Condemned & Admired

by Bree Wolf

  As Violette’s place was at the bow of the Chevalier Noir.

  “Once again you seem thoughtful, chère cousine.”

  Inhaling a deep breath, Violette glanced at Henri as he stepped up to stand beside her. “I do?”

  He nodded, keeping his gaze fixed on the horizon as the wind brushed through his black hair and tugged on his midnight blue overcoat. “Is it your former home?”

  Again, Violette inhaled a deep breath, trying to sort through the strange feelings she had been experiencing lately. “I’m not certain how to say this, but…” Breaking off, she shook her head, groping for the right words. “I cannot help but wonder what my life would be like if my mother had not decided to go with Father that night. I try to imagine where I’d be, what I’d be doing. Would I be happy? Honestly, I doubt it. Still, I cannot help but wonder.”

  Turning to look at her, Henri remained silent, his gaze studying her face.

  Violette scoffed, “Say what you have to say.”

  Henri grinned. “You worry too much. We can never know what turn our life would have taken if we had decided differently. There are so many forks in the road where we are forced to choose only one. There are so many ways in which our lives could have turned out differently.” He leaned forward and held her gaze. “There is no use in worrying about them.”

  “I’m not worried,” Violette replied. “I’m simply…It’s only that this particular fork in my road was one of great significance, do you not see? In addition, I have quite a good idea of what my life would have been like, and I cannot help but wonder what it would have…felt like if I had experienced it.”

  Henri frowned. “What do you mean?”

  Biting her lower lip, Violette sighed. “Mother never held anything back about…our past, about the way we left, about her decision to go. Still, I was very young when we left, and so she only told me what I needed to know then. However, over time, she began telling me more.”

  A concerned crease appeared on Henri’s forehead as his green gaze remained locked on her face. “What did she tell you?” His eyes shifted over her face. “You seem…out of sorts.”

  Violette took a deep breath, welcoming the fresh sea air filling her lungs. “She told me that her husband, Lord Silcox, my…my father had signed a marriage contract for me.”

  Henri’s eyes widened, and yet, his lips thinned into a tight line.

  Violette swallowed, “I’m eighteen now, and if I had remained in England, I would in all likelihood be married soon.” She closed her eyes for a short moment and shook her head. “It seems almost impossible merely considering this, but if I had stayed, I would soon have been Lady Dowling, wife of Caleb Barlowe, Earl of Dowling, my…father’s oldest friend.”

  “Oldest friend?” Henri’s gaze widened even further. “He would’ve married you to an old man?”

  Violette scoffed, “Don’t look so shocked. That man never cared for me or my happiness. Besides, it’s not uncommon for men of the ton to sell off their daughters to further their standing and connections. It’s business, not love that matters.”

  Leaning onto the rail, Henri glanced at her, sadness clouding his bright green eyes. “It’s a sad world sometimes, non?” Then a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Still, you’re here. You’re not in England. That…that fork in the road led you away from that life.” His brows drew down. “Do you regret it?”

  “Not for a moment,” Violette laughed as relief rushed through her body. “I love my life, and I never wished for it to be any other way. I will be eternally grateful to my mother for having the courage to take such a leap of faith, to leave behind her life and venture out into the unknown. I think she was very brave to have done so.”

  Henri nodded. “She’s a tough woman, your mother.” He elbowed her playfully in the side. “Kind of like her daughter.”

  Violette smiled at him. “I’m happy here, and I cannot imagine living the life we left behind. Out at sea, I feel free, and I would never give that up for anyone.” She shrugged. “Still, sometimes I cannot help but wonder.”

  Henri nodded, a touch of mischief lighting up his eyes. “At least, we agree on something.”

  “Not something,” Violette corrected, unable to keep the wide grin off her face. “On the fundamentals of life. On what’s most important.” Her eyes swept over the Chevalier Noir before returning to the far horizon. “This is freedom. I cannot imagine anything more tempting than this.”

