It all began with syphilis.
Centuries before my tale unfolds, a plague more insidious than the Black Death silently spread across the world. It claimed countless lives, inflicting symptoms of open sores, rashes, diarrhea, blindness, madness, and even baldness upon men and women alike. Losing one's hair was a profound disgrace, for long locks symbolized status, and a hairless head was met with public humiliation.
A scalp devoid of hair was synonymous with shame.
To conceal this affliction, men turned to perukes crafted from horse, goat, or even human hair. These perukes were then doused in overpowering lavender or orange scents to mask the malodorous stench. The length of the peruke also served to cover facial sores. Skilled artisans profited from this craft, though their wares were often peddled in secret due to the stigma attached to wearing wigs.
In 1655, the King of France, Louis XIV, faced his own hair loss predicament. He adopted a wig, sparking a trend that spread faster than the original ailment. Soon, the peruke transitioned from an emblem of poverty to a fashionable accessory within English high society, as King Charles II of England, cousin to Louis XIV, also embraced the peruke.
Wigs became a uniform of sorts, rather than a symbol of destitution.
Before wigs gained popularity, in 1534, King Henry VIII's pursuit of an annulment led to the Act of Supremacy. This act marked Henry's defiance against the Pope's denial of his request, plunging an entire country into turmoil for the sake of power and desire. Not quite a traditional vampire, yet a being draining life all the same.
Amid the powdered wigs and fragrant streets of the capital city, such conversations were seldom heard. The aroma often grew overwhelming, which made me appreciate my respite from the mainland at this moment.
"Joanna, my dear." My father's preference for lavender signaled his presence on the quarterdeck, standing tall beside me. His peruke, I suspected, concealed the toll of age and stress. "What brings you here so early?"
"A storm approaches, father," I replied, gesturing towards the eastern waters we had traversed. Stray strands of hair danced in my face, but the salt-laden breeze was of no concern. "I sense it."
My father frowned, observing the gathering storm clouds in the distance, leaning against the ship's railing as he studied their formation. "A storm from the west?"
"Ah, Miss Blunt. A tempest from the west headed east?" Another voice chimed in, approaching from my other side. I caught a glimpse of blue fabric adorned with gold at the edge of my vision. I didn't need to look to know he wore a condescending smile. "My lady, we're sailing away from the colonies."
"...I am well aware, Mister Hart," I replied softly, my grip on the railing betraying my tone. The ship's captain stood near, his presence palpable. "But the winds—"
"Captain, my lady."
"I apologize, Mister Heart, did I stutter?" My eyes looked towards the man but my face remained forward. He smiled.
"The winds blow east," Captain John Hart interjected with a chuckle. "Fear not, Miss Hart. Your beauty is safe from such concerns." My nose wrinkled at the loud scent of orange that clung to his peruke. Sickening.
"Ah, Captain. The cloud formations are quite unusual," my father attempted, though I knew the captain would dismiss his words. "Perhaps we should alter our course to the north."
"Nonsense, David," Captain Hart retorted with a smirk directed at us. "With all due respect, a surgeon and a lady possess no expertise compared to a captain, unless the topic is sewing wounds or clothes."
I blinked as the captain walked away from the quarterdeck, leaving my father, myself, and the ship's colors behind. Turning to the only other person nearby, I watched as he stared out at the waters, the red, white, and blue flag flapping wildly beside him, more frantic than when I had arrived above deck.
"Father..." My murmur hung in the air, and he sighed, adjusting his round glasses and offering me a crooked smile. "Must I endure much longer on this ship?"
"Ah, but the Diamond is a fine vessel, Jo. You've endured thus far." His chuckle seemed to escape through his lips before his eyes twinkled mischievously in the early morning sunlight. Playfully, he glanced toward the helm and leaned closer to my ear. "Unless you're considering mutiny against the captain."
I gasped, my hands flying to cover my lips as I stared wide-eyed at my father's grinning face. "Mutiny? Never," I retorted, a playful smile tugging at my lips. Swiftly, I turned my attention back to the sea and the gathering clouds, suppressing my grin. I leaned gently against my father's arm, whispering slowly, "I'd settle for pushing him overboard."
"You're blushing, my dear."
"Father!"
His hearty laughter filled the air as he wrapped an arm around my shoulders, planting a kiss on the crown of my head. "Indeed, my dear. Is that all?"
Captain John Hart was a distinguished Kingsman—a man of honor, reliability, and integrity that rivaled any worthy soul. Once, I had glimpsed him without his peruke, and I could vouch that his dirty-blond hair matched his unruly green eyes, a touch too untamed for a captain. Despite my apparent grudge, my blushing cheeks and smile revealed the truth. The tales of his crew-saving exploits, his dive into the sea to rescue the Chaplain after an accidental push, and his extra rations for midshipmen on their birthdays—all proved him a good man.
A remarkable man.
An attractive man.
A man whose ring graced my finger.
