Priscilla came to her senses overpowered by the scent of ammonia. She turned her head away from the smell and opened her eyes to find the horribly familiar yet unfamiliar face of her dead fiancé. Her eyes started to roll back into head, but the smell of ammonia was cruelly pressed against her nostrils. She slapped the ammonia away and sat up on her bed and rubbed her aching neck. She felt like she’d been hung upside down like a side of beef. “Where have you been?”
“You’re supposed to say, ‘Jeremiah…you’re alive!’ and start weeping for joy.”
“You can’t be alive. I received an official letter from the Admiralty detailing your death. They pulled your body out of the water, sewed you into your hammock with a cannon ball and dropped you back into the sea. I find it difficult to swallow that your captain imagined your funeral.”
“It was thoughtful of them to put your mind at rest, but the truth was we ran into some trouble. I was kidnapped and taken for ransom by pirates. Captain Rollicks refused to pay. My hosts were about to make me walk the plank when providence arrived in the shape of a merchant ship. The captain decided my execution would wait ‘till after the ransacking. Fortunately the captain died of battle wounds and I survived and voila…here I am.”
“You always did enjoy a good story.”
“Where’s your heart Priscilla? I’ve come back from the dead. I’ve thought about you on occasion and wondered what life would have been like if I’d been able to make it home to marry you, but alas…”
“Yes, alas my dowry was only an annuity of five hundred pounds until my parents’ death. I heard you; that day you demanded my father give me a better settlement because you refused to be live under another man’s roof. Papa always said you just wanted me for my inheritance. He said you spent time in the hedgerow with that buxom wench Mary Peel, but I didn’t believe him. I understand she disappeared the day I got your letter…I don’t suppose that was a coincidence?”
“How should I know? I don’t keep a file on every woman I’ve tumbled. The paper would fill up a ship.”
Priscilla reached for her neck and clutched Edmund’s locket for moral support. “You tumbled Mary Peel when we were engaged? How could you?”
“What difference does it make? She’s history. We’ll marry and you’ll never wear that ugly cap again. I must say, you’re quite fetching for an old maid. I certainly won’t mind fulfilling my conjugal duties.” The man rudely scratched his trouser flap as he leered. “When I come into Bristol I won’t have to board with the old slag; I’ll have a bed of my own warmed by a tempting wife who bathes. A seaman need’s his own hearth fire brightened by a pleasant smelling wench when he’s on land. Here, give us a kiss…”
Priscilla rolled out of reach as the man approached with puckered lips. “And just how many English ports boast a Mrs Captain Foster?”
“Oh really Prissy, how can you be so indelicate to even think such a thing? I thought you were a lady. I feel disappointed, but let me remind you why you fell in love with me…”
“Get a way from me. I’m not the doe eyed simpleton who fell for your lies. Thirteen years of heartache, fear and loneliness have strangled the stupid girl who loved you. I’m going to marry Lord Warenne. He’s good and kind…”
“You want to marry that pansy child-lord on the drawing room floor?” Jeremiah Foster guffawed with laughter. “What will he call you; Mamma?”
“Lord Warenne is only five years my junior…” Tears of laughter spilled from his eyes. “…and he happens to be ill.”
“Then the pansy should have stayed home in bed instead of making an ass of himself. I had no idea your tastes were so exotic.” Captain Foster wiped his eyes and nose on his sleeve. “Never mind, you’ll get used to being Mrs Captain Foster in no time. What would you want with a Lord anyway? They’re all pansies who have to unbutton their flaps hourly to remind themselves they’re men.”
Priscilla felt an urge to slap the sneering face, but didn’t dare go close enough to accomplish the deed. “Lord Warenne is man enough for me.”
“You poor old thing…you’re in love with that pansy-lord aren’t you? Well that’s too bad Prissy, because you’re going to marry me. I have a pressing need for two-thousand pounds. It’ll be the easiest money I ever earned. Pack your bags. Your maiden head is scheduled to be broken by the time the church bells ring noon tomorrow. As soon as I have my two thousand pounds I’ll be setting sail.”
“Never! You’re a hateful ugly pirate…”
“I prefer Captain Jerry Foster in refined company otherwise I’m known as…” The man struck a fierce pose, “The black heart of Calcutta…I was going to call myself Mad Jerry, but my crew didn’t think it savage enough.”
“You should have called yourself The Cad of Canterbury that would have been more accurate.”
“I would have been the laughingstock of the seven seas. My enemies would have called me Captain Pansy. Never mind Canterbury, I’m going to marry you and we’ll live happily ever after. It’ll be an easy matrimony. I’ll only see you once a year when I come to collect your annuity and formalise my ownership of your mattress. It shouldn’t be too painful. I understand refined ladies prefer their men a little rough.”
“You disgust me. I’d rather marry The Duke of Strathmore whose heart is a block of ice. I hope you end up crabmeat on the bottom of the ocean after the seagulls peck out your eyes.”
“That’s no way to win a seaman’s heart.”
“I don’t want your stinking heart…Captain. It can rot on Neptune’s fork for all I care. I’ll never marry you.”
