by Bree Wolf
Violette scoffed, shaking her head. “I know it is foolish. I wouldn’t even have been able to see much from out at sea. But…” She inhaled a deep breath. “But I cannot help but wonder what it would feel like to see Silcox Manor again…even if only from a distance.”
“Do you even remember it?” Henri asked, his eyes gentle now. “You were so young when we picked you up.”
For a moment, Violette closed her eyes as images flitted through her mind. Moments of another life. Moments with her mother out in the gardens. Moments with her mother at bedtime. Moments when the viscount’s cold eyes had looked at her. And the one moment that had changed all the others.
The cliffs at night. Her father’s ship. And then, finally, the open sea.
Freedom.
“Not much,” Violette finally said, looking up at her cousin. “But still I…I wonder if seeing it might help me remember more.”
“Why do you want to?”
Violette shrugged. “I don’t know. This is the biggest what if in my life. I simply cannot help it. I’m curious.”
Although she could see that he did not understand, Henri nodded. “Don’t worry, chère cousine. You will receive your answers. This is merely a delay, not the end of our journey. After returning to France, we will head up into the North Sea, and you will get to see your old home again.” Once more, he grabbed hold of her chin, his green eyes serious as they looked into hers. “I promise you.”
“Thank you.” Placing a hand on her cousin’s cheek, Violette smiled, knowing how precious it was to have people who cared about her, who cared enough to support her even when they could not understand why this was important to her.
As they turned to leave, Violette spotted a few crumpled newspapers in a corner, and on impulse, she knelt and picked them up.
Lifting her gaze, she found Henri looking down at her, a puzzled frown on his face.
Violette grinned. “To learn about my old home.”
Henri chuckled, and they headed back up on deck.
As they approached, her father was talking to the captain of the merchant vessel as well as an elegantly dressed man, who quite obviously was not a sailor. As she drew near, his gaze travelled to her, and she was surprised to see neither disapproval nor judgement in his eyes. Instead, there was something akin to awe as well as a longing for freedom Violette knew only too well.
If she did not know any better, she would have thought him a prisoner, which of course he now was. Had this look come to his eyes only recently? Or had he felt trapped in his regular life as well?
Coming to stand beside her father, Violette could feel the stranger’s gaze on her, and she could not help but glance at him out of the corner of her eye. He had thick auburn hair, some strands dark, almost black, while others seemed to gleam in a dark red in the early morning sun. His pale blue eyes held curiosity and a sense for adventure. He stood tall, shoulders squared, and chin raised, meeting her father’s threatening gaze unflinchingly as he answered his questions with a strong voice. Still, there was a slight tremble in the way he held his hands linked behind his back, like a fish out of its element, nervous about what to expect.
“I ask you again, sir,” her father repeated, his dark eyes narrowing as he fixed the stranger with a sharp gaze, “what is your name as well as your purpose upon this ship?”
The stranger inhaled a slow breath, and his eyes flitted to Violette’s…as though she was his confidante and he needed her to reassure him. Strangely enough, Violette could not help but feel touched by this measure of unexpected trust.
“I’d appreciate it,” her father’s sharp voice cut through the moment of silence, “if you could refrain from staring at my daughter.”
Instantly, the stranger’s head snapped around to face the angry captain. “Your daughter?” he echoed, a touch of relief in his voice before his gaze met Violette’s once more.
Drawing in a slow breath, Violette tried to hide the unexpected shiver that danced up and down her spine at the intense look in the stranger’s eyes. Why did he look relieved? After all, he had no claim on her. They had not even met before today.
As suspicions rose in her mind, her eyes narrowed. What were his intentions? Was he an agent of the British crown?
“Speak!” Like a whiplash, her father’s voice cut through the air, the expression dangerously calm as he stared at the stranger.
To the man’s credit, he did not flinch. Instead, his gaze drifted to Violette one last time before he nodded. “As you wish,” he said, his voice even. Still, Violette thought to detect a hint of apprehension. “I’m Oliver Cornell, Earl of Cullingwood, and my purpose on this ship is…none. It was an accident.”
Although her father’s face remained mostly unreadable, his eyes narrowed. “An accident? Explain.”
Clearing his throat, Lord Cullingwood averted his gaze momentarily as though ashamed of what he was about to divulge. “Quite frankly, I spent the night in a tavern by the docks and…somehow found my way onto this ship. I do not recall much else until I woke up when we were already under way.”
Amused chuckles rose from the men of both crews as they observed the scene with interest.
“I see,” her father mumbled. Then he lifted his gaze and allowed it to sweep over the ship’s deck before turning to Henri by his side. “Bind his hands. Then take him to the Chevalier Noir,” he ordered before he turned to the rest of his crew standing guard around the sailors of the merchant vessel. “Lock them in the storage rooms below and then ready the ship. We’ll head back to France as soon as possible.”
The stillness on deck vanished as the prisoners were escorted below, loud footsteps and harsh curses echoing to Violette’s ears as she stood and watched her cousin tie Lord Cullingwood’s hands.
