of the local gentry? I am sure there are many willing and trustworthy young men.”
The admiral snorted and shook his head, a frown marring his leathery skin. “Do you take me for a fool, Waite? I have searched far and wide through this forsaken outpost, but there is no one else I trust with the safety of my daughters save you.” He scratched his thick sideburns and gave the commander such a look of disappointment that Faith nearly melted by proximity. But Mr. Waite held his ground, his eyes locked upon her father’s, his stern expression unflinching.
“But I see you will let me down. Very well.” The admiral waved a hand at Mr. Waite as if dismissing him.
Faith had to admit she felt relieved herself. The last thing she needed was a pirate hunter living at the house. But something was afoot between her father and Sir Wilhelm, and she intended to discover what it was.
h
“Come in, Faith. Come in.” Faith’s father stood at the fireplace later that same evening, lighting his pipe from a stick he pulled from the coals. Mr. Waite had long since bid them all farewell and returned to his ship, and everyone else in the house had retired to their chambers. Sir Wilhelm rose from his chair and gave her a salacious look that nearly sent her scampering from the room. Instead, she took a few steps inside, keeping her distance from him yet staying close to the door should she need to escape. Her mind swam through a thousand reasons why her father had requested her presence in the drawing room after dinner, but now that she saw Sir Wilhelm, only one possibility—one dreadful possibility—surfaced.
The admiral rubbed his temples then glanced at Sir Wilhelm before taking a puff from his pipe. “I have some wonderful news for you, my dear.” But the look on his face was not one of joy or excitement, but rather the look a parent gave a child when she was about to be punished. “Please sit down.”
Faith threw back her shoulders. “I’d rather stand.”
“I insist!” he bellowed, pointing with his pipe toward the sofa.
Lowering herself to the soft cushions, Faith tried to stop her heart from crashing against her chest. Across from her, Sir Wilhelm laid the back of his fingers to his nose and retook his seat, never letting his eyes leave her.
“Sir Wilhelm has made a most generous offer.” Her father laid a hand on the mantel and smiled at Sir Wilhelm.
Faith clenched her fists in her lap and glanced out the door into the dark foyer, feeling like a condemned prisoner about to receive her sentence.
“He has asked for your hand in marriage.”
A death sentence. The words sped across the deck of her mind, waiting for the final cannon blast to blow them into the water.
“And I have given him my approval.”
Hit and sunk. Faith rose from the sofa slowly, methodically, trying to curb her fury. “I have not given my approval, Father,” she spat through clenched teeth. “I will not be married off like chattel.”
“You will do as I say!” He pounded his fist onto the mantel, sending a porcelain vase crashing to the floor.
Faith jumped and stared at the pieces of jagged painted glass littering the wooden planks like the shattered pieces of her heart.
“I know what is best for you.” His voice lowered but still retained its fury.
Clasping her hands together, she faced Sir Wilhelm with as much civility as she could muster. “My apologies, sir, if my father has misled you. I do not wish to insult you, but I have no intention of marrying you or anyone else.”
Tugging at his lopsided wig, Sir Wilhelm plucked out his handkerchief and fidgeted with it. “Admiral, I am surprised a man of your standing would allow such insolence in his home.”
The admiral puffed out his chest until it seemed to double in girth. “Faith, I will have no more insubordination from you. It is already arranged. You will marry Sir Wilhelm.”
Panic clambered up Faith’s throat. Desperate for any reprieve, she willed tears to her eyes, hoping to soften his resolve. “Father, please reconsider. What of our bargain? I need more time.”
The admiral’s face swelled red. “Time for what, girl? All the time in the world will not grant you the fortune you need to remain independent. Besides, you are four and twenty, well past time for a proper union. In a few years, no man will have you. Or perhaps that is what you are hoping for?”
“I want to choose my own husband.” Faith gave him her most innocent, pleading look—the one that usually pried through the crusty casing around his heart.
The admiral’s harsh demeanor softened just a bit, giving Faith a flicker of hope. He took a puff from his pipe. “So you want to choose your own husband, is it?” He paused, and a hint of compassion flickered in his eyes. It was the look she’d often seen when her mother had been alive. “Fine. We shall compromise. Either you will find a suitable husband by the time I return from Spain, or”—he let out a sarcastic snort—“make a sizable profit from this soap-making business you claim to be running, or mark my words, you will indeed marry Sir Wilhelm.”
Chapter 5
Tiny pellets of rain blasted over Faith, stinging her face like a hundred needles. Bracing her boots on the foredeck of the Red Siren, she yanked the tricorn from her head and allowed the saturated wind to tear through her tangled curls. She flung her arms out wide and closed her eyes, hoping to forget the events of the evening as a wall of salty air, spiced with the scent of rain and sea, crashed over her. While some people went to drink for comfort, Faith went to sea. The thunder and crash of massive waves, the endless horizon, and the freedom of the wind in her hair never failed to soothe her nerves. But for some reason, tonight she could not shake the sickly face of Sir Wilhelm from her mind or his licentious gaze slithering over her when her father had announced their betrothal. She shuddered.
Footsteps sounded beside her, and she turned to see Lucas. Water dripped from the corner of a hat that hid his eyes in its shadow. He smiled.
“I doubt we’ll be findin’ any ships worth pillaging on a night like this, mistress.”
