Page 36 of Better Love Next Time
Today I learned the most horrific, humiliating aspect of my female existence. In short, I have been deemed a woman. I’ll not go into the details for your sake, but this curse willcontinue to visit me monthly, per Georgiana, and that isnotthe horrific part. My body, previously a friend, albeit short and straight, has betrayed me in a desire to make children. Oh, but that isstill notthe worst. When a female marries, her husband breeds her like a horse. A goat. A barn cat. I have seen these acts, Julian, and I cannot stomach the very idea I should be mounted, bitten, and slobbered upon.
Please write back as soon as you receive my letter to refute Georgiana’s claims. I shan’t be able to sleep until you do.
If you do not visit me soon, I’ll perish before this horrid defilement occurs. No, I shall never marry. But I will succumb to melancholy if you continue to shun my presence.
Yours in Abject Agony,
Kitty
Southampton, January 15, 1756
Dearest Katherine,
Take note, I’ve used your given name in honor of your passage into womanhood. Many happy felicitations.
My apologies for the delay in refuting Georgiana’s appalling assertions. Unfortunately, I cannot deny their veracity. Human males do mount and bite, and I’ll assume some drool. Hear me out before you scream and tear up this letter.
Your goal is to enjoy it. Maybe not the drool, but even so, there are pleasurable applications for an excess of saliva. But I digress. When executed properly, mating with your husband is the most enjoyable activity to be had on earth. I will not overwhelm you with the details.
I have also included a portion of my quarterly allowance and my Christmas gift to you. If you never marry, at least your hand will have known the sentiment every woman dreams of and every man avoids until they are driven insane by a woman who will not allow them to mount, bite, and drool without it.
Now for the hardest part of this letter. Kit Greville and I have signed on with a privateering vessel and will depart England the first of March. My commitments to Honeycutt do not allow me leave to visit you before then. I will be gone for at least a year but will write to you when able. I have asked/bribed Anthony Philips to remand to you my allowance.
You know that our dreams are hard fought. You understand me more than any soul on this earth or in heaven. Be strong. When you giggle, think of me. And smile, pet.
Yours in Dreams,
Julian
CHAPTER NINE
September 1758
London, England
“So the boy lied, James,”Uncle William said to Julian’s father. “You cannot fault him for his resourcefulness.”
The two brothers stared at each other across the desk, the furnishing having taken a beating for the past forty-three minutes while Julian’s father ranted and Uncle William, much to Julian’s shock, defended Julian’s lies just recently come to light.
His father’s voice lowered to a growl. “He lied, for years. There was no Eton, no Oxford. He has been buildingships.”
Uncle William clasped his hands across his lean middle in an impressive show of dispassion, especially since Julian had lied to him too. “He has used his ingenuity to make a way for himself. He could be a wastrel or dead on a battlefield. Instead, he gained skills. He has learned a trade.”
The earl’s jaw dropped at the wordtrade.
Regardless, Julian’s skills were sunk. If he hadn’t broken his leg while running up the enemy privateer,Roy Gaspard, off the southern coast of France, he would be in Mersey, waiting to setsail in the hunt for more prizes. If Kit Greville hadn’t been a bloody traitor and dashed a letter to Uncle William the second they had reached port, Julian might be recuperating with a bottle of whisky and a buxom nurse.
“You must own he has been most ambitious,” Uncle William replied.
“My son is a damn pirate.”
“Privateer,” Julian corrected.
“You!” His father stabbed a finger across the desk. “Not another word.”
Here he was, a man of eighteen, in Berkeley Square, his father threatening to make him a parson. Or whatever they were called. His father didn’t know, either. But the earl promised to call in a favor from the archbishop. The sole reason Julian said nothing was locked in a small chest at the corner of his father’s desk. Gambling winnings and the portion Julian had gained from theLiverpooltaking eight ships in sixteen months. Eight hundred and thirty-seven pounds in gold ducats.
If his leg hadn’t snapped in two atop the upper main yard, he would plant a facer at his father’s chin, grab the chest, and quit the war that had raged between them since Julian was five and refused to write with his right hand.
