The Orphan Pearl

by Erin Satie

  Sorting out her inheritance from the rest of the estate would take months, but the urgency was gone. The treaty had been signed, her father was dead. She could be patient.

  “And to think,” said Adam, across from her in a carriage stamped with the crossed wheat sheaves of the Hastings crest. He’d offered her a lift back to Belgravia. “If you’d waited a week, you wouldn’t have had to get married.”

  “You mean I might have missed my chance,” Lily corrected.

  “I mean that Ware took advantage.” He sat loosely, moving with the carriage rather than letting it bump and jounce him, in contrast to his controlled, level tone. “He put you in a precarious position, and then presented himself as your savior.”

  “That’s true,” Lily acknowledged. “But… where have I heard that story before? It sounds terribly familiar. Oh—wait!—don’t tell me. I’ve just remembered. It had something to do with how you came to marry Caro.”

  Adam glared.

  “I understand that she is quite coldhearted,” Lily added. “And that you are to be pitied.”

  She tried not to squirm, but it took effort. He must have heard so many snide comments and cruel asides in the year since he’d married, and swallowed every angry response. Even happy, changed, mildly rebellious Adam wasn’t the sort of man who revealed himself to strangers.

  He leaned forward, reaching across the carriage. She tensed when he folded his hands around both of hers.

  “Sister. If I ever found out that you had been forced into an unwanted marriage—”

  Lily huffed. “Adam—”

  “I would not be able to live with myself,” he interrupted, holding her gaze. “It would mean that I had failed you. Profoundly failed you.”

  Lily deflated.

  “Forgive me for being frightened,” he continued. “Forgive me for asking—I must, Lily, I must—if you need help… separating yourself from Ware.”

  “Adam, I am quite madly in love with him.”

  “You could still need…”

  Lily cocked an eyebrow.

  “Very well.” Adam squeezed her hands and pulled away, relaxing back into his seat. “Then I will try to be more welcoming.”

  The carriage paused outside of Ware’s home but Lily hesitated before descending.

  “It means a great deal to me, big brother, that after everything—after I have scorned your offers of aid so many times—that you remain… steadfast.” Steadfast was the right word, but the grandiose language embarrassed her. She compensated by retreating to a lighter tone. “You are a prince among men.”

  “Not quite.” He grinned. “But I might sit next to one at table. I’ll see you soon?”

  Lily nodded. “Tomorrow or the day after.”

  When she asked, the butler told her that she’d find Ware in the ballroom. She hadn’t spent much time at his Belgravia townhouse in the weeks since they’d married, but she’d done enough exploring to know she wouldn’t find a trace of Ware anywhere.

  Except, of course, in the bespoke trunks that sat open in the ballroom. Some were neatly packed, others half-full, a few mostly empty and surrounded by odds and ends, every item carefully—lovingly—considered.

  She did not think that Ware understood how much he revealed of himself with these trunks. He did, after all, have a home. He carried it with him.

  She found him at a small table in his shirtsleeves, the cuffs loose and rolled up to bare the corded muscles of his forearms, fiddling with a brass sextant.

  “You’ve been to see Clive?” she asked. “I hope you gave him my thanks.”

  “He’s invited us over,” replied Ware. “You’ll be able to tell him yourself.”

  “Is that so?” Lily tilted her head to the side. “I thought you hated him.”

  “I wouldn’t want to be on his bad side,” said Ware. “But he could have made our lives much more difficult. He tried to be decent.”

  “A ringing endorsement.” Lily hopped up to sit on the tabletop. “If we’re going to pay him a visit, it will have to be soon. We leave in a fortnight.”

  “Ah.” Ware looked down, shifting the arm of the sextant along the arc. It slid smoothly, the brass shiny and the hinges well-oiled. “There’s been a change in plans.”

  “Oh? Is that what he wanted to see you about?”

