Chapter Seventeen
The carriage swept over hills, following the ever increasingly winding roads.
The tension that had filled him since Antibes ebbed somewhat, and Arthur guided the horses over the hilly countryside, stopping frequently at coaching inns to change them. Stone castles perched on sharp hills, and vineyards and olive groves were scattered about the countryside.
Arthur considered hiring an Italian to drive the coach for him, but the thought of being confined in the carriage with Madeline and her companion filled him with a strange dread.
Ever since he’d declared his plans to marry her, their time had been more awkward.
Most women would be delighted.
He hadn’t waited seven years since he’d first been declared one of London’s most eligible men to get engaged, only to have his fiancée avoid looking at him.
He grasped the reins more tightly.
It seemed ridiculous that he was so near Madeline, after so many years, but they didn’t know what to say to each other.
He allowed himself to remember how things had been seven years ago. He remembered the feel of her body pressed against his, of her arms looped around his neck, and of her cheek as it rested against his bare chest. He remembered the sparkle of her blonde locks in the dim light.
They’d never even kissed. They’d always been observed. The most privacy they’d had was on balconies at balls, but even then they’d both known that someone could be observing them from the shadows.
But he still remembered all their conversations, and the rush of pleasure he would receive as they danced together. He’d pictured them living in the capital during the season and visiting the opera together. She would be one of the women who actually paid attention to what was happening on stage. He’d imagined her discussing the sets with him and hypothesizing how they could have been improved. When the season ended they could retire to some vast country home that she would manage with ease.
He certainly hadn’t pictured this strange silence between them. He sighed.
Once they got married, he could set her up in a country house. Perhaps he could continue to live his life much as he had before. This time he wouldn’t need to withstand the matchmaking mamas. This time he wouldn’t need to concoct excuses for not desiring to call on the daughters of the ton, who gazed at him with such hopeful faces that he wanted to flee straight away. They would all know he was taken.
He sighed. He’d been a spy and raced into danger with regularity.
Conversations over the merits of curricles and phaetons bored him. Ladies assumed that since he was a man, that nothing held greater interest to him than the intricacies of carriage construction.
But Madeline…
He’d underestimated her.
He didn’t love her of course. He pushed away the strange tinkling that appeared in his heart when he dwelled on that thought. But really, what better match could he hope for? She’d been married and was independent.
No. He’d been right to press for their marriage. He was certain.
*
Madeline had grown accustomed to the rattle of wheels and clomp of the horses’ hooves over the dirt lane. Italy surpassed England in its hill count, and Madeline had even become accustomed to the queasy feeling as the carriage jolted over dips in the road and swung round a never-ending line of bends. A lump seemed to reside in her throat permanently, and even when they halted their travel each evening, it would take her a while to become accustomed to the fact that the earth was no longer moving unpredictably beneath her.
Speaking with Arthur in this state seemed intolerable. Besides, they’d agreed on it—she would marry him once they reached Venice.
And though the thought of completing their journey seemed often inconceivable, given the length of time merely to reach Bologna and Verona, Venice was now nearby.
The carriage halted, and Madeline peered from the window. Vibrant turquoise glimmered outside the carriage window, the color stronger than any sky.
Arthur opened the door to the carriage, and Gabriella and she stepped out. The Adriatic Sea lay before them. Fishing boats and smaller vessels dotted the water. Tall ships glided regally though the turquoise waves, their ivory sails perfectly billowed, like brides marching down aisles with long trains.
“We’re so close.” Gabriella clapped her hands together, and her eyes sparkled. She thrust her face toward the sun and swirled. “Such lovely warmth. So un-English.”
Madeline smiled. Pleasantness was not what came to mind when faced with the sticky air that made her dress prickle and her body overheat.
Madeline was not certain if Arthur was avoiding looking at her on purpose, but his gaze was distinctly turned away from hers.
“I’ll arrange for a boat to take us into the city,” Arthur said.
“Very well,” Madeline said.
He descended the cliff in the direction of a dock below. Boats bobbed in the water, tied to candy colored striped posts, and he soon began a discussion with another driver.
“Whatever is wrong?” Gabriella asked.
