When You Wish Upon a Duke by Charis Michaels

Dear Mama,

Hello. I hope this finds you well. I have a precious few minutes to dash this off and hurl it in the general direction of Cornwall. Forgive the obvious haste and the disorganized thoughts. How long has it been since I’ve written you in a manner “on the run”? Not long enough—and yet here I am.

The most relevant news first: I’ve reached Iceland safely and in good humor. We sailed from the Thames Estuary at Margate up across the North Sea. We enjoyed fair weather and made excellent time.

We’ve dropped anchor in the waters outside the small port city very familiar to me, not far from the home of the Vagn family.

As expected, the voyage made me very ill, although the practice of frequent walks on the deck and lots of fresh air gave me some relief. The moment the barrier islands were in view, I was vastly improved.

The Duke of Northumberland has been very generous—both in allowances for my discomfort and also in terms of my contribution to this mission. I am the only woman among twenty men at least. You would love it; the evenings want only a piano and a buxom soprano. But the men are cordial to me and I feel very safe. I’ve been left to my own company mostly (at my request) and any anxiety I have felt has been due to my own missteps or wrong-mindedness. Obviously my life in Mayfair felt very safe and unchallenged (bland and boring, if I’m being honest) while this endeavor is the opposite. This has called for some adjustments, but I’ve discovered a well of versatility that I thought had long since run dry.

Once in Iceland, the duke relied upon me to navigate our reconnaissance within the port city.

I’ve sought out the Vagn family and enacted a small reunion to learn local gossip.

I was uncertain of how the family would receive me but they were warm and welcoming and appeared delighted.

In the interest of brevity I will not detail our reunion, but allow me to skip to the bit that you’ll want to hear. According to the younger Vagns, I’ve not been the only Lost Boy to venture back to Iceland. Peter has been back, and more than once. I know you keep in touch with his father so perhaps this will not surprise you, but I was wholly unprepared for the news. It was never Peter’s nature to revisit an area, especially somewhere as remote as Iceland. I’m not afraid of Peter Boyd, but I have no wish to encounter him. I am grown now, a new woman; I am . . . beyond. How loath I would be to circle back.

The Vagns said that Peter, although not in Iceland at the moment, has returned often to take the healing thermal waters, nose around the volcanoes, and—most compelling of all for our mission—engage in some revelry with the very blaggards who committed the crimes we have come to undo. The world is very small indeed.

So, onward. I will close this letter now and race to deliver it. Another vessel in port is sailing this very night for England. I’ve paid a steward to post it as soon as they make landfall. If we are very lucky, this will reach you within days of my own return to England.

If you don’t receive this, there is no great loss. You will see me again soon enough. It has felt restorative to write these words, even if they sink to the bottom of the sea.

One thing I might add: seeing Iceland again has not been as terrible as I once thought. In truth, it feels little more than vaguely familiar or like the scene of a small, personal triumph from long ago.

There are places that we thrive and places that we merely survive, and perhaps they are both important.

I do not regret this journey, even without gaining the new building from the duke.

But now, on to recovering these Englishmen and returning home. I pray that you are well and behaving yourself. I look so forward to seeing your beautiful smile very soon.

Love,

Bell