Page 91 of A Prince Among Pirates
But I refuse to be that sort of man anymore. I was wrong to send Sharpe away. I was wrong to doubt him, when he never gave me any reason to. I knew it at the time, but stubbornness and pride made me act irrationally.
And I know with sudden certainty that it isn’t Mr. Kit I can no longer be—it’s Christopher-Henry.
“No,” I say finally, my voice low as I stare into the glass of wine in my hands. “My whole life, I grew up thinking I had to be happy with whatever I was given. The viscount hated me; he never bothered to hide it. He told me I was cursed from birth because I killed my mother. He refused to touch me, lest my curse should be catching. He neglected me.
“And then I watched as he held Elizabeth in his arms andwhispered words of love into her ear. I watched as he cradled Victoria after her birth and kissed her head and taught her to walk. I was forbidden from touching his new daughter. I was never allowed to be in a room alone with her, as if I might damage her. I thought I had to settle for what I had… but then I found my way onto a ship of miscreants, and they showed me that I don’t have to settle.”
I swallow hard and set my glass down, looking up at Francis and Kitty as they stare at me over the dinner table. Kitty has tears in her eyes, and Francis is speechless. I sound dramatic, I know—but I don’t care. My pulse is racing through my veins, throbbing in my chest and fingertips. My heartachesfrom the truth of it. I know now what I must do, even if the thought of it tears my heart asunder.
“I know what love feels like now. I have felt it in the marrow of my bones, and I won’t settle for less ever again.”
Thirty-Two
Thomas, I have a favor to ask,” I say the next morning as he slides my indigo waistcoat onto my shoulders.
“Anything, Your Highness,” he says.
Kitty and Francis stayed late into the night to keep me company as I worked through the immense decision before me. According to the clock over the tidy desk in my drawing room, it was half past one in the morning when I finally retired myself, after sitting for another hour to write a few letters of my own.
I take one of the envelopes from under my pillow, where I stashed them once Thomas finished making up the bed, and turn to face him as he lifts a Bordeaux-colored cravat. Before he can tie it on me, I hand the envelope over to him. “Take this letter down to the docks for me. There are instructions inside the envelope for you. I’ve explained everything.”
“Your Highness?” Thomas asks as he takes the envelope, aswell as the purse I offer. He frowns and looks up at me. “Is everything all right?”
“It will be,” I say. “Do this for me?”
“Of course.”
Bless Thomas—he is truly the most loyal servant a man could ever ask for. I have done nothing to deserve such devotion, but I am appreciative of it all the same. I smile and clasp his shoulder, then drop my arms and tilt my chin back so he might tie my cravat on for me.
I am wearing my wig today, without Captain Sharpe’s silk ribbon. The jacket Thomas helps me into is the same soft periwinkle as my breeches. I take a moment to admire his work before drawing in a deep breath.
“Thank you, Thomas,” I say as I turn to him and smile once more. “Come to me when you return from the docks. I’ll have one more favor to ask of you.”
He nods as he holds the envelope and purse in his hands. “I will come straightaway,” he promises. “Now, your father is waiting for you in his drawing room. Shall I—”
“No, I can find my own way there. This is more important.” I reach out to grasp his shoulder, squeezing it gently. “It’sveryimportant.”
“I understand,” he says with a nod, but I can see by his expression that he doesn’t. Not yet. He will once he has read the note inside, and that’s all that matters. I nod back at him and leave my apartments to join my father for breakfast.
When I arrive, the king’s apartments are a flurry of activity. My father stands over a desk with two of his counselors, men I have yet to meet. I wait for him by the fireplace, fiddling with my cravat until his hand on my shoulder startles me into turning to face him.
“Good morning, Your Majesty,” I say—because we are still not alone in the room and I am not yet comfortable enough to call him Father in front of people.
“Good morning, son,” he says with a smile. “Come, let’s eat. There is much to do today.”
“Is there?”
He nods as we take a seat at the table. “Christmas Day is fast approaching. I have twelve days to plan the announcement of you as my heir.”
I grimace but don’t say anything. Instead I bury my nose in my cup of tea as our plates are set down before us. Henry watches me; I can feel his gaze on me as I drink my tea. When I finally lower the cup, he is still staring at me with a queer expression on his face.
“What?”
“That reminds me,” he says, staring at my hand. He snaps his fingers and turns to his valet. “Haines,” he says. “Fetch me the box by my bed.”
“Sir,” Haines says with a nod, then makes his way into the king’s bedchamber. I am suddenly reminded that once a servant is elevated to valet, it’s no longer appropriate to use his first name. I should have been calling Thomas “Lancaster” this whole time. I hope I haven’t offended him by using his Christian name instead.
“What?” Henry asks.