  Henri laughed. Then he leaned over, a conspiratorial gleam in his green eyes. “I spoke to my father as well as yours, and it would seem that if all goes well, we’ll be able to outfit another ship come next year.”

  Holding her cousin’s gaze, Violette felt her eyes narrow. “And you wish to be its captain?”

  “As do you, non?”

  Smiling, Violette nodded. Then she held out her hand to him. “May the best Duret win.”

  Chapter Five – A New Adventure

  With too much alcohol coursing through his system, Oliver had trouble keeping on his feet as he followed the two sailors out of the tavern and into the dark night. The salty sea air roused his spirits a little, but in the midst of London, there were too many other smells tainting the ocean’s call.

  “And then they ran a shot across the bow!” Ralphie slurred, holding on to his friend as they staggered along the docks, and pointed at a large merchant vessel moored at the far side of the waterfront. “It ripped right through the hull.” His yellow teeth gleamed in the light of the moon as he grinned at Oliver with pride as though it had been his doing alone that had saved their ship from a vicious pirate attack.

  “Come,” Chuck said, clasping a hand on Oliver’s shoulder. “We’ll show ye where the hole was. Had there been a storm that day, it would surely have sunk us.” Laughing and singing, the two sailors headed onward on unsteady legs, dragging Oliver along.

  Even in his inebriated state, he knew that they were exaggerating, but he could not help but feel awed by the thought of going to sea, of leaving behind the safety of England and venturing into the unknown. Even if merely a tenth of their stories were true, they made for an exciting life. Quite unlike his own.

  Following them up the gangplank and onto a large vessel gently swaying on the water, Oliver looked around himself with wide eyes. What would it feel like to be under way on such a magnificent ship?

  On their way, they passed a sailor standing guard. However, Ralphie seemed to know him, and after a few words were exchanged, he allowed them to pass, turning a blind eye.

  “Hey, over here,” Ralphie called, half-leaning over the rail as he pointed downward at the water below.

  Swaying on his feet as he crossed the deck, Oliver congratulated himself when he reached the other side without falling on his face. Then he leaned over the rail as well, his hands gripping the wood tightly, so he would not go overboard, and peeked down into a black abyss. “Where?” he asked. “I can’t see. It’s too dark.”

  “Ye need to see from below deck,” Chuck commented, holding on tightly to his friend as he staggered forward to the hatch. “Although it’s been patched up real nice.”

  “As good as new,” Ralphie chimed in, waving Oliver along.

  Heading after the two sailors, Oliver soon found himself in a tight space below deck. His head began to spin as he walked along, his fingers brushing over the wooden walls as he tried to maintain upright. His stomach rolled and dipped, making him feel sick, and he doubted he would be able to walk much further.

  “Here, it is!” Ralphie exclaimed as though on cue, before he and Chuck vanished through a door.

  Following them, Oliver found himself in a storage room with crates and barrels stacked on both sides. At the far wall, he saw that the smooth boards running along the side of the ship had been ripped apart by something very powerful.

  “Come closer,” Chuck encouraged, running a hand over the broken wood in what seemed like unadulterated awe.

  Oliver frowned. Perhaps he truly had indulged
too much this time as Chuck and Ralphie seemed even more demented than most of the sailors he usually spent his time with. “Listen, I–”

  Suddenly, a heavy weight seemed to descend on Oliver’s head, and his shoulders and legs grew heavier as though weighted down by lead. Bright spots danced before his eyes, and his stomach threatened to expel its contents.

  Lowering himself to the floor, Oliver groaned.

  “Man, ye all right?” Chuck asked, his pasty face hovering over Oliver, a mixture of concern and disgust creasing his forehead. “Shall we take ye back?”

  Rolling onto his side, Oliver pinched his eyes shut, willing the nausea to leave him alone. After a few deep breaths, it seemed to subside…at least a little, and he sighed in relief, feeling exhaustion wash over him.