An English lord, she mused. He would have been the kind of man she would have been acquainted with had she stayed in her old life, would he not? Would he be able to tell her something about–?
No! Inhaling a deep breath, Violette pushed that thought away. After all, she could not believe anything he might say. He was English.
***
With his hands tied behind his back, Oliver was brought onto the privateer’s ship and taken to the captain’s quarters. While Capitan Duret watched him with a rather inexpressive face, his eyes calculating, in control, the man’s first mate–Henri, was it?–eyed him with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity.
The captain’s daughter had accompanied them as well. However, she seemed distracted as she took a seat on the opposite side of the cabin, her gaze directed at what seemed to be a copy of The Times. Why would she care about English daily news? Certainly, France and England were at war. Still, she did not truly expect to find any mention of their navy’s strategic plans in there, did she? Why then did she seem so absorbed in the words on the page before her?
Despite his unfortunate position, Oliver felt mostly at ease. Although Captain Duret glared at him with his dark eyes, a bit of a scowl on his face, Oliver deemed him to be a man of honour. A man with principles and morals. A man worthy of his trust. The only question was: what did the privateer’s captain see when he looked at Oliver?
“I cannot say I have heard of your family,” the captain finally said, his gaze holding Oliver’s before he turned to glance at his daughter. “Violette?”
Looking up from the newspaper in her hands, the young woman met her father’s gaze, then shrugged her shoulders.
Oliver frowned. Had the captain expected his daughter to have heard of Oliver’s family when he himself had not?
Turning his attention back to the dark man before him, Oliver drew in a slow breath, realising that there was no harm in further explanations. “My father is the Marquess of Northey.”
The captain’s face remained impassive.
Oliver sighed. He could not remember a moment in his life when his family name, his father’s name, had meant nothing to those around him. It was rather frustrating…and yet, Oliver could not help but wonder what it would be like to start a
new. On impulse, he felt his mouth open to ask if he could join the captain’s crew but managed to stop himself.
They would certainly laugh about him, would they not? After all, it was a ridiculous thought. The son of an English marquess asking to join the crew of a French privateer.
Laughable.
Still, the temptation remained, and Oliver wondered what kind of a life that would be. The two men–even the woman–exuded confidence, and Oliver could not help but envy them the certainty of how to live their lives.
“Do you intend to ransom me back to my father?” he finally asked when the silence became unpleasant. Although he could not say that he feared those two men, he disliked the way they looked at him, their eyes full of suspicion and distrust. After all, he was an honourable man. At least, he had always tried to be thus.
Admittedly, he had failed on occasion. However, his intentions had never been dishonourable.
Captain Duret sat down on the edge of the table. “It would seem to be the most reasonable course of action, non?”
Oliver nodded. “So, it would seem.” He tried his best not to imagine his father’s face when he returned to London in shame.
Unfortunately, he failed. After all, he had seen that face far too many times.
While the two men retreated to another corner of the cabin, whispering to one another and casting the occasional glance at Oliver, Oliver returned his attention to the young woman.
Violet.
Had she been named for the soft violet glow in her dark blue eyes? He could not help but wonder as his gaze travelled over her soft features, noting the way her lips moved slightly as she read, her head still bent over the newspaper in her hands. She seemed completely oblivious to her surroundings, her eyes moving as she read, a small frown drawing down her brows, giving her face a sterner expression.
Still, she looked lovely, beautiful even, and he–
“Oh, mon dieu!” Clasping a hand over her mouth, Violet suddenly shot to her feet, her eyes widening as she stared down at something on the page before her.
At her exclamation, the two men flinched and instantly rushed to her side, faces tense with alarm.
Taking note of his own elevated heartbeat, Oliver could not blame them. He, too, would have rushed to her side if he could have. However, at present, his hands were tied…quite literally.
Hovering close, the captain and the man named Henri spoke to her in hushed tones as she pointed to the paper in her hands. Watching them, Oliver sighed. Although he knew that the captain was Violet’s father, he finally realised that they were more than merely a crew. They were a family. A close family. A family who loved one another.
His envy of them soared into the sky.
If only.
Chapter Nine – A Ghost of the Past
Feeling her heart thudding in her chest, Violette had trouble focusing her thoughts as they ran rampant through her head. Her emotions, too, were a tangled mess, and in that moment, she could not have said what she was feeling. All she knew was that the onslaught was so overwhelming; it stole her breath.
In the distance, she could hear her father’s and cousin’s concerned voices. Still, her mind was focused on the paper before her.
A name.
A name from her past. A name that haunted her nightmares. The threat of an old life. The very reason why they had made their escape twelve long years ago.
Dowling.
The Earl of Dowling.
A man whose face she could not even picture. She did not remember him. And yet, she knew his name. Could hear her mother’s voice as she spoke to her of the man the viscount had wanted her to marry.
Dowling.
“Ma chérie,” her father whispered beside her, his voice tense and full of concern. “Are you all right? What’s wrong?”
Blinking, Violette looked at her father, her heart warming at the love she saw in his eyes, the devotion and concern. Never would he force her hand. Not him.
