But wealthy widow Rebecca DuMaurier, a brown-skinned African British royal court favorite has more personal cares. She’s running from a forced marriage to a famous white-haired earl and heroic general; going to her birth home in her stormy ocean-tossed Cornwall county, just to find a moment to breathe and think; but a many-faced Irish Catholic pirate troubling the Protestant English now sails her shores, walks among her neighbors and servants, and hides his ship in a cliff cove near her home.
Becca’s beloved rocky, treacherous Cornish coast proves a slippery stepping stone for the lively courtier runaway bride, her soldier English fiancé, and an intriguing, enigmatic gentleman and self-professed pirate with brown skin, many accents and faces Lady Becca will meet when he saves her life then steals her heart. However, her soldier is a tenacious man and it’ll take more than the ends of the earth and the wide ocean to escape his reach. Plus, on a ship of pirates, who’s to say all of them will welcome the lady's entry into their captain’s life.
Historical Romantic Adventure Fiction
Before Now White Hall Palace, Westminster by London, SE England;
1 November, 1688
Draft, PROLOGUE: GLACIAL FLEEING
Blasted irksome it was! Lord Padraic’s infuriating maxims kept darting ’round the bare ankles of Lady Becca’s thoughts; like housecats startled, fur standing on end, the apprehensive felines’ claws unsheathed; piercing into her mind—demanding to not be ignored.
“ ‘May you live in an interesting age,’ he’d spoken so agreeably years ago, and “May you leave without returning,” she finished in a murmur now, chiding her adult shadowed reflection in a whisper; so her lower lady’s maids, in their room beside hers, could not hear.
Both sayings were Lord Padraic’s, overheard by a mostly forgotten little brown-skinned girl at supper during an ambassadorial gathering of several ambassadors. He’d later told her that “interesting times” was not a good thing and too often dangerous, and that “leaving without returning,” meant you’d never come back, which was quite bad, if you left your home and wanted to return!
When Becca had learned the rather polite curse from His Lordship, her young escort was sitting higher at table, according to his noble born rank and esteemed favor, while she, a “common little wench” of the gentry, and the Irish Counselor had been seated just at salt; meaning they were neither favored to sit above it, nor disgraced or ignored enough to sit at table below salt.
Their position at supper said neither was of true importance; but were not to be fully ignored, either, even if, technically, he a full Lord was seating at elbow and below a Common Girl Child of no Wealth nor Power. Lord Padraic’s goals, both his Irish ones and Catholic ones, were in disfavor; but he was a nobleman born and powerful in his own right and endured the humiliation of this disrespect.
Little Mistress Rebecca DeLann, however, well, no one had known what to do with her that entire first year, when she’d abruptly come from “nowhere” and moved into the Royal Court. Her presence had frustrated, sometimes infuriated, and utterly confused Courtiers, both noble and political; especially since none could fully dismiss her because of her Royal Patron.
She still remembered Her Feelings at that long-gone meal; of Lord Padraic’s Frustration in communicating his People’s Needs, whilst being situated too below Power to be heard, and too close to a foolish low courtier bloated on currying higher favor by being malicious, spiteful, and scornful—yes, Becca knew these words all meant the same, but a Child’s Feelings are a Child’s Feelings.
His Lordship had clearly not appreciated being seated so low, nor being partnered with the youngest and only commoner at table, who was not either an adult nor of significance to Government or Court, as a Parliamentarian or Political Minister, or even the Significant Wife or Powerful Mistress of one. His Lordship had been seated next to “the King’s new little pet” and, unfortunately, even her glorious patron, Charles II of the Royal House of Stuarts, hadn’t yet known fully what to do with her in those early public situations, as she’d begun her Life at Court.
Becca’s eyes had grown round and large, as Lord Padraic had stated each Irish curse, in complimentary tones, and loudly in English, confusing the Low Courtier and ceasing his ignorant chatter so abruptly, that the man had gaped like a fish, whilst little Becca had giggled in a child’s delight, for she was yet not fully schooled in her Court Manners. Her highly inappropriate but highly affective, and infectious, laughter not only captured an inquisitive glance from His Majesty and a frown from Her Majesty on his left far away at the head of table; but caused the Irish Lord to finally acknowledge little Becca’s existence in a positive fashion; he winked down at her.
Lord Padraic had ignored Sir Low Courtier, Sir Gape Fish, as she renamed him in her retelling to her noble escort, young Marcus, and from that collusive moment of humor, Lord Padraic had spoken exclusively with her, little Mistress Common Nobody; making it quite apparent to all the “important people” dining there, that he was “giving up the fight, clearly killing his career and ambitions.”
“Where are you from, Mistress Rebecca?”
“Cornwall near Tintagel, I usually say, for more have heard of it or can find it upon a map. Oh! I can see the sea from atop our home!”
“That must be delightful. May I ask, what do you like most here?”
“His Majesty, Her Majesty, and all the colors of the Court. And my Tutor, who teaches me much; including the proper use of the new letters of our alphabet.”
“But, what of the people, these lords and ladies? What is wrong, dear girl?”
“I am told I am not to say my mind, for I am a child, a common child, and an uncommonly brown one at that. I must have no opinion about anything,” she said blandly, as having learned it by rote.
“Who has told you that? And you must tell me because I am your lord friend.”
“Lady Crawford—one of the poorer Crawfords, the other Crawfords do not care for,” she added in a discreet whisper. “She was displeased with me for the King had made her my maid, although she was born a Lady, and I was not.” He laughed, and heads turned. “And when she burned my hair and my neck with the curling irons he said he would send her to the Tower.”
“How shameful of her! Did he?”
“No. I begged that he not do so. She hated that, too, that I had begged for her; although she was terrified she would be sent there. It is one of her great nightmares I knew. He sent her from Court which ceased her funds as my servant. The Crawfords said their late brother, her husband, was gone and she was no longer one of them.”
And Becca whispered more softly, “Because she had no wealth or property or connection to power, except a gentry child, me, and she has lost that. Even her birth family would not help her, and I’d thought, then, that it served her right; until I heard her legs were hurting her more and that she had so little income, with little to nothing else to sell; so, I and my Betrothed, Lord Marcus—.”
“Your...? So that is true?!”
“Not officially, but for us it is.”
He’d smiled at that.
“What happened to Lady Crawford?”
more at....
No comments:
Post a Comment