At the age of twenty-one, my unwed status and absence from a nunnery defied societal norms. Yet, I had managed to avoid the proposals—until him. With my mother's passing, my father, a naval surgeon, took me on his journeys from England to the Colonies. Women on board ships were not unheard of; most were officer's spouses or shore-based visitors. The Diamond's route, known as the reward route, linked Charlestown to Liverpool—a month-long voyage one way, mostly tranquil and devoid of Spanish or pirate threats. The reward route was bestowed upon a captain as a mark of devotion to the crown, a reputation Captain John Hart upheld.
Twice only had our ship faced attack during my five years at sea. On both occasions, I remained safely ensconced in the captain's quarters, pistol trained on the door, ready to fire only if it opened without the cry of "Cleared in the name of the Crown!" The scent of gunpowder held memories of wide-eyed tension and the sound of a man hitting the wooden deck.
Captain Hart was a fine man, an admirable captain, making his marriage proposal irresistible in my position. A woman adrift on the ocean, neither married nor a courtesan—my prospects for a respectable marriage were slender. I twiddled the emerald and gold ring, pride warming my heart.
Joanna Hart—a pleasing name, don't you think?
As a gust of wind skimmed over my arms, I rubbed them them briskly, seeking warmth. With a sigh, I turned my gaze back to the clouds amassing behind us, a suppressed unease simmering within me. "Father, I sense it in my bones. The storm is approaching."
"Your mother could predict the weather just by stepping outside," he mused, a wistful tone in his voice as he gazed out over the curve of the ocean. His warm eyes then shifted to me, holding a fondness. "She'd be so proud of you, Jo."
"...thank you." My response was simple, for there was little else to say. My father embraced me gently, consulting his fob watch with a sigh. "It's nearly breakfast time."
"Which means it's time for early morning check-ups."
"Aye."
"Do you need my help?" Assisting my father in his medical duties was a routine I was accustomed to, particularly in dull times. But today, he waved away my offer with a casual gesture.
"No, I'll manage. Go, eat. You can assist me with dressing wounds later this afternoon."
The word "wounds" sent a shiver down my spine, and a knot of tension formed in my stomach. I watched my father descend from the raised platform toward the area designated for the injured and infirm. The breeze had evolved into a full-fledged wind; the ship's flag was nearly unfurled, fluttering wildly in response. It seemed likely that I wouldn't be assisting with dressing wounds while the sun was still above us. In fact, I wondered if we'd even see the sun above us today.
My fingers swept an unruly strand of hair behind my ear, and I couldn't shake the feeling of apprehension that clung to me. It was as if the winds carried an omen, a foreboding sense that danger was imminent. The clouds continued to gather, a swirling mass of gray that mirrored the unease building within me.
"Miss Blunt."
"Captain," I replied playfully, descending from the quarterdeck with an air of reverence as I observed John seamlessly transferring control to the helmsman.
"Keep her on her course," Captain Hart instructed while his gaze never wavered from mine. His eyes held a glint of mischief as he strolled over to my side. "Not content with cloud reading alone, are you, Miss Blunt? Now aspiring to take my Captaincy?"
"I believe it would be an improvement," I teased, hands clasped primly in front of me, my eyes dancing just as mischievously as his. "This ship could use a woman's touch."
"Hmm," he hummed, his hand tracing down my arm with deliberate slowness, a touch both sensual and intoxicating, even through the fabric of my sleeve. "It's not the only thing in need of a woman's touch."
Before my blushing cheeks could betray me, I sidestepped away from the Captain and cleared my throat. "I'm sure there will be plenty of fine ladies ashore, ready to part a gentleman from his coin." Suddenly, a strong hand caught mine, spinning me back to face the man who would soon be my husband, a mischievous grin lighting up his features.
"But there's only one lady's touch I desire."
"Lucky woman, then," I quipped.
"Lucky man," he corrected with a grin just as cheeky, before pressing a gentle kiss to the back of my hand, a gesture that sent my heart into a wild flutter. "Miss Blunt."
"Mister Hart."
A contented sigh escaped him, his smile holding a quality distinct from my father's crooked grin—it carried a tenderness that reminded me of the way my father used to look at my mother. "Poor woman. Soon enough, 'Missus' will replace 'Miss' for you."
"Poor woman? No," I protested, my hand cupping his cheek with a soft touch. "A woman - rich in love."
"Aye," he agreed, his hand covering mine warmly. "Now off with you, lovely woman. You've managed to distract the captain for quite some time."
I scoffed, rolling my eyes in mock irritation, allowing him to gently guide me toward the staircase leading below deck, where breakfast would be waiting. Likely ship's biscuit and salted beef.
"If you were a truly diligent captain, you wouldn't be so easily swayed."
"But that would make me a diligent man, wouldn't it?"
"You are insufferable." Laughter bubbled from my lips as I grabbed hold of the railing, preparing to descend the steps. "Good day, Mister Hart."
"Good day, Miss Blunt." His parting words carried a warmth that resonated deep within me, leaving me with a smile as I continued on my way.
A/N: I couldn't help writing this. It's been in my unpublished for over a year now and I have felt like my style improved. This book is to work on a different POV (first)
Let me know what u think!