Chapter 23
Elizabeth tried to recall a more entertaining—and delicious—dinner than the current one, but this one was simply too splendid to surpass.
Not only was the food worthy of the finest table, but watching two equally strong-willed and determined individuals accustomed to having their way was most diverting.
Alexandra sliced her meat into tiny slices and looked at Fitzwilliam, clearly expecting praise. He glared daggers across the table at her. She made a face, then resumed ignoring him, very much like a younger sister who had tired of her strict brother.
Washing down her dainty bites with a gulp of wine, Alexandra said, “Did ye know that Boone was an ordained clergyman?” Her eyebrows furrowed. “Ordainments don’t expire, do they?”
A priest turned pirate? Elizabeth imagined there was quite a story behind Boone’s change of occupation, but the stormy look on Fitzwilliam’s face told her that now was not the time to ask.
“Do you really think I can court Elizabeth knowing that I am the reason she is here? Knowing how her family would be frantic with worry about her welfare?”
Alexandra rubbed her finger against the base of her wine glass. “That must be nice.”
“To cause her family concern?” Fitzwilliam scoffed.
Her gaze shot up to his. “To have people in yer life who concern themselves over yer welfare.” She looked down at her plate and shrugged as though her thoughts had not taken a melancholy turn. “I imagine it’d be nice. That’s all I meant.”
While Elizabeth could never condone Alexandra’s behavior—two kidnappings!
—she began to understand how such a person might justify her actions.
Elizabeth imagined what it would be like not to have her loved ones in her life.
The loneliness the thought alone provoked was enough to steal Elizabeth’s breath.
She may never see eye to eye with Alexandra, but she could sympathize with her.
“Do you not have any family aside from your brothers?”
A cold, empty laugh escaped Alexandra. “They’ll not wish to claim me after what I did.” She rubbed her finger against the edge of her knife.
Fitzwilliam opened his mouth, but Elizabeth shook her head at him.
He would demand that Alexandra take them to shore, but Elizabeth sensed that Alexandra would only bristle under his command.
She was a woman accustomed to being in charge, and if Elizabeth’s suspicions were correct, Alexandra could be led to draw the correct conclusion on her own if they managed their conversation intelligently.
He pursed his lips, the muscles on the side of his jaw flinching as he seemed to grind his teeth …
and it struck Elizabeth that even though he was unaccustomed to yield to anyone, he was willing to yield to her.
She felt the distinction of his deference as fully as she had felt the strength of his protection earlier.
Softly, staring at the dent the knife made in her skin, Alexandra murmured, “I can’t go back. I made me choice.”
“You can always return to your family,” Elizabeth said.
Alexandra chuckled. “Ye don’t know me brothers. They’d sooner blast me out of the water.”
“Surely not! You must have at least one champion you can turn to.”
“I only have Nick—or had, I mean.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “Having only sisters, I cannot imagine what it must have been like for you to be raised with brothers, and in your … profession. Your mother must have had her hands full with you. Was your father a seafaring man, too?”
Alexandra shrugged. “Never knew ‘em. Jean and Pierre raised me as best as they could. Taught me everything I know. I was climbin’ riggin’ and tossin’ knives before I lost me first tooth.”
Again, Elizabeth engaged her imagination.
Surrounded by the roughest men who roved the seas, it was no wonder Alexandra had no manners, no proper sense of right and wrong, and no regard for consequences.
“Have you never known tenderness? Concern? Loyal friends who only want the best for you? Someone willing to share your burdens?”
Alexandra looked at her blankly. Scratching her head, she said, “Ye mean someone I trust to see me weak? I cried once in front of me brothers, and that’s a mistake I’ll never make again. Men won’t back a weak captain.”
“There is more to emotion than simply crying. The ability to understand not only yourself but others gives you invaluable insight and power.”
“I have to be stronger than any man aboard me ship. If I don’t react quickly and decisively, they’ll think me inferior. Weak.”
Which explained to Elizabeth why she was presently aboard the Fancy.
Elizabeth chewed on her lip, pondering how best to use this information to benefit her and Fitzwilliam.
Alexandra only thought of the moment. She was constantly under scrutiny and, therefore, always had a great deal to prove.
That was a lot of pressure to live under every day.
“But I thought you were the captain of this vessel?”
Alexandra puffed her chest and lifted her chin proudly. “I’ve been voted captain for the last five years now.”
“An amazing accomplishment, to be certain.” Captaining a pirate ship would never make Miss Bingley’s list of ladylike accomplishments (more was the pity). “Then I wonder why you would not prefer to be in control rather than always reacting to your crew’s expectations?”
“I’m in control,” Alexandra rebutted.
“Are you really?” Elizabeth pressed. “Do you mean to tell us that your decision to keelhaul Mr. Darcy was not a direct result of your anger and fear?”
“I’m not afraid of nothing.”
“Oh? You were not afraid of your crew’s lessened opinion?”
Alexandra did not reply.
Elizabeth continued, “Tell me how keelhauling Mr. Darcy affected the attitude of your crew toward you.”
“They dare not defy me.”
That was not the point, and Elizabeth would not allow her to believe it was.
“No doubt, but how did your rash reaction affect your crew’s view of Mr. Darcy?
