Island Queen

by Vanessa Riley

  His brow rose as he captured my waist. “Heaven help the world when you do decide.”

  He spun me around his desk, dipping me and twirling. Then his lips met the arch of my neck. William nipped my lobe and slid to the hollow of my throat. Then he slipped away returning to his glass.

  In his smile lay a dare. I’d have to chase. It’s rare for a woman to chase.

  Should I?

  My gaze lowered to my champagne. I lifted my goblet. “To new and different.”

  Bubbles floated in the pinkish liquid. It smelled fruity, like a very ripe mango. The taste was good, but I could tell how it would falter if the bubbles were gone.

  “It’s what they call macerated. The blend of the fruit produces the berry color and offers the strong hints of licorice and strawberry.”

  “Berry champagne. It’s different.”

  “But you prefer the first, Dorothy?”

  The first I loved? The one I thought loved me? Or a kind spirit who made me laugh? “This is good. I’m ready for a challenge. Show me different, William.”

  He clinked his glass with mine, but his lips skipped the crystal to touch mine.

  This kiss was slow and easy, assured with the grace I’d seen when he instructed his men.

  With his lithe fingers, he set set down our glasses then eased up my arms. His touch was perfect, urging me to press forward into the unknown.

  I allowed his silent commands, his palms stoking the music between us. His pinkies found my laces and untied one after the other, freeing me of my tunic, my corset, everything but desire.

  His jacket fell away. The pinned medals chimed as they clanked together piled by our feet. He had me undone down to my shift. There was no way to stay mere friends. We’d danced to lovers.

  I curled to him when he picked me up and laid me bare in the bed I’d borrowed. No more separation. This sharing was for us—the comfort of the mattress, the joy of a slow and gentle rhythm.

  The son of a king stole my breath, and I gave him my body.

  At last, new and different felt right.

  The Boat 1789: Coast of England

  From the quarterdeck of the Andromeda, I held on to the rail. The sea and this beautiful city of bricks, Portsmouth, lay ahead. William had commanded the sails, catching each good wind. It only took six weeks to travel from Dominica to England.

  Water lapped peacefully on this British shore. At the docks, many ships moored. Drays piled high with timbers roamed everywhere. I could smell the cedar from here.

  “Dorothy?” Mrs. Clarke approached. Her hat wrapped in gray ribbons matched her gown. She looked ready to leave. “You’ve already started the day, so early. The prince is going to make a reefer of you yet.”

  “Didn’t want to miss the sunrise. It was amazing how everything changed. The reddish ball like a cashew cherry appeared from the water.”

  “Sunrise at sea is lovely but it’s too early.”

  “Not early enough. He’s gone.” William left the cabin with barely a word.

  Mrs. Clarke stood beside me. “He’s back to his world. The scoundrel captain goes away, the royal-born prince, third in line to the throne to one of the most powerful nations on the earth, reappears. That world doesn’t quite have a place for us.”

  “Wasn’t looking for that. I’d rather visit and discover why every man of significance in my life is drawn here.”

  “Then you and I should go see this, before we set off to our own.”

  “Mrs. Clarke—”

  “Kitty. Dorothy, call me Kitty.”

  I’d always done well with the Kittys in my life. Maybe God sent this one to me, an older, wiser, worldly woman, to make up for the sweet one who never aged.

  Turning, I looked into this cherub’s eyes. “I believe that’s why the prince invited you, to show me Portsmouth. He does think of everything.”

  “Yes, and after that, I take you to London. What troubles could two daring ladies stumble into?”

  I went to the cabin and retrieved my sack with my letters of credit, the copy of my manumission, and my coins. There. Now I was prepared for a great deal of trouble.

  As the carriage rumbled down the streets, I found myself in awe of this horse-drawn thing. Leather had been stretched and buffed smooth to cover the padded seat. My fingers could disappear in the tufting.

  Mrs. Kitty laughed. “Every time I come to Portsmouth, I see new houses and more expansion of the dockyards. Look at that pond, Dorothy. It’s for nothing more than cloth sails, to soak and season them to ready them for the ships.”

