To England, With Love

Chapter I: Cognac Eyes, Cognac Lies

Somewhere in the Celtic Sea ~ August 1818

"Valorous m'rning Mr. Leigh-ton, f'r how much longeth'r doth we has't to chases the seven flotes?" Bella greeted the kind, old deck supervisor in her usually playful, Old English, pirate accent; a little game daily shared between the two; believing to be most fitting atop her father's beautiful grand mahogany ship, Thalia.

It had been six weeks of the sounds of waves tearing against the ship, and seagulls cawing on the savage waves of the Atlantic Ocean; and the sickly sweet scent of thick, West Indian molasses that resided within the depths of the Thalia.

Throughout the duration of the six weeks, Bella had mourned for the unnecessary death of her father, she mourned for the sure re-enslavement of her mother, she mourned for the soon-to-be reassignment of her father's plantation that would affect all her brave, slave friends and kindred. She had naught experience with the actual English society that all her teachers simpered on about as often as they could, but she knew she had a certain level of fierceness and social agility that she believed, could tackle any obstacle, especially driven by a cause such as the one she directly belonged to. Bella knew that she would have to prove herself through meticulous mannerism and charm in the English society to make up for her blatant mulatto skin and to make a statement in order to find her mother and take back her rightful position as the heiress of the Wilton wealth from the hungry hands of the British government; and she would when she was good and ready. This strong resolve Bella had come to, might only be fulfilled if the gentleman Duke would co-operate accordingly.

"Well mine own fair mistress," Mr. Leigh-ton began gravely, halfheartedly playing his regular character with Bella, "Our timeth togeth'r shall cease by the next night; as we shall beest reaching the English soil by tom'rrow."

At this news, Bella's fading smile completely fell. She had enough of farewells. The kind, elder that she had come to know, was her only kindred spirit asail the magnificent Thalia in the duration of many fortnights as she was practically ignored to the utmost by her Et Imperterritus Company.

"Oh, Sir Leigh-ton, you bring me bad news, I will most definitely miss you dearly." English protocol be damned, Bella embraced the kind old man before leaving the deck to wash off for the day.

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Derbyshire, England ~ July 1818

Duke William Cavendish, preferably known as Duke Lennox Cavendish, stared hard and long at one of the many Devonshire heirlooms that sat idly on his priceless, Belgian-mahogany table in his minor study.

It was a powerful jewel that adorned the hand of his mother, and his grandmother and his great-grandmother and his even greater grandmother and so on and so forth.

A jewel that crossed through the channels of time, that survive ten lifetime even to the dawn of the Renaissance and older than Methuselah himself. An Edwardian-inspired jewel, which braved a cognac coloured precious stone; aimed at emulating the distinguished cognac-coloured eyes that all offspring of the Devonshire line possessed...

Damn the devil to a pitiful tarnation of a man, all he ever did was digress whenever he came into even a stalk of China's most distinguished of bamboo stick's length of that cursed, wretched ring.

He never digressed.

Naught ever.

Naught his actions, naught in his agreements and most certainly naught in his thoughts. Lennox wondered briefly and a tad bit bemusedly, if he was so perversed to monogamy, that the mere thought of an engagement to be married would have had enough influence to drive him well and completely mad.