The day had arrived, and my wedding dress was laid out across the bed in the brothel, a pretty light blue design that took my breath away.
“The captain will like it, aye?” Madame asked, smiling warmly at me. Her spirits had improved vastly from the last time I’d seen her, helped in part from all the money we’d paid her. She, along with one of her girls, were here to help me change and get ready for the handfasting.
“He will love it,” I confirmed. “Thank you, so much.”
“I sent yer other items out to the ship,” she stated conversationally. “That contraption ye had me make is quite the thing!”
“Oh, yes!” the girl agreed. “It was most peculiar, but once finished worked nicely.”
“I’m glad you thought so.” Smiling, I tried to keep from laughing. It would be a while yet before bras became a mainstream clothing item. As long as the time preferred women with tiny waists and large breasts, corsets would still be used to force us all into a uniform shape.
“Let’s get ye in the bath,” Madame instructed, motioning to the tub that was already filled by the fireplace.
Removing my clothes, I did as she ordered, sliding into the lukewarm water with a moan. In just a few hours, I would be Mrs. Tristan O’Rourke. We would sail to the Caribbean and move on from there, always together.
“Captain O’Rourke also asked me to talk to ye about keepin’ the babes away?” Madame sat down behind me, pouring water over my head and lathering soap into the strands of hair, moving quickly but gently. It smelled like roses and lavender oil, relaxing me even further.
“Yes,” I mumbled. “He wondered if you had any herbs I could take.”
“I do.” At her word, the girl went to the desk drawer, pulling out a vial with a stopper in it and bringing it over. “Ye’ll want to take it every day, to make sure the mixture is effective. So long as ye don’t miss, there will be no babe.”
“We use them here,” the girl said. “They work wonderfully.”
“Where can I get more, when this runs out?” Curious, I took the bottle, staring at the oil inside.
“It comes from a plant grown here, on the island,” Madame said. “But there are other plants in different places. When ye run out, there will be more to be had.”
“Will it work for tonight?” I hadn’t thought about needing to have something before my wedding night. The pill didn’t start working for a whole month—was this like that?
“It will do the trick,” she answered confidently.
After she’d finished bathing me, she set me by the fire to dry, leaving for a moment to check on other things in the brothel. Naked, I basked in the warmth, trying to shoo the nervous and excited butterflies from my stomach.
Tristan was probably getting ready himself, ordering the crew about as we prepared for a beach ceremony. Father Torres had agreed to stand in, even if what we were doing lacked any Christian significance.
Madame Kane returned, directing me into my shift, and the preparations began anew. What felt like hours passed before I was placed in front of the looking glass, my hair curled and pinned back, one thick, long strand brushing down across my shoulder. I’d been given pearls to wear that matched the white lace accents on the dress. The gown itself was the most beautiful thing I’d ever worn and I just stared at myself, taking it all in.
It was low cut, the neckline drooping far enough to show a good portion of my chest, but not so much as would be frowned on in this time. Each sleeve draped from my shoulders, the fabric bunched up around my elbows. The blue cloth stretched tightly around me, matching the shape of the corset underneath, and belled out into a good-sized skirt.
“Ye look beautiful, miss,” the girl said in awe, and Madame Kane beamed.
“Ye do. Now, wait here, and I’ll go see if they’re ready for ye.” Turning, she ushered the girl from the room and locked me inside, shouting something at a person downstairs.
Glancing at myself in the mirror, I smiled, instantly seeing the way my nose crinkled, just like Mom’s always had.
“What do you think?” I asked her, imagining her sitting on the bed.
“You look beautiful, Sammy,” she replied, a little teary. “I’m so happy for you.”
“And you, Dad?” He was standing by the door, hands in his pockets.
“You picked good, Samantha. He’s a lucky man.”
The tears in my eyes threatened to slide down my face, and I wiped it hastily away, hoping that they would be with me in spirit, if at all possible.
“All right, miss,” Madame called, opening the door and shattering my imagined reunion. “Are ye ready?”
Turning, I grinned, smoothing the front of my skirt nervously. “Yes, I am.”
Swept Away (The Swept Away Saga, Book One) Page 49
