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“WELL, THERE SHE IS,” muttered Wickham, sounding less than enthusiastic about her spare airship. “I'm calling her The Dashing Lady Number Three.”
When she stole the Norwich Cutter from Duchess Duclere six months ago, Wickham never expected to need the replacement. She had stored the airship in a coastal cave, where few ever tread. As she stood in the mouth of the cave with her remaining crewwomen, Wickham's spirits were horribly deflated. The Cutter was quite a lot smaller than the previous Dashing Lady, and had two masts instead of three. It was designed for speed over power, and its diminutive size would limit her to a small crew. Only six of her crewwomen had survived the attack by Lady Catherine de Bourgh, so space was hardly an issue.
“Are you sure you want to call her The Dashing Lady?” Gladys asked. “What if that name is cursed? That's the second one we've crashed, after all.”
“It isn't cursed, Gladys!” Wickham insisted. “I've just had a run of bad luck.”
Gladys struggled to keep her balance on the cave's slick cobblestones. As they made their way to Wickham's newest vessel, the engineer said. “Suit yourself. I would've chosen a new name, though. A new name for a fresh start.”
“I don't want a fresh start! I want to keep the old memories alive.” When she recalled the faces of her first and second mate, Wickham felt a tremor in her heart. “Lovely and Lockwood... I can't believe they're gone.”
“Aye. I know,” Gladys sighed. “It feels like a bad dream.”
The rest of Wickham's crew, meager as it was, trailed behind them. When they boarded their new airship, Wickham realized how small it was. Compared to her previous ship, it was little more than a toy.
“How many rooms are on this thing?” Gladys asked.
“I don't know. Not many. I'd say there's enough space for the six of us, and perhaps a half-dozen more,” Wickham guessed. “I'll need to recruit more crewwomen. If we're going after Lady Catherine, we'll need more people on our side.”
“And more firepower,” Gladys added. “A lot more firepower.”
“I know. For now, we should concentrate on building the crew, and when we're ready, we'll worry about guns.”
Wickham peered over the airship's port side and counted its cannons. Three. There were six cannons on her old ship.
“So, you're really seeking revenge?” Gladys asked.
“Aye. I have to. I must. I can't let an attack like that go unpunished. The old bitch probably thinks she's killed me, but I've got a surprise for her.” Wickham jerked her gloved fingers, cracking her knuckles. “When she least expects it, we'll strike. And no one will deserve it more.”
* * *
“I'M SORRY, KIER. I'm so sorry!” Matthew apologized for the dozenth time as he followed his brother through Rosings' front door. “I know you know it was me who kissed the kitchen boy, and I can't apologize enough. I let you take the blame for me, and... it's unforgivable, isn't it?”
Kier didn't say a word. His eyes narrowed into slits as he studied his brother. Matthew's words were repentant, but his face was remorseless. His lips wore the tiniest smirk, as if he was secretly pleased with himself for shifting the blame to Kier.
“You must understand why I did it, though!” Matthew continued. “If they knew it was me, I would be forbidden from seeing Peter again... a-and to be honest with you, I feel I might be falling for him.”
Still, Kier didn't utter a word. He shook his head and sighed until his lungs were bereft of breath.
“Do you think I'm perverse?” Matthew asked. “Do you share Lady Catherine's opinion? Do you think I've committed a sin?”
“No, Matthew,” Kier finally replied. “I don't care who you kiss. What is wrong is letting me get exiled from Rosings to save yourself. You should have been honest!”
“And risk losing him forever?” Matthew pouted. “I couldn't do that, Kier. I wouldn't. I know it was wrong to let you get blamed, but think of the alternative! My heart would have been broken in two.”
“But what of my heart? From now on, I'll be the family pariah.” Kier's arms crossed as he watched his carriage approach. He was traveling back to Longbourn on his own. “Although, I suppose it is not much different from the way it's always been. I've always been our parents' least favorite. No brother ever favored me. Even Wilhelmina chose me last. I've never been anything to anyone. I have, and always will be, the very last Bennet on anyone's mind!”
