Chapter Eighteen
The next morning the sky was an unending swathe of pale gray. Large puffs of fog settled over overflowing canals, and Italians complained about the water height which made travel beneath some bridges impossible.
Slabs of blue-grey stone glistened under the cloudy sky. The cobblestones appeared bluer here beside the ocean, and Madeline ventured to the edge of the embankment. Her skirts swished against mossy wooden posts and damp stones. She still had her maids, and she would continue to make use of them.
Centuries-old palazzos jutted into the sky, their blue shingles blending with the firmament. The breeze swept over her, brushing against her hair and rustling her dress.
The vibrant pastel colored palazzos had transformed into dull shades, like paintings that had been housed in improper places.
Dark gondolas bobbed in the harbor, devoid of passengers or singing gondoliers. The narrow boats sat in rows, waiting for the tourists to come.
“The bride.” The gondolier beamed at her, and gave a bow. “Welcome to your transportation.”
Normally Madeline might smile at the man’s joyfulness, but today it seemed a painful contrast to her own emotions. Fiona’s maid followed her onto the gondola.
“The other guests are coming separately?” the gondolier asked.
Madeline nodded. “It’s English tradition for the man to wait to see his bride.”
“Che romantico,” the gondolier exclaimed, flourishing his hands into the air. “A happy marriage is the most wonderful thing in the world.”
Madeline smiled tightly and stepped into the long black gondola.
How had she never realized it resembled a coffin more than a boat? She shivered as the ebony sides sank deeper into the murky water. The canal seemed an unusual mixture of brown and green. She’d never before minded that she’d never been able to see into the water, but the scent was more pungent when she sat so near it, and the silk pillows and oriental rugs some servant had put there to mark her importance as a soon-to-be marchioness could not succeed at garnering a more cheerful vision.
In a few minutes, we’ll be married.
She knew better than to have the thought make her smile.
She’d been married before. At least the baron had been a friend. At least with him she’d felt safe to pursue her own interests.
Heavens. Perhaps the gondolier was correct. If a happy marriage was the most important thing in the world, then what she was doing—keeping Arthur from ever marrying someone he chose himself—was dreadful.
She’d spent the evening with Fiona and her husband.
Their love for each other was clear.
And Madeline was preventing Arthur from experiencing that. After all, he didn’t need to marry her. He didn’t have a penniless estate that needed her money. Quite the contrary.
If he married, it should be for love.
After rescuing her from a French prison and whisking her away to Venice, didn’t he deserve at least the future hope of happiness?
Perhaps she should leave.
Gabriella had offered her a place to stay.
Perhaps she should take advantage of it.
The gondolier moved his oar through the water and turned onto the Grand Canal. The canal was less crowded than normal, and rows of black gondolas bopped on the side of various palazzos and squares. Slabs of gray stone sparkled unnaturally, wet from rain.
The drizzle turned into normal rain, the raindrops falling steadily onto her parasol and dampening the edges of her dress. She pulled her legs toward her, striving to retain some semblance of a ladylike position.
No one who could avoid it was traveling now.
He turned onto a smaller canal. They must be nearing the church, and her heart raced. She glanced at Fiona’s maid. At the gondolier. At—
Thud.
The gondola bumped against a bridge, and the gondolier said more things about the too high waters. “I’ll need to fetch a normal boat,” he said apologetically.
He tied the gondola onto a post and walked toward a group of gondoliers. Madeline clutched her parasol.
This is the time.
Madeline stood.
“Lady Mulbourne?” Fiona’s maid asked.
Madeline’s chest tightened. “Tell everyone I’m sorry.”
The gondola shifted under her weight, and water rippled on either side of her.
She ignored the uneven surface, and hurried toward the bridge. Water splashed against the gondola. She grasped hold of the wet marble and pulled herself up. Water pressed against her dress and she tore some of the lace.
No matter. She pushed her veil back. She needed to see, no matter how much the rain ruined her face powder.
She hurried over the bridge. Gabriella had suggested she stay with her family.
Well, Madeline was going to accept the offer.
At least until she could get someone to bring her money to her here.
This was good, she told herself.
So many of her beloved paintings were in Venice. If she stayed here, she would never have to worry about appearing in England without a husband and raising Admiral Fitzroy’s suspicions. And though she would miss England—her chest tightened at the thought of saying goodbye to Yorkshire and London forever, of never seeing even her servants again and not spending Christmas with any of her relatives—perhaps it would be for the best.
That way, Arthur would not feel compelled to marry her. Perhaps eventually she would return to England, but she never wanted him to feel responsible for her. He deserved to find true romance, and not to be joined to a person merely for convenience.
I know the hardships of that fate.
Fiona and Percival would be surprised, and maybe for a while Arthur would be humiliated, but it would be worth it for his future happiness. He’d saved her life before, and now she could return the favor. Arthur could marry a woman he actually loved, and not merely one he’d abandoned seven years ago and was forced to marry.
*
Arthur stood inside the church. Percival had brought him good clothes, and he was feeling himself again. Percival stood at his side.
The organist played music.
He was thankful his brother and sister-in-law had arranged such a nice wedding. It was small, but the church didn’t lack beauty.
He wondered, though…
The organist did seem to be playing the same songs quite often.
That was perhaps unusual.
A woman had come in earlier to say something to Fiona, and now his brother and sister-in-law were whispering to one another. Though they were a very good match, he imagined they likely would not have wanted to spend his wedding chatting about heavens knew what.
Though perhaps…
His eyes widened.
Where is Madeline?
Shouldn’t Fiona be helping her?
Had she—had she even arrived?
“Where is my fiancée?” he asked.
The others had horrified expressions on their faces.