  Too busy poking the carriage’s cushions, I missed it. “Drays offer transport in Dominica. Nothing is this comfortable.”

  “You’re amused by the simplest things, Dorothy. This doesn’t compare to London. So keep your head, miss, and don’t spend all your money in one place.”

  My fist was tight. I knew the value of a shilling and a guilder quite well, but I had to bring pieces of this world back to Dominica.

  The coach stopped, and we were handed down. “What is this building, Kitty?”

  “This is a warehouse, but not for tools and roofing unless you consider boning for corsets construction material.” She adjusted her cream-colored shawl. “We need to get you a coat, a heavy one.”

  Too excited to feel chilly, I studied this big place, this structure made of limestone. Here wood must only be used for ships.

  Waving, I let Kitty proceed me into the warehouse. I stopped at the window glass, admiring a pair of gloves and thick-heeled shoes.

  The buckles sparkled. Whether the yellow things would fit or not, I should buy them for the decorations.

  “Come along, Dorothy.” She gripped my hand. “It’s better inside.”

  She was right.

  The fabrics on the shelves were a rainbow, but none as bright in color as my banana-yellow gown.

  The inked prints—diamond shapes and scrolling—on the cotton rolls would amaze Mamaí. I pictured my girls wearing these patterns for new gowns.

  My lungs stung. It had been more than two months since I last hugged any of them. Eliza and Frances and Edward—did they miss me as much as I missed them?

  Or did they hate me for leaving?

  Did my children sit at the window waiting for me to return?

  I grabbed Mrs. Kitty’s arm. “I have to go home. It’s time to go.”

  “Dorothy, you’ve just made it to these shores. You haven’t seen London.”

  “I need to go, Kitty.”

  She grasped my shoulders. “Have you given consideration to moving to London and becoming the prince’s mistress?”

  Not sure my ears were working. “What?”

  “Dorothy, it is possible. Every time the prince is out of favor, his pockets are pinched. A wealthy woman could help balance his finances. He will seek one out. Why not you? You could be that woman.”

  There was a certain appeal in imagining a prince, a man of the world, might need me. But I didn’t build my fhortún to trap a prince. I didn’t leave my life and my family to take up with a man of power who had money issues. Shaking my head like it would fall away, I said no. “Kitty, be serious. He brought me here, but I may never see Prince William again.”

  “You will. A man who throws a ball on a warship for you will find you. He can’t help himself.”

  Part of me wanted to protest. The decorations and music, all the pomp, was for his pa, the king. But my lover’s heart knew. William and I fit together, but deep in my soul I understood the ties between us would be cleaved. Time and circumstances always carried hatchets.

  London, England 1789: Dreams

  Traveling to London in Kitty’s carriage took half a day. We stopped in coaching inns along the way. That was what she called the hotels that hosted rooms with tables and servers and bedchambers upstairs.

  Chin lifted, coins readied, I’d grown used to the stares and the false gratitude that a shilling brought.

  “You’re a foreign princess, Dorothy,” Kitty said, w
iping gravy from her fingers. Our hearty stew served with beefsteak was magical, and so succulent and tender on the tongue.

  We gathered in her carriage and she repeated her princess joke. She kept William to the front of my mind, beyond my fears for his father and my increasing sadness. I missed my family. “Mr. King must send word home when we settle.”

  “Ah, your voice has returned. You’ve been very quiet.” She thumbed through a magazine.

  I hoped it didn’t have any more sketches of me and William. His Andromeda crew would tell all, like the Pegasus’s crew did. No bigger scandal than a prince and a pauper or prostitute. That’s how they’d paint me, not as a princess or anyone of means.

  “The roads here are better than Jamaica but a rut and divots can ruin a horse.” She folded up her book. “Your Mr. King said our accommodations are at the George.”

  “Do you British ever name anything other than George?”

  “We’ve had a few kings with other names, but William’s older brother bears the same.” Kitty leaned forward as she rolled her coral necklace between her fingers. “How wealthy are you?”

