Page 5 of A Prince Among Pirates
It is far later than I thought, for the lad who delivers our milk and eggs for breakfast is staring up at me with wide eyes, a scone in one hand.
He isn’t supposed to be in the foyer, and he certainly isn’t supposed to be eating our food. (I suspect one of the kitchen maids must fancy him.) I hardly mind his egregious overstep, however—I can use it to my benefit. I grin at him and release the trunk, hurrying down the stairs before he can escape.
“You, lad,” I whisper. “A shilling to take my trunk out to the front of the house.”
He eyes me suspiciously as I pull a shiny coin out of my pocket. Fair enough.
I withdraw two more coins and hold them out as well. “And two more for your discretion.”
“Yes, Your Lordship,” he says through a mouthful of scone as he takes the coins from my hand. I don’t correct his misuse of my title. I merely smile and clap him on the back, then glance up the stairs once more. Somehow, no one has woken up yet. I suppose the sheer number of empty wine bottles at dinner is to blame for that small mercy.
He climbs the stairs with more grace than one might expect from a farmhand, shoves the scone into his pocket—revolting—and lifts my trunk with an ease that sends my bollocks straight back into my body out of pure shame. “We ought go round the back instead,” he suggests.
Thoroughly emasculated but too terrified at the prospect of being caught to concern myself with it, I follow him through the kitchens, snatching a pastry from the counter on my way out. It’s only as he is loading my trunk onto his wagon that I realize I am to give him further instruction and indicate my imminent destination. I panic as I scramble up beside him and hoist my collar to my chin, as if it will somehow protect me from the thing I have just done.
I can’t think of anywhere in England I might go where my father cannot find me. Helplessly, I turn to look at the lad beside me, and his brows rise. “To the docks, Your Lordship?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say, as if that were the plan all along. The wagon lurches forward, leaving my stomach behind.
Soon Kitty will be waking to bathe in rose-scented water so she might smell sweet for our nuptials. Soon she will be carefully laced into the no-doubt-extravagant gown she has chosen for thisspecial day. Soon she will make her way into the foyer with a delighted smile on her face, and her heart will shatter into pieces when she finds out her betrothed has jilted her like a coward. Like a thief in the night.
But I cannot bring myself to feel bad for her. She doesn’t know it yet, but I have saved her from certain unhappiness. My selfishness has spared us both from a loveless marriage. One day, I am sure, she will thank me—but that day is not today.
Three
On the docks my senses are grievously assaulted by the odor of rotting fish and the constant clamor of bells and shouting. (I detest shouting—it’s so inelegant. Even when he’s at his angriest, my father’s bellowing can hardly be described as mereshouting.) I grimace and flinch away as a man passes by with a hand-drawn cart full of—dear God, whatever it is, it reeks something awful. I dare not look too closely.
All the same, some small part of me is grateful for the distraction from my imminent panic. What was I thinking, allowing that farm boy to bring me to thedocks, of all places?
To avoid thinking about the very real probability of my untimely death by drowning, I find a sturdy-looking man in naught but shirtsleeves and brown trousers and offer him a shilling to carry my trunk for me.
He pockets my payment with a nod. “Which ship is yours?”
“Ah…” I can’t help the uncomfortable giggle that bubbles out of me at the question. “Perhaps I misspoke. I don’t own a ship. I’m looking to book passage on one.”
“Meaning… there is no ship.”
“There are plenty of ships,” I say as I gesture broadly to the numerous ships before us. “I’ve yet to buy passage on one.”
The man eyes me suspiciously. “Runnin’ away from home, lordling?”
Were I a cat, the fur along my back might bristle at that question. As it is, I am a gentleman—and gentlemen do not bristle. “I—”
“For a crown, I’ll find you a ship.”
I balk. “Acrown? Sir—”
“I’ll even book your passage.”
I let out a huff, but what else can I do? I have no idea how one books passage on a ship. That is, I have beenona ship before, but I have never had to stoop to purchasing my own passage, nor arranging for my trunk to be carried.
“Fine,” I mutter, making it clear through my tone I am annoyed as I reach into my purse. “I’ll pay you once my trunk is on board,” I say, showing him the coin. “I’m good for it.”
He narrows his eyes but likely assesses—correctly—that he could snap me in half over one knee if I tried to swindle him. “Very well, then,” he says. “Where you runnin’ to, lordling?”
I choose to ignore the implication and wave my hand vaguely. “Somewhere fun.”
He snorts, which is as revolting as it sounds, and turns to make his way towards the ships. I sit on my trunk with a sigh and watch him go.
