Page 25 of Escaping Pirates
“Did you get the paper?” I asked them as they went through their gowns, wondering aloud at which ones Harlan would like best. “I can copy those letters over while you decide what to wear, then I’ll do your hair.”
“Yes, here.” Blossom handed me the paper with unusual care. “Don’t crinkle the edges or mess up.”
I had to admit, for all of his faults, Captain Tyrone Renshaw had excellent taste. The paper was thick and had a hand-painted floral border. It truly was luxury paper, likely nicer than anything I’d ever written on before.
Taking great care to not make a single mistake, I meticulously copied each and every word that Sugar and Blossom had written onto two letters, leaving a large section at the bottom of each.
“It looks empty,” Sugar said critically when she came over to examine my work.
“That’s for you to sign nice and big since he likes your name so much,” I told her pleasantly. “I can show you how to do it fancy if you’d like. Then you can practice for future letters.”
After a moment’s consideration, she nodded decisively. “Good idea. Show me.”
“Blossom?” I asked. “Would you like me to show you, too?”
“No. I already like how I write my name.”
Issuing a silent apology to my handwriting instructor for ever bemoaning her lessons, I taught Sugar how to curl each of the curves in her name, then had her practice several times on different parchment before showing her where to sign on her letter.
“It’s beautiful,” I told her as she reviewed it proudly. “I’m sure Harlan will love it. Do you know what you’re planning to do tonight?”
Sugar’s face fell as she went over to pick out a gown. “I wanted to do dancing, but I don’t know how to very well. I stepped on his feet a few times last night.”
A hot pang stabbed at my stomach as I thought ofHarlan holding Sugar’s waist and spinning her across a dance floor. Her skin was flawless, her hair held curls, and she had curves that most women envied. Sugar was beautiful, no denying it. Surely Harlan had noticed that much, even if he didn’t like her personality. I snuck a look at my own reflection in Blossom’s mirror, then hastily averted my eyes. No man would ever want to look at me with how I was wasting away. I had no curves to speak of anymore, and my hair was filthy. I cringed as I thought of how I’d flirted just the tiniest bit with Harlan in such a state.
Sugar put back the dress she’d been holding up to her front. “Do you know how to dance?”
“A little.”
“Then you can teach us starting tomorrow! Once we learn, we will hold a ball.”
A knock came at the girls’ door, followed by the oily voice I remembered all too well. “Sugar? Blossom? It’s your uncle.”
“Don’t come in!” Blossom shrieked. “We’re getting dressed!”
“I won’t,” he assured them, then after a pause, asked, “Is your servant girl in there with you? She wasn’t in the brig.”
My blood turned to ice. He remembered me after all.
“Yes. Scurvyella’s helping us get ready.”
“How kind of her. I thought we could all do a big dinner tonight. Your father says you have a gentleman to accompany you, and I’d be happy to have your servant as my personal guest.”
Fear clogged my throat.
Blossom nodded at Sugar. “Yes. Then Uncle Tyrone will talk to her instead of us, and we’ll get more time to talk with Harlan.” She turned back to the closed door and raised her voice. “That’s fine! You can go tell Daddy!”
Shoals, was Tyrone intending to offer to buy me again? Was this Captain Harsh’s twisted way of showing me the very real threat of what would happen to me if I didn’t cater to his girls’ every whim? If it was, it was working.
“Do you miss doing each other’s hair before I got here?” I asked pointedly as I styled their hair.
“No,” they both answered at the same time.
“Well, it’s a good thing I enjoy it,” I told them. “I’ll do your hair anytime you want.” I’d do anything to avoid being sold to Tyrone.
When Captain Harsh came to check on his girls, he beamed at them. “You two are simply beautiful.” Then he turned his attention to me and scanned me up and down. “Take a bath before dinner,” he barked gruffly. “I won’t have anyone that dirty at my table.”
The irony of a man participating in human trafficking being concerned about dirt at his dining table made me want to scoff.