Percival gripped his cane more tightly. “The gondolier is looking for her. Perhaps she is, er, lost.”
“Lost?”
He’d never heard anything more ridiculous in his life. If Madeline wasn’t here, it was because Madeline didn’t want to be here, which meant—
His heart clenched.
He should let her go.
If she was running away—so be it.
His marriage to her was a favor, after all.
Perhaps she was right. Perhaps she could survive without him. And if she couldn’t—if she was caught again, by someone less sentimental than himself, that shouldn’t be his problem, no matter how much the thought of her imprisoned in some dank, foreign cell made his heart race in the middle of the night.
He was certain that when Admiral Fitzroy had encouraged him to marry for propriety’s sake, he’d not desired for him to show up with a wife who might be prosecuted at any moment.
Tying himself to a thief must be the most irresponsible thing he’d ever done. If she left—well, he shouldn’t battle for her.
Except the thought of not pursuing her seemed to make his mouth dry, and his heart clenched in almost an uncomfortable manner.
He’d never wanted to marry anyway. He’d told Admiral Fitzroy that, and the man couldn’t force him, no matter how much the former spymaster lauded the institution of marriage.
And if he did marry—well, it would make more sense to try for some semblance of a happy marriage. Louisa and Percival had both married well, though he was dashed if he was going to go crossdressing on the off chance he might find a spouse, and he wasn’t lucky enough to have his future bride kidnap him.
Indeed Madeline seemed intent on doing the very opposite of kidnapping him—running as far away from him as possible.
“Blast,” he said. “Which way did she go?”
“Toward the Grand Canal.”
“Grazie.” He sprinted through the church.
The priest shouted Italian words after him that seemed to belong to the variety describing sin.
No matter.
He knew where she was.
She only knew one family in Venice.
And he knew the family’s name.
Arthur rushed toward the Grand Canal and hollered until some gondolier came over to give him a ride.
“I need to see the Costantini family,” he said, using his meager Italian.
The man nodded. “Very well.”
*
Madeline sprawled inelegantly on one of the Costantini’s carved wooden chairs. Normally she was careful to observe the rule of not touching one’s back against that of one’s chair, but today she’d apparently decided to smatter all rules. Concentrating on not crying seemed sufficiently physically demanding.
Banging sounded on the door, and Gabriella’s eyes widened. “Perhaps that is the marquess.”
“I don’t think so,” Madeline said.
Her companion was far too romantic. Arthur was probably relieved to be free.
But then footsteps sounded, and a servant announced him.
Arthur was there.
In all his wedding finery.
Unlike her, he’d managed not to splatter murky green water from the canal over his attire, and he was a paragon of splendor.
But that wasn’t what she focused on.
Worry filled his eyes.
“You followed me,” she said. “I—I thought you’d let me go.”
“Nonsense.” He swept her into his arms, and Madeline noted the way his towering broad shoulders and firm chest seemed to fit against her body.
“Do you truly intend to never remarry?” Arthur demanded. “Because I’m not a horrible match.
“I suppose you’ll always see me as the penniless and naive university student,” Arthur said.
Madeline blinked. “I couldn’t care less about your financial situation in the early part of this decade.”
“I never wanted to marry…anyone,” Madeline said. “Not again.”
Arthur looked somewhat chastised. “You miss Lord Mulbourne.”
“He was a kind man. And I was hosting balls and traveling around Europe.”
“You can do all that with me,” Arthur said.
It would be so easy to agree.
But one couldn’t marry so spontaneously. She shook her head. “One shouldn’t go from no courtship to married life. That’s—”
“Unideal?” He grinned, and suddenly appeared every bit as boyish and charming as when she’d first met him. “I agree. You didn’t have to steal those jewels.”
She looked down.
“I don’t want to be your punishment,” Arthur said. “I think we’ll be good together.” He flushed. “For a marriage of convenience, I mean.”
“But you should marry someone you care about,” she said, still crying somewhat. “Someone who cares about you.”
He tilted his head. “Actually. You’ll be doing me a favor.”
“Oh?”
He nodded gravely. “I’m being considered for a cabinet position.”
“In a firm?” she said uncertainly.
He shook his head. “Government. My, er, mentor thought I should take a wife. Given my wild reputation.”
“You find me an appropriate counterbalance?”
“Exactly.” He grinned again, and against her will, her heart seemed to flutter. “Fortunately no journalists were at the ball, so I think your reputation is still impossibly splendid. Even if undeservedly.”
She smiled. “I’m not certain—”
“It’s just a marriage of convenience,” he said. “Just for practicality’s sake. I promise I’m not too dreadful.”
“I believe you.”
His face brightened, and he offered her his hand. “Now, we have a wedding to go to. Come. It would be most convenient to not have to haul you over my shoulder to get to the vicar.”
“They’re not called that here,” Madeline said.
“I’m sure you can grasp the meaning though,” Arthur said. “The point is, I’d much rather have you walk beside me. I don’t want to cause the Italians’ facial stress from having to thrust their eyebrows up.”
She laughed, and he patted the tears away from her face and smiled.
“You’re getting married after all?” Gabriella squealed and entered the room.
“Were you listening at the door?” Madeline asked.
Gabriella shrugged. “Perhaps Italian construction is less superior to English.”
Madeline was uncertain if that was the case. But it didn’t matter.
“We’re late,” she said.
“Mm-hmm.” Arthur addressed Gabriella. “Why don’t you come?”
“Yes,” Gabriella said. “May my parents come? They are so happy about the jewels.”
“Everyone is welcome,” Arthur said.
The Costantini family had a boat, and they arrived at the church shortly after.
“I found her,” Arthur said.
“So you really were lost,” Fiona said.
“She brought some of her friends,” Arthur said, not quite answering Fiona.