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PART III

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MAY, 1780
RATHBONE HOUSE
LONDON, ENGLAND

“HE WANTS YOU to what?!”

Celia cast her mother a helpless grimace and nodded as she dropped into the soft chair by the bed in which her mother sat, her mobcap askew. Mary’s mouth opened wider, closed, opened again, but she merely hopped out of bed and began to pace.

“It would involve horses,” Celia whimpered, “and, and, and cooking. What do I know about cooking? Mother! Butchering pigs!”

Her mother whirled. “And you may not be able to get enough to eat to keep up the strength it would take to do those things. Or at least, not without a great deal of help!” She plopped onto the mattress with no grace whatsoever. “Celia, you must make very sure you love this man before you commit to this course. You will likely be unable to return once you have gone into the frontier.”

“I ken,” she squeaked, growing more horrified by the hour.

Elliott’s rough idea to cast off the burden of his family’s expectations, his title, and his king was no riskier than anything else she had ever done; it was, in fact, perfect. With careful plotting and precise execution, success was all but certain. Indeed, it was child’s play by comparison to the grand plans for his future.

“Oh, Lord,” she groaned, dropping her face in her hands, more thoroughly and completely intimidated than she remembered being in her entire life.

“And Celia, consider this: Successful farms require children—many of them—to help carry the load.”

Celia whimpered again.

“He cannot make you his countess because you may be barren, yet he has asked you to do this with him. Clearly he has not thought of it yet or no one has told him.”

“He has not thought a whit of it!” Celia cried softly, her head popping up. “It has been his sole ambition since he was a child and that is where his forethought of it remains. He has little more idea of its undertaking than I do and is wallowing in his joy that he now simply has the choice.”

But that joy was infectious.

And, as Talaat had lent her his faith in God, so Elliott had infused her with his unfettered passion for this land he had trod, its beauty and serenity, the promise of ultimate freedom. His descriptions were vivid, certainly poetic, and she felt her chest swell with his excitement as he spoke of the life he had dreamt of in Newgate, her fear barely able to keep her from agreeing on the spot.

It would be no trouble at all for him to seduce her into his vision if she continued to listen to him.

“I must think, Mama,” Celia murmured, dropping her head back to stare at the pinprick of candlelight on the ceiling. It was four of the morning. Elliott had just delivered her to Rathbone House, the marchioness was abed, and the marquess was once again out scouring the brothels and hells for Cousin Edward. There was silence but for the rustling of the linens as Mary fussed.

Celia yawned, still sleepy after the brief nap from which Elliott had awakened her with a lingering kiss and the good food with which she had stuffed herself.

After a while, she muttered, “I can tell him to go to hell, which I do not want to do.” She paused. “Or I can trust him and acquiesce without condition—but what conditions would I place anyroad? I know not enough about such things to contract for it. I can stay mute and allow him to run on about it with the intention of seducing him away from it over time or hoping his desire will wane.” She paused again and slowly raised her head. Her mother was lying on her back studying the same flickering pinprick overhead. “Or I can throw myself into it wholeheartedly.”

Mary tsk’d. “Let us suppose that you throw yourself into it wholeheartedly, which is, quite frankly, the way you do everything so I should not be surprised if you choose that course.”

That pulled a sudden chuckle out of Celia.

“My advice to you is to think it through and make lists of what you might have to do to accomplish this with him.”

“But I don’t want—”

She held up a hand. “It matters little. The exercise is to require you to think about it. No harm will come if you plan then ultimately decide not to. But at this moment, he can provide you only naïve passion.”

“The man is not stupid nor is he given to impetuosity. He will plan, but it is all so very new to him, so bloody wonderful. ’Tis as if it were a gift from God.”

“Well, you do have time,” Mary mused. “And Rafael?”

Celia sighed. “Elliott was so kind as to point out the fact that as the rector’s wife, I would be Coimbra’s leading society matron—and nothing else.”

Mary’s head turned upon her pillow until she was looking at Celia. “What did you think you would be doing?”

“Teaching astronomy! Lord almighty! Was I the only one who did not consider it?”

Mary chuckled. “Ah, so to be with one of the two men you love, ’tis a choice between being fêted and pampered—”

“Bored and unappreciated.”

“—or backbreaking work for the rest of your life.” When Celia said nothing, she said, “Not bored or unappreciated.”

“Provided I come back from Algiers alive,” Celia muttered, thinking there were mayhap worse things than being outgunned by a bevy of Ottoman corsairs intent on cleansing their waters of the abomination of a female pirate captain whose hands were soaked in their brothers’ blood.

“You may always simply sail until you are weary of it and settle somewhere that catches your fancy. But, Celia, attend,” she said. “You say you want a home. Two men are offering you that very thing, to love you and share their lives with you. Either choice will require you to sacrifice something. Will you dismiss both of them because each has offered you something you find distasteful?”

She made no reply.

“And now you know my dilemma,” Mary murmured.

“It has been much at the front of my thoughts of late,” Celia said low, her voice hoarse. “But our situations are not analogous.”

“Your men are not as diverse as mine, mayhap, but what they have offered you is. You must choose one or the other, or have the choice made for you. Do you doubt the wisdom of doing nothing, look to me as the consequence.”

Celia opened her mouth.

“Nay, you will not be destitute by any measure, but unless you find a third man who can be all things to you, you will be alone for the rest of your life, which may prove to be longer than you can bear.”

Unlike the decisions she had made in the past, whimsy had no place in this.

“When you were alone those years,” she asked her mother slowly, “without Dunham, without Bancroft … whom did you long for?”

Mary laughed bitterly. “Both. Neither.”

Celia rubbed at her temples. “And now?”

“Clearly, ’twould be Jamie, but that is because Nathan has lent his heart to another.”

Ah, and Mary still grieved; Celia could hear it in her voice. “If that were not the case?”

“Celia,” she groaned, “do not ask me such things. I can no more make the decision now than I could then, and that was thirty years ago. Had I chosen one, I would have been content, but I would have pined for the other, all the while wondering ‘what if.’”

“Aye, and this is where we differ, you see,” Celia muttered. “My choice is not between two men. My choice is one life versus one man.”

“But you know how to manage Rafael whereas the life Tavendish has offered you frightens you.”

“Terrifies, do you mean.”

Mary’s sigh melted into the darkness. “And you will do it anyway.”

Celia remained silent.

“Well, then. Make those lists before you inform Tavendish of your decision. You cannot enter into a negotiation without preparation and your acquiescence laid bare.”

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If you don’t want to wait 2 years to get to the end, you can buy it here.
Pirates!