Chapter One
1701
Cora Bellingham stood before the open window and closed her eyes as she inhaled the balmy tropical air. Cora blocked out the muted sounds of conversation and tinkling china in the next room as she fantasized of opening her eyes and finding herself somewhere, anywhere else.
When she’d come to Port Royal with her parents seven years earlier she’d thought she’d found herself in paradise. Now it felt more like a gilded cage that closed in on her more each day.
“Cora?” She turned to see her father walking into the room. “What on Earth are you doing in here? Your guests are looking for you.”
She curtseyed lightly. “Pardon me, father, but am I not allowed a moment to myself? I’m to marry on the morrow and I’ve not had even a morsel of privacy for the past three days.”
Her father scowled.
“You are marrying an important man, Cora. It will be your place to entertain Commander Wilshire’s guests and visitors. So ply me not with regrets over what is demanded of you tonight. And come back out before you shame me.”
Cora felt her face flush with anger. It had never mattered to her father that she didn’t love Nigel Wilshire, that she didn’t want the marriage he’d channeled her into for their own political benefit.
And she knew it would do no good to argue with her strict father; she only wished she was escaping to someone who would give her more freedom. But she knew with Commander Wilshire she’d be getting even less. The stoic, rigid commander with the British navy lived by a code of order and discipline.
“Ah, there you are.”
As if summoned by her thoughts, Commander Wilshire appeared. As always he looked impeccable from head to toe. His cocked hat sat neatly over his powdered wig. The buttons on his uniform gleamed. His shoes were so shiny they reflected the light from the wall sconces.
“I was just scolding her for leaving her guests.” Her father’s tone was apologetic. The rich trader would not rest, Cora knew, until she was safely married off to the man he’d all but selected for her.
“Cora is a willful girl, James.” The commander’s voice was hard as he looked down on her. “But as my wife she will leave behind youthful rebellion and playfulness and assume the duties of a helpmeet, hostess…”
He smiled an arrogant smile as he continued “…and eventually a mother of fine sons.”
“Indeed,” her father said, looking more relieved. “Now come, Cora. You should see to your guests.
But Nigel took hold of her arm. “I’ll bring her along in a moment,” he said. “I’d like to have a word with her first.”
Cora suddenly wished she could leave with her father and almost called after him. But how could she cry out that she was afraid of her fiancé without making things worse.
“Cora?” He spoke her name firmly, with a hint of judgment.
She looked up at him reluctantly.
“Were you not so completely beautiful I don’t think I would waste my time.”
“If you feel that way, then you should not. There are many beautiful women in the world.”
He smirked. “True, but none I’ve seen are as beautiful as you. I strive for perfection Cora, in everything I do. And you are as close to perfection as I’ve seen.”
“So I’m a trophy, then?” she asked, looking away.
He paused.
“You are a woman. Your lot is to be whatever your husband expects of you. And should you ever leave our guests when we are married I will find you, excuse us from the gathering, take up you to our room and spank you soundly. Then you will be expected to return and do you duty with a stiff upper lip even though you would rather cry. Is that clear?”
Her nod was barely perceptible. What good would it do to argue with such a man? He offered her his arm and she took it as they returned to their guests.
Cora spent the rest of the evening pretending to be pleased about her impending marriage. Her face hurt from the effort of forcing a smile she did not really feel. And she was ever conscious of her soon-to-be-husband’s eyes upon her, looking for any reason to criticize or scold her.
“Everyone is so happy.” Her mother walked over to her, beaming. “And more than half the women are green with envy. Even some of the married ones.”
Caroline Bellingham looked over at her future son-in-law. Her ample bosom heaved as she sighed. “He is an exceptionally fine man, Cora. And so ambitious. You’ll never want for anything with him by your side.”
Cora wanted to scream to her mother that she was wrong. She’d wish for love. And escape.
“I only wish Nigel weren’t so intent on spiriting you away from London after the wedding,” her mother pouted. “My dear, only daughter taken away before I can get used to the idea that she is a wife. But he is insistent to have you alone before returning to Port Royal. And, of course, I am sure he is eager to show you off to those in London who can’t come to the wedding.”
“I’m tired, Mother,” Cora suddenly said. She had tried to forget that she’d be leaving so soon. “I fear with all the … excitement over tomorrow I shall have a hard time getting to sleep. I want to look the best for my wedding. Do you think you could make my apologies if I retire early?”
She held her breath expectantly. Her mother was always a better buffer than her father.
“I suppose,” her mother said. “It’s getting late anyway and the guests will soon be going.”
She took her daughter’s hand and patted it as she led her over to where Commander Wilshire was standing with Cora’s father and some friends.
“Poor dear is tired,” she said. “She wants to go to bed so she can rest up for tomorrow. I’m sure there are no objections?”
