Angelina's Secret Read online

  After that I was Jonathan’s shadow and constant companion. When he took lessons, I sat in his lap, absorbing knowledge like a sponge. He learned to ride horses. I followed on my pony. Where he went, I went. Always together, never apart.

  He teased, and I pretended to pout, but we never truly fought, because one of us always catered to the other. We never had any need to disagree or bicker like other siblings.

  Father too had changed for the better. He hired a foreman to run things at the textile mill so that he could be home with us more. He and his two brothers, Nicholas and James, were very successful businessmen. They had opened one of the first cotton processing plants in England. Then they started a textile plant and an import-export company together. They exported their cotton fabrics and other English textiles and goods.

  Returning from other countries like Italy, Greece, and Spain, with silks and sumptuous fabrics and aromatic spices that couldn’t be found in our region, our company sold to merchants and shop owners all over London, and our families thrived.

  Mother miscarried two more times and gave birth to a stillborn child before they decided that their little family was perfectly complete just as it was.

  Father loved Mother so very much, and he loved his children to a state of indulgence some might say. But he never cared about convention, and we were happy. To Lord Jonathan Edward Allan Stewart, that was all that mattered.

  2

  MARCH 2, 1763;

  A MOST EXCELLENT BIRTHDAY GIFT IS PRESENTED

  HE GLORIOUS DAY OF MY nineteenth birthday dawned like any other day. Anna woke me and helped me to dress in a morning gown before breakfast. Then off I went to the dining room.

  Both Mother and Father greeted me with a cheery good morning as I joined them for breakfast.

  “How did you sleep, my little angel?” Mother inquired sincerely.

  “Very well, thank you for asking,” I sweetly said, with the joy one feels when it is their birthday, and you just know something is up.

  “I hope you didn’t make any big plans today,” Father asked with a bit of a smile, as if he had some grand secret he was keeping.

  “No, Father, not really. I did tell Sarah I would meet her for lunch today. It seems she has something quite extraordinary she wants to tell me about. Why do you ask?” I stated while studying him with an inkling of suspicion now starting to creep in.

  “Oh, no reason, darling, just interested. Say, would you like to accompany me to the wharf today, around ten thirty? I have something I wish to show you.”

  Mother and Father were being mysterious and cryptic that morning, so I decided to play along.

  “Yes! Oh yes! That sounds like fun.” Looking at the clock behind Father, I suddenly realized I would have to hurry. Swallowing my last mouthful of toast with a gulp of juice, I stood up and kissed them both on the cheek. “I have to get ready,” I called over my shoulder as I ran from the room.

  Anna was waiting for me with a hot bath, as if she knew that I was in a hurry.

  “Happy birthday to you, my lady, and how are we feeling this day?” she said with her usual pleasantness and good cheer.

  “Thank you so much, Anna, you are a lifesaver. What do you know about this mysterious thing Father wants to show me?” I inquired of her with no real expectation of learning anything.

  “I don’t have any idea, my lady.” She attempted to avoid my eyes while busying herself. Anna was such a wonderful handmaiden, but more than that, she was a good friend. She was not scandalized by the fact that I preferred to bathe quite often and, without the traditional chemise worn for bathing, instead opting to bathe naked. It just felt better to me without a piece of clothing between me and my glorious hot bath.

  Anna washed my hair and handed me my favorite sandalwood-scented soap. Afterward, I sat by the fire and dried myself as she readied my gown and sundries.

  My suspicions were further fueled by the gown Anna pulled out of my dressing room—a lovely traveling gown made of light wool, pale green and heather gray.

  I knew that it was useless to question Anna further, she wouldn’t spill the surprise Father had planned, but I knew she was in on it. I could see it in her eyes.

  Combing out my hair until it was dry, and shone of rich copper, Anna then fashioned my hair up with green satin ribbons woven throughout. I was getting more excited by the minute. What could it be this mysterious surprise? Two years ago, Father had gifted me with my own horse, a Friesian stallion I named Dante. He was black as coal, large of frame and every inch of him was magnificent!

