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OF PORTRAITS AND THEIR STORIES Author: Cra.z8 Disclaimer: Oh yeah I own everything! *guy from Disney comes and whacks me over the head* I can dream right… so no I do NOT own PotC Summary: You have just inherited everything your mysterious grandfather had. You have only seen the man once or twice and contact was barely held. But excepting what your grandfather gave you, you are to become Baroness of England. Now in Port Royal your well on your way to convincing everyone that you are fit for the ‘job’. So why did Jack have to show up with something that could ruin your whole reputation? And who paid him to find you? A little caught up in the life that is luxury you make a deal with Jack. He will not reveal the mistake you have made in the past if you go with him and be left to the employer. But will a change of heart change the situation? And why does Jack seem so damn familiar? * * * * * CHAPTER 1 You strolled along the harbor, the soft breeze stirring the heavy skirt of the cream colored dress you were wearing. Your tightly wound curls swayed with the wind. It was a humid day in Port Royale just like any other you imagine. You had just arrived in the little port and to your surprise was welcomed like the Queen of England herself. The sweet smiles that flashed way the sparkling eyes of the pampered ladies. The sudden interest of the gentlemen. It was all for one reason. Money. About a month ago you had received a letter… this letter was to change your life. And, oh how it did. A man dressed in a black suit had brought it to you on a little tray as her grandfather’s lawyer explained the situation. You, (Name) Lee Madison, was to inherit the title and money of her grandfather the Baron of England. The shock was overwhelming and you had looked the lawyer straight in the eye as if to question him if this was to be some stupid joke. But no indeed the formally sealed letter was indeed from your grandfather. You could tell by the bold script and the way it was written. A little shaky you read the letter: You- Never have I thought it would come to this. You out of all my grandchildren have the honor to receive this wonderful gift I am about to bestow on you. I must confess though that you would have been the last person for me to have chosen. You always where a little different, sort of the grey sheep. (I can not say black seeing as I always enjoyed your ‘different’ company) But now that most of your cousins are dead and the ones that still live are too young to understand the gravity of the situation I have chosen you. You are to become Baroness of England and inherit 5 million pounds. You may do whatever you wish with the money. But there are certain requirements. You read the letter once, then again and then once more. Finally letting it fall on the heavy oak desk of the lawyer you sighed. Too many question and thoughts whirled in your head and you sighed again as if to let them escape. Out of all the requirements the third struck you the most. “Don’t go doing anything to artsy and free spirited…” You weren’t quite sure what he meant by that… Did he mean the portrait… But how could he have found out about that, that was kept secret. Only Delano and you knew about it. The thought weighed heavily on your mind and you had a hard time listening to the lawyer who explained the letter to every last detail, (to your dismay) And soon you were packed into a carriage and carried away to your new home. Where you were to live all alone with only gloomy servants to keep you company. But it wasn’t all that bad. The first few night might have been hell but as soon as Madame Menou popped or waltzed into your life everything changed. She was a widow, in her late fifties and meant to be your companion. Usually widows wear black when their husbands die but Madame Menou did not think of it. The first time she entered the mansion she was dressed in a tight purple gown, a lacy hat on top of mounds of hair finished the outfit. She wasn’t particularly pretty and she didn’t have a figure, no she is a giant compared to you, but she had a heart of gold no doubt about it. And very soon you became good friends. When she first spotted you she looked at you with sharp, raised eyebrows. And you started to think you would hate this woman who waltzed into your home as if it was her own. That was until Madame opened her mouth, and with a sugary voice, that did not suit her appearance, she exclaimed, “Mon amour, you look like you haven’t eaten in days!” she poked at your rib cage, “Tsk, tsk, no this won’t do at all.” Your sceptical look lightened and out of relief you burst out laughing. A little confused Madame tried to gain control of the situation by scolding you, “A lady never shows much emotion only enough to make her seem polite and sophisticated.” And soon the training began. Madame Menou taught you how to be the ideal woman of the century. She dressed you in the latest fashions and you wore the most expensive jewellery. Still you had a sort of dreamy look, your cheeks always had a soft pink glow to them, your hair was mostly unruly and simply tied back with a white ribbon as you preferred after what had happened with the candle a few years back. It made you look childish and your small frame didn’t help in the least. And as the training filled out the day countless numbers of ‘suitable’ husbands stood at your doorstep. Madame Menou thought this was all fun and games, if only you could see it the same way. As soon as the first man stepped into your house she immediately knew what he was thinking: ‘Sure tell her something pretty. Marry her sleep with her maybe have a kid. Just as long as I have the money! Then if I’m not happy I can afford some real women!’ The first time you had to hold yourself back from kicking the hateful man in the ass and telling him to get the fuck out. But that was then. A long treacherous month had passed. Now you are in Port Royale dressed in something to warm for the humid weather. You were so engrossed in your own thoughts that you didn’t notice the open carriage drive up next to you. You were pulled out of your thoughts by Madame calling your name, “Would you stop daydreaming! We will be late for tea! Oh what will the governor think of us, of me!” she seemed a little out of breath, “And what are you doing here! Think of your petticoat silly little girl!” She eyed your surrounding. You couldn’t help but grin when you saw Madame look around, it was just like her. And with a little help you were in the carriage. You leaned back on the leather seat. ‘Madame is a little like a mother hen…’ You glance at her from the corner of your eye. Today she was dressed in all red making her look a little like a tomato. You lost your train of thought as the carriage lunged forward. Tea at the governors, oh how exiting… * * * * * Author’s Note: (1) I really don’t know if this is a place, it just sort of popped into my head, could also be that I heard it somewhere, but I just thought it sounded so English, oh how clique of me… TBC... |