Joss walked to the center of the courtroom, the brass buttons of his captain’s coat gleaming as he strode through a shaft of sunlight. “But I demand a full trial. I will be heard, and evidence will be examined. Logbooks, the condition of the ships, the statements of my crew. If you mean to hang my brother, you’ll have to find cause to hang me.”
Fitzhugh’s eyebrows rose to his wig. “Gladly.”
“And me.”
Gray groaned at the sound of that voice. He didn’t even have to look to know that Davy Linnet was on his feet. Brave, stupid fool of a boy.
“If Gray’s a pirate, I’m a pirate, too,” Davy said. “I helped him aim and fire that cannon, that’s God’s truth. If you hang him, you have to hang me.”
Another chair scraped the floorboards as its occupant rose to his feet. “And me.”
Oh God. O’Shea now?
“I boarded the Kestrel. I took control of her helm and helped bind that piece of shite.” The Irishman jutted his chin at Mallory. “Suppose that makes me a pirate, too.”
“Very good.” Fitzhugh’s eyes lit with glee. “Anyone else?”
Over by the window, Levi stood. His shadow blanketed most of the room. “Me,” he said.
“Now, Levi?” Gray pulled at his hair. “Seven years in my employ, you don’t say a single goddamned word, and you decide to speak up now?”
Bloody hell, now they were all on their feet. Pumping fists, cursing Mallory, defending Gray, arguing over which one of them deserved the distinction of most bloodthirsty pirate. It would have been a heartwarming display of loyalty, if they weren’t all going to die.
“You see?” Gray recognized Brackett’s voice. “They’re nothing but lawless brigands, just as I said!”
Fitzhugh banged his gavel over and over, as though he were cobbling together a new bench up there. “Silence!” His voice cracked with the shout. “Silence, all of you! I will have order!”
Eventually, a lull in the mayhem occurred—not precisely a pause, but rather a collective drawing of breath, that the yelling might continue. The judge took advantage of the moment, leaping to his feet and indiscriminately throwing his gavel into the crowd. This proved a far more effective use of the implement. The screech of pain from Mallory ripped through the chaos, and all swiveled to face its source.
“Anyone”—Fitzhugh’s breath heaved, and his wig was askew—“who participated in the unlawful seizure of the Kestrel will be condemned as a pirate and made to pay with his life. I’ll hang the whole lot of you, you miserable, bloody louts!”
This, Sophia took as her cue.
With a parting squeeze of Miss Grayson’s hand, she stepped into the courtroom. Lifting her voice, she called out, “Then you will have to hang me, too.”
Ah, now it was silent. Only silk and crinoline had the temerity to whisper as she advanced to the center of the courtroom.
My, how she’d missed this. Making an entrance.
Sophia smoothed one gloved hand over her rose silk skirt, guiding it around the furniture. How glad she was now, that she had surrendered trunk space to vanity and brought this gown with her. Extravagant beauty did come in useful, in emergencies such as these.
She felt the men’s stares on her as she glided through the crowd, chin lifted, carriage erect. It was tempting to meet their gazes, favor each of her friends with a warm smile. She resisted, however, saving her practiced debutante’s blush for the only man who mattered.
The pale, gawping man in a wig.
“Your honor,” she said sweetly, holding her skirt out with one hand as she made a smooth curtsy.
“Who … who are you?”
Sophia saw at once Mr. Fitzhugh would serve perfectly. Young and pale; rather unattractive and exceedingly awkward. A man with little confidence or experience where ladies were concerned. Gentlemen of his sort were easily led, easily deceived.
But then, deceit was not her purpose any longer. Today she would finally tell the truth.
“I am Miss Sophia Jane Hathaway, of Kent. And, from what I understand of these proceedings, it would seem that I am a pirate.”
“You, miss. A pirate?”
Sophia toyed with the neckline of her bodice. “You did say that anyone who participated in the seizure of the Kestrel would be hanged as a pirate?”
The judge swallowed, then nodded.
She moved her hand up to stroke the delicate skin of her throat. “My Heavens. Then you shall have to hang me, too. Perhaps my execution will not advance your career as some others’ would, but this is of little consequence in the pursuit of justice. Am I right, your honor?”
