Dearest Jonathan,

I regret to inform you that I do not know how I can fulfill our engagement. On our way to England, our ship caught fire. It was destroyed. My family killed, I cannot marry with you. I know this will not please you but it is my choice and is final.

Sincerely,

Francisca Santiago de Aragón

"Lady Santiago?" She threw down her quill and whirled around. It was one of the lieutenants, that much she could tell. He had removed his hat, revealing his long, dark hair, which was tied back. "Sorry to disturb you, my lady, but Captain Aubrey would like to ask you—that is, to invite you, erm, to a kind of concert," he said with great difficulty and flushing cheeks.

"A concert?" she repeated.

"A musical concert," he clarified. "If you would follow me…"

"Oh, yes." Paca stood up. "There are musicians on this ship, then…Oh, I'm so sorry, but what is your name?"

"Thomas Pullings, my lady." He took her olive-skinned hand and brought it to his lips. "Actually, Captain Aubrey himself is a musician," he said, leading her on. "He plays the violin. Our Doctor Maturin often plays with him on the 'cello. I'm sure you'll enjoy it very much."

"Yes, I am sure I will." She followed him toward the Great Cabin. "Tomás." She smiled. "That was my brother's name. He went to the Americas when I was very young. I was hoping he would be able to come to my wedding, but I have not heard from him."

"Wedding?" He sounded a little disappointed. "You're married?"

"I was to be married, but I have decided not to," she explained. "I know your language because he is in England. He wanted someone…I cannot remember the word—exotic, I think."

"But he wanted you to speak English," he said. "I'm sure he has plenty of English women to choose from. He shouldn't drag you from your home like you're property." He was silent for a moment, pondering whether he had said too much. "By the way, feel free to call me Tom."

For some reason, they had stopped walking, having not yet reached their destination. She looked up at him. "You may feel free…to call me Paca. There is no need for formalities, Tom."

He smiled. "Quite right, Paca."

"Mr. Pullings!"

Tom turned. "Captain, sir!" He gently pushed Paca forward. "Miss Santiago, sir."

"Once again, it is an honor to have you as our guest," Captain Aubrey said, bowing slightly. She returned the gesture. As he led her away, Paca glanced back at Tom, who grinned and winked at her. "So, my dear, do you like Bach or Boccherini?"

She awoke very late the next morning, having stayed up half the night drinking and talking with Captain Aubrey and Tom. Doctor Maturin had gone to bed, claiming he was exhausted. She rubbed her aching head, climbing out of the hammock. She clumsily rolled out and landed on the floor. She moaned in pain, trying to stand up. Paca felt her cheeks flushing as blood rushed to her head, and she clamped a hand to her mouth, about to be sick. She rushed up the steps and onto the quarterdeck, found the nearest railing, and vomited off the side. She coughed and wiped her mouth on her sleeve.

"All right, Paca?" She looked up at Joe from the floor. She didn't speak, but shielded her eyes from the glaring sun. "Look, me and some of the boys 'ave somethin' for you." He turned and called, "Slade! Give it here." He handed Joe a bucket. "This'll make you feel much better." He held the wooden bucket over her head and turned it upside down.
Paca screamed as the cold water drenched her from head to toe. Then she started speaking very rapidly in Spanish, cursing and spitting, and flailing her arms about.

When she had calmed down, Joe offered her his hands. "Come 'ere, now. Let me help you up." She looked down, avoiding eye contact and occasionally wiping her face with a wet hand. "So, how d'you feel now?"

She looked him straight in the eye, then, and slapped him hard across the face. "I have never been so—so—so—"

"Humiliated?" Slade suggested.

"--so humiliated in all my life!" Paca finished. She bundled up her sopping dress and marched away.

Joe rubbed his jaw and Slade laughed. "Not makin' any points, are you?" Joe wasn't listening. He watched her explaining what happened animatedly to Lieutenant Pullings. He bit his lip when the lieutenant turned to look at him. Instead of coming over, Pullings wrapped a blanket around her and led her away.

"Bloody 'ell," Joe muttered. He looked to Slade. "It was a joke!" Slade shrugged and got on with his duties.

Paca sniffled, sipping at her tea. Tom looked concerned. "Are you sure you don't want me to say anything to Captain Aubrey? Mr. Nagel will be punished for this, I assure you."

She shook her head. "I do not wish to see him hurt. He is only teasing me." She finished her tea. "Thank you, Tom. I am very grateful for your kindness."

She stood up and moved toward the door. "Paca, before you go…there is something I've been meaning to give to you." He stepped closer, and, tilting her head upwards with his finger, kissed her gently.

She backed away. "Tom—Señor Pullings, what are you doing?"

His cheeks flushed. "I'm terribly sorry, miss. I'd better get back to my duties." He started out, but she caught his arm.

"Tom, I don't need a lover, I need a friend," she said gently. He put his hat back on, trying to cover up his embarrassment. "But I do appreciate your kindness."

"Yes, well, you can rest here if you like," he offered. "I'll make sure no one bothers you."

"Thank you," she said, sitting down. He was nearly out the door when she pulled out a letter. "Oh, Tom, could you see that this is mailed?"

"Certainly," he replied stiffly, and left the room, closing the door behind him. "Friend," he muttered. "I have plenty of friends…and they're all men," he added in disappointment. Why had she backed away?

Paca frowned, not quite knowing why. She had found the kiss pleasant and warming, but it wasn't enough. Tom was a wonderful and kind man, but she believed in more than that. He had to be honorable, daring, and courageous. But perhaps Tom was all of those things, and she had simply never seen them. She had only been on the Surprise for a few weeks. Paca thought of Joe, then. He wasn't any of those things, as far as she could tell, the least of all honorable. All the same, she couldn't help thinking of him. She lay down and closed her eyes. A short nap would do her good.