The Gentlewoman's Deception

Ch. 1 // The Dreadful Art of Courting Sir Godfrey Genkins

THREE HUNDRED AND SIXTY FIVE DAYS. A mere year.

That's how long Louisa Baker decided it would take for her to embroider a sail on one of the 260-foot ships anchored in the New York Harbor.

It could be argued that the sail of the ship is most prized–the basis of its functionality. Without the sail, there is no way for it to catch wind and garner enough energy to leave the harbor. This is why Louisa decided she would tend to it first. If she was feeling fancy and the captain had got on her good side, she would include a matching flag bearing the crest of the honorable crew that was most certainly commandeering the precious vessel. And when the mast was settled and squared away, Louisa would simply turn her attention to the more pleasurable aspects of designing a ship brave enough to traverse through dangerous and uncharted waters.

Delicately crafted curtains sewed from the finest clothes to drape over each porthole or soft and supple pillows laden with the most pristine goose down feathers for the captains quarters. These seafaring delicacies would take another four months at least if Louisa was to get them just right.

Perhaps a warm linen dyed a deep cerulean blue to match the ocean?

No rush in deciding the shade of the curtains, Louisa, she scolded herself. By the time I get to them, a more beautiful color may have been discovered.

Louisa leaned her elbow on the small round table she was sitting at, making it wobble under the sudden pressure. Her chin was held in the palm of her hand as she looked out over the harbor, eyes misting over in thought.

Maybe Louisa would be so enraptured with making the ship feel like a home that she would finally use some of the paints her father had kept in the hall cupboard. That is precisely what every ship needed—a fresh coat of paint. And even if the crew groveled and begged at her feet not to paint it, there would be no changing of her mind.

Even now, it took much restraint for Louisa to keep herself in her seat and not storm down the dock and demand the deckhands to let her wash away the seaweed and barnacles that had since made their way onto the robust hulls of many of the ships in the harbor. It was ridiculous, really, that the crews did not put more care into their dear vessels. For heaven's sake, she could barely make out the golden lettering on the closest ship.

So, yes, the ship would be painted. End of discussion.

As Louisa's mind continued to wander, she found herself fiddling with the small silver spoon in her teacup. She had barely sipped from the cup—tea was always a rather unpleasant drink for her taste—but it was something to occupy her fingers.

Thoughts of what it would be like to walk along the rotting planks of a ship's deck while on a perilous voyage through enemy territory flooded Louisa's mind. She remembered overhearing two men in a bakery shop argue about who had gotten their sea legs first. It made Louisa wonder if she would manage to find her sea legs in a timely manner or if she would be one of the unfortunate souls that succumbed to seasickness.

Now that she was pondering such a topic, Louisa decided it would be much easier if she could treat sea legs like a parcel and have it show up to her front door much like her dresses. Surely this would be a much easier ordeal and let her confidently stride right up the loading plank of the ship, prepped for the journey.

But, alas, the world just didn't work like that.

Nevertheless, images of herself standing at the helm of a ship danced across her mind. How regal and strong she looked, a glint of determination evident on her face. If given the chance to board, Louisa wondered how hard she would have to stifle the urge to march up to the steering wheel and take control of the helm.