The Pirate & The Porcelain Doll (WAYHAUGHT)

Chapter 1

"The first time I met her she frightened me," Waverly whispered to her friend. "It has been the same ever since."

"There's certainly something wild about her," her companion replied. "Something untamed, trapped within her soul, seeking release. They say she's declined three marriage proposals. Her mother is at her wits' end."

Waverly watched as the familiar figure approached. You scare me, she thought, and excite me at the same time. You are dangerous, with those eyes of yours. Dangerous and delicious. And deadly. And, you will be the death of me Nicole Haught.

Waverly was no more than three years of age when the girl with flame-red hair burst into her life, forging a memory so deep it would stay with her forever. Her family was attending a weekend house party at the estate owned by Nicole's father in Buckinghamshire, travelling from London, where wealthy families like hers resided during the week with other wealthy families and where wealthy ladies, like her mother, took tea with other wealthy ladies most afternoons. Her father, William Earp, was a close friend of the Haughts, members of both families intermingling socially and secretly, love trysts abounding behind the backs of dull husbands and equally dull wives.

Waverly was a pretty little thing. Perfect like a porcelain doll and as delicate, her sisters inheriting the angular jaw of their father, Waverly blessed with her mother's finer features and mannerisms. An easy child, unfussy, quiet, content with the world and all that was in it. Doted on by her family, especially her mother, her middle sister equally adoring of this beautiful, fragile living doll her mother delivered to the family early one autumn.

Waverly had been unwell a few days prior to the planned visit to Wattlestone, the grand house built by Nicole's father to entertain his wealthy friends and the British aristocracy. Her mother fretted about taking her darling child on a long journey by train, fearing it would be too much, her father reassuring his wife the trip would do his youngest daughter the world of good, a chance to breathe the clean air of the countryside. He understood his wife well enough to know she would be anxious to leave her daughter with their nanny for an entire weekend. Better to have a sick child with them than a sullen wife on the end of his arm.

Carriages awaited their arrival at the station, the family seating themselves in one, embarking on the short journey to the house, their luggage travelling behind in another. Even for a short stay Waverly's mother had a tendency to over pack when it came to clothing, preferring to have plenty of options on hand for her and the girls. There were six dresses alone for Waverly, her mother unsure which would suit her pale complexion and an assortment of cardigans to keep her warm.

As they drew near, the family caught its first glimpse of the house. An ornate building, fashioned in the style of a French Renaissance châteaux, which would not have looked out of place in the Loire valley, Nicole's father engaging a French architect to oversee the entire project. It was intended to be used only at weekends that is, until Nicole's mother grew tired of the smoggy confines of their London residence in Piccadilly, refusing to return, preferring to remain at their colossal country retreat with its beautifully landscaped gardens.

This left Nicole's father with the task of travelling each weekend to their country estate to see his wife and five children, four rowdy boys and an equally rowdy girl. Nicole, the youngest, like Waverly, who to the frustration of her mother, acted just like a boy, refusing to wear a dress on most occasions, refusing to wear clothes entirely for the first three years of her life, often to be found on the grand staircase completely naked to the amusement of her parent's guests.

The house was modern by the standards of the time. Running water and central heating were installed from the start, electricity in 1889 to the delight of Nicole's mother. A small lift was even added for Queen Victoria's visit, a year later, although she declined to ride in it, not trusting the magic of electricity.