  “No.” He picked up a small mirror from a pile and clicked it into place on one side of the arc. Squinted, then removed it. The fiddling seemed like a bad sign to her; when he stopped, and still didn’t meet her eye, she knew that for a worse one. “I’ve quit my post at the Foreign Office.”

  “I’m sorry, did you say…” Lily blinked. “I thought you wanted that job very badly.”

  “I did,” he admitted. “But the process of getting it back reminded me of everything I hated about it. I can’t agree with Palmerston, and I can’t outwit him, and it has to be one or the other.”

  Lily reached out. From her position atop the table she could run her fingers through his cool, silky hair. She stroked him once, then again. “Don’t you think that you did some good? The treaty would have turned out differently if Palmerston hadn’t had you.”

  “Your father and Lord Holland would have won the day months ago,” Ware acknowledged. “Palmerston would have been forced to bow to France, and Russia would have rushed to take advantage. I didn’t want that. But I don’t want war, either, and that’s what we’re going to get.”

  “Still. In Buenos Aires, you’d have a sphere of influence all your own.”

  “Do you want me to go back to him, hat in hand?” He looked up finally, and she didn’t know what to make of his expression. Brave and resigned—martyrish. “I can ask for the position back. I don’t know if it will work, but if you have your heart set on it…”

  She raked her fingers through his hair again, not sure why her heart felt like it was breaking. “I want you to be happy.”

  “Then it’s settled.” He put down the sextant and pushed it away, firm and final. Stared out at the cluttered ballroom. “We’ll move all of this back to the attic,” he added. “Redecorate maybe. I have the impression you hate the furnishings as much as I do.”

  But that won’t make you happy. She knew it, but she didn’t say the words. He seemed balanced on a precipice, and she didn’t want to push him in any direction. She wasn’t sure where he would fall, or how far.

  “He wanted the pearl,” said Ware.

  “Palmerston?”

  He nodded.

  “Is that why you turned down the post in Buenos Aires? For me? You shouldn’t have.” Lily slid from the table and dropped straight to her knees. “I don’t care about the pearl. I’m starting to hate it, honestly. It’s not worth the trouble of keeping it. It was never worth it.”

  “Why not?”

  Lily shifted. She’d followed her own train of thought too far away from its point of origin to make sense of the question.

  “I ought to think of you when I make decisions. I ought to put your happiness ahead of mine, where I can. We’re married.”

  Lily dropped her forehead onto his knees. “It’s just a pearl.”

  Just a pearl. There was no such thing. Even the tiniest pearls had to be prized at the value of a brave man’s life, the diver who held his breath to the point of bursting as he combed the sea floor.

  Every pearl was beyond price. Every single one.

  “I didn’t leave because of the pearl,” he said. “I promise.”

  She nodded into his lap. That was good. But she still felt… unmoored. She’d met Ware because of his ambition. Ambition led him to pursue her, ambition had guided—and then justified—his treatment of her.

  Now he’d jettisoned the ambition, but she remained. With him. Washed up by the wave that had receded, on the shore of something new and unknown.

  “Forget about redecorating.” The ballroom faded, invisible beneath the vibrant panoramas projected before her mind’s eye. Sun and sea and wind that plastered her skirts against her legs. High thin mou
ntain air and clear still lakes. Deep loamy jungle and exotic fruits. “We should try something new. Something neither of us has ever done before.”

  “I thought you wanted to stay. Settle down, build a life here—make a home.”

  “Is that the only choice we have? Abandon everyone or plant roots and stay for good?”

  She understood the temptation to see everything in absolutes. Her past looked like that, sometimes: each period isolated from the others, no transitions. The one constant ought to have been herself, but she had not remained the same for long. And so every tie snapped, down to the last thread.

  What if she’d lived her whole life in Hastings House, like her father? He’d been a child there. A young husband, a soldier, a widower and a father. Had he been aware of changing, as the years passed? Or had change crept up on him, so gradual as to be imperceptible?