  I couldn’t imagine Father ever topping that birthday surprise, and my mind could imagine all kinds of things. But for the life of me, I was stumped.

  After one last look in the mirror, with a critical eye, I kissed Anna on the cheek and gave her a big squeeze and headed for the bedroom door.

  “Wait!” Anna called out as my hand was on the doorknob. I turned as she rushed toward me holding out my wrap.

  “Just in case you get cold,” she offered, placing it in my hand.

  “Thank you,” I said. “Truly, for all that you do for me every day. I am so grateful that we are friends,” I said, emotion getting the better of me. “I don’t know what is wrong with me today.” Tears welled up in my eyes.

  “Me too. Now off with you before you make everyone late and your father has my hide,” she said. Then turning around, she headed off to the dressing room as if she had something important to do. Running down the stairs, a strange feeling washed over me—a premonition, if you believe in that sort of thing. I stopped midway down and caught hold of the railing to steady myself. I felt the most distinct impression that something was about to change and that nothing would ever be the same again.

  Taking a deep breath and then another to steady my racing heart, I opened my eyes and started down the steps once again, just a little more cautiously this time.

  The London Wharf was teeming with activity and excitement, like so many worker bees in a hive striving for the common good. I don’t think that I’d ever realized just how much activity took place at the wharf, with the loading and unloading of ships that would soon be off to exotic ports of call, all in the name of commerce.

  While sitting in Father’s carriage waiting his return, another carriage pulled up next to me blocking my view. A few short moments later, the carriage door opened, and Uncle Jamie hopped in and sat across from me.

  I was left speechless. All I could do was screech and throw myself into his open arms.

  Father jerked the carriage door open as if he would strangle the first person he could get his hands on. Jamie and I turned in surprise to see Father standing there, his face beet red, looking like he would murder someone. We of course found it very funny and started to laugh.

  “Oh, Father, you should see your face,” I said through the tears streaming down my cheeks. Then, of course, Jamie started to laugh again, and Father thought the whole scene was ridiculous as he stepped into the carriage and shut the door.

  “Have you told her yet?” Jamie asked of his older brother.

  “No, I was on my way back to the carriage when I saw the carriage jumping around like a carnival show and heard Angelina scream. I thought one of those wharf rats had accosted her.”

  “So can I tell her? Please, I really want to be the one,” Jamie asked with a twinkle of excitement in his eyes.

  “All right, if you—” Father was cut off in midsentence by Jamie’s jubilance and excitement.

  “We are going to take the Lady Clarisse on a voyage to Italy. And by we, I mean you and me.” Jamie gestured with his hands, pointing back and forth between us. “Doesn’t that sound like fun?” Jamie blurted out with exuberance.

  Turning to Father with disbelief, I said, “Really, Father? Why, this has got to be one of the best birthday surprises yet!” and I launched myself into his arms. My squeals of delight were not very refined or ladylike. But I didn’t care.

  Uncle Jamie was better known as Lord Stewart, t
he youngest brother to Jonathan and Nicholas Stewart. He was as tall and handsome as his older brothers, but instead of jet-black hair, Uncle Jamie had a hint of red in his dark locks. He had been married to Evelyn Marie Jones for two years before he lost her and the boy to complications during childbirth. Uncle Jamie never recovered from the tragic blow, and he never remarried.

  Thirty-eight years old with a bit of a reputation with the ladies, some might even say he was a rake. But as far as I was concerned, he was the fun uncle, and I loved the idea of going with him to buy and trade for the family business.

  Thirty minutes later, we were out of the carriage and boarding the Lady Clarisse, an eighty-five-foot caravel sailing ship fitted with square masts and freshly cleaned decks.

  The smell of salt air and the breeze coming up from the east that day could not be more perfect for a trip to the coast of Italy. Father had never allowed me to accompany Uncle Jamie or Uncle Nicholas anywhere, let alone all the way to Italy. So the thought of being on the open ocean seeing different cities was a thrill of a lifetime for me. Oh, what a glorious day this had turned out to be, indeed.