“Not at all,” he replied, incongruently nodding in agreement. His gaze jerked up from her throat to her eyes. “Er … that is to say …”
Sophia cocked her head and frowned. “You will need to question me, I presume? Obtain my testimony?”
“Y-yes.”
When the silence proved no questions were forthcoming, she offered, “Perhaps I should simply begin at the beginning?”
He sighed gratefully. “That would be best.”
“Very well.”
And now—only now—she allowed herself a glance at Gray. She’d done her best to resist looking in his direction, even though his presence had pulled at her like a magnetic force from the moment she’d entered the room. She felt precisely where he was, understood exactly how many degrees she must turn her neck to meet his gaze.
She hadn’t counted on how difficult it would be to turn away. There were a hundred emotions churning in his eyes—questions and accusations, and pleas and promises, too—and now her own eyes welled with tears.
Stop this. You have a whole life ahead of you to cry.
With a bracing sniff, Sophia turned back to the judge. “Mr. Grayson has given you an accurate, yet incomplete account of events.” She pulled out an embroidered handkerchief and hastily dabbed at her eyes before pressing it to her décolletage. “I hope your honor will permit me to acquaint you with more of the truth.”
Just not quite all of it.
“As I told you, my name is Sophia Jane Hathaway, though the men in this room know me as Jane Turner. My father, Mr. Elias Hathaway, is a gentleman of considerable wealth and modest consequence. I traveled under an assumed name because I left England without his permission. Or knowledge.” Guilt pricked at her heart. The anxiety her family must have endured. Perhaps by now they believed her dead.
Fitzhugh squinted at her through his spectacles. “You were running away?”
She nodded. “I was to be married, you see. To a man I did not love.”
It was clear in the judge’s expression that he did not see. “You were to be married against your wishes. So—logically—you absconded, unescorted, with the aid of these brigands, to the West Indies.” He glared at Gray. “Perhaps I shall add kidnapping to the charges.”
“Oh, no! You misunderstand.” Sophia chewed her lip. Why was telling the truth so much more complicated than lying? She hardly knew how to explain the reasoning that had taken her from “I cannot marry Toby” to “I must board a ship bound for Tortola.” At the time, it had made some sense to her, in her desperation. Now she saw what anyone in his right mind could see: that she should have simply broken her engagement.
But then, as now, the truth had been so much more difficult than a lie.
“I assure you, neither Captain nor Mr. Grayson knew my true identity. I led them to believe I was a governess, en route to a new post.” Sophia took a step closer to the bench, placed one gloved hand upon the lip of wood and leaned toward him in confidence. Fitzhugh fidgeted with his wig, clearly both unnerved and flattered by her nearness. Very good.
She made her voice breathy and reverent. “Your honor, I sense that you are a man of principle, and ambition. I believe you can understand this, that I sought some greater purpose to my existence. I wanted to experience real life, find my true passion.”
“And did you?” He swallowed. “Find your … er, passion?”
“Oh, yes.” She smiled beatifically. “Mr. Grayson showed it to me.”
A low murmur rippled through the courtroom. Sophia ventured a quick glance at Gray. Gone were the accusations and questions in his gaze; all that remained to him was blank confusion. Well, that and his roguish good looks. But to her, everything was finally clear. She’d wanted to experience real life—but how could she, until she ceased running away from it? This was her life, and no one else’s. This was her story to tell, her picture to paint.
“Mr. Fitzhugh,” she said, “may I tell you about the seizure of the Kestrel? I watched it all from the deck of the Aphrodite that day.” At his nod, Sophia continued. “There was a terrible gale. The clouds were churning and green as the sea, and just as the two ships approached, the sky cracked with lightning. It struck the Kestrel’s mainmast, setting the tip afire. With no regard for their own safety, Mr. Grayson and a few of his bravest men boarded the ship to help. Their aim was to aid the Kestrel’s stunned crew in cutting away the mast before the flames reached the deck. But there was no time, and with a hold full of smuggled rum, the ship was certain to explode.”