Faith gazed out over the swirling cauldron, dark, save for occasional strips of white foam illuminated by a half-moon that danced betwixt the clouds. Rain formed droplets on her lashes, and she brushed them dry. Lucas was right.
“Not that I mind none,” he continued with a snort. “Ye knows I like the smell o’ the sea far better than the smell of them stables.”
“I suppose I just needed to think.” Faith gripped the wet railing, stunned by the chill that ran up her arms. “But truth be told, it would have been nice to take a prize tonight.”
“We done good so far, mistress. That cargo last month of silks and coffee brought us a fair price.”
“But I need more.” Faith slapped the railing. “Far more.”
“I hear ye, mistress. But never ye mind. There’s lots o’ treasure to be had in these waters.”
Lucas probably thought her greedy, but her father’s announcement had only incited Faith’s urgency. That her father was willing to marry her off to so foul a man as Sir Wilhelm was bad enough, but Hope would be next on his list, and then sweet Grace. Were all the admiral’s daughters doomed to lives of abuse and misery? She would not stand for it. She had made a promise to her mother to take care of her sisters, and she refused to allow them to be sold off like prize horses to the highest bidder. She had yet to meet a man she considered worthy to marry—especially so-called Christian men.
Hypocrites, all of them.
Faith glanced at her first mate. Though enormous in size and much harsher in appearance than her father, Lucas Corwin was nothing like the admiral. He understood things like humility, compassion, and loyalty to family. “Thank you for sailing on such short notice, Lucas, and thank the men for me, will you?”
“Aye, they’s happy to come.” Lucas slapped the air with his hand. “All ’cept Grayson and Mac. I couldn’t rouse them from their drink so quick.” He snickered.
The loyalty of her crew astounded her. When they weren’t out pirating, they spent their time gambling and drinking in town, waiting for her next call. Despite the humiliation of taking orders from a female captain, most of them had chosen to follow her from England to the colonies.
Lucas shifted his weight and fumbled with the hilt of his cutlass. “They’s good men fer the most part. And they follow ye ’cause yer fair and ye don’t hurt no one like most pirates. They’s not after no killin’—just the treasure.”
Morgan cawed from his post behind her. “Shiver me timbers. Shiver me timbers.”
Lucas tugged his waistcoat tighter around him. “That bird be right ’bout one thing. It be so cold tonight, the timbers are quakin’.”
Faith nodded as a blast of wind sent a chill through her sodden shirt. Unusually cold for August, to be sure. Not a good omen of things to come.
Lightning etched the sky in the distance, highlighting the wild dance of the sea—the lawless, tumultuous sea. How she loved it!
A sail cracked above them, and Lucas turned. “Reef the topsails!” he blared to one of the men before facing Faith again. “I thought we was caught fer sure when that cap’n showed up at yer house.” He scratched his chin. “Don’t knows why he didn’t recollect me.”
“You were bald four years ago. Remember, the lice?” Faith plopped her tricorn back on her head. “But fortune smiled upon us, for it seems he didn’t recognize me either.” She shrugged. “Or perchance he just plays with us. But thanks be to Go—the powers that be, that the man had the courage to turn down my father’s request to be guardian over me and my sisters, or I fear we would be seeing much more of him.”
Thunder drummed across the sky in an ominous echo of her statement.
“Yer guardian?” Lucas laughed.
“Yes, and not only that. The Royal Navy has sent him here to hunt pirates.” She gave Lucas a sly grin.
He slapped his thigh. “Why, I’ll be a pickled hen. God has a sense o’ humor, after all.”
>
“I doubt God has much to do with any of this.” Faith grew somber.
The ship bucked, sending a spray of seawater over them. Faith shook the water from her waistcoat and adjusted her baldric. Dressing in men’s clothing always made her feel more in control—a feeling she had come to crave more with each passing year.
“As soon as my father sails for Italy, we will take the Siren out as often as possible,” she instructed Lucas, who nodded his head and gave her a mischievous grin.
Her father would be gone for at least six months. With a little luck and a lot of pluck, she and her crew could pirate these waters clean of all their treasures. But what to do with Mr. Waite? The last thing she needed was an HMS warship lurking about. He presented a problem indeed. He no longer appeared to be the half-witted lackey she had met five years before. Controlled and cordial, he carried himself as a man of honor. Strength and intelligence shone in his handsome blue eyes. She saw the way he looked at her. And she could not deny the tingle of warmth she felt in his presence.
Nevertheless, she must avoid him as much as possible. The less he knew about her and her family, the less suspicious he would be of her nighttime activities. Not that he would ever believe that the daughter of an admiral was a pirate. But she must play it safe in any case. She had come too far, accomplished too much to get caught now.
“Hard about, Lucas. Back to port,” she ordered, eyeing the massive black clouds on the horizon. “For I fear a storm is on the way.”
h
Dajon knelt before the wooden altar. A chill from the stone floor seeped through his breeches into his knees. Above him on the brick wall, the cross of Christ, his Lord, hung as a reminder of what the Son of God had sacrificed in his stead. He closed his eyes, shutting out the candlelight that illuminated the narrow brick Congregational church of his friend Rev. Richard Halloway. Dajon needed wisdom. He needed comfort, and he sought it from the One who never failed him.
The Red Siren Page 4