There is a whirlwind both on land and at sea!

Kitty Bennet and Georgiana are in a whole new world, onboard the ship, The Lilia, that his headed to Australia. Along the way, they meet a slew of different characters, of different cultures. Both women have enjoyed the merriment of novelty and exotic encounters. Of course, there are ups and downs.

Speaking of such, Jane, Elizabeth and Mary are in the throes of motherhood, but there are tragedies on the rise. Just as Kitty and Georgiana are going to the world with enthusiasm, in England, their sisters are learning that sometimes life is not always going to be simple and joyous. Sometimes, horrors come to those who are not deserving. But there is another tragedy that also occurs, that is unforeseen.

Here comes the next chapter in Kitty Bennet’s adventure, which is more eventful than ever!

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Release Date: June 8, 2026
Genre: Historical | Regency

~ A Pink Satin Romance ~

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Excerpt

Chapter One

Doing my best to not spill my ink, I tried to steady my diary as it was propped up on my knees. Due to the travels on The Lilia, our living quarters were quite sparse, and we were unable to have a desk.

Since Georgiana was wise enough to bring a writing desk with her, she always allowed me to borrow it when I needed to write in my journal. I had removed all the contents from the desk, always closed the ink pot after dipping my quill into it and attempted to make any progress.

Writing on a ship is always problematic at best, but to write on a merchant vessel during a storm is even more of a trial.

Yet, I had to write. Every instinct within me cried out to do so, and Georgiana, knowing that when the impulse struck me, I was an unstoppable force.

And the storm...was an immovable object.

Let us see how we would get on together...

 

* * *

 

It’s been two days since Georgiana, the Rileys, Miss Emma Watson, and Mr. Blake and I set sail from London. When I refer to Mr. Blake, his true name is Mr. Howard. However, since being onboard, he told us that he has never really preferred his last name. As such, he often asks us to call him by his middle name: Blake. I find that I prefer that name as well. How ironically interesting that his middle name is the same name as his sister’s married name.

Between the odds and evens of walking away from everything that one is familiar with, I was prepared not to see what was behind me, but of the world ahead.

However, the one thing that a person cannot ever prepare for, or predict, is the weather.

The captain and crew could foresee a storm, but not always. This tempest decided to appear on us, in a very unexpected fashion.

While rain and clouds can be somewhat uncongenial on land, it’s hazardous on water.

I don’t hide in here, for fear of the drink. On the contrary, I am curious to see how the crew handle themselves during such an ordeal. Yet I dare say that they would wish to be free of my presence—especially since my fascination with them must be a little overwhelming.

Enara was right!

This crew is one of the most fascinating crews that a person could ever encounter. While my experience with voyages is severely limited, I doubt that my ignorance was working against me. On the contrary, sometimes, I think there can be something redeeming about ignorance on certain matters. After all, to me, the world looks prettier—even its ugliness takes on an interesting shade, because it gives me something to gasp at.

Oh, I am starting in a foolish way.

I had to write. For the freedom of unleashing the fire of my inner voices.

That’s the only problem with being on a ship—one cannot talk to oneself. I am not one to pretend that I am not a little mad, for I am. However, I flatter myself that I am not the only one, who when alone, does sometimes shout many words at themselves, be it to express ideas that you wonder how it will sound out loud, or merely wishing to say all the things that you wanted to say the entire day, but you were afraid to. After all, freedom of speech does not mean that you ought to say everything that’s on your mind in a public setting. Even I understand that etiquette has its uses in the world.

But a diary is different. It does not judge you. And that’s what makes it the most charming friend of all. You need some place to reveal your evil.

And evil is what I write. Being shut up here, I can finally say that I have been both selfish and selfless.

These have been both the most entertaining, as well as longest days of my life.

When it became evident that Georgiana was eager to regain her long past friendship with Emma Watson, I decided to do well by her and give them time together.

After all, I have the Rileys for company. I would say that Mr. Blake is charming, but two days is not enough to gain a wider acquaintance with him, or to know his character yet. In truth, I still cannot fully make him out.

But Emma Watson is a different matter entirely.

There are some people that a person can know for a day, and you know, instantly, that you both will never be on intimate terms.

And that is the selfish reason that I do remove myself from them all.

I fear that I don’t like Emma Watson very much at all. It is not hatred, of course, but it is discomfort. Every time that I am around her, I am reminded of things that I wanted to leave behind.

Her nature is very fine. It was evident, from her history, that she was raised to be very refined and genteel. There is a striking elegance to her as well, but I knew that from the very first time that I met her.