  “I’ve been lucky.”

  “Did you know the prince overspends his royal allowance and earns very little captaining the Andromeda?”

  “He wants my money? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “No, but it does make you well suited.”

  “Kitty, please. I don’t—”

  “Your friend Mr. King could get word to him. It wouldn’t be any trouble once William’s able—”

  “Stop.”

  “Picture it, Dorothy. The prince could climb the galleried building of the George. The swashbuckler could launch upon your balcony and serenade—”

  “Kitty Clarke.”

  “Sing, dance, lie in bed all day. You can have him if you want him. Think on it, Dorothy.”

  I didn’t fault my friend’s enthusiasm, but it made me sad how her talk centered on claiming a man. I understood how she got those two earls. Persistence.

  The carriage stopped and we walked into a courtyard. Could this be a castle? She would be bold enough to take me to William.

  No guards patrolled, and I doubted they’d let anyone walk up to the throne. I released the breath trapped in my lungs and walked a little easier with my friend.

  The beauty of this courtyard struck me.

  “Stop for a moment.” I caught Kitty’s arm and let my eyes feast. More stone sculpted with squiggles and figures dangled above rounded columns supporting the roof. “Marble.”

  “And limestone. This is the Royal Exchange. The best merchants are inside, Dorothy. I’ll introduce you to the mantua-maker of the season.

  “The who?”

  “A seamstress of the highest regard. And there are milliners.”

  Hats? Hats like in those magazines. “Then let’s go.” We stepped deeper into the courtyard. Buildings wrapped three sides of a square. A body could walk under the arch-covered walkway and roam the entire U-shaped length and never get wet.

  Kitty dragged me inside.

  Tables held gloves and more fabrics, but unlike Portsmouth, servants were everywhere. “Kitty?”

  “Those are mantua-makers and tailors, Dorothy. They will adapt anything you like for the perfect fit.”

  Dressing gowns with deep folds of linen were stitched and draped from hooks. Men with needles and thread stood ready to finish them. This was why Cells and Thomas came back so styled. “This is perfection, Kitty.”

  “The islands are wonderful, but none compare to London.” She bent and looked at a pearl brooch. “You should have jewelry.”

  My sister’s necklace was in my sack. It was very fine, but the luster of these white orbs shone like the moon.

  Against the clerk’s objections Kitty pinned it to my chest. She fished two guineas out of her purse. “My gift, Dorothy. Get used to these things. The preferred mistress of a prince should have nice things.”

  This Kitty was pushy. I missed my meek Kitty, my swallow. My sister never pressed this hard, and I didn’t think I was the type to be shoved down a path I wasn’t sure was mine.

  London, England 1789: The Path

  I’d become Kitty Clarke’s project. There was no better way to describe it. Milliners and drapers and mantua-makers had me arrayed in fine silks and laces. I turned and glanced at the silhouette I cast on the inn’s whitewashed wall. The rooms at the George were big. Mr. King had them save the best for me. His gift for being his successful partner in the West Indies.

  That was true, but it was also an indication of the money I’d made him. Men do end up making more. I wondered if I’d have a chance to best that, since my being with the prince proved power and I could be bedmates. Happy ones. Happy ones at sea. William’s pa had recovered and except for two nightly strolls in a garden at a big old place called Kensington, I hadn’t seen my prince. He loved his walks.

  Kitty sipped chamomile tea. My half-drunk cup was blended with Mamaí’s herbs. These were for my nerves.

  “You look fine, Dorothy. The prince will not be able to leave you again.”

  Men and leaving were too common for me. I concentrated on the yellowish-white satin gown that was delivered. The color reminded me of the flesh of a Montserratan governor’s plum picked too soon. That wasn’t me. Or maybe it was . . . This was my time to bloom and to be soft and smooth, sculpted into a Georgian lady of fashion. I twirled again and watched my hem float around my bare ankles. “Kitty, I’m an advertisement in your papers.”

  She settled in a chair. “When William sees you, he must make you an offer like he’d do any woman here.”