” Elizabeth leaned back in her chair, confident her reasoning was on sturdy ground.
She had seen how Cotton, Bauer, and Jean-Christophe treated him.
“They respect him,” Alexandra grumbled.
Feigning surprise, Elizabeth asked, “Really? Why is that, do you think?”
Crossing her arms and pursing her lips, Alexandra said nothing. Either she did not want to own to her mistake or she really did not know.
Elizabeth supplied an answer. “You maintained their fear, but Mr. Darcy won their respect and loyalty. Why do you think that is?”
Still no reply.
“Could it be because he acted boldly in favor of another, selflessly putting their lives before his own?” She sought Fitzwilliam’s gaze, smiling when his eyes met hers.
“There is no greater proof of goodness than a person who rises in your defense at the risk of their own life.” No greater proof of love.
He had not said the words, but she felt them in the warmth of his contemplation.
Alexandra clapped her hands together, ruining their moment. With a grin, she said, “That’s why I arranged for Darcy to fight me. I knew ye’d be impressed.”
The old adage that one attracted more flies with honey than with vinegar popped into Elizabeth’s mind.
She must find praise where she could. Forcing a smile, she stated, “You learn quickly. However, Mr. Darcy is a gentleman. He does not need to prove himself because honor is part of his nature and influences everything he does.” That, and her heart was his long before the dangerous display.
Her cheeks warmed under Fitzwilliam’s tender gaze.
Again, Alexandra interrupted their moment. “He’s as fine a man as me Nick. Which is why ye’re here. I need to learn to be more like ye.”
Because Elizabeth kidnapped ladies and dragged them across the country to a pirate ship. She bit back her retort, saying instead, “What would Nick think of your course of action?”
Alexandra squirmed in her chair, grumbling, “He’d say what he always does.”
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. “What does he say?”
“That I ought to use me fool brain and think before I leap into the fray.”
Fitzwilliam’s lips quirked. “A wise man, this Nick. I would like to meet him.”
Alexandra scowled and wrapped her arms around herself. “I’ve made a real mess of things, haven’t I? Ye must think I’m a horrible, unredeemable wretch.”
She looked so miserable, Elizabeth rested her hand on Alexandra’s shoulder. “Do you want to know what I really think?”
“That I’m a selfish pirate who acts rashly and without a thought for anyone but meself?”
Close, but not quite. Elizabeth shot Fitzwilliam another silencing look, ending in a conspiratorial smile because his thoughts were undeniably the same as hers.
Teasing him and consoling Alexandra (without letting her completely off the hook), Elizabeth said, “A gentleman recently taught me that first impressions are not always the most accurate measure by which to judge a person’s character.
The proof of a person’s goodness is seen in their actions and the way they treat others—especially those inferior to them. ”
Alexandra lowered her head to her hands. “If that’s how it is, then I’m a lost cause. I believe in strikin’ before I’m struck. I don’t know if I can change that … or if I want to.”
Elizabeth nodded. “Nobody is a lost cause. Are you willing to try to improve your character?”
“I have to if I’m to convince Nick that I’m worth havin’.”
“It will not be easy, but you stand to win a great deal—the respect of your crew, the admiration of the man you love, and perhaps some new friends to support you.”
Alexandra looked lost and little. “Ye’d do that? For me? After what I’ve put ye through?” Looking at Darcy, she asked, “After keelhaulin’ ye and cheatin’ ye out of a win ye deserved?”
Begrudgingly, he answered, “If Elizabeth extends her friendship to you, then I shall too.” He lowered his chin and narrowed his eyes, adding, “However, if you abuse her friendship in any way—if you put her in any more danger—I shall cut you off forever.”
“I’d expect nothing less from ye,” Alexandra said, looking as though she wished it were otherwise. Pounding her fist against the table, she groaned, “Blast the mizzenmast. Bothersome barnacles. How’m I supposed to learn how to be a lady Nick’ll fall in love with when I have to let ye go?”
Calling Jaffa, who was always nearby, she ordered, “Tell Nunez to chart a course for Weymouth. We’re goin’ ashore.”
She sounded so miserable, so hopeless and vulnerable, Elizabeth knew that her instinct to befriend Alexandra was the kindest course of action. “Your decision to take us ashore proves you are further along in your progress than you suppose.”
They were going to shore. Their freedom was guaranteed.
Fitzwilliam shook his head at her, a lopsided grin spreading over his face and his eyes wide with wonder.
Mrs. Finchley admired the fine houses at Mayfair.
Her own address, carefully selected so as not to draw attention to her wealth, was the price she paid to keep her activities hidden.
Nobody questioned an old woman living in a rundown house.
They pitied her. And she despised them behind a mask of benevolence.
The carriage stopped in front of the address on Colonel Fitzwilliam’s card, and she took in the bay windows, swept pavement, and manicured rose bushes on either side of the door, the bitterness rising in her bosom making her hands shake on her cane.
If Lady Anne had called for her services, she would not have died in childbirth bringing another brat into the world. It served her right.
Clambering out of the carriage, making certain to lean against the footman and walk feebly, she walked to the door.
The butler saw her immediately into the parlor, where Lady Matlock sat like a queen with her princesses … and—Who was that? Amelia’s heart fluttered.
Colonel Fitzwilliam had been useful to her after all!