The Duke's Daughter -Wattys2014 Collector's Dream Award Winner-

Chapter Four

Arianna awoke the next morning feeling stiff and sore and in a foul disposition. She was laying upon her side on the floor next to a... Next to a... Good lord, was that snoring? Or were all the hounds of hell snarling in her ear?
Another loud snore filled the room. Arianna cringed, wondering who or what was so ungodly in nature, that they could emit such a painful noise.
Arianna opened her eyes, but regretted it instantly, as the light of high noon sent shards of pain into her heavy head. Why did she feel so dreadful? Surely it was not simply because she had slept upon the floor. Wait, why had she slept on the floor?

Arianna opened her eyes more slowly this time, allowing them to adjust to the light by small degrees. She lifted herself into a kneeling position, her hands upon her throbbing brow. She peered over the edge of the bunk she was next to and saw Betsy deep in slumber. Her gaze traveled over her maid until it rested on her bandaged thigh, which was soaked through with fresh blood.

Putting her own sorry state out of her mind, Arianna began to remove the bandage from the maid's wound. Betsy awoke with a cry of pain, attempting to sit up. Arianna stood, placing a hand on each of the girl's shoulders, holding her still in the bed.

"Hush, Betsy. You are wounded and bleeding again. Let me tend to you."
Betsy's brow knit and she looked down her length, her eyes resting on the undone bandage at her thigh. "What happened, my lady?"

Arianna searched her muddled mind for the previous day's events. The pirate attack came back to her, she remembered seeing Betsy collapsed upon the deck, with that hunk of wood protruding from her thigh. Arianna remembered feeling every ounce of strength drain out of her as she had fallen to her knees next to Betsy. She silently berated herself for failing to protect the girl that she had drug into this horrible situation.

For the first time, Arianna found herself wondering if leaving England had really been the right thing to do. Perhaps she should have come alone, leaving Betsy safe at home. If the wound should fester, and Betsy should succumb to it, Arianna would never forgive herself for gambling with the maid's life for her own gain.

"We were attacked by pirates and you were hurt. At the moment, it needs to be cleaned and freshly bandaged." Arianna reached once more to remove the linen strips. Once she pulled the last length from below Betsy's thigh, her stomach revolted at the smell coming off the wound. Arianna fairly flew to the pot in the corner of the cabin, emptying the contents of her stomach.

Now, the smell of the sickly-sweet rum she had consumed entirely too much of the previous evening, assaulted her senses. Memories of the night before flooded her mind. The dances in the handsome captain's arms came back to her, and even while her body fondly remembered the feel of his hands upon her, her mind screamed at her blunder. She recalled her conclusion that he was of her class because of his knowledge of the 'scandalous' dance that only the most daring hostesses could allow in their ballrooms. Though even they would be shunned should too young a debutante be in attendance when the musicians struck the beginning chords.

Arianna had no longer been classified as 'too young' or a 'debutante', being twenty and one, as well as betrothed these last two seasons.

And yet, as they danced, he had told her that he had been upon the seas for eight years. Well before even her coming out ball. She had still been in the schoolroom then. Arianna tried to guess at his age, and had to conclude that he must be around thirty, but she would have to ask to be more clear.

Arianna wiped her mouth, and taking a drink from the bowl of mint water that had been placed conveniently on the table near the door, allowed the herb to clear the taste of the sour rum from her mouth.

Her aching head and upset stomach made sense now, Arianna thought sarcastically, as the memory of her three mugs of rum last night sent a shiver down her spine. Suddenly, the memory of her dance to the gypsy tune filled her aching head, and her stomach heaved again as her cheeks grew hot. She resisted the urge to revisit the pot, knowing it would only result in dry heaves, and leave her feeling worse. How could she have danced that primitive dance before so many people? She realized, the fact that she had not known anyone well, in addition to the rum, had fed her that same sense of security she had felt as a blossoming youth, barefoot in the dirt, drunk on gypsy wine and able to forget, if only for a short few hours, that she was a well-bred lady of quality. A pang of longing assaulted her heart at the thought of the freedom she had found among the gypsies. If only she could live the rest of her days that free.