“That's... sad.”
“Perhaps. But it's true,” Kier said. “No one cares about Kier, and no one ever has.”
“I care!” Matthew insisted. “If I did not care, I would not be so intent on earning your forgiveness before you leave!”
“No.” Kier's head vigorously shook at Matthew's words. “If you cared, you would not let me be banished for you. You would not let me be ostracized for you. You care about a servant more than your own brother... and how long have you been acquainted with him?”
“Three days,” Matthew sighed. “The length of time does not matter, though. Lachlan fell for Georgiana in a single day, or so he claims.”
Kier's eyes were pulled skyward, where a slender airship drifted overhead. It halted over Rosings' woods and descended into the trees.
“Still...” Kier continued, “you care about a boy you've known for three days more than you care about a brother you've known for seventeen years. It's heartbreaking.” His lips drooped at the thought. “It's heartbreaking... but hardly surprising, I suppose.”
* * *
WHILE THE BENNETS WERE at Rosings, Shar Lucas decided to lend a hand to Lady Catherine's stable girl; however, judging from the young woman's constant sneer, she resented his maleness. It was hardly typical for men to work with horses, but Shar had an undeniable knack for the job. The horses listened to him, and when he took them out for exercise, they practically saddled themselves. Lady Catherine's stable girl refused to accept there was a man in the world who could perform her job better than she could. She hid her disgust under friendly greetings, but the distaste in her eyes was transparent. Had she been braver, she might have rejected his help.
When he wasn't combing and feeding horses, Shar escaped the stables and sat in the shade of a girthy oak. More than once a day, he tried to get an answer from the teletalk.
“Gladys?” Shar shouted her name into the silent black box. “Gladys, are you there? Gladys? It's Shar Lucas!”
He had checked six times and received no answer. Previously, they conversed at least twice a day, so to hear silence from his favorite engineer was nothing less than devastating. He didn't realize he was attached to her company until her familiar brogue was no longer a part of his life. Dispirited, he crushed the teletalk's red button and tried again.
“Gladys!” he cried. “Gladys, are you alright? Can you hear me? Frankly, your unending silence has me worried! We used to talk every day... and at the same time each day... and now it seems you've abandoned me. I don't know what I—”
“There's a reason she hasn't contacted you, mate.”
The voice of Georgette Wickham was easily recognizable. She was standing behind him, smoking a cigar. He was so thrilled to see someone from Gladys' ship, he nearly whirled around and hugged her.
“Captain Wickham!” Shar exclaimed. “You know something about Gladys? You know why I haven't heard from her? Tell me!”
“If only you were half as concerned about me! Oh well.” Wickham heaved a sigh as she paced around Shar's tree. “There's a good reason you haven't heard from my Gladys, Mr. Lucas. We had a bit of a... crash.”
“A crash?” In an instant, Shar was on his feet, grasping Georgette's arm. “What happened? Was she hurt? Were you hurt?”
“No. I only suffered a wee scratch. Gladys was unscathed.” Georgette bowed her head in the direction of Lady Catherine's grand house. “It was Lady Catherine who attacked us.”
“What? Why?”
“Over the years, I suppose I've made her an enemy,” Wickham admitted. “Like Darcy, she blames me for Georgiana's injuries. And... I might've robbed her a few times here and there.”
“Right.” Shar nodded. “You mentioned that once.”
“Well, I suppose I robbed the old bitch a few too many times.” Georgette's fingers longingly slid along her pistol. “In fact, I shouldn't stay on her property too long. If she finds out I'm here, I'm dead.”
“She hates you that much?”
“Aye.” Georgette pouted her dark red lips. “She nearly killed all of my crewwomen! Only me, Gladys, and a few others remain. That's why I'm here, Shar Lucas.”
Shar didn't quite understand what she meant, so he raised an eyebrow. “You're here... because...?”
“I don't care that you're a man. You've got skills. You're the right man for the job.” Georgette stuck out a hand, as if she already knew he would accept. “That's why I'm here to recruit you. What do you think, Mr. Lucas? Would you like to be a pirate?”