  My face may have held a smile but my insides twisted, dangling like an iguana about to fall through a roof hole. I sipped my tea. The bitter herbs reminded me of the last time I was a formal concubine to a man who had more power than I. Cells and I didn’t last. Why would William and I fare better? “Let’s talk of dinner. I’m partial to beefsteak.”

  “Dorothy, you must consider it.”

  “The prince and I have a friendship, and I have dreams, Kitty. The things you’ve shown me, I can take back to Roseau and make a larger fortune.”

  She frowned with such sourness, I thought we’d swapped teas.

  “Dolly, you’re in a unique position. I’ve never seen the prince so taken.”

  I hid my doubts behind my mother’s smile. I didn’t know what I wanted. Living in London wasn’t my dream, was it? But knowing he needed me and that a prince respected me—that did something to my heart.

  Finishing my cup, I smoothed my sleeves, wafting the lace at my cuff. “I do like the finery one buys here.”

  “Dorothy, you can have all that and more.”

  “What of my children? I can’t be away much longer.”

  “Bring them. They can be educated here. More mixed-race children are coming for schooling. It could be a new start for everyone.”

  My head hurt thinking of this. I wrapped my arms about my skull. “No more.”

  Her giddy grin made me forgive her.

  “Shall we dine below, Dorothy?”

  Packed with people, the dining room called the Coffee Room would be noisy.

  “No. I’d rather send down.” I raised my arms, trussed up in silks and satins. “But I should eat very little, if I’m to wear all these gowns your mantua-makers have designed.”

  “It’s good you’ve brought a fortune with you. A rich mistress or benefactor is an enjoyable thing.”

  All the clothes and fabrics and silver buttons and shoes I’d purchased for myself and for my family would bankrupt another. It would take at least a quarter to half of a year to earn the four hundred pounds I’d spent.

  These gifts stated that I and my family were worth it. We were.

  “You’re a friend, Kitty. Not sure if you’re meant for good or temptation.”

  “Temptation, my dear, always temptation.”

  A servant knocked on the door. I lifted from my chair. “Yes.”

 
“I’m looking for a nymph who crossed the sea on the Andromeda.” The easy masculine voice was William’s.

  I threw open the door and the prince charged in. He lifted me high in his arms and kissed me before I could say hello.

  Kitty’s jasmine perfume passed beside me. “Nice to see you, Prince William. Dorothy, I’ll be in my room.” She left, closing the door with a solid thud.

  William eased my feet to the floor then teased my neck, touching the arch he’d learned to tame. “I’ve missed you.”

  I stepped away, smoothing my gown of the wrinkles he’d made. “William, how is your father?”

  The hands reaching for me dropped to his side. He’d snapped to attention. “Better. The physicians say a full recovery will happen. He’s sane. Perfectly sane again.”

  My breath eased. “My prayers are answered. Hope that you don’t mind Catholic ones.”

  “Not at all. I’m glad—” He took my palm in his. “You think a person is doomed by their lineage?”

  “What?”

  “Dorothy, do you think a person is destined to be like their parents, their mother and father?”

  “My mother’s my hero. She did everything for me and my sister. I hope to be a tenth of her.”

  My voice trailed off, not voicing anything of my pa. He loved us the best he could, but it wasn’t enough. Yet, here I was leaving my family, my children, just like he did.

  William clasped his arm and rubbed at the wrist. “My father almost went mad. Many say I’m lost. I’m given to the worst risks. Carrying you here . . . many think I am lost.”

  The shadows he couldn’t outrun tangled with mine. They were too big, too powerful for a young prince and an island woman with unfulfilled dreams. “William.” I nudged his chin with my knuckle. “You are strong. You’ll best the naysayers.”

  “You think this, Dorothy?”

  “I know so. Remember it when I leave.”

  “No. You’ve just arrived. I’ve been too busy—”

  “We’ve had a lovely time. I’ll treasure it.” I had to say good-bye first. I wasn’t going to be the thing faulted as what ruined him, and he couldn’t be the reason I stopped chasing my dreams.