The Diamond King Read Online Free PDF Page A

been expecting you. Perhaps you would like to look over some patterns and materials I have selected. A complete trousseau, I am told. No expense to be spared. And the journey, my lady, it is so exciting, so romantic. I am honored to be of service to you.”
    She gushed on for a few moments and Jenna could imagine the order that had been sent to her through the advice of a British officer. It was probably due to her father’s guilt—or relief—over her departure from Scotland.
    Within minutes she was looking over the mannequins and selections of materials. The dresses were all very elaborate with huge hoop skirts and panniers. She thought of the temperatures in the Caribbean and described to the dressmaker the designs she wanted. Only one gown with a hoop skirt. The others were to have simple lines. All either had long sleeves or gloves of matching material.
    Mrs. Coyle, the dressmaker, merely nodded.
    She suggested that Jenna undress to her chemise so she could get precise measurements. Jenna accompanied her and the girl who had been working on the dress in the main room to a private dressing area. Celia helped her off with her dress and corset until only her chemise and stockings remained.
    When Mrs. Coyle turned to her, her smile disappeared as she saw the wine-colored birthmark, but it returned quickly. The girl beside her released an exclamation. Mrs. Coyle frowned at her, and took the measurements herself. “You have a fine figure, my lady,” she said. “It will be a pleasure dressing you.”
    The joy of the visit faded. It was all Jenna could do to stand there, her birthmark evident for all to see, until the final measurement was made.
    Celia dressed her again in silence, her glance sympathetic.
    Jenna pulled on her gloves.
    “We should have a fitting next week,” Mrs. Coyle said.
    Jenna nodded as several women were ushered into the establishment. Their arms were bare. Envy washed over her.
    Would anyone ever look at her without seeing the wine-colored mark that ran from the back of her hand up her arm?
    Would the man who had asked her to be his wife see beyond the mark? Or would he, too, gasp and look away?
    She looked straight ahead as they returned to the carriage.

    At Sea

    Alex stood on the deck of the
Ami
and looked out over the sea.
    It had been four days now. They had slipped from the Le Havre docks under a moonless dark sky. In the days since, they had passed three British merchants but no warship, though he knew that the British often patrolled around the harbor. He had elaborately disguised the cannon, piling up supplies next to them and covering them all with tarps. As an extra precaution, he flew the British flag. He would do his hunting in the Caribbean, not in seaways where his presence would soon become known.
    He was pleased with the crew, a mixture of Scots, Irishmen, and Frenchmen, plus a Portuguese sailor and a few seamen from the American colonies who had left a brutal captain when their ship reached Le Havre. He had questioned the latter to discover whether they were merely malcontents but their stories matched too well. All wanted the prospect of prize money rather than the beggarly wages they’d received as simple seamen.
    Five of the total crew had been gunners in various navies, and once out of busy sea-lanes, Claude intended to conduct drills.
    The crew members seemed to get along well together, all united in a universal dislike—if not pure hatred—of the English, although the colonials less so.
    They should reach the Caribbean in less than three weeks. The
Ami
was swift, a quality necessary for a privateer. They needed speed, friendly ports, and targets: British ships loaded with goods from their colonies or sugar and molasses from the West Indies. Just the idea of extracting even a small price from the British for Culloden filled him with anticipation.
    At the moment he just enjoyed the wind and the sun and the sky. It was a moderately warm day with a brisk wind, the kind of day