Miss Minerva's Pirate Mishap by Maggie Dallen (to read list .TXT) 📗

like a silly fool for taking up his time, and he’d politely requested that they resume the conversation regarding the weather during one of his scheduled social calls.

So no, Roger wouldn’t wish to be distracted. He was a focused young man, determined and hard-working. Her father praised him often for his ambition and work ethic, and rightly so. It was this steadfastness of character that led her to believe he would indeed be an ideal match. So very well suited in that regard. Everyone thought so.

Minerva was out the door before Rebecca could hazard any more guess about where Minerva was heading. She didn’t wish to waste a moment of her precious free time.

It was not as though Minerva was so very energetic that she could not sit still, as was the case with Sally. Nor did she have a small army of little ruffians waiting on her to come teach them lessons like Abigail.

She gave a little wave to the handful of children who were kicking their feet in the dirt as they waited for their unofficial, self-appointed teacher. “Abigail will be out in a moment, children,” she called as she passed.

Minerva merely craved fresh air and moments alone when her mind could wander. These little snippets of carefree peace, when she did not have to worry about her sisters or try and keep them in line... This was her favorite time of day.

For a little while, at least, she could enjoy the peaceful serenity that was their tiny town of Billingham, a coastal hamlet with an ancient old fort set so far out on the cliffs that it looked as though it might topple over into the sea when viewed from a certain angle. The fort, and the docks nearby, had been claimed by the navy—a stone frigate, they called it. Her father, once so powerful after rising in the ranks to become an esteemed captain led the small group of officers who came here to train and to keep the shoreline safe. Which, as her father liked to point out, was still a very important task even if the war with France had ended some years past.

Her father would wag his finger if any of his daughters or the men under his command dared to mention that their little corner of England was, for all intents and purposes, quite safe.

When you feel safe, her father would say with that finger brandished and his white mustache quivering. When you feel most safe and content, when you begin to let your guard down... That is when you are most at risk.

And so her father took his position here at the old fort quite seriously, even though his old friends from his seafaring days continued to taunt him for having all but retired when he’d been a feared and admired commanding officer. Some even believed he could have risen to the rank of admiral if he had not left his life at sea behind to take care of his daughters after their mother had gone.

Minerva strode across the lush, green grass that led from their home to the cliffs that lined the shore. The morning mist was beginning to lift, and the sound of crashing waves soothed that unsettled sensation she always felt after being cooped up inside for too long. The feeling she’d never been able to name, but that her father seemed to fear.

So much like your mother, he’d say whenever she mentioned that restlessness or unwittingly let it show.

She rather despised the comparison, and so she’d learned how to keep the feeling at bay, or how to hide it, at the very least.

Her mother was, as their father put it...an adventuress. The daughter of an Italian seaman, she’d been raised on a sailboat, and had always lived for life on the sea.

Why she’d married their father, who’d been much older and of such a different temperament, was anyone’s guess. How she’d managed to stick around long enough to bear five girls was another mystery altogether.

Their father did not speak of her much, and only Minerva and Abigail were old enough to have many lasting memories of her before she’d left them. As far as the rest of the world knew, their mother was dead. Lost at sea during her last grand adventure.

Minerva knew better.

She knew very well that her mother was alive and well and living a life of adventure. She’d made her choice. And she’d left Minerva to bear the brunt of her absence, stepping into the role of mother to four younger sisters when she was little more than a child herself.

Selfish. Her mother had been utterly selfish in choosing danger and divertissement over her own children.

The mere thought brought a wave of heavy bitterness, but Minerva let it go with the tide, breathing in and letting out the familiar angst with a sigh. Their mother’s death had been declared nearly ten years ago, and shortly after that their father left his position to bring his girls here, to the old fort with its worn and ramshackle dock below and the quaint, yet boring, town that lined the shore.

Minerva stopped short just as she reached the cliff’s edge, closing her eyes for one long blissful moment to take in the sea air. Five years now she had been running her father’s household and ensuring that her militia studied and did their chores, and all around stayed busy and useful.

Each sister had such a distinct personality that they seemed to have sorted themselves into different roles within the family of their own accord.

Abigail had become the more maternal figure. The one the other girls ran to when they were sick or injured, or just needed to talk. Sally was the closest thing to the boy their father had always wanted, with her love of all things science, as well as her desire to forever be running or riding or swimming or... Well, anything but dancing, really.

Rebecca was the most outgoing Jones sister, while Hattie was her