Island Dreams 1 Sir Edmunds Gift

Chapter One.

Sir Edmund Warrick's gift.

Island: Vaeloria

Vaeloria, a British colony tucked in the South Pacific, is a verdant outpost rimmed by coral reefs and spiked with volcanic peaks. Dense jungles pulse with life, while Port Haverly, a modest town of whitewashed stone, clings to the eastern shore under Mount Tira's shadow. Across the bay, Cliffhaven, the governor's Georgian mansion, sits on a promontory, its pale walls framed by gardens, a private beach, and a freshwater pool where a waterfall spills over mossy rocks.

Governor: Sir Edmund Warrick

At 58, Sir Edmund is a stern administrator, his face etched by decades of colonial work, his limp a reminder of a naval wound. His marriage to a younger woman secured ties to her wealthy London family, but his focus on governance keeps him away from Cliffhaven, leaving his wife to face her solitude.

Charlotte

The sun sank low over Vaeloria, painting the bay in hues of gold. Charlotte Warrick, 24, stood on Cliffhaven's veranda, her lavender muslin dress catching the warm breeze. Her chestnut hair, loosely pinned, framed a face delicate yet weary, its beauty lost to the gulls circling above. Loneliness settled over her, heavy as the humid air.

She watched the HMS Resolute glide into Port Haverly, its sails folding as it anchored. Her hazel eyes followed the ship, knowing it carried her husband, Sir Edmund, back from four months inspecting far-off outposts. A longboat ferried him to shore, his tricorn hat a dark speck against the waves. Charlotte sighed, her gaze shifting to Cliffhaven's grounds--a sprawl of hibiscus and jasmine gardens, a path winding to a crescent beach, and a trail leading to a pool fed by a clear waterfall. The mansion's tall windows gleamed, its polished interiors a testament to elegance, but to her, it was a gilded trap. She'd paced every garden path, swum in the pool until her fingers wrinkled, and read the library's books until the stories blurred. This paradise, meant for joy, only deepened her isolation.

As dusk settled, Port Haverly's lanterns twinkled across the bay. Charlotte lingered on the veranda, a glass of Madeira untouched in her hand, when hooves crunched on the gravel drive. She set the glass down and descended to the entrance hall, where the small staff stood ready: Mr. Harrow, the butler, rigid in his black coat; Miss Eliza, the maid, her face blank; and Tana, the cook, her brown eyes respectfully lowered.

The heavy doors swung open, and Sir Edmund stepped in, his face lined with exhaustion, his uniform slightly rumpled from travel.

"Charlotte," he said, his voice clipped, offering a stiff bow. "You're well, I trust?"

"Edmund," she replied, matching his formality with a curtsey. "I'm fine. You must be tired."

He nodded, shedding his hat. "A long journey. The outposts are restless."

They moved to the dining room, where candles cast a warm glow over a table set with Tana's cooking: roasted reef fish, breadfruit, and a sharp mango chutney. Charlotte sat across from Edmund, her fork nudging the food as he spoke.

"Trade's a mess," he said, cutting into the fish. "The natives are pushing for more say in the councils."

"Sounds challenging," Charlotte murmured, her eyes on her plate.

"It is." He sipped his wine. "And the French are sniffing around our routes again."

She nodded, the conversation a familiar drone, her thoughts drifting to the empty days ahead. The meal stretched on, the clink of cutlery filling the silences.

Near the end, Edmund set down his glass, his tone shifting. "I've been meaning to say, Charlotte--this place, it's too quiet for you. It's not right."

She looked up, surprised. "What do you mean?"

"You need company. I've arranged for a woman to stay here, a local named Noelani. She's well-regarded, knows the island."

"A companion?" Charlotte's brow lifted, a spark of interest cutting through her haze.

"Yes. She's here now." Edmund clapped his hands. "Harrow, bring her in."

Mr. Harrow opened the door, and Noelani stepped into the room. The air seemed to shift. Her bronze skin glowed under the candlelight, her black hair falling in waves to her waist, her dark eyes deep and steady, like the island's lagoons. Her simple white cotton dress hugged a frame both strong and graceful, her presence vibrant against the room's formality. Charlotte's breath caught; her own beauty, though striking, felt fragile beside this woman's warmth.

Noelani lowered herself to one knee, her head bowed. "My lady, I'm Noelani. I'm here to serve you."

Charlotte stood, crossing the room quickly. "Oh, please, get up." She reached out, taking Noelani's hands, her touch gentle but firm. "None of that. If we're to live here together, I'd rather we start as equals."

Noelani rose, her eyes meeting Charlotte's, a flicker of surprise in their depths. She'd expected a distant, formal lady, not this soft-featured woman with a kind gaze, far lovelier than the whispers in Port Haverly suggested. "If that's your wish, my lady," she said, her voice melodic, cautious but warm.

Charlotte smiled, holding her hands a moment longer. "It is. And please, call me Charlotte when it's just us."

Noelani's lips curved slightly, testing the ground. "I'll try... Charlotte."

Edmund, swirling his wine, missed the exchange. "Noelani's familiar with the island's ways," he said. "She'll make your days easier."

"Thank you, Edmund," Charlotte said, her eyes still on Noelani, whose smile grew steadier.

The meal wrapped up, and Edmund stood, brushing crumbs from his coat. "I've got dispatches to review. Goodnight, Charlotte. Noelani."

"Goodnight," Charlotte said, her voice soft as he left for his study.

Noelani stepped closer, her posture easing. "Would you like me to walk you to your room, my lady--Charlotte?"

Charlotte's pulse quickened, a faint flush on her cheeks. "Yes, I'd like that."

They climbed the grand staircase, the mansion's quiet broken only by the creak of wood underfoot. In the bedroom, candlelight danced across the walls, the open windows letting in the scent of night-blooming jasmine. Noelani moved to the bed, turning down the linens and adjusting the mosquito netting with quick, practiced motions. Charlotte lingered by the window, the moonlit bay stretching out, her thoughts a tangle of curiosity and something warmer.

Noelani's voice broke the silence. "Do you need help with your dress?"

Charlotte turned, nodding. "Please."

Noelani stepped behind her, her fingers working the laces with care, her touch light but steady. The muslin fell to the floor, and Charlotte stepped into her nightdress, aware of Noelani's gaze--polite but faintly curious, like someone studying a new map. A shiver ran through her, not from the air.

"Thank you," Charlotte said, her voice barely above a whisper as she slid into bed, the sheets cool against her skin.

Noelani's smile was soft, her eyes holding a trace of something unspoken. "Goodnight, Charlotte. I'm just down the hall if you need anything."

The door closed with a quiet click, and Charlotte lay in the dark, her heart stirring. For the first time in years, a fragile hope flickered in Cliffhaven's silent halls, a promise of something new.