  Kissing Father farewell and promising to stick close to Uncle Jamie every step of the way, we were off. The tide was headed out and Captain Kinkaid barked, “Weigh anchor and hoist the main sail.” Our journey was under way.

  I had been so grateful that Anna handed me a wrap on the way out the door because the breeze had picked up slightly. Since I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving the deck before Father was out of sight, and London was no longer in view, the wrap came in handy.

  Captain Kincaid barked out orders, and deckhands scurried about securing the rigging, hoisting sails, and getting our ship underway. Uncle Jamie and I stood at the railing, breathing in the glorious sea air. Yes, life was headed in a grand direction, and I couldn’t wait to see just where it would take me.

  3

  MARCH 6, 1763;

  NORTH ATLANTIC OCEAN,

  NEAR THE BAY OF BISCAY, FRANCE

  UDE DEVER AUX, CAPTAIN OF A group of French privateers, walked the decks of his newest acquisition, an English Brigantine ship loaded down with goods from the American colonies. The privateers would lure an unsuspecting ship near their eighty-five-foot schooner by appearing to be stranded in the middle of the North Atlantic Ocean near the Bay of Biscay.

  The English schooner named Lady Frances flew the English colors and a distress flag. A few men were positioned on deck in English clothing and the rest of the crew were out of sight. The ship had also been fitted with hidden cannons in case they were needed. The whole maneuver could normally be managed without a shot being fired. At least that was Captain Deveraux’s plan. After all, what good was a ship with a hole in her side or resting at the bottom of the ocean?

  Captain Jude Deveraux was a tall and formidable figure of a man. Taller than most of his countrymen, he stood six feet three inches tall, with broad shoulders and well-shaped narrow hips. He had raven-black hair worn long and pulled back in a ponytail most days. But sometimes he liked to leave it wild. It was more for dramatic effect. If one was going to play the part of a bloodthirsty pirate, one must dress the part.

  Rumor was that his looks had never been a deterrent when it came to women. And once he set his piercing blue eyes on his victim, all hopes of resistance were lost. At the age of twenty-six, Jude had learned to use those assets to his full advantage. And he always left them wanting more.

  Jude had made the mistake of falling in love once at the tender age of nineteen. He had been young and naive and Juliette Moreau had not. She took one look at Jude Deveraux and knew that she had to have him. He fell hard for Juliette who had her eyes set on a bigger prize, the Marquis of Bourbon.

  The Marquis of Bourbon was a refined man of advancing years and girth, who came with status, prestige, and wealth. The only things truly important to Juliette Moreau were pedigree, a title, and money!

  This unfortunate situation left Jude brokenhearted and vowing to never let a gold-digging woman get the better of him again.

  While in the service of King Louis XV during the Seven Years’ War, Jude saved the life of the king’s favorite cousin, Jean Luc Bernard II. For this he was handsomely rewarded with a ship and a letter of Marque, giving him license to pillage and plunder to his heart’s content without fear of prosecution.

  His parents also benefited from Jude’s heroics. They were given land and titles and appointed to the royal court. His father was made prime minister of France, making him Count Philippe Gerard Deveraux of Bordeaux, a diplomat to the French Crown. And Jude’s mother was named Countess Genevieve Sophia Deveraux of Bordeaux. She traveled with her husband everywhere and loved her only child Jude very much.

  Jude was made captain of his own ship and given the title Duke of Bayonne, which came with land as well. His estates lay along the coastline of France. The properties were side by side and conveniently situated along the Bay of Biscay, which turned out to be Jude’s favorite place to return to.

  Captain Jude Deveraux walked the decks of the impressive 110 foot Brigantine that was loaded to the gills with colonial goods headed for London by way of Portugal.