Everything about her is superior to me, but it is not jealousy that I feel. I speak in truth; at this point in my life, I have seen the evils of envy, and I don’t wish to be like that.

But when she looks at me, I can see it: there is a coldness, and a hidden judgment to everything that I do. When I speak, she sometimes does not respond and can be politely disagreeable.

It is not wrong to have opinions. We all have them. But she seems to be on the wrong side of our youth: the side that has one image of what us ladies ought to be, and that is all. I am not of that image. Georgiana is, but not me.

Also, I feel unwanted. As if I am the odd one out, as it were. And as if I am intruding. Never before have I experienced such a thing. It is almost as if I feel hollow inside, and worthless. Is this natural? And so, when I am around them, I try to overcompensate and speak more than usual, but I can tell that it looks forced. And it must feel so.

I do not understand. What has happened to me?

I was never popular. I was not Lydia.

I was never accomplished: I was not Mary or Elizabeth.

I was not universally loved: I was not Jane.

But the one thing that I always had to my name, that I could boast was my own virtue, and I coveted it, was my power to be approachable. To be amenable to company, to be comfortable to be around, to having someone in the room who cared to be near me.

And now I did not have that. We all have that one thing that makes us special, and it ought not to be taken from us. My skill was taken from me.

When looking at Emma Watson, I cannot help but view her as the source behind it all. She never smiles when near me, never seeks me out, or is happy when I seek her out. And opinions can be contagious things.

How long will it be until Georgiana realizes that I was never a proper companion for her? And that women like Emma Watson will always be better than I?

That is what I fear. That opinions are, and always will be, contagious.

And this time, the contagion will fall hardest on me.

One cannot help but be selfish.

I should tell Georgiana, shouldn’t I?

No! That would make me pathetic.

But I am at a pathetic state.

Yes, I should tell her.

If Finlay and Colonel Fitzwilliam were here, I would not feel worthless.

Oh, I must stop writing about them! Spite it all! I must stop focusing on them so...for what good would it do? Mistakes and I are old friends. I have made quite a few of them. But I will not dwell on such a mistake of always remembering affections long past. I will not spend my days thinking of them all the time, rather than moving forward.

I do them and myself no service by that.

 

BOOM!

 

* * *

 

The sound above me made me drop my quill. Seeing that it was fruitless to continue, I placed all my items on Georgiana’s desk, placed it under my bed, and looked up at the sound of it.

Above me were the scurrying feet of sailors who were doing their best to handle the sails and expel as much water from the ship as possible.

How I wanted to go up and see how they handled the helm! Even when one knows how not to behave, curiosity will always be curiosity. And the short and the long of it is that I would not be satisfied until I saw a little.

Therefore, placing my cloak over my head, I tiptoed out of my cabin, walked past all the other cabins down below and walked to the stairs that led to the top deck. The water was coming down hard, and I knew that I would get wet all over, but Nature never frightened me. After all, could Nature help herself?

When I reached the steps, diligently, I walked up the stairs, only going so far, that my face scanned over what was happening above board.

Scurrying back and forth were not only the sailors, but at the wheel was the captain. Or to be more accurate, the Master. With it being a merchant vessel, Master was the most appropriate title, but he was accustomed to people calling him Captain Archer.

James Archer was his name, and he looked every much like his position. As he stood at the wheel, as opposed to another sailor doing so, he presented a majestically masculine image. Some men age remarkably well and take their beauty into their elderly age. The Master, Captain Archer, was in his late sixties, had blue eyes, had gray hair that was turning white in some patches, he kept it cut short and refused to wear a wig, for any reason. His skin was peach and a little brown, which naturally came from being somewhat weather-beaten. Then again, he never struck me as the sort of man who was pale at all but was born looking healthy. When he was younger, he must have been a beautiful man, because in his older age, his form was still handsome, his face was a little long and quite thin, he was well-made, and he was quite tall.

He was a leader. That was to be expected. Next to him on the landing was his Chief Officer, Mr. Kenneth Turner the Third, so he was often called Trip by everyone, because being the third made him the triple... the triple meant Trip. Like Captain Archer, Trip was also an elderly man who’s face clung to the beauties of earlier days. He too had gray hair, but unlike Captain Archer, he did not fear going a few days being unshaven.

Also, unlike Captain Archer, Mr. Trip’s American accent was distinctly Southern, since he had been from North Carolina, our one-time Colonies.

