Part 32 (1/2)

But Francesca could see beyond the gold lace and epaulets to how the little muscle in Edward's jaw twitched and how often he was clearing his throat. She knew the signs, because she knew him. He was nervous, frightened in a way grand heroes were not supposed to be, and who could fault him? This morning in the Admiralty Office in Whitehall he would be facing a battle every bit as hazardous as any he'd fought at sea, and the stakes-his career and his honor-were exactly the same, even if his enemy would be sitting in a leather-covered armchair.

And now, wretched coward that she was, she would not be there with him.

”You look splendid, Edward,” she said softly. ”Truly a victorious hero, la! I am most proud of you, caro mio. The admirals will be awed and overwhelmed, and able to do nothing but heap more honors on your head.”

He smiled almost shyly, so clearly grateful for her faith in him that she hated herself all the more. ”It's entirely Peart's doing, you know. I can claim no more credit than any shopwindow display. Was he able to do as much with the wrinkles in your gown?”

She nodded, braving the cold to part her cloak and show how elegantly she'd also dressed this morning. Thanks to Peart, there wasn't a single wrinkle or crease in the cream-colored wool of her gown, a gift from Lady Hamilton in Palermo: a stylish high-waisted robe lined and trimmed with striped cream satin that accentuated her own dramatic coloring. The bodice was cut snug and low to display the lushness of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, though for modesty and against the cold, she'd filled in the neckline with a fine linen scarf, and threaded an ivory ribbon through her dark hair.

Yet as flattering as the gown was, it was far more to Lady Hamilton's English taste than her own, as simple and elegant and blandly monochrome as London itself. But if Francesca were playing the part of Lady Edward Ramsden, then surely this was the precise costume for the role, as the expression on Edward's face instantly told her.

”You look lovely, Francesca,” he said with such adoring admiration that she nearly cringed. ”Oh, la.s.s, you cannot know how much it will mean to me to have you there by my side when we go to Whitehall, especially looking as fine as this.”

”About Whitehall,” she said swiftly, wrapping her cloak closed again. ”Edward, I-I do not believe I can go there with you this morning.”

”You are ill,” he said instantly, his face filled with concern as he took her hands. ”I thought you'd looked pale yesterday, la.s.s, and after all you've suffered these last days. I understand, I understand entirely.”

”You must not worry over me, Edward, not when you've so much else before you this-”

”Hush, and mind me,” he said. ”Better you remain here, where you can rest, until Peart and I can make arrangements for more suitable lodgings ash.o.r.e.”

”Perhaps that is best,” she said weakly, seizing at the excuse he'd so innocently provided. Coward, coward, her conscience cried, but there was no way she could make herself tell him the truth when he looked at her like this, his blue eyes full of kindness and love and concern that she didn't deserve.

”Of course it is.” He cleared his throat self-consciously, frowning down at their joined hands. ”I've half-expected this anyway, Francesca, though there hasn't been time for us to speak alone before this. I was too rough with you. That is, I was, ah, inconsiderate, a d.a.m.ned inconsiderate, selfish boor, and I'm sorry for it. But the way you acted, how you responded-how could I know?”

”Edward,” she said slowly. ”Whatever are you saying?”

He cleared his throat again. ”I'm saying that it wasn't until later, until I saw, ah, certain signs on my, ah, on the front of my s.h.i.+rt that I realized you'd been a virgin.”

If he'd struck her outright, he couldn't have shocked her more.

”Because I was not as cold as your English ladies, because I loved you, you needed to study your linen for proof of my maidenhead?” she cried forlornly. ”Why didn't you believe me when I told you my heart was my own, that I'd never taken a lover? Oh, caro mio, wasn't my word good enough for you?”

”Because of those pictures of your father's, and how freely you talked, and flirted-well, what else was I to think?” he said defensively. ”Not that any of that matters. I married you regardless, and you're mine now, my wife in every way. I love you, la.s.s, and you love me, and that's all that's truly important, isn't it?”

He smiled again, and kissed her as if everything were as pleasantly well-ordered as he wanted it to be, as if love really were more about possession than giving.

”Oh, blast, there's the boatman to carry Peart and me to sh.o.r.e,” he said, looking past her to the water. ”I must go, sweetheart. I'll go slay my dragons while you rest here, and then together we shall celebrate, yes?”

She tried to smile, wanting him to have that for a memory of her. ”You will take care of yourself, caro mio?” she said softly. ”Whatever else happens this morning, Edward, you will remember that you are the only one I ever loved, won't you?”

”I will,” he said, ”and you remember the same of me, mind?”

He kissed her one last time before he hurried over the side and into the boat. She watched as the boatmen rowed to the stone steps that led from the water to the street, and when he paused at the top, lifting his hat to her in salute, she waved, keeping her hand raised for a long moment after he'd turned away and disappeared into the city from her view.

”Mr. Bowden,” she called to the packet's bos'n. ”Would you please call for a boat to sh.o.r.e for me?”

The man bowed, tugging on the front of his knitted cap. ”Very well, my lady. You'll be joining th' lord captain after all?”

”He would like that, wouldn't he?” she said sadly, truthfully. ”And please, Mr. Bowden, have my trunk brought up from the ladies' cabin. For when I go ash.o.r.e, I shall not return.”