“Captain Morrison,” Elizabeth called with a heavily accented voice that carried across the water between the ships. “Please position us so my words will reach their commander.”
The captain straightened with sudden understanding, and Darcy’s knees almost buckled when he realized what she intended. “Aye, miss.” Morrison called to his crew, “Bring her about!”
TheMary Catherineturned to present her port side to the French warship. “Commandant!” she called across the water. “Je vous en prie, ne nous retardez pas! Mon frère nous attend à Rome pour décider de notre avenir!”
Please do not delay us. My brother is waiting for us in Rome to decide our future.
Darcy’s breathing stopped from the immediate effect on the French deck. Officers were raising spyglasses, men speaking in rapid French. His entire body trembled with the effort of remaining still when every instinct screamed to pull Elizabeth away from the rail and shield her from enemy view.
Elizabeth turned to Captain Morrison in apparent confusion, again speaking in heavily accented English. “Capitaine,tell them what cargo you carry,s’il vous plaît. These gentlemen seem concerned.”
“Grain and trade goods,” Morrison said loudly. “Nothing that should interest French naval officers.”
“Bien sûr.” Elizabeth again addressed the French ship, her tone carrying wounded dignity that made Darcy’s heart race with admiration. In French, she continued,“I saw them load bags of grain myself.”
“A very dull occupation, we assure you,” Mrs. Bell added, her French as excellent as Elizabeth’s. “Good Commandant, my sister and I have already been traveling for two months by sea. We departed New Orleans after the death of our parents. We are desperate to reach our brother, our only living relative.”
Darcy watched in amazement, verging on awe, as their performance grew more compelling with each word. Their posture, their gestures, and the way they held their heads—everything proclaimed them to be French gentlewomen in unfortunate circumstances. From the corner of his eye, he could see Richard struggle to hold back a smile.
Elizabeth continued, “God will bless you on this dayif you do not cause us further delay.” Her voice broke with further distress in the French:“We have already suffered at the hands of the notorious outlaw Jean Lafitte and his brother when we left New Orleans. I beg you for peace for the rest of our voyage.”
Mrs. Bell exuded outrage, her hands fisted at her hips. “It was Pierre Lafitte who was the instigator of our troubles. What did he hope to gain from a ship traveling to Gibraltar loaded with cotton and two women? They searched the vessel and found nothing useful. We were fortunate to escape with our lives. If only we had our brother to care for us! Commandant, if you have a heart, you will allow us to proceed in peace. We cannot rest until we see Benoît.”
The names of the pirate brothers sent excited whispers rippling through the French crew. The genius of the ladies’ improvisation struck Darcy all at once. Claiming survival of an encounter with the legendary corsairs would explain any irregularities in their story and inspire respect, not suspicion. He and Richard briefly exchanged hopeful glances.
A new voice called from the French vessel, more authoritative?the commander himself. “Mademoiselle,what is your name?”
“MademoisellesÉlisabeth et Marie Lemieux,” Elizabeth replied, her head held high with aristocratic dignity. “And you, Commandant, have the power to save or destroy myself and my sister, innocent travelers on this day.”
Silence stretched between the ships like a bowstring. Everything—their lives, their mission, their future—hung on the success of this daring performance.
Finally, the French commander spoke. “MademoiselleLemieux, you have already endured much from the Lafitte brothers and deserve to see your family. Today, you have saved this ship. Go your way in peace.”To his crew, he ordered, “Fermez les sabords!”
As French crewmen scuttled to close the gunports in response to his command, the commander stepped to his ship’s railing and offered Elizabeth and Mrs. Bell a formal military salute. The ladies acknowledged it with a graceful inclination of their heads, conveying gratitude and honor. Darcy’s chest almost burst with pride, so fiercely it was painful.
The warship began to turn away, her enormous bulk moving through the dark water. Elizabeth remained at the rail until the vessel was gone, keeping her spine straight and her bearing perfect. There was, however, a tremor in her shoulders that betrayed her fear. Only when the last trace of the French ship had vanished did she turn from the bulwark. Her face was ashen, her breathing shallow.
“Elizabeth.” He reached for her. Without thinking, he pulled her into his arms. She clung to him.
“I cannot breathe,” she whispered. She was shocked at what she and Mrs. Bell had accomplished. “Did the plan work? Are we safe?”
“You were magnificent.” His throat was raw. “Absolutely magnificent!”
She drew closer, resting her temple on his shoulder, and he pressed his lips to her forehead. “You scared the life out of me, dear lady.”
She chuckled under her breath. “I believe I scared it out of myself.”
Darcy continued to hold her as the reality of theirescape sank in. Looking at her in the sunrise, he had to blink back the moisture that threatened. “My darling Elizabeth, I love you for your beauty and your intelligence. I love you for the strength beneath your gentle exterior, the courage that rises when those you care about are confronted with danger. I love you, dear woman, with every inch of me. With every ounce of me. I will forever love you with all that I have and all that I am.”
Elizabeth wasgrateful for the strength of his grip. Her legs shook to the point that she knew she could not stand on her own. His strength and warmth comforted and soothed her. She breathed in the salty air focusing on his beautiful words and felt each syllable make its way into her heart.
Behind them, her father cleared his throat. Pulling away from Darcy’s embrace, she stepped into her father’s waiting arms.
“My dear girl,” he teased, though she heard the undercurrent of his own terror. “’Tistime to fear…”
She chuckled. “Pericles, Prince of Tyre.”
“Yes, my Lizzy.” His body shuddered. “You and Mrs. Bell surely saved the day. I suppose this is as good a time as any for me to open a bottle of port wine to settle our nerves and celebrate that two unruffled females conquered a seventy-four gun warship with nothing more than charm and grace.”
