Prince Charming (12 page)

—William Shakespeare,
Titus Andronicus

 

 

 

 

L
ady Victoria Helmit was making a muck out of trying to kill herself.

She shouldn't have been surprised, for God only knew she had certainly made a muck out of her life, just as her parents had predicted she would. Oh, if they could only see her now. They'd have a good laugh all right, then purse their lips in satisfaction. Their wayward, no-account daughter was fulfilling their every expectation. She couldn't even stop crying long enough to get a good foothold and climb over the railing so she could hurl herself into the ocean. Victoria was everything they said she was and more. She was also proving to be a coward.

To outsiders, she appeared to be a woman who had it all. In appearance, ‘she'd obviously been blessed by the gods. She was strikingly pretty, with deep auburncolored hair and eyes as brilliant and as green as Ireland's spring grass. Her coloring came from her mother's side of the family. Grandmother Aisley hailed from County Clare. Victoria's high cheekbones and patrician features also came from her mother's side. Her grandfather had been born and raised in a small province in the north of France. Since Grandmother's relatives couldn't even speak the Frenchman's name without giving into a round of lusty, loud vulgarities, and since Grandfather's family despised the no-good, never-could-hold-their-drink Irish with just as much intensity, when the two mismatched lovers married, they settled in England on what they called neutral ground.

While her grandparents were alive, Victoria was doted upon. Her grandfather loved to boast she'd inherited her flair for drama and her love of Shakespeare from him, and her grandmother was just as happy to claim she'd gotten her quick temper and her passionate nature from her.

Victoria wasn't the apple of her parents' eyes, however. They wouldn't have thrown her out on the streets if that had been the case. She had shamed and disgraced them. They told her they were disgusted and repelled by the very sight of her. They called her every vile name they could think of, but the one that stuck in her mind and played over and over again in her memory was the claim that she had been, and always would be, a fool.

They were right about that. She was a fool. Victoria acknowledged the truth with a low, keening sob. She immediately stopped herself from making another sound and hurriedly looked to her left and then her right to make certain she was still all alone. It was past three o'clock in the morning. The other passengers aboard the
Emerald
were fast asleep, and the crew was obviously occupied elsewhere.

It was now or never. The
Emerald
had been at sea for three nights now. The water wouldn't get any deeper, and if she was going to get the deed done, she believed this was the perfect opportunity, for she was all alone.

She was mistaken in that belief. Lucas stood on the other side of the staircase and watched her. He couldn't figure out what in God's name the daft woman was trying to do.

Then he heard another sound. It was silk brushing against silk. He turned and spotted Taylor making her way up the stairs. She couldn't see him, and he didn't let her know he was there, watching her from the shadows. He wanted to find out what in thunder she was up to, strolling up on deck in the middle of the night.

The sobbing woman drew his attention again. She was struggling to move a heavy crate across the deck.

Victoria was weak from crying. It seemed to take her forever to move the crate over to the railing. Her feet felt like lead. She finally made it to the top of the crate and then latched onto the railing. She was poised to leap over the side if she could get one leg high enough. Her hands were tightly gripping the rail now and her white petticoats were waving about her like a flag in surrender. She stood there for only a second or two and yet it seemed an eternity to her. She was openly sobbing now with terror and defeat. Dear God, she couldn't do it. She simply couldn't do it.

She climbed down off the crate, then collapsed to the floor and wept without restraint. What was she going to do? What in God's name was she going to do?

“Pray forgive me for intruding on your privacy, but I would like to be of assistance if I may. Are you going to be all right?”

The question came in a whisper. Victoria squinted against the darkness while she vehemently shook her head.

Taylor took a step forward into the light provided by the half-moon. She folded her hands in front of her and tried to act as calm as possible. She didn't want to frighten the young woman into doing anything drastic, because Taylor wasn't close enough to stop her if she tried again to jump over the side.

She watched as the woman mopped the tears away from her face with the backs of her hands. She took several deep breaths, obviously trying to regain a little of her composure. She was shaking from head to foot. The sadness Taylor saw in her eyes was heartbreaking. Taylor had never seen anyone this desolate, except her sister, Marian, she reminded herself. Marian had looked this defeated the morning she'd warned Taylor what Uncle Malcolm might try to do to her.

Taylor forced herself to block the image. “What in heaven's name were you thinking to do?” she asked.

“To be or not to be.”

Taylor was certain she hadn't heard correctly. “I beg your pardon?”

“To be or not to be,” Victoria repeated angrily. “That is what I was contemplating.”

“You quote Shakespeare to me now?” Was the woman demented?

Victoria's anger over being interrupted vanished as quickly as it had come. She was exhausted now, defeated. “Quoting Shakespeare seemed appropriate,” she whispered. Her voice was empty of all emotion when she continued. “I don't want to be any longer, you see, but I can't seem to gather enough courage to end my life. Please go away. I want to be left alone.”

“I won't leave you alone,” Taylor argued. “Tell me what I can do to help you.”

“Assist me over the side.”

“Stop talking like that.” Her voice was sharper than she intended. She shook her head over her own lack of discipline. The woman needed help now, not a lecture. She took another step forward. “I didn't mean to raise my voice to you. Please accept my apology. I don't believe you really want to jump,” she added in a rush. “You already made the decision not to end your life. I was about to stop you when you climbed down from the rail. You gave me quite a start, I'll admit. Turning the corner and seeing you perched up there so precariously.” Taylor shivered with the memory. She rubbed the chill from her arms. “What is your name?”

“Victoria.”