  “Ye need to get up, man.” Was that Ralphie or Chuck?

  Oliver could not tell any longer as his mind slowly retreated from the world around him. “No, leave me be,” he mumbled, welcoming the dark cloak that slowly descended upon him, shutting out his harsh surroundings. “I’ll look at the hole tomorrow.”

  In the distance, he heard amused chuckles and laughter as well as mumbled words that seemed to retreat as boots scraped over the wooden floor. Were they leaving?

  Once again, Oliver could not tell, but neither did he care. Not if they left him alone. Slowly, his mind drifted away, completely surrendering its hold on reality, and he fell into a deep sleep.

  How long he slept Oliver could not say. However, when his mind returned from the land of slumber, he felt better. Not much. But at least a little.

  His stomach still felt queasy, but nothing compared to the blinding nausea he had experienced before. And while his head pounded in a rather familiar way, it no longer felt as though it were being split open with an axe. So far so good, Oliver thought as he slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position.

  Looking around, he found himself staring at stacked crates and barrels, and in one sudden rush his memories returned, and Oliver realised that he was not in his bedchamber as expected. “I’m on a ship,” he mumbled, his mouth as dry as sand. “On a ship.”

  Swallowing, he rubbed a hand over his face before placing it back on the wooden floor for balance.

  Then he felt it!

  The floor was moving!

  Gritting his teeth, Oliver blinked. Was the floor truly moving? Or was this a yet unfamiliar side effect of his overindulgence?

  “I’m on a ship,” Oliver mumbled as he slowly pushed himself to his feet, one hand curled around the edge of a crate for balance. A sneaking suspicion entered his mind, but he pushed it away as he needed all his faculties to place one foot before the other. Now that he was upright, the pounding in his head had intensified, and his stomach protested this sudden movement with a similar vehemence.

  With agonising slowness, he made his way out into the gangway and then proceeded toward the hatch leading back up onto the main deck. To Oliver, it seemed that days passed as he moved one foot in front of the other, his hands brushing over the walls to keep him from falling flat on his face. Every few steps he had to stop, a hand resting on his stomach and his eyes tightly closed, breathing in slowly through his nose to dispel the nausea.

  When he finally stepped out onto the main deck, the bright sunlight blinded him, and he sank to his knees, eyes pinched shut. Now, his head did feel as though it was being split open by an axe, and his stomach rolled through his body like a ship on the open sea. Bile rose in his throat, and although Oliver could not say where the strength came from, he managed to push himself to his feet and stumble toward the rail.

  The moment he all but collapsed on the handrail, clutching it tightly like a man drowning, his stomach reached its limit, emptying itself into the churning sea.

  Drawing one heaving breath after another into his body, Oliver then sank down onto the deck, resting his head against the side of the ship and closed his eyes. Although his head still hurt, his stomach felt better, and for the first time since he had woken up, he was starting to feel like himself.

  “What in the devil’s name are you doing on my ship?”

  The sharp voice felt like a knife slicing through Oliver’s head, and he cringed, lifting his hands to his temples as though hoping to be able to protect himself. Again, he focused on breathing in and out before he dared lift his head.

  Then he pried open his eyes and found a large man in a navy uniform standing before him, feet braced apart and hands on his hips, his sharp blue eyes staring down at Oliver. Judging from the hat that donned the man’s head, Oliver had just made the acquaintance of the captain.

  “I apologise,” he mumbled, wiping a sleeve over his mouth before he reached up a hand to grasp the handrail once more. “I don’t know–”

  “Lieutenant Smith!” the captain bellowed, eyes scanning the deck for the man in question.

  Again, Oliver cringed, then slowly pulled himself onto his feet, his hands tightly wrapped around the rail. “I apologise for the inconvenience,” he managed to say before the captain took a threatening step towards him.

  “Inconvenience?” the man snarled. “I don’t abide stowaways on my vessel.”