“Oh I think you will Prissy, because if you don’t I’ll cheerfully snip the head off your beloved Pansy and stick it in a big vase. Marry me or bury your pansy-lord; it’s not a difficult choice if you love him; is it?”
Priscilla clutched her locket as tears gushed from her eyes. “You wouldn’t be so cruel…he’s done nothing to you.”
“They don’t call me ‘The Black Heart of Calcutta’ for drinking my coffee black. I’ll go tell your dear Cousin Catherine the good news and do take good care of your clothes. You’ll need them. Two thousand pounds will nicely cover my ship repairs and pay my crew, but it won’t stretch to a bridal wardrobe. I’ll be off for warmer climes while you stay with your sister till I return next year.”
“My sister hates me. Her husband tried to ravish me and then accused me of trying to seduce him. She tells everyone I’m dead.”
“Then you’ll have to live here. It makes no difference to me.”
“I’m an unpaid servant you imbecile. This isn’t a home and I’m not safe here either. Lord Llewellyn keeps trying to catch me alone. I can’t live here as a married woman. I’d be pregnant within weeks and not by you.”
“What do I care? I won’t be feeding the brat.”
Priscilla burst into tears as she flew at her old lover intending to claw out his eyes. She tore off his eye patch revealing a second angry perfectly good eye and dug her fingers into his face before he could ply her off and throw her on the bed. “I don’t care where you live or who beds you Prissy, but you’re going to marry me. Accept your fate. Where are your manners? You used to be such a sweet girl. A Captain needs a wife who can act like a lady. I don’t want my crew to think I married a tavern wench.” Priscilla sobbed into her bedclothes as the door slammed shut. She was too distraught to hear the muffled exchange outside or notice the door opening and closing and the key turning quietly in the lock. If she could just put her head on Lord Warenne’s shoulder and feel his arms around her everything would be alright. He’d make sure life landed happy side up, but she didn’t even know where he was staying. She was doomed.
Feeling the end of the mattress give as someone sat down nearby she recoiled up off the bed. The Duke of Strathmore was nonchalantly folding his long elegant limbs and looking at her with mild amusement. “I was outside the open door in case you needed rescuing. I’m relieved to see you’ve forgotten your embroidery in the drawing room. So, you’d rather marry me than become Captain Calcutta’s latest bride?”
Priscilla felt her eyes fill with tears. “He’s threatened to kill Lord Warenne.”
“So I heard. I can ensure Lord Pinhead’s safety…if you promise to marry me.”
Priscilla ogled the smiling man in disbelief. “You’d use my misfortune to leverage your advantage? That’s despicable!”
“Promise to marry me and I’ll rescue you from Captain Calcutta. Of course Lord Pinhead might be able to rescue you, but you’d have to get word to him and he’s young. He doesn’t have as many contacts as my good self not to mention he’s ill.”
“I think the word good is a little inappropriate.”
The man’s mild smile remained in place. “I always get what I want.”
“Well I don’t want to be your Duchess. I’d rather…”
“You’d rather marry Captain Calcutta and live here as a free servant? I don’t think you’re being honest with yourself my dear. What is this about Lord Llewellyn?” Priscilla felt her cheeks blaze as the beautiful man on her bed raised an eyebrow. “Has he been…upsetting you?”
It had been so long since anyone cared about her safety Priscilla felt almost relieved as she sank on to the bed next to the man as she sniffed back her tears. “He was my suitor. I thought he loved me, but he married Cousin Catherine because her dowry was a lump sum. He seems to think because I once kissed him I should be willing to suffer his revolting attentions. He’s a vile pig. I have to keep my embroidery in my pocket all the time in case…”
“Ah…the embroidery is explained. Accept my proposal and no one will dare touch what is mine.”
“Why do you want a woman who doesn’t want you?”
“Simple; I want you.”
“I wouldn’t be happy.”
“You’ll be far happier as my Duchess than Mrs Captain Calcutta.”
“I need time…I need to speak with Lord Warenne…”
“No. Decide right now if you want me to rescue you or not. If not I’ll walk away and let you ruminate the Captain’s half-mast celebrations and your future ruin.”
“You give me your word of honour that Lord Warenne will be safe?”
“Lord Pinhead will be perfectly safe from Captain Calcutta…if you agree to marry me.”
Priscilla felt her heart ache as she clutched the locket for support. If Lord Warenne loved her marrying Strathmore would break his heart, but if she didn’t marry Strathmore he might be murdered. “I’ll marry you. Don’t expect me to like you and don’t expect a happy wife.”
“Happiness is irrelevant. It’s simply a passing emotion that makes the rest of life dreary. It’s best to accept life is one long misery; it makes life easier. I shan’t expect an engagement kiss today. I’ll wait until you’ve stopped crying and you realise how lucky you are to be rescued.” Priscilla was sobbing as the man let himself out of her bedchamber. Her heart felt like it would crack in two as she longed for Lord Warenne’s kind hands to soothe her red tear stained face. She really was doomed.
Go to chapter 13