“Victoria's a lovely name,” Taylor remarked. She couldn't think of anything better to say. She wanted to grab the woman by her shoulders and shake some sense into her. She didn't succumb to her urge, however, but would reason with her instead. “Please tell me what's wrong. I would like to help you.”

Victoria pressed her back against the rail when Taylor took another step toward her. She looked like a cornered animal, waiting for the kill. Her eyes were wide with terror, and she gripped her hands together with such force, her arms began to shake.

“No one can help me.”

“I cannot know if I can help you or not until you explain your circumstances.”

“If you knew . . . you would turn your back on me and run,” Victoria predicted.

“I doubt that,” Taylor replied. “Please trust me enough to tell me what's wrong.”

Victoria buried her face in her hands and began sobbing again. Taylor couldn't stand to witness her pain a moment longer. She rushed forward until she stood directly in front of her and then put her hand out.

“All you have to do is take hold, Victoria. I'll do the rest.”

Victoria stared up at Taylor a long while, trying to make up her mind. And then, just when Taylor became convinced her offer of friendship was going to be rejected, Victoria surprised her. She slowly, timidly reached up to take hold of her hand.

Taylor assisted her to her feet, then put her arm around Victoria's shoulders with the thought of leading her away from the railing. She wanted to put as much distance between the ocean and the distraught woman as possible, an unrealistic feat, given the fact that they were surrounded on all sides by water.

Victoria was so desperate for a touch of human kindness and a tender, nonaccusatory word of comfort, she literally threw herself into Taylor's arms, very nearly knocking the two of them over. Taylor quickly recovered her balance. Victoria was weeping uncontrollably against her shoulder. She was an inch or two taller than Taylor, and consoling the woman proved to be a little awkward, though certainly not impossible. Taylor patted her in what she hoped was a soothing motion. She didn't try to do anything more to calm her. Victoria obviously needed to cry. In Taylor's mind, weeping could very well be the first step toward healing. Marian never cried, and Taylor thought that perhaps that was one of the many reasons she'd become such a brittle, hard woman.

It didn't take long for Victoria's sobs to unnerve Taylor. She tried to remain dispassionate, yet found she couldn't remain unaffected by such heartbreaking agony, and within minutes, tears were blurring her own vision.

Victoria was rambling incoherent words and phrases mixed with a good number of quotes from Shakespeare's tragedies, but when she confessed she had trusted the man, had really loved him and believed with all her heart that he would marry her, Taylor thought she finally understood the reason behind her desolation.

She was pregnant.

Taylor got good and mad. “Dear God, is that all?” she cried out. “You're going to have a baby, aren't you? I thought you'd committed some atrocious crime.”

“It is atrocious,” Victoria wailed.

Taylor let out a loud, unladylike snort. “No,” she contradicted. “Murdering the man who lied to you and took advantage of your innocence would be atrocious,” she told her. She paused to sigh. “Then again, perhaps that wouldn't have been so atrocious after all.”

“My life is over.”

Taylor forced herself to get her temper under control. The poor woman had probably had quite enough accusations thrown her way. She tried to think of something positive to say to her. It took her a few minutes to come up with something.

“The life you led is over, yes, but now you'll simply start another one. Come and sit down and compose yourself.”

Victoria was limp and drained from weeping. Taylor led her over to a bench set against the wall adjacent to the strolling deck.

Victoria sat down, adjusted her skirts, and then folded her hands together in her lap. Her head was bowed in dejection.

Lucas, glad that the immediate threat was over, moved further into the shadows where he could still watch but wouldn't disturb their privacy.

Taylor was too agitated to sit. She paced back and forth in front of Victoria while she worried the problem over in her mind.

“Do you still love this man?”

“No.” Her answer was emphatic.

Taylor nodded. “Good,” she announced. “He isn't worth loving,” she added. “Do you have relatives who will give you shelter in America?”

“No. I hadn't planned on getting there. I used up all my money to purchase a berth. The only reason I carried along my clothes was because my father threw them out on the pavement.”

“Your parents threw you out?” Taylor was appalled.

Victoria nodded. “I cannot blame them. I have been a disappointment.”

“I can certainly blame them,” Taylor argued. “They are your parents. They should have stood by you. My grandmother would have stood by me.”

“If she were alive, my grandmother would have stood by me as well,” Victoria said.

“What about the man responsible for your condition? Does he know you're carrying his child?”

“Yes.”

“And?” Taylor prodded when she didn't continue.

“He doesn't wish to become involved.”

“It's a bit late for that decision, isn't it?”

“He wanted to marry Lady Margaret Kingsworth. She has a large dowry.”

Taylor's curiosity was captured. She knew Lady Margaret and wondered who the scoundrel was.

“Who is the man . . .”

“I will never say his name.” She fairly shouted her denial.

Taylor hurried to soothe her. “I won't ever ask you again,” she promised. “You're certain you don't still love him?”

“I can't imagine what I ever saw in him now. I should have heeded William's advice, for he wrote, ‘Love moderately; long love doth so; too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.' ”

Lord, she was quoting Shakespeare again. And crying. Taylor tried to hold onto her patience. It was a most difficult task. “The past is the past, Victoria. You cannot undo what has already been done. You must look to the future now.”

“I believed with all my heart he would marry me.”

“Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage,” Taylor said, turning Shakespeare's words back on the distraught woman.

Victoria found her first smile. “I do believe I would like to see him hang for his lies to me. Still, I was a willing . . . participant.”

“You were naive and he took full advantage. The man's a snake.”

“I was equally responsible for my mistake.”

Taylor couldn't help but admire the woman because she took responsibility for her actions. She didn't blame anyone else, not even the pig who seduced her. She was about to tell her she admired her when Victoria asked her who she was.

“What is your name?”