The first surprising crewmate was the Second Officer. It was only natural that the post was always a male because it naturally ought to be. But here, on the Lilia, it was not so. The Second Officer was a handsome middle-aged woman, named Miss Tepree, from Maryland. Due to never having children, she maintained a strong figure, had a striking face, peach skin, short brown hair, similar to the captain’s hair, and she was moving back and forth on the deck, her face wet all the way through as she conveyed the captain’s orders to the entire crew, even assisting in swabbing the deck to keep water from dripping down below.

My eyes were fixed on her. From the first time that she had set out to plan her life, how did she do it? Between her intention to be a bosun and officer, and actually committing to the deed—a deed that it was impossible for her to ever fill...what happened? Every now and again, there will always be that character in your life, that person who defied convention and overcame a perpetual standard that they served under. Tepree was that sort of person in my life. She did everything that a lady ought not to do.

Due to her striking character, often she found me staring at her, very blankly, as if in wonder. Between her ability to rise above the standards of her time, as well as her striking figure and face, I found myself too intimidated to approach her very much.

I suppose—that I admired her.

And she could not help but find it hard to stand me. I could not blame her. There must be something so very vexing about being wondered about and adored. It must be a daunting concept.

The wind and cold from the rain whipped across my face, and I was almost prepared to return to my cabin, when I caught sight of the Watch Leader, an Indian named White Wolf, of the Dakota Tribe, as he marched around the ship, also making sure that everything was running smoothly. He caught sight of me and winked.

I smiled and waved.

To my happiness, he understood my fascination with him and did not shy under the notice. Perhaps, it was because he was accustomed to it, especially since he still wore some of the familiar items that Indians were known for wearing. His hair was long and black, which he kept tied up, but it swayed behind him, and so did the beads that dangled from his neck. He didn’t fear the harsh winds and the water that sloshed against his face but always seemed to welcome it.

He was fascinating, to be sure, especially since he had a certain regality about him.

“Kitty!” I heard from behind me.

Turning around, I saw Emma Watson standing in her cabin’s doorway.

“Whatever do you do there?”

“I was watching the sailors.”

“You will fall ill. That is unwise.”

“Perhaps, I will. But the sailors have it worse.”

I looked at her face and saw that she was grieved in some sort of manner.

“What is that look for?” I asked her, coming down the stairs.

“It’s Miss Darcy.”

“She is not averse to you calling her Georgiana, you know.”

“It’s not proper.” Her tone was imperious.

“It’s friendship; it does not have to be proper. Now what is it?”

“She’s ill again.”

“Oh!” I gasped, rushing up to her. When I reached her, she looked squarely at me.

“Why do you always do that?” she asked me.

“Do what?”

“Look at me as if I am about to be cross.”

“Because you often are, if you must know,” I replied. “You are telling me that you are not always being critical of me when we speak?”

For a second, she did not answer the question. Oh, very well. For ten seconds, she didn’t answer the question.

“See?” I asked her. “Told you.”

“It is just that some things you say and do are a little spirited—”

I groaned, moving past her.

“I don’t have time for this now.”

When I went into her room, I saw Georgiana hurling up her breakfast into a wastebin.

“Oh, Georgie.” I said, going to her and helping her to hold her hair so that it did not get in the way of her purging.

When she finished, I quickly closed the bag, tied it up, and went above deck. As I did so, the wind and rain crashed against my face viciously, and I almost fell over, since the deck was so slippery. Racing to the edge, I threw the bag into the sea.

Out of my peripheral vision, I saw a figure standing there. Turning, I saw the Third Officer, Charles Reedus, watching what I had just done. Being the Third Officer, he was quite like a bosun. Another term for bosun is boatswain, who has charge of the anchor and anchor gear, cargo-handling, boats, and instruction of the crew in practical seamanship. With a rope in his hand, Lieutenant Reedus was watching my actions as I had dumped the bag overboard.

Reedus was a fellow British citizen. He was from Wales, and like the master and Commander Trip, he was middle-aged, with gray hairs mingled with his dark brown locks. His face was distinct, and he spoke with such an elegant manner, that he brought an element of class to the rest of the crew. Not only that, but he didn’t sound like he was born to the life of a sailor, but of a gentleman. I always wanted to ask him why his life took the turn that it did, but that would have to be at another time.

Meanwhile, he was still staring at me, quizzically.

“My friend,” I said, gesturing to the water, “she was ill.”

“Ah,” he said, the look of familiarity filling his eyes. “Seasickness claims another victim. Have Phineas look at her. Of course, he’ll say what I said before, but nothing bests a confirmation.”

“Right.”

“Now get down below, or you will be soaked all the way through.”

“Righty ho, sailor!” I said, saluting him. He laughed as he moved past me, answering to an order that Tepree cried out to him. Giving her a quick look, where she avoided my gaze, I went down below again, to see Georgiana.