  “I assure you I’m not a stowaway,” Oliver began, but then wondered if that was even true. After all, he had no business being on the man’s ship, did he? At least none other than his fascination with life at sea. However, he doubted the dear captain would see that as a sufficient reason.

  “Who the blazes are you?” the captain demanded. “And how did you get on my ship?”

  Oliver cleared his throat. “My name is Oliver Cornell,” he said. “Earl of Cullingwood.”

  At hearing his title, the captain froze. The furious red slowly drained from his face, and his eyes widened ever so slightly. Quite obviously, he was very displeased to find that his stowaway was a peer of the realm.

  Not wishing to antagonise the man, Oliver tried his best to look…friendly. “I assure you I had no intention of being on your ship. It was…a misunderstanding.” He glanced past the captain, and his heart sped up as his gaze fell on the wide-open ocean as well as a distant speck of land falling away in the distance. “I suppose it would be rather inconvenient for you to return me to London.”

  The captain swallowed, then stood back and brushed his hands down his shiny naval uniform. “I’m afraid so…my lord,” he replied, unable to hide his displeasure. “We’re bound for the Mediterranean.”

  Oliver’s heart skipped a beat, and excitement rushed through his veins. “The Mediterranean?”

  The captain nodded. “Aye, my lord. I’m afraid we cannot turn back.” With furrowed brows, the man looked at Oliver like someone torn between wanting to squash a bug and knowing that he could not. “You’re welcome to accompany us,” the captain forced out through gritted teeth, “until we make port somewhere along the way. From there, you might be able to buy passage back to London.”

  “Captain?” a man called as he strode toward them.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” the captain said, then he stepped away and met the man halfway down the main deck.

  Even from a distance, Oliver could tell that heated words flew from the captain’s mouth as Lieutenant Smith–presumably–shrank into himself. Turning away, Oliver gazed out at the sea as the wind blew over his face, its natural scent untainted by civilisation. He could feel sailors all around him standing and staring, watching him as well as the exchange of the two men farther down the deck.

  But Oliver did not care. He knew he ought to feel sorry for getting Lieutenant Smith in trouble. However, in that moment, his heart ached with the beauty of the view before him. His longing for adventure soared into the sky, and he could not help but consider this unexpected twist of fate one of the best things that had ever happened to him.

  In a strange way, this was freedom, and Oliver could not believe that he had lived his whole life without ever even tasting it.

  Chapter Six – A Chance Encounter on the High Seas

  Walkin
g beside her father across the main deck in the dim light of the early morning, Violette knew he would never fault her for speaking her mind, for dreaming the way she did. And yet, she knew that this was not a woman’s world and that many looked at her with displeasure, disgust even, when they learnt that she was indeed a member of the crew. Was there even a chance for her to be captain one day?

  Stopping in his tracks, her father looked down at her when she finally found the courage to ask him thus. His dark eyes travelled over her face, and she could see that his answer would not be a simple confirmation or refusal. No, it would be layered. Made up of many parts. Because life was not simple.

  “This life,” her father finally began, “is not easy, chérie, for no one.” A gentle smile played on his lips. “But neither is it impossible. Nothing is, if you put your mind to it.”

  Violette smiled, loving the way her father always encouraged her to pursue what she wanted, even if it meant reaching for the stars.

  When she had first asked to sail with him and not remain on land with her mother, he had looked at her long and hard. Then he had agreed.

  “What about Henri?”

  Her father glanced at his nephew as he stood at the helm. “He’s a fine man, a fine sailor, and he will make a good captain one day.”

  Violette nodded. “I agree.”

  Again, her father’s eyes travelled over her face as though he could see inside her soul. “Why do you wish for this life?” he finally asked, his voice free of judgement and censure. All she heard there was the desire to understand and guide. “Is this truly your choice? Or is it simply the only life you know?”

  Looking up at her father, Violette could see doubt on his face. Not about her. But instead about his decision to bring her into this life. As though that decision had robbed her of something. It could not be further from the truth though.