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ON MY OWN Author: Incubi Priestess Disclaimer: Once again, I don’t own Johnny, or POTC. This takes place post-CotBP, but pre-DMC. I do own the plot, which I thought up one night when trying to fall asleep. Summary: As the wife of a wealthy gentleman who happens to be the neighbour of Governor Swann, you must put yourself through the many trials that accompany the life of high society. Everything is made worse by the fact you know your husband is sleeping with your older sister. Finally, in an attempt to escape from your life, you allow yourself to be kidnapped by raiding pirates. Strangely enough, they kidnap you not for your husband’s riches, but because you had been seen with a certain pirate captain at one of the balls. Will he come to rescue you, despite the fact you feel he’s forgotten? What about your husband? Warnings: Depression, Gore, Violence, Mild Language, Sexual Content, Drug Use/Consumption, Fluff * * * * * CHAPTER 1 The sun was beginning to rise just over the ocean. It’s warm, life-giving rays were peeking through the clouds and dying the sky in soft pastels of the rainbow. The cries of seagulls filled the air as they flew about the air waking up those still asleep on the docks and nearby. The tell-tale sounds of the beginning of the hustle and bustle drifted up from the stores to your window. You were quietly standing on the balcony that protruded from the large French windows. It had rained the night before and dewdrops still lingered on the petals of the beautiful flowers that called your window their residence. The morning sun hit the water and lit up your room in a rainbow of tiny prisms. It was beautiful, breathtaking even, but it didn’t spread warmth into the cold, empty eyes you peered around with. You were dressed in naught but your bedclothes, for you had just woken up and none of the maids had come in. Your husband had not come home, or if he had, not to the bedroom. It wasn’t unusual for the two of you to sleep in separate rooms; your living quarters were on the other side of the mansion from him. “Miss Hawthorne! I didn’t know you were up.” As the two maids, Lily and Rose, entered your chambers to begin getting you ready for the day, you glanced over your shoulder at them. Of Spanish and Irish decent, your skin colouring was rather odd. During the summer, or whenever you spent the most of your time outdoors, you would tan and burn easily. In the winter, however, you would return to being as pale as a china doll. It was exceedingly difficult for your maids to dress you, colour-wise. They were just grateful your eyes and hair were such a dark, deep chocolate brown that they accented your looks. In truth, you looked good in solid colours, especially blues, reds, greens, and purples. “It’s Missus Bradenton, now,” Rose corrected her sister quietly, shooting you a wary look. You ignored them. They had been with you since childhood and knew all your flaws and moods. Of all the staff, they were the only two you trusted with your life. “I still prefer Hawthorne, Rose,” you stated softly, giving one last longing gaze to the beautiful scenery outdoors. Turning, you walked back into the room, your footsteps light and graceful from years of dancing and etiquette lessons. As Rose blushingly held up the corset that you would have to endure, you felt a small spasm of jealousy shoot through you. Their lives were so much simpler and more fulfilling than yours. “What is on today’s schedule, Ian?” you asked, the young man who was hovering in the shadows just outside the door. He cleared his throat, only entering the room after making sure you were behind the screen. Ian was an orphan who had been apprenticed into taking care of your family’s horses back in England. You’d begged your father to allow you to bring him along so that you could have as many familiar faces as possible. It was thanks to your ailing mother you’d gotten him; she’d made a plea on your behalf and your father had agreed. She’d always had the big softie wrapped around her little finger. The small amount of light that had entered your eyes fled as you thought of the relationship you had with your own husband. You inhaled sharply as Rose yanked on the laces of the corset for the first tightening. Luckier than most of the women in Port Royale, you had been wearing corsets from the first time they became high-fashion in London. It had taken a few years to make it overseas. “Nothing too pressing, Miss Hawthorne.” Cecily, you corrected mentally. “Your husband—having failed to do so himself—has asked me to inform you that he is planning to hold a ball in the upcoming weekend.” You frown, wincing as the ivory bones pushed your rib in a centimeter. “I suppose he wants me to go out, buy more material, and force the seamstresses to make my gown by then.” “Erm…” His awkward noise was all you needed. With a small, mirthless chuckle, you glanced back to find that Lily and Rose were ready to help you into your dress. “That will be all, Ian. Thank you.” Even though you couldn’t see him, you knew he bowed before quickly walking out of the room. He would probably go to his own place and smack himself over the head for a nonexistent mistake he’d thought he made. If your