Lips That Lied || hs

Preface

Calais, France
April 1851

The gray cobblestone streets were slick with ocean spray, and the moonlight still shone ever so faintly in the dim, early-morning sky. The high tide sent waves crashing into the hulls of the great cargo ships, relenting only to return with an even greater ferocity than before. It was not an ideal morning for sailing, but the shipment had been delayed long enough. Victoria's Pride would sail, lest the captain and his crew would have to answer to some very angry and impatient merchants who needed their goods before May set in.

The ship's captain was shouting orders at his men when a severe-looking man in an exquisite black coat stepped aboard the ship. The captain's voice fell silent, and he approached the gentleman with reverence.

"G'day, monsieur," the captain said, taking his hat in one hand and extending the other for the man to shake. The man obliged by shaking the captain's hand, but said nothing in response as he pulled forward the young man who stood silently behind him. The young man's clothes were clean, but obviously well-used. In the few minutes of standing on the ship's deck, the mist from the turbulent waters had dampened the cloth nearly to the skin.

"Captain, this is Harold Sinclair. Are his quarters in order as we discussed?" The captain nodded furiously and led the two men down below to a small room containing only a bed, two chairs, and a flat-top table. It was not much, but it was warm and dry, so it would suffice.

"Merci, Captain," the older of the two men nodded, his lined face cloaked in the shadows of the dark cabin. He had a handsome face, but it was troubled. He had the look of a man who had experienced the hardships of life too soon. His grayish blue eyes looked to the rugged sea-captain, exhaustion clearly displayed in his expression as well as his tone, "That will be all." As the captain took his leave, Harold brushed his damp, brown hair away from his eyes and sighed, clearly on edge.

"You don't have to do this, Harry. It's not too late to change your mind," the older man insisted, sliding a chair out from under the table and taking a seat.

Harry placed his trunk by the door and took a deep breath, "No, I've promised you I would do it, and I intend to follow through with my word. You need to stop trying to change my mind."

"I'm sorry, son," the man conceded, raking his hands through his graying hair and shutting his eyes. "I just can't believe- I mean, after all this time, I thought-" His voice was choked and his face was hidden from view, but Harry had seen this side of him before.

When it came to matters of family, Thomas was not the hardened man he had led people to know. In truth, he was a broken man, ravaged by misfortune and the consequences of his name and his actions. Few knew the reasons behind his cold and cynical disposition, but one who did was Harold Sinclair. Harry, though he had only met Thomas a few months prior, knew him more intimately than any living person. It was this closeness of relation that led the two of them to be standing in the hull of a ship off the coast of France on that rainy April morning.

"I know," Harry frowned, taking the seat opposite his friend, trying to configure the right thing to say. Words had never been his talent, but he was nevertheless confident in the scheme they had developed, "This plan will work. And besides, if I fuck it up, my cousin will be coming to Paris next spring, so you can trick him into giving up a year of his life, too, and he'll most definitely get it done."

Thomas groaned, looking up at the young, optimistic boy in front of him, "You really need to stop making that joke, or I won't let you try at all. I ought to save you the trouble now, before you end up like me: old and miserable."

Laughing at his friend's threat, Harry waved him off and leaned back in his chair, "Like you could stop me. Trust me, mate. This time next year, you'll be sitting with your daughter at breakfast. Mark my words."

•••

Alright guys, so this is my new book or whatever it is, and I'm actually really excited about it. I've actually mapped the whole thing out, so it's gonna be legit. This is just the preface, so the next part will be longer. I hope you all like it!!

Also, Harold Sinclair is obviously Harry Styles... I just couldn't take the last name "Styles" seriously in the context of Victorian England, so I apologize if that bothers you. I'll try not to say his last name too much so you don't get confused, but I thought I'd let y'all know what and why I did that. Happy reading! :)

-kate🖤