CHAPTER 13

Captain James Emerson Fletcher

On board the HMS Bedstead

October 28, 1808

Miss—sorry—Captain Mary Jacky Faber-Fletcher, Best Girl in the World

Recently off the HMS Bedstead, now downstairs

My dear wife,

How thrilling it is to finally call you that! Wife. I have a wife…oh, Lord, I am a married man. Heaven knows I've had to wait long enough.

In any case, I read the beautiful love letter you wrote me while we were still on the Atlantic, and I feel it my duty to add this note to the Journal. The "star-crossed lovers" shall be taken out of the Journal's title, as the farthest away you've been from me for the past day is in the downstairs room, chatting with Maudie and the rest of your Boston friends.

I suppose your letter to me may be read to the children someday, but my letter to you will not be read to any James Junior or Jacky Junior. Especially not to Jacky Junior, though if she turns out anything like your own dear self, I fear we shall have our hands full…

After we exchanged rings yesterday—and I must admit that I felt a pang of sentimentality, recalling the time in Jamaica wherein we first exchanged those battered rings—I walked you back down the chapel's aisle, feeling proud as I ever have felt. I must also admit that Joseph Jared's interruption of the ceremony still makes me fume; however, as you forgave him, I must find it in my heart to do so as well. I am simply glad that, from now on, I will be the only man upon whom you place your affections.

And about those affections—oh, indeed, about those affections. I suppose the years of torturous waiting have made the actual prize, so to speak, all the more…good. Very good.

We rattled along in a white carriage to the Pig and Whistle, as we did not want to bother Amy and Randall with the inevitable sounds o a wedding night. So we tucked ourselves into a cozy corner room of the Pig…and bothered the other boarders with the wedding night sounds instead. (Truly, it is a wonder that we did not get reprimanded. Especially after we knocked over the bedside table—that made quite a crash. But I digress.)

You still wore your bright wedding dress when we settled into the room, but you soon instructed me to turn around. I heard the rustle of cloth and I had a feeling I knew what you were changing into. You instructed me to turn around and sure enough, there you stood in the warm lamplight, your Kingston dress skimming over the curves of your hips and chest…

You said my name softly and padded over to the bed upon which I rested, and, as much as I adored seeing you in the Kingston dress, I adored seeing you even more once the garment floated to the floor.

And then, as I have thought about and desired for many years—and then, without a shipmate barging in or a sickness overtaking you or a long journey suddenly interrupting—we lay as one. To use the expression that often escapes from your own lips…oh, yes, we did.

As you get breakfast and chat with your friends downstairs, I cannot help but replay last night again and again. I also cannot help but wonder if any of your male acquaintances have tasted your many charms…no, I shall not think of that. Actually, I could not care less. All that matters is that I'm the only one who tastes said charms from now on.

I believe I hear someone coming up the stairs. I really hope that it's you—I had a lass who works here draw us a bath, and after we eat breakfast…well…as Randall Trevelyne suggested when I prepared for yesterday's wedding…never mind, I'm not enough of a rogue to say it, much less write it.

(But I can assure you, I'm more than enough of a rogue to do it, Mrs. Fletcher. Oh, indeed.)

Awaiting your return to the HMS Bedstead, I am

Yr. most devoted and enraptured servant,

James Fletcher