husband would allow it, you’d pay the poor boy more for his troubles. However, as it was, your significant other was far too busy to be bothered by the financial burdens of the servants. “You look lovely, Miss Hawthorne.” You didn’t respond, staring at yourself in the mirror. There wasn’t a thing about yourself that you thought was lovely. The dress was of dark blue satin, cut low enough to show off your humble bosom without actually making a whore of you. A sigh escaped you as it showed off how thin you were becoming, not that anyone would notice. They would think it just a trick of the corset. “How would you like your hair today, miss?” You gave the two girls weak smiles, before strolling over to the vanity. “Whatever you think is best, girls.” They smiled at each other, before following after you. You easily tuned out their quiet voices as they fawned all over you. Your gaze was drawn to a pair of birds that were perched on the railing. It appeared they were under the impression it was spring, for they were obvious starting up their courting. The male was the prettier of the two and was having a grand time impressing the girl he wanted to mate with. She pretended not to notice and would constantly turn away ignore. Eventually they flew away to continue elsewhere, leaving you to come out of your reverie. “So what have we decided?” you asked, turning your eyes to their reflections in the mirror. “A single braid should do it, we think,” Lily stated confidently. Rose flashed her sister a look. “If that’s alright, of course.” You nodded with a shrug of your shoulders. “Of course it is…just make sure it isn’t too tight nor too loose. Can’t have it fall out on me while we’re shopping.” They giggled like school girls as the realization that you’d included them on your expedition hit them. Lily was practically dancing about the room with an imaginary suitor as Rose calmed down and set about the chore of braiding your long hair. “Your hair is so pretty, miss,” she muttered quietly. You had to admit it was nice in colour. You particularly liked the sections of red hair that blended in with the dark chocolate. It looked pretty when it was combed out; although it was so long and thick you usually didn’t leave it down. The Caribbean was hot enough without hair that reached the knees. “Should we pin it up or leave it down?” You turned your head both ways when she finished, a small frown of pulling at your eyebrows. “Down, I think. It’s still early enough that it isn’t too hot. If we hurry, we can be home in time for lunch.” The two maids giggled and curtsied before quickly exiting. As soon as they were gone, you turned back to the mirror and frowned upon the image there. You could see both your mother and your sister in your reflection. The former was the one from whom you had inherited the dark eyes and hair, along with the easily tanned complexion. Your father was the Irish-descended, wealthy Englishman and had auburn hair. His ancestral roots had come out in your older sister by means of his first wife; Cashlin had hair as orange as the sun, fair skin, and bright blue eyes. Looking away, you got up and moved across the bedroom floor into the small sitting room that you would sometime entertain your lady friends in when your husband was busy with their fiancés, fathers, husbands, and the sort. Your eyes instantly lighted upon the full harp and the grand piano next to it. The tips of your fingers itched to go and strum and pluck the strings to make beautiful sound. A sigh escaped you as you thought about how it was much too early to be having such thoughts. Without another distraction, you managed to make it downstairs and into the dining room where you were surprised to see your husband quietly eating his breakfast and reading the pathetic excuse for a newspaper the island had. An elegantly arched eyebrow rose, causing the nearby servants to quickly usher each other out of the room. One brave lad paused and looked at you fearfully. “Would you like tea or juice, mistress?” You gave him a weak smile. “Tea would be lovely, thank you Bernard.” The boy blushed all the way up into his scalp as he raced into the kitchen to tell the cooks your request. Your husband hadn’t looked up at your entrance, but chose to now grace you with his attention. “Ah, good morning, Cecily, dearest.” You returned the greeting quietly as you sat down at the table by his side. Placing the cloth napkin on your lap was an automatic habit. “You must have not come home until late, Richard,” you said softly, reaching over to daintily add two sausages, an apple, and a spoonful of eggs to your plate. He didn’t seem to notice the amount of food and adjusted his paper at the same time he cleared his throat. “Terribly sorry,” his voice was insincere. “The boys kept me a little too long.” Even the poor girl who brought you your tea winced at his blatant lie. You smiled gratefully at her, welcoming something to distract your thoughts with. You hummed neutrally. “Ian told me this morning about your decision to hold a ball. Why wasn’t I informed sooner? You know I don’t like to pressure the seamstresses.” You knew he hadn’t asked Ian to do anything. Richard looked at you in slight surprise, but didn’t bother to ask you how your little errand