Mr. Fitzhugh hung on her words, though his eyes seemed fixed to her bosom. “And … ?”
“Mr. Grayson sent all able men away in the boat, save Mr. Linnet.” She searched out Davy’s smooth face in the crowd. “And together they shot down the mast with the Kestrel’s own cannon, dousing the fire in the sea.”
“Remarkable,” the judge whispered.
“Is it not?” Pride brought a smile to her face. “It was the truest act of valor I have ever witnessed. Mr. Grayson saved many lives that day. Including the life of Captain Mallory, who now has the malicious cowardice to accuse innocent men of piracy rather than lose his own ship as salvage.”
Sophia leaned closer. “Do you know, Mr. Fitzhugh, that Captain Mallory would have denied his injured crewmen medical attention, when a port was only a few days’ sail away? This is why Mr. Grayson seized the Kestrel, sending his own ship ahead with the wounded. If that be an act of piracy, then he is the most honorable pirate to ever live. And as I also joined the crew that seized the Kestrel, I am proud to declare myself a pirate, too.”
“You joined the crew?”
“Yes, I became ship’s cook. They were undermanned, you see.” Sophia loosened one glove and removed it, revealing her calloused, knife-scored hand. “Your honor, I am a gentlewoman. I have never performed such labor in my life, but I was glad to do it to help these men. My life changed the day of that storm. I shall never be the same again.” In more ways than you would suspect, she thought with some amusement. But the statement was the truth.
She turned to Gray, who wore a half-smile of his own. It was a comfort to know they still shared something, if only a private joke.
“Even now, this innocent man would sacrifice himself to save his brother and crewmen from the hangman’s noose. Mr. Grayson’s courage and fortitude are an example to me,” she said, dabbing at her eyes with the handkerchief. “They should be an example to us all.”
Oh come now, Gray’s smirk chided her. Don’t take it too far.
“An example …” Fitzhugh spoke in a slow tone of discovery. “Of honor?”
“She’s a liar!” Mr. Brackett pushed to the front of the room, carving his way through the assembly with his blade-thin nose and sharp elbows. “She’s a liar and a whore. They’re lovers, she and Grayson. Her whole story is a falsehood, fabricated to save his miserable neck.”
Sophia’s heart seized. The crowd held its breath. Please don’t ask it, she silently implored the judge. It felt so good to finally stand before Gray, these men, the world, and tell the truth. Could she bring herself to deny him now, even to save his life? Please, just don’t ask.
“Miss Hathaway?” The judge adjusted his spectacles and peered at her. “What, precisely, is the nature of your relationship with Mr. Grayson?”
“My … relationship?” Turning away, Sophia closed her eyes briefly, then opened them again. I’m sorry, she mouthed to Gray. He gave her a barely perceptible nod, his expression hard. He was wiping all emotion from his face, expecting her denial.
She had to say it; she had no choice. “I love him.”
Surprise melted the ice in his gaze. Soon his eyes were shining with approval. Approval, and love.
Her heart soared. For this one moment, they loved each other, and the rest of the world could go hang. “I love him,” she repeated, simply because she could. Because it was the truth.
Now the truth was out, suspended in the humid silence—a sketch of it, at least. It still remained within Sophia’s ability to shade it. Collecting herself, she took advantage of the stunned pause. “As is my Christian duty, your honor. To say I felt anything less for him would be not only a falsehood, but a sacrilege.”
The judge scratched his wig.
“No,” Brackett protested. “She’s a liar, I tell you!”
“I assure you, I speak only the truth. What motive do I have to lie?” Sophia tugged on her glove, working her fingers into the slender tips. “Indeed, I have come to care deeply for many of the men in this courtroom. But anyone who would insinuate that I give this truthful testimony in hopes of resuming some relationship with Mr. Grayson, friendly or otherwise, would be mistaken. I esteem the man, your honor. I admire him greatly, and his example of honesty and courage has altered the course of my life. But beyond today, I do not expect to ever meet with him again.”
Gray took a step forward. “You can’t mean—”
Sophia froze him with a look. “Yes, Mr. Grayson, I mean that my mission here has already been completed.”