When I went to the cabin, I saw that she was not there. Coming to an assumption, I went to Doctor Phineas’ room, and I found Georgiana and Emma Watson there, with Doctor Phineas inspecting Georgiana. When seeing me, Georgiana’s eyes lit up.

“Did you tell anyone that it was my purging?”

“No,” I assured her, “I told no one it was you.”

She sighed, her face still a little green. Looking everywhere else but at Emma Watson, I held Georgiana’s hand. I knew that it was only a matter of time before Emma would inform me that this was all her idea, and I was not left to wait for long.

“I thought it would be best to have Doctor Phineas see her,” Emma observed.

“Yes,” I replied. “Mr. Reedus confirmed your decision.”

We didn’t say it, but we knew it; despite how juvenile a tendency it is, it is no less human, and quite the ageless habit, of now being in competition for who could be the best sort of friend to Georgiana.

Well, if that’s how she would like to play it...

“This is her third time purging, Doctor,” I said. “Is there anything else that might help her?”

“Yes,” Doctor Phineas said, going to his briefcase and pulling out some tonics. “I think that I do. Of course, Miss Darcy, this seasickness is customary, and there is nothing to be ashamed of. The insecurities of youth have no claims on a ship. Seasickness is seasickness.”

Georgiana looked at Emma and me.

“And yet my friends have not suffered the effects.”

“Different bodies are set up in different ways.”

He handed her a tonic.

“Drink one spoonful of this every two hours. If it does not work, do not overdose. You simply must accept that it might take your stomach a little longer to grow accustomed to the fact that your home likes to rock from side to side.”

He smiled amiably at her.

“Give your body time, Miss Darcy, and time will prefer you.”

* * *

Emma Watson offered Georgiana her arm to help lead her to her room, and I didn’t even try to best her efforts. After all, I knew Georgie; she wouldn’t want anyone’s help.

I was proven correct when Georgiana thanked her but insisted that she could walk on her own. They both left the doctor’s quarters, and I remained behind, curious.

“What was in the tonic that you gave her?” I asked.

Doctor Phineas raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t worry.” I brushed my hand through the air. “I do not ask you that because I doubt your abilities. But what happens if one of my friends grow ill again and you are not around?”

“Oh,” Phineas responded. “You wish to take matters into your own hands.”

“Is that so wrong?”

“Not at all. I use a blend of ginger and peppermint, liquidized. The only difficulty is measurements. 550 milligrams of ginger with a teaspoon of peppermint often works. Mind you, these sort of tonics are not an exact science.”

“Meaning that they can work for some, but not everyone.”

“Precisely.”

“Thank you.”

Looking over my shoulder, his eyes focused on Emma Watson’s room.

“You three, if I don’t mind me asking, are friends?”

“Oh,” I replied, a little curious at how I was to describe us. “I am friends with Miss Darcy, and Emma is friends with her. What I refer to is that she shares us as mutual friends between, but Miss Watson and I are acquaintances.”

“I see. Now it all makes sense.”

I looked at him, interested in what he meant.

“What makes sense, I wonder?”

“The dynamic between you three. Forgive me for noticing such things, but when you are a surgeon on a ship, where no one needs you to repair anything, you become a creature of observation.”

“Naturally. What do you see when you see the three of us?”

“I have offended you.”

“Don’t worry about hurting my feelings. I am tougher than I appear as. I stopped fearing observations long ago.”

“It is all a matter of analyzing one’s body language. You speak with Miss Darcy, Miss Watson speaks with her—and then you and Miss Watson engage in conversation sparingly. And the tension is so thick that it can cut a beam.”

“And I thought I was being careful,” I noted, rolling my eyes.

“Some things cannot always be hidden. I cannot claim to know everything about your history, but I have undergone a similar predicament to yourself. With that known, might I make a suggestion?”

“What would that be?”

“If complete friendship between you three renders itself to be impossible, do not end in using Miss Darcy as the battleground between you both. When that occurs, no one wins.”

I bit my lip.

“I was worried that it might come to that.”

“Don’t let it. You’ll be a good friend to her if you don’t ever let it reach that place.”

I nodded to him and went back to my room. As I passed Enara and Arthur’s cabin, my instinct was to knock on their door, barge in and tell them all my woes.

Yet my better instincts overcame that. They were returning to Australia, to a whole other side of their family. The last thing they needed was my pettiness.

Thus, going back to my room, I collapsed on my bed, digging my face into the pillow.

I wondered what was happening back in England, at Pemberley, Godfrey Park, at Meryton, and with my sisters?

 

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