  What did it really mean, to have a home? Was it an anchor, a mold, a bridge between the parts of a life that joined nowhere else? People made their homes; and the home, in turn, made them.

  Or could home be a person? A family, a man. Built of love and loyalty, and solid only for so long as the ties stayed strong.

  “Do you know the last place where I felt at home?” Lily asked.

  “Hastings House?”

  “Your schooner,” said Lily. “When I woke up in that cabin for the first time, I was exactly where I wanted to be. That was how I knew I had to fix everything else.”

  “We could travel,” said Ware. “But to what purpose?”

  “Anything. We can choose.” Lily hummed, warming to the idea. In her usual way, she had run headlong into a new life. She’d been thinking about escape, she hadn’t paid much attention to where she was headed, and now she’d arrived.

  But this time didn’t feel like the others. In a way, Ware had been with her from the beginning. First his books, which made her dream of adventure. Then the man, an adversary who became an ally, and then a husband. He had changed, just as she had. In his own way, without letting go.

  He could hold the parts of herself that she left behind. And she would do the same for him, as time refashioned him. They would be safe boxes for one another, mirrors and history books. Aside from her own body, he would be the best record of her life she could ever make.

  Her father’s death had been the end of an era. And all this drama with the pearl—it had to end, too. But she didn’t feel diminished. She felt stronger, happier, more whole than she’d ever been.

  “Well,” said Ware. “The trunks are mostly packed.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  They settled on Morocco—a country both had long wished to see, but neither had visited. They could envision a short trip, no more than a season, and a return to London and family. Once they began making plans, Clive added to them—he asked them to send observations, reports, anything of interest his way, and promised to put them in the right hands.

  Ware said that he might, or might not. Clive did not even try to argue him round.

  They raised anchor in October—around the same time that the British navy attacked Acre, pushing Mehmet Ali firmly back into Egypt—and sailed south, toward sunnier climes. The cabin made for tight quarters, but Lily enjoyed the intimacy enough to dismiss the irritations.

  She waited until they were off the coast of Spain to remove al-Yatima from the bottom corner of her trunk, tucked among her garters and chemises. She brought it up to the quarterdeck, where she allowed herself one last look.

  She would never again in her life make such an extraordinary discovery. Lightning did not strike twice in the same place. She would never read her name in a newspaper or a history book, never give a lecture.

  It would have been nice. She would have liked to brag a bit.

  “What are you doing?” Ware came up behind her. He was windblown, chapped, restless. “Why did you bring the Orphan Pearl? It’s not safe to travel with it.”

  “No,” Lily agreed. “It’s not.”

  Ware flicked his dark gaze between her face and the pearl she held in her cupped hands, measuring. “Don’t.”

  “We can’t keep it,” said Lily. “We can’t give it away, or sell it to the highest bidder. We’d be responsible for what happened. If we can foresee the consequences we have to own them.”

  “Things could change,” said Ware. “And one day—Lily, it would be a tragedy to lose it again.”

  “Lose it again?” Lily’s heart clenched tight. The Orphan Pearl was so beautiful. A fist-sized globe of melted stardust, born in the ocean deeps, shining in the noonday sun. A miracle, and those were in short supply in this world. “It was never found.”

  She threw the pearl into the sea. It glittered as it arced downward, so bright she had to blink away the dazzle and only heard the small plash of impact. It sank out of view quickly, not a ripple to mark where it had been.

  Gone. And, yes, it was painful. The days upon days she had spent searching for it. The months she’d carried it beneath her clothes, a secret treasure. She’d thought she could set it on a scale and use it to balance out the weight of every mistake she’d ever made—but she’d been wrong. It had only compounded them.

  She was done with scales and measures. Done living her life as a series of battles. She was increasingly convinced that there could be no victory without cruelty, no loss without humiliation.

  Love operated by different rules, and she liked them better. She looked to Ware’s happiness and found her own. And, if she’d read him right, he’d discovered the same—every day he had more energy, a keener interest in the world around him, a readier smile. Like a tree whose bare branches had begun to leaf.