The other guests murmured that they quite understood. But Nigel’s face was hard as stone.
“My dear, if you felt that way you should have told me.”
“I didn’t want to bother you,” Cora said limply. But they both knew she’d not said anything because he wouldn’t have cared. Even now his face strained with barely contained anger. She knew he was not pleased that she’d used her mother to get her out of the situation.
But she told herself that with the wedding being the following day, Nigel would hopefully be too preoccupied by the nuptials to be angry with her.
Upstairs in her room Cora took a wistful look around. The white shutters were open and the breeze coming off the ocean was salty and fresh. Palm trees silhouettes swayed in the moonlight against a backdrop of stars popping up in the dimming sky.
Her mother turned back her bed as her maid pulled a fresh nightgown from the chest at the foot of Cora’s bed. Behind the screen she slipped out of the lilac-colored gown she’d been wearing and reached over the top for the nightdress.
She sighed with pleasure as she slipped it on, for it was such a relief after the constriction of the gowns she was expected to wear. They molded her, controlled her, shaped her. It was like wearing part of Nigel wherever she went.
But in the nightgown she was comfortable and relaxed. Cora came out from behind the screen to find her mother plumping the pillows.
“Thank you, Mother,” she said.
“I wanted to do it one last time before..” Caroline turned away, her voice breaking.
“Mother, no. Don’t cry…” Cora reached for her and launched into what she hoped would be the greatest performance of the evening – convincing her mother that she was looking forward to the marriage that would take her away from everything she cared about.
“Nigel loves me,” she soothed. “And I am so excited to see London again. It’s been…how long?”
“Seven, eight years?” Her mother said. “I lose count.”
“Yes, and now I shall see it as a wife. And I’ll write you daily to tell you of all I experience. And when we return I’ll have gifts for you.” She paused. “You like gifts, mother…”
Her mother nodded, dabbing her eyes.
“My lovely girl. Of course I’m pleased for you. It will just be so hard to see you leave. But you are a woman now and ready for a woman’s life.”
She sat down on the edge of the bed and patted the mattress. “Come, Cora. Sit by me. Let me tell you how to be a good wife.”
Was this night ever going to end? Cora sat down, telling herself to be patient as her mother launched into the predictable speech. Obey your husband. Don’t be afraid of what he asks you to do on your wedding night. Trust him. A pretty smile will always defuse tension. Keep yourself well-groomed. Remember that all you do publicly affects your husband’s future; you are his greatest ally and asset.
It was the code Caroline lived by. Everything she did she did with Benjamin Bellingham in mind, from picking her dress to choosing her dinner menu. When Nigel Wilshire noticed Cora as a budding thirteen year old and remarked to her father that she was destined to be a great beauty, the merchant made sure from that point on that he thrust his daughter front and center into every event attended by Wilshire.
Wilshire had been just an officer then. By the time Cora was sixteen he Wilshire – at thirty – was made commander. A year later he be asked permission of Cora’s father to court the girl. Her father gave her no choice; he simply announced that the British Navy’s most promising young commander had expressed an interest and made it clear that he would do all he could to encourage that.
A dressmaker was called in to fashion more grown-up attire to accentuate Cora’s feminine form, not that she needed it. She had a lovely figure, with firm, high breasts, a long narrow waist and pleasantly full hips. Her legs and bottom were firm and well muscled from long days walking on the beach. Her long brunette hair hung in fragrant waves down her back. Her eyes were as green as sea glass, her skin as pale as summer sand.
Everyone had told her from childhood that she was beautiful. But Cora had always felt uncomfortable with approving glances and trinkets she got based solely on how she looked, especially when she considered her maid Solange, who – despite being the kindest person Cora had ever met – was regularly teased by adults and children alike for her lazy eye. Her own parents frequently expressed disappointment at the burden her disability represented both to her and to them. For what man would want to marry a flawed girl.
It did not seem fair to Cora and she told Solange this one night.
“Marriage proposals should not go just to pretty girls,” she commented. “What is to say that looks make a wife.”
“Who’s to say marriage make a life?” Solange had replied, and the two had laughed. Cora had been eleven then. Now, less than a day away from her wedding they seemed disturbingly prophetic. Her beauty had turned out to be a curse; had she been plainer she would have never caught the eye of Commander Wilshire.
The talk complete, her mother held back the covers to allow her daughter to get into the bed.