boy knew of the ball already. He’d been annoyed with the young man in the beginning, but now just chose to ignore his existence altogether. When he’d recovered, he took a sip of his coffee. “Well, I’m afraid you’ll have to pressure them this time. I’m sure they won’t mind, all of the help seems to love you.” You didn’t reply, instead watching him as he read some article that probably didn’t interest him in the least. He didn’t know you knew he was just avoiding eye-contact. The man had never been able to lie in his entire life. The thought made you sigh. “What’s happened to us?” you asked suddenly, without thought. “Ever since we’ve moved here all we do is act like we’re already in our fifties. I’m not more than twenty-five and you, not even thirty! “Are we just going to waste away from now on until there’s nothing left of either of us? You’re always reading that damn paper and you never pay attention to anything outside of the house! Am I really not enough for you?” Richard had dropped his paper in absolute shock at your tone of voice. You rarely spoke loud enough to hear, let alone raised your volume to what was almost shouting. You’d barely managed to keep from screaming it all at him, staring at your plate sullenly as you whispered the last question. His silence agonized you endlessly. “Are you saying the thought of growing old together doesn’t suit you?” he asked crisply. You gaped at him, mouth dropping a little in shock. “That’s not what I meant at all!” Was the man completely daft? “If it appears we’re so set in our ways, it’s only because we’ve become so comfortable with each other. I don’t see the problem in that at all.” With a mild shriek of frustration, you shoved back your chair and dropped your fork onto the plate with a clang. Not even waiting for one of the servants to rush in, or for your husband to respond, you whirled around and stormed out of the dining hall. You were so fed up with the man! He was beginning to act more and more like one of the rich snobs that the two of you had avoided while back in England. His attitude toward you alone was enough to make you feel like breaking something. If it wasn’t for the fact your father had died and entrusted him with all your family’s money, you would’ve left Richard in a minute! Just the thought of the calm expression on his face made a similar noise to the one you’d admitted before your hasty exit erupt from your throat, startling the butler. You didn’t notice as the elderly man rushed off to alert one of the maids who served you closely or possibly Ian. By the time Lily and Rose rushed in, ready to go shopping, you had already calmed down enough to have given yourself a small headache. You were standing in the meeting of the entryway with your forefinger and thumb pinching the skin on the bridge of your nose. You’d come up with the decision that men were completely useless and decided to give them up entirely. If you saw another egotistical jerk like your husband today, you’d end up ringing his neck! “Miss Hawthorne, are you—?” “Please, Rose, for the last time my name is Cecily,” you corrected wearily, lowering your hand to look at the two young women. Lily glanced at her sister, before producing an apple from seemingly nowhere. “Here, Miss Cecily,” she said rather hesitantly, handing it out to you. “Bertha noticed you hadn’t gotten to eat very much.” Bertha was the head cook and was getting up in age, to the point of being rather hard at hearing. If she had heard—and worse, understood—your outburst, it wouldn’t be a surprise if the entire household staff had. You could barely contain your groan of embarrassment. Smiling at her weakly, you gently took the apple and placed it inside the bowl of wax fruits by the door. “Thank you, but I’m really not hungry.” “But you’ve got to eat something, miss! Your corset is barely the right size anymore,” Lily protested much to her sister’s apparent chagrin. “If you’re not eating because of your husband, that’s just silly! All men are like that—oomph!” She was cut off as Rose sharply elbowed her younger sister’s side. “Begging your pardon, miss. My sister is much too bold and forgets her place.” You regarded the two of them expressionlessly, making the older one squirm in dread of punishment. “I suppose she forgets her place quite a bit outside of her work, seeing as she seems to know much about men even though she’s not married.” You’re quite proud of yourself for keeping the threatening smirk off your lips. Both of them blushed as red as cherries, causing you to chuckle. “Come along, girls. Let’s get this shopping over and done with.” They hurried to follow after you as you calmly walked out the door to the carriage that was waiting. You climbed in before the girls even got there, before sitting yourself nearest the window. A single look kept them from complaining, although Rose did produce a hat for you that you’d accidentally forgotten. You pretended not to see it, hoping that when it was time to get out, you could accidentally overlook it again. You leaned back against the cushioned seats, letting the scenery calm your frazzled nerves. You would’ve given anything to be home in London, playing the piano or the harp as your father watched. Port Royale will never be home. TBC... |