  The prior captain had made the fateful mistake of getting caught in a severe gale that damaged the main mast. He put into Portugal for repairs and subsequently loaded his ship down with extra supplies making the ship sit dangerously low in the water. The ship carried a crew of only seventy-five men due to natural attrition of an ocean voyage. Fifteen men had been tossed overboard during a fierce gale—and the subsequent illness that followed. The captain of the Miranda further jeopardized his ship by coming upon a seemingly vulnerable schooner, the Lady Frances at dusk. The majority of the Miranda crew was below deck resting before their shift change, leaving the ship vulnerable to attack.

  Upon capturing the Miranda, Captain Deveraux’s men disarmed the crew, blindfolded them, and placed them below deck of the schooner Lady Frances. A skeleton crew sailed them to nearby landfall and freed the men on neutral ground (never being able to identify their abductors, for they never saw their faces).

  4

  MARCH 6, 1763;

  SOMEWHERE IN THE NORTH ATLANTIC OCEAN,

  NEAR THE FRENCH COAST

  AWOKE THAT MORNING, A FEELING of foreboding in the pit of my stomach. I dressed in a simple, dark blue, cotton dress, pulling my hair back and up with a couple of pins.

  In my attempts to stay busy, I had been helping Cook each day in the galley. I didn’t care if I stirred porridge in the mornings and peeled potatoes in the afternoon. It felt great to be of some use. I enjoyed getting to know the crew by name.

  Sailors by nature are a ruckus and rough sort, but I found them to be refreshingly honest. Their language could be a bit colorful, but they cleaned it up some in my presence.

  Afterward I enjoyed walking along the decks in the ocean breeze or reading a book from Captain Kincaid’s library. It all helped to make the time pass quickly.

  “Good morning to you, Mr. Jones,” I said to Cook as I put my apron on attempting to sound extra cheerful that morning.

  Cook was as round as he was tall with a receding hairline and a pleasant disposition. He had a bit of an Irish brogue, and he loved to hum as he cooked. He reminded me of a little leprechaun. The only thing missing was a shillelagh and a pot of gold.

  “Top of the morn to ya, lassie, I trust you slept well,” he called over his shoulder as he busily prepared the biscuits.

  “Like a baby gently rocked by her momma. How can I help this morning?”

  “The porridge could use a bit of water and a little loving care, if you know what I’m a sayin’.” He gestured toward the pot of thick porridge with his head.

  “I’ll get straight to it,” I said as I retrieved the pitcher of water and looked around for the other pitcher that held the fresh milk.

  “I did wake up this morning with a strange feeling. Like something different is coming, and I can’t quite shake the feeling,” I casually said, t
rying to make conversation while stirring the large pot of glop.

  “So you got a wee bit of the sight in ya, now don’t you, lassie?” he said as he turned and gave me a grin and a wink.

  “What do you mean, ‘a wee bit of the sight in me’?” I said, mimicking his brogue.

  “My ma and her ma always knew when things were about to be changing or when things were just a wee bit off. My ma said it was like a tingle that touched her deep. Like someone reached in and touched her soul, and she always knew something was about to change,” he said with a reverent hush.

  “Oh, don’t be daft, as if I could tell the future.” I tried to laugh it off.

  “Now don’t go tempting the gods, little lassie. They don’t like being made a fool. You best be paying attention now.” And with that, he turned to preparing the meal while humming an Irish tune. I pondered his words in silence.

  The rest of the morning passed without incident, and I enjoyed my stroll on deck. The skies were turning a dark gray, and one of the deck hands said there was a storm blowing in. He had a bad knee that always let him know that rain was coming.

  The man in the crow’s nest called out, “Ship to port, Captain, dead in the water. She is flying English colors and a distress flag, sir.”

  Captain Kincaid called out, “Bring her about, boys, and somebody bring me my looking glass.”

  The men started a shanty while they worked to change the rigging. It helped them to stay in sync.

  “Up aloft this yard must go,” one man would call out, and a group would respond while pulling ropes in unison.

  “Way hay and up you go.”

  “Up aloft from down below.”

  “Way hay and up you go.”

  “Up you go to see the crows flying.”

  “Way hay and up you go.”

  “A top the nest from down below.”

  “Way hay and up you go.”

  “I can see land a yo ho ho.”