  She leaned into Ware, obliging him to wrap an arm around her. “Just think,” she said. “By the time our children are old enough for us to tell the story, no one will believe it. They’ll accuse us of telling tales.”

  Ware laughed shortly. “These last few months don’t resemble any children’s tale that I’ve ever heard.”

  “As long as there’s a happy ending, everything else can be tailored to fit.” Lily grinned. A light breeze ruffled her hair, already stiff with salt. “The skies are blue, the ocean is calm, and the world is full of more perfect places than we’ll ever be able to see. What could be better?”

  “Nothing.” He snuggled her closer. “Absolutely nothing.”

  Afterword

  Thank you for reading The Orphan Pearl.

  Word of mouth is the best way for readers to find books they'll like and avoid books they won't, and reviews are a big part of that. If you take the time to write a review, I'd be grateful.

  The Orphan Pearl is a what-if story where I combined bits and pieces of real history as a frame for my romance. Everything I wrote about the titular Orphan Pearl, for example, is true… or at least represented in medieval, primary-source accounts as true. Like John is at first, I'm a skeptic. Too many of the original tales are second-hand or inconsistent. But the idea captivated me and inspired the book.

  Whether the pearl existed or not, it disappears from the historical record with the arrival of the Mongols.

  The political events that draw John back into the whirl of international affairs are also a matter of historical record—the London Conference of 1840. The French really did flip-flop about signing the treaty, and it's a bit of a mystery why. (My suggestion is a fantasy, of course.)

  If you'd like to learn more about me or my books, you can visit my website. That's where you'll find my blog (ramblings about what I'm reading, what I'm researching, what I'm up to), and my FAQ (what books are out, what books are in the pipeline, etc.). My newsletter is the best way to keep track of new releases; click here to sign up.

  If you want to drop me a line, you can email me at erin@erinsatie.com, chat with me on Twitter at @erinsatie, or message me on Facebook.

  The Orphan Pearl is the third book in the No Better Angels series. The fourth and last full-length novel in the series should release around the end of 2015. (Yes, it will be Alfi
e's book!)

  If you've been following the No Better Angels books from the beginning, I'm so glad to have you along for the ride. If this is your introduction to the series, the first two books feature characters you'll recognize from The Orphan Pearl. The Secret Heart is about Lily's brother Adam and his romance with Caro, the beautiful ballet dancer. The Lover's Knot is about the Duke of Clive and how he wins back his childhood sweetheart Sophie.

  Keep reading for an excerpt from The Secret Heart.

  The Secret Heart

  Chapter One

  Sussex, England

  Autumn, 1838

  Midnight struck as Caroline Small crept through the moonlit corridor. A chorus of bongs and chimes sent her ducking into the shadow of a tall clock. Her skull vibrated with the noise.

  Imagining the maintenance required to synchronize so many clocks made her shudder—did the Duke of Hastings employ a servant just to wind his clocks? All day, every day, in an endless circuit? But then, it stood to reason that the Duke would find a way to broadcast his importance even in the dark of night.

  Not that she’d ever met him. Hastings spent most of his time in London and rarely visited Irongate, the seat of his duchy. Caro’s invitation had come from the old Duke’s ward and niece, Daphne.

  Silence settled over the house again. Caro brushed the dust from her wrapper and resumed her slow progress. The ballroom, when she finally reached it, was bigger than the entirety of Caro’s London home. Decorative plasterwork framed tiers of arched windows, sculpted whorls and curlicues that shone dully in the moonlight. Gold leaf, probably, though she wouldn’t be sure until she saw them in the light. Overhead, thousands of crystal droplets dangled from three massive chandeliers. The whole room smelled soothingly of beeswax.

  Her foot slipped on the glossy floor as she advanced, allowing her to pinpoint the odor’s source: a fresh coat of polish, applied with a heavy hand.