He stared at her, clearly baffled. Adorably so.
“Since leaving England, I have resolved to never marry,” she said, directing her statement at the judge, “but to devote my fortune to charity. I have twenty thousand pounds, you see—or I shall have in a matter of days, when I reach my majority. It was to have been my dowry, but this very morning I have pledged it toward the purchase of Eleanora plantation from Mr. George Waltham, to establish a sugar cooperative for freedmen.”
“A sugar cooperative?” Gray and Fitzhugh spoke as one.
There. Now Gray and Joss had nothing further to argue over, no years-old dispute to drive them apart. They could start over, sit down and discuss their future with open minds and open hearts. It was likely too late for Sophia’s own family, but she could not pass up this chance to heal theirs.
“Mr. Wilson and Miss Grayson can provide you with any evidence you may require on that matter.” She folded her handkerchief. “As for me, I fear I must be going.”
“Going?” Again, Gray and Fitzhugh spoke in unison, and each glared at the other, clearly annoyed.
“Now that my mission has been completed, I must return to England. I have given only earnest money, you see, some six hundred pounds. The rest of the transaction must be completed in London. And I … I must return to my family, though I do not know how they will receive me. After this adventure, I doubt I shall be received by even my closest friends. Most certainly not by the likes of Mr. Grayson’s family.” He had to understand this, the reason she must leave.
“Mr. Grayson’s family?” the judge asked.
“Didn’t you know? Your honor, he is the nephew of a duke. I played cards with his aunt, the Duchess of Aldonbury, every third Wednesday.” She gave Gray a cautious look. “Her granddaughter, Lady Clementina Morton, was at school with me. I was even so fortunate as to be a guest in their home, your honor, but that is not a plea sure I shall ever have again. Her Grace is a lady of elevated rank and limited forgiveness. Were I the ambitious sort, Mr. Fitzhugh, I should not wish to cross her.”
The judge blanched to the color of parchment.
Sophia busied herself with the cord of her reticule. “No, I shall be ruined in society’s eyes, though my conscience is clear. I must go home and throw myself on the mercy of my family. If they spurn me …” She shrugged. “Perhaps I shall become a governess.”
/>
A sense of satisfaction filled her. Yesterday, she’d planned to lie—to walk into this courtroom and pretend to be the sort of honest, selfless woman who could have helped Gray’s cause. Now she had given everything—her fortune, her reputation, her future—to make it the truth. Not just to save Gray’s life, but to redeem hers.
What a fool she’d been, always blaming the world for not seeing the person beneath the vast fortune. The truth was, she’d spent her life afraid—hiding behind wild lies and fantasies—because she hadn’t believed in herself, in her own value.
That all ended today. Here, in this courtroom, the truth was worth something. She was worth something. The world was welcome to shun her now. For the first time in a long while, Sophia liked herself.
She would have no regrets.
She turned a slow circle, letting her gaze linger on each of her friends one last time. “I sail for Antigua immediately, where I understand I may board an English frigate.” Her gaze settled on Gray. “So this is good-bye.”
Gray nodded. Of course, now that he understood everything—how her past would inevitably poison his family’s future—he was letting her go.
“Farewell, then. Unless …” She addressed Fitzhugh with perfect innocence. “But you didn’t really mean to charge us all with piracy?”
He blinked.
Sophia smiled. “I didn’t think so.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT
Whether one strolled the park or traveled the globe, the journey home invariably seemed shorter than the journey abroad. It felt only a matter of hours before the Polaris crossed the Tropic, although Sophia knew days had passed. Very little fanfare had accompanied the occasion: a bit of singing among the sailors, a collection of shillings in a tarred cap, to which she contributed from her dwindling purse.
Perhaps the subdued celebration could be credited to the scarcity of passengers aboard the frigate. She was accompanied only by the ship’s supercargo, and the widow and two grown sons of an Antiguan planter. However, Sophia thought it more likely that the character of the captain, the perpetually dour Captain Herring, was to blame. As herrings went, he seemed to be of the kippered variety.
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