Anabelle Bryant - Return to the House of Sin

It was imperative their travels adhered to the schedule Father had planned or Amanda would never be returned to England in time to attend the event of a lifetime, a grand soiree in celebration of Princess Charlotte’s presentation at court. It promised to be spectacular and still nursing her wounds after missing the Frost Fair in February due to her sister’s struggles with an impertinent cold, Amanda was determined to ameliorate her disappointment by attending the festivities. At last, she would have the opportunity to prove her own elegance and self-reliance. She’d practised a delicate laugh when no one was in earshot and reminded herself often to tuck in her elbows, skirts, and slippers for that matter. Her tendency to fall prey to endearing mishaps , as her father labelled them, was an attribute she strove to expunge from her person.

Therefore, she held no dreamy notion of falling in love or dancing with a handsome suitor at said event. Love seemed a fickle and somewhat cruel emotion. On most days, she genuinely sympathized with Raelyn’s misfortune, though lately all that wasted effort did nothing more than convince Amanda she wanted no part of sentimental entanglements. Father had never loved another after Mother passed away and Raelyn’s heart seemed devastated beyond repair. Who would invite the painful torment labelled true love?

Now, a random ray of sunlight brightened the room to prove the skies had at last cleared and she huffed a breath of impatience as Father approached with a strained smile.

‘Everything is in order. I have the paperwork in hand for our passage to France. It’s a miracle the ship hasn’t left yet, but in that, the poor weather showed us favour.’ The Earl of Huntingdon dashed a glance in their direction. ‘We haven’t a moment to spare. Follow me. I’ll cut a path through the confluence outside the embarkation area, while the both of you continue to follow behind me. It’s crowded and we’ll need to move quickly. I’ve hired two footmen to facilitate our trunks aboard the ship.’ He motioned towards the door. ‘This way now. France awaits.’

With their paperwork in hand, Father led them wharf-side, a proverbial stone’s throw to the anchored ships awaiting wind to billow their sails. Raelyn straightened her shoulders and stepped before Amanda, two inches taller for the two years she’d lived longer. As sisters, they resembled each other in appearance, but in disposition Amanda and Raelyn couldn’t be more opposed. Raelyn believed in fate and love, instant attraction and a benevolent force greater than herself. She found love often, with an intensity that almost frightened.

Amanda worked with fact and bald scepticism, emboldened by too much bookish education and a discombobulated belief she was better off without the trappings of marriage. She often found herself at the mercy of confusion and mishap, to which she had no ready explanation.

Regardless of these contrary viewpoints, Amanda followed Raelyn and Enid in the shadow of the earl, across the busy thoroughfare and towards the wooden slats of the walkway leading to the docks. The stench of rotten fish, abandoned cargo and assorted rubbish assailed her senses as she neared the embarkation platforms and she turned her head away. As Father had mentioned, the area was overcrowded with pedestrians, travellers, carriages and cattle, though Amanda did her best to keep pace with her sister.

At one juncture, she was jostled so unexpectedly, she glanced over her shoulder to ensure the footmen followed, all at once apprehensive amidst the bustling assemblage. Where were all these people going in such a hurry? Formal travelling habits and uniformed livery became a blur of brown and grey against the drab wooden crates and pilings. A trickle of unease warned she needed to pay attention. Was that an angel whispering in her ear? She liked to believe when a forewarning occurred it was her mother offering wisdom. Amanda should take heed.

Careful to keep sight of the top of her sister’s bonnet as it wove through the press a few yards ahead, she raised her eyes towards the sky. Like looming giants in a fairy-tale story, the enormous hulls of two handsome galleons grew larger with every step. The vessels might have been sisters, much like herself and Raelyn, with only the slightest of differences when one examined each closely. Paused by a sense of awe, the galleon on the left unfurled a huge sail. The white cloth snapped full of wind, the subsequent jolt of the ship against its ropes startling. Best Amanda cease daydreaming and hasten aboard.

Dropping her attention, she searched the crowd ahead, all at once aware she’d become separated from her father and sister by the urgent press of interlopers and travellers. With a quick scan backwards, she noticed the footmen were no longer visible. Stifling a gasp, she hurried along and searched her memory for Father’s description of the ship. Had he mentioned the galleon’s name? Her eyes scanned the gold lettering painted in a flourish across each ship. Alas, their names were in Italian. She wouldn’t find help there. Sidestepping a suspicious-looking puddle, she pushed her boots into motion and scurried towards the gangway, anxious to locate her family and have her journey safely underway.

Chapter Two

‘This seems…’ Antonio Ferrisimo, Count of Este, sliced the air to his left with a sweeping gesture meant to indicate the full-rigged galleon’s main deck. ‘What is the word? What word?’

‘Precipitous? Extreme? Dire?’ Crispin rattled off the trio of adjectives, amused by his friend’s fractured English.

‘Sudden.’ Ferris smiled, a swift flash of white teeth in the darkness. ‘Severe.’

Crispin leaned against the wooden railing and eyed the waters of the North Sea. He pulled a thin leather strip from his pocket and tied back his too-long hair while he considered his friend’s comment. Ferris was correct in notice, the decision to return to England made with certainty, though it was hardly unforeseen. Crispin had contemplated the when of it every morning since arriving in Venice. ‘I’ve had this trip in mind for weeks.’ He wouldn’t confess the notion lived in his brain always. The time had come to return home and face the problems he’d left behind. ‘It’s more shocking that you’ve decided to accompany me.’

‘I have many acquaintances in London.’ Again, the charming smile appeared in the stillness of early morning. Ferris lived life by his own rules. As a wealthy count, he kept the world in his pocket, a plaything to amuse him. ‘I’m curious of this Underworld establishment and the men who own it. Besides, Venice will be boring without you, amico mio. ’

‘Ah, so we discover the truth of the matter.’ Crispin glanced to his friend and then back to the endless blue tides. ‘I worry for you. You’ll find this voyage boring and then England, a pale comparison to the lifestyle to which you’re accustomed. The two cities have very little in common. This trip alone may depress you. How will you survive three weeks without a female in your bed?’

As if the crew conspired to underscore his suggestion, two burly sailors approached the railing and deposited a stack of crates three paces from where they stood. The workers’ scent carried on the breeze, subtle as of the moment, but unmistakably pungent and indicative of men who lived without a home, bound to wherever the sea took them, far removed from polite society.

Ferris noticed too. Crispin followed his gaze, as if the count only realized now to what he’d committed himself. All around them the industrious crew worked to prepare for the voyage. Sailors shimmied up the mainmast to tighten ropes and secure knots, others belayed nets to pins or hurried across the assorted decks to set all to rights before they underwent the sea. Crispin took it in with a satisfactory glance, the sun’s first light limning the bow to reveal the fine vessel in an outline of muted white. Sails were run up their masts to beckon everyone aboard despite the hour remained early, departure set for just after dawn.