Madeline drew back. Evidently her attempts at covering the red stains under her eyes had not been successful. She felt a pang of jealousy for the women of the last century who’d been able to cake their face in white powder.
That would be very useful now.
Gabriella’s eyes were filled with concern.
“It’s nothing,” Madeline said.
Gabriella didn’t say anything.
But her right eyebrow inclined all the same, and Madeline still felt her skin flush.
“Is it about the marriage?” Gabriella asked.
“The marquess believes we should marry for my safety.”
This time both of Gabriella’s eyebrows darted up, at a rather faster pace than normal.
Madeline shrugged. “He managed to convince Comte Beaulieu to release me, telling him that I had sneaked into the ball as his betrothed because I’d missed him so much.”
“And they believed him?” Gabriella smiled.
Madeline remembered the kiss they’d shared. She nodded. “But if I show up in England not married, then I’m—”
“Once again the prime suspect?”
“And then who knows what other evidence they could find,” Madeline said miserably. She shook her head. “Forgive me. I’m being silly. I know that I’m lucky. I should take advantage of Lord Bancroft’s offer.”
Gabriella smiled. “He’s arranged for his sister-in-law to bring a wedding gown for you. I think it’s rather more than an offer.”
Madeline nodded. “You’re right.”
“Cara mia, I am not finished,” Gabriella said. “You are very welcome to stay with my family. For as long as you want.”
“I couldn’t.”
“You speak French beautifully, and it will not take much for you to master Italian. There’s no lovelier city in the world than Venice. And should you tire of it, the continent does offer plenty of wonderful alternatives. You need never return to your foggy, rainy country again. Especially if you do not desire to marry.”
“That is kind of you.”
“All arranged,” Arthur called out, and Madeline stepped away from Gabriella hastily.
A man was with him to take the carriage and horses, and they followed Arthur to the boat.
“I am serious,” Gabriella whispered sternly, and Madeline nodded.
Arthur guided them into the boat, and soon they approached the center of the city. Elegant church rotundas soared over red roofs, and gradually the palazzos came into view.
She focused on the vision of beauty before her and pondered how her favorite artists had captured the city. Perhaps she might write a book about their different interpretations. She hadn’t discovered a new work by her late husband in a while. Perhaps she was due to find something else soon. She smiled, suddenly more hopeful.
When they arrived, she pressed the satchel with the jewels into Gabriella’s hand. “See that your parents get this.”
Gabriella nodded. “Thank you again for everything. My family will be eternally grateful.” She paused. “And you are of course eternally welcome with us.”
The reminder shouldn’t have been a surprise. She’d been thinking about nothing else.
“I’ll be fine,” she said. “A quiet ceremony. Nothing extraordinary. You don’t even have to come.”
Gabriella’s eyes widened. “Are you certain? Please let me at least help you.”
“Nonsense. My cousin will have brought a maid, and your family will be eager to see you.”
Gabriella nodded solemnly. “I will miss you.”
“And I you.” Madeline turned away. Tears stung her eyes.
So much was changing, but she still managed to wave at her companion before she strode away.
Swarms of tourists still thronged Piazza San Marco. Hotels had multiplied throughout the city since her visit two years ago, and stands sold carnival masks ranging from elaborate to excessively elaborate. Fiona and her husband Percival were waiting for them as Arthur had promised they would be.
Normally she was pleased to see her cousin.
“I’m so happy for you,” Fiona exclaimed. Her red hair sparkled under the sun. “Percival and I had no idea you even were well acquainted, much less were in love.”
Madeline swallowed hard. She glanced at Arthur. He looked similarly restrained as his older brother congratulated him.
The Duke of Alfriston elbowed Arthur. “I finally understand why you were so eager to rescue me. Just wanted an excuse to see Madeline, hmm?”
Arthur flushed, and Madeline spun around. She couldn’t bear to look at them.
She understood what she gained from the match. Freedom from suspicion. She would become a marchioness. And she would be married to a lovely, caring man, who was handsome and energetic and—
Not in love with me.
The thought made her heart tighten.
She strode away from the group. She couldn’t continue to watch the duke tease his brother. She certainly couldn’t watch Arthur so valiantly pretend to be in love with her, not telling anyone about Madeline’s criminal activities.