“What happened?” Henri asked, drawing her attention. “You look as white as a sheet?” He glanced at the newspaper in her hand. “What did you find?”
“A name,” Violette mumbled, her gaze drawn back to the words written on the page before her. Had it been her imagination? Or was it still–? Yes, the name remained. Black and white.
“Whose name?” Henri asked as he and her father came to stand next to her, looking over her shoulders.
“The man I was supposed to marry.”
Her father’s head snapped up, and he stared at her, bewildered. Henri, however, chuckled, his eyes scanning the page. “Do you wish you could attend the wedding after all, chère cousine? Not as the bride. But as a guest?”
Violette frowned. “The wedding? What wedding? What are you–?”
“It’s a betrothal announcement, is it not?” Henri asked, pointing at the paper.
Feeling her hands tremble, Violette turned her gaze back to the words written on the page before her. Indeed, it was a betrothal announcement of Caleb Barlowe, Earl of Dowling to…
Violette tried to draw in a deep breath, but the air constricted in her lungs. For a moment, she closed her eyes, waiting for her heartbeat to slow. Then she read on.
…to Lady Juliet Edwards, daughter to the late Jules Edwards, Earl of Goswick.
“Do you know her?” Henri asked, his voice sounding distant to her ears.
Still staring at the page, Violette shook her head. “I’ve never even heard of her.”
“Then what upsets you so?”
Indeed, what did upset her so? Was it merely the shock of reading her former betrothed’s name? Or was it something else?
Still, Violette realised that it was not the earl’s name that drew her attention. Instead, it was the woman’s name, Juliet, she could not seem to leave behind.
Leave behind? Was she leaving her behind? She did not even know her.
Who was she? The woman who had taken Violette’s place. The woman who was now doomed to marry an old man. The woman who did not deserve such a fate. Violette was certain of it.
Guilt swept through her heart as she pictured a young woman like herself, imagined her devastation at learning her fate. In the back of her mind, Violette remembered her mother’s words as she had told her of her own wedding, of her marriage to Lord Silcox. Suffering such a fate, her mother had been driven to protect her daughter from the same.
And she had succeeded.
With the help of a French privateer.
Obviously, Lady Juliet’s mother had not been so fortunate as to protect her daughter from being sold into marriage.
Violette tried to swallow the lump in her throat, knowing that she was responsible. If she had not left, she would have been the one to marry Lord Dowling. Lady Juliet would have been safe. Now, however, she had to pay the price for Violette’s freedom.
“I can’t leave her to her fate,” Violette mumbled. “I can’t. I have to…I have to go back.”
“What are you saying?” her father demanded, his voice harsh as he stared at her. “Are you all right?”
Henri grabbed her chin. “You cannot seriously mean to return to England,” he glanced down at the paper clutched in her hands, “and for a woman you do not even know. That’s insane!”
“I owe her,” Violette whispered, looking from Henri to her father, pleading with them to understand. “She–”
“Why do you owe her?” her father asked, and she could see that it took great restraint on his part to speak to her so calmly, to reason with her, and not simply forbid her to go. But he never had, and he never would.
“I know it sounds insane, but–”
“It certainly does!” Henri interrupted, staring at her, a dumbfounded expression in his green eyes. “Besides, that paper is weeks old. The wedding has probably already happened. There is nothing you can do for her.”
Violette swallowed as bile rose in her throat. Her cousin was right. She did not know if the wedding had already taken place. And if Lady Juliet was alread
y married, then…there was nothing she could do, was there?
A little voice in the back of her mind whispered that her mother had also been married when her father had stolen her away. Violette closed her eyes as a soft smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Was this the solution to save England’s young ladies in danger of being sold into marriage? To whisk them away into a life of privateering?
It had been the right course for her, but that did not mean that–
Shaking her head, Violette urged herself to focus and not allow her thoughts to run rampant. “There has to be a way to find out if the wedding has already taken place.”
Henri groaned under his breath as he stepped away, shaking his head at her. “You need to let this go.”
“I can’t. I need to know,” Violette whispered, turning desperate eyes on her father. “Please.”
Holding her gaze, he stood before her, his jaw clenched, and she knew that he was torn about what to do. Never in his life had he not supported her. But now, she could read on his face that he disagreed. Strongly.
More than that. He feared for her. Would that fear now make him withdraw the freedom he had always granted her?
“Please, Papa,” Violette whispered, seeing his face tense even further when she called him by that term of endearment.
On the ship, he was the captain, even to her, or Father whenever the crew was not around. Papa, however, was a part of her childhood, of moments when she woke up at night, terrified of her dreams. Moments when she needed him to hold her. Moments when she was vulnerable, and he the one she could trust.
Inhaling a deep breath, he finally nodded, his head bobbing up and down almost imperceptibly. Then his gaze flickered to the side and came to rest on Lord Cullingwood.
For a moment, Violette was confused, but then realisation dawned. He was an English lord. A member of the ton. He might know. Was he acquainted with Lord Dowling? Had he ever met Lady Juliet at a ball? Could he tell her about the young woman who had taken her place?
All she had to do was ask.
And hope that he would tell her the truth.