“My last night alone,” she thought, and felt a bit sick. Nighttime was her only refuge away from the demands of others. Now she was about to lose that. Perhaps if she wasn’t so afraid of Commander Wilshire the notion of sharing her bed would be more bearable. Was Nigel capable of being gentle with her? Being gentle required care and consideration of another person. Even without the benefit of marriage he’d started to treat her like an object or a recalcitrant child. As he’d done on this night he’d told her on several occasions that she could expect physical punishment if she disobeyed. He’d even made the remark in the presence of her father. When she looked at him in distress, Benjamin Bellingham had not objected to the words of his future son-in-law, but nodded in approval.
This deeply distressed Cora, for her parents had never laid a hand on her. They’d never had to. She had a temper, but was also reasonable provided someone took the time to discuss things with her. Living with Nigel would be challenging. He often dismissed her before she could even finish a sentence. He’d done in this very evening. Rather than ask her if she needed time alone, he’d only given her one option – his.
Her mother left the room and she was alone.
Cora turned on her side and stared out the window at the glassy ocean. What would happen, she wondered, if she ran away? How far could she get? She was on an island after all and there was only one way off – via the ocean.
And she knew what was in the ocean. Pirates. Ruthless thieves, marauders and defilers of women who stalked the seas like wolves. Her father’s ship had fallen prey to them on numerous occasions; that was why he had been so intent on marrying Cora off to Commander Wilshire. Once they were family Bellingham ships would get priority protection.
Cora had seen some of the men Nigel had apprehended. Bronzed by the sun they could have passed for natives. Their hair was shaggy, their dress nearly indecent with their snug pants and open shirts. They looked strange and wild. Cora would watch them until her mother told her to look away. And even so she’d look back, stealing just one more glimpse at these strange, lawless beings.
“Beasts,” Nigel had growled after a recent attempt to capture an especially notorious pirate ship had failed. The lawless captain David Rake was fast gaining a reputation as a slippery character.
“Is that his real name?” Cora had asked, for the name seemed nearly as delightfully scandalous as the stories she and others were hearing – exploits of ships ambushed from fogbanks and found adrift later with the crew tied up and the whole thing pillaged right down to the wheel.
“Rake,” The commander had responded derisively. “Whether it’s his real name or not should not be of concern to a decent lady, Cora. From this point on I shall request that you refrain from mentioning pirates.”
It was one of the few occasions that she had stood her ground.
“What is the harm in a question?” she had asked. “The pirates are of a concern to the populace.”
He’d stared at her, hard, until her father had interceded.
“Their activities are,” Benjamin Bellingham had replied. “The rogues themselves are not.”
“Listen to your father,” Nigel had said sternly, his handsome face stormy. “Until my wisdom guides you, Cora, you’d be prudent to heed his. Talk of pirates is indecent. And as I said I shall not have it.”
The conversation had quickly turned to other things and Cora had spent the rest of the meal pushing the food around on her plate as she nursed feelings of hurt and betrayal she felt growing towards her parents. How could they sit there and let this man speak to her like that? Had they not insisted on her learning to read and write? Had they not encouraged her curiosity, even in unconventional matters? Her father even taught her how to read the night skies and follow the stars like a map. He’d taught her to use a compass and a sexton. He regularly discussed politics at the family table and even solicited her opinion, often expressing delight when she made an original or insightful point.
That had slowly changed when she’d begun her forced courtship with Nigel Wilshire. Once the merchant saw that the commander was not impressed with curious, questioning women he began to withdraw from his daughter. He stopped soliciting her opinion, and when she came to him with questions about a new interest he’d discourage her by saying he didn’t have time. Later he’d tell her that her pursuits were not fitting a lady and urged her to keep what she’d been taught to herself.
“The commander has other uses for you,” he said.
Apparently so did her father. She was no longer a daughter so much as a commodity. Her father had no use for her and the use her future husband saw was so limited Cora wondered how she would make it through her days as a wife without dying of boredom.
She sought to keep her eyes open even though they were growing heavier by the moment. She did not want to sleep because she knew it what it only seemed like moments she’d awake to find herself facing her wedding day.
Cora closed her eyes. “Dear God,” she said. “I’ve not come to you in so long. Not really. I’ve pretended to pray at Sunday services because Mother expects it of me. But you know I am not really talking to you. I am now, though. I need your help. I do not want to marry Commander Wilshire. I do not love him. I hate him. Yes I know it is wrong but he is cruel and hard and mean to me. He’s never shown me love and am I not entitled to love? Please, O Heavenly Father. Please hear me now. Save me from this marriage. Send me a sign that you will save me so I can go to sleep without fear.”
She opened her eyes. Outside she could hear waves crashing against the shore. Cora waited, holding her breath. She looked for anything different, any sort of sign. But there was nothing.
She closed her eyes one last time.Tears leaked out from between her eyelids as she did. Her eyes did not open again. If they had they would have seen the moth that danced around the flame of the candle on her table. It was large and brown, with a perfect skull-shaped marking on is back.
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