Chapter Thirty-One
Mid-June 1817
The relentless drizzle which had accompanied them all the way up the Thames to the London docks turned to steady rain.
Laura swallowed her disappointment. She had wanted her return home to mirror her departure – a fine English summer’s day. Instead, it was as cold as a Sicilian winter. She had wanted to see the estuary, the undulating fields, the magnificent buildings of the city but, instead, rolling mists obscured every feature.
The quality of the daylight was different, but she couldn’t quite describe it – it seemed to have a blue cast that made colors seem deeper. Everything seemed more subdued, certainly the crew of the Calliope, normally so merry and boisterous, spoke in restrained voices. The men strained their eyes and the ears, sounding the bell on their ship and listening to the answering peals of other nearby vessels.
She abandoned the porthole and reopened her trunk to replace a shawl with the maroon pelisse Victoria had sent her for Christmas.
There was a knock at the door. Laura bade Sophia enter. She watched her cousin cast her eyes over the two neatly stacked trunks – such a contrast to three years ago when she did everything at the last minute and ended up in a panic because of it.
“You’re packed already,” Sophia commented, then nodded at the view through the porthole. The rain was getting worse. “Jonathan says it will be at least another hour before we’re at dock.”
Sophia’s eyes met hers and refused to let go. “I imagine you’re pleased to be home.”
Laura turned away, returning to the dressing table where sat neatly laid out objects to be placed in her reticule – a kerchief, a silver vinaigrette, and a matching calling card case.
She picked up the final object on the table. It was a small, hinged, ebonized box, less than half an inch thick, and she opened it to look at the miniature painted on a slender ivory wafer.
The round baby face of her son smiled back at her, his two bottom teeth showing.
“I don’t know how I feel,” Laura confessed, breathing in the warm lavender of Sophia’s scent as her cousin approached. “At times, I feel positively euphoric about the idea; next I am scared out of my wits.” She looked up at Sophia. “I don’t know if I’ve done the right thing.”
The expression on Sophia’s face gave no answer. Laura knew what that meant. Her cousin had her own views, but she was not going to share them. No longer was her companion going to be the little voice of conscience in her ear. It had been both infuriating and necessary. It was so much easier to live life at a gallop, and let someone else worry about the consequences.
How horrible it was to acknowledge that she was responsible for how she lived her life.
Eventually Sophia answered. “Remember what we used to say to one another in the harem? What Kit had once told me? Just make the least worst choice for the day and don’t worry about the rest we have no control over. That’s all any of us can do – even here in England.”
Laura nodded absently, taking one last look at Benjamin.
Sophia acknowledged Quinn, the Calliope’s new cabin boy with a smile. He had a wild, gangly look – all arms and legs – that reminded Laura of a rosebush in need of pruning. The china cup and saucer rattled in his hand as he carefully lowered it to the officers’ dining table. He was more certain with the heavy pot, pouring two strong cups of tea.
Vincenzo Florio and Morwena, who joined them at the table, drank coffee instead.
Giorgio looked on approvingly at Quinn’s table service.
“We’ll make a proper officer of you yet,” he said. The lad fought to hide the smile at the praise. “Now get your waterproofs on and report to Mr. Grace; he’ll give you your next orders.”
Giorgio placed a plate of bread, butter and jam before them.
“After today, you will dine on delicacies finer than this, Miss Laura.”
Laura gave the Italian cook a squeeze of the hand. She would miss him and all the crew. “This will always be my favorite, Giorgio. I will always complain to my cook that she never gets the busiate right.”
Thundering footsteps descended the aft stairs and the door opened, bringing in eddies of cold, damp air. Kit and Jonathan filled the doorway, their oilskin waterproofs dripping.
“Gus has gone to arrange a carriage for us,” said Kit. “We’ll be ready to leave as soon as we’re presentable.”
“Are you sure I cannot help you dress, Husband?” Morwena asked, the teasing note more pronounced because of her accent.
“Not if we’re to be ready to leave in less than an hour,” Jonathan answered with grin. Kit barked out a laugh but said nothing.
Morwena gave a sly aside. “You know, I cannot be quite sure what he means by that remark.”
Poor Vincenzo merely looked confused. “I’m afraid you’re right, Morwena, I still find the English language to be confusing.”
“I think some things should remain a mystery,” Sophia replied gravely.
A journey of less than ten miles took more than two hours because of the weather, but even that would have been bearable if the mood inside the carriage was not as heavy and bleak as the conditions outside. Not even Morwena’s excitement at her first visit to London was contagious enough to lift the pall. Laura’s one attempt to lighten the mood had fallen flat on its face.
“Have you been so eager to be rid of me all this time, Captain? We could have remained dry onboard ship and sent a messenger to my brother to send his carriage to us.”
“With all due respect, Laura, the less I have to do with your brother, the better it would stand with me,” he had answered, and that was that.
Finally, the carriage rolled to a stop at St James’ Square.
A moment later, the door was opened by a footman carrying an umbrella. Laura recognized the man in the braided primrose-colored coat immediately. “Parker? Is that you?”
“Welcome home, Miss Laura! We didn’t know what time your ship was expected in. Allow me to help you, miss.”
Laura took his arm and climbed up the townhouse steps as quickly as the weather and dignity allowed. Bentwood House seemed as grand it had always been, towering four floors above the street. Even the very entrance hall was nothing less than spectacular with its white-marbled floor and the gold-colored vein running through it that matched the footman’s livery.
It was like nothing had changed! There it was, the Queen Anne furniture with its delicate proportions and cabriole legs. Two matching hall tables and half a dozen chairs upholstered in a dark, gold-colored velvet stood to attention against the walls, above which lacquered bright brass wall sconces drew the eye higher to an elaborate swag chandelier which sent bright rainbows of color across the floor.
Laura’s eyes went first to Morwena who could not hide her amazement, then to Kit who stood with his arms crossed, looking as though he would rather be anywhere but here.
Mrs. Samuel Cappleman, the former Lady Victoria Hampton-Wyck, entered the room to greet them. “My dear Laura, you’re here!”
Laura remembered Victoria as a pretty young woman. Married life seemed to suit her well. Her strawberry-blonde curls were dressed to suit a young matron and her gown of sprigged purple and pink flowers was the very latest thing.
“But you are wicked for not letting us know you’d arrived,” she continued. “How awful it must have been to try to hire a carriage in this weather.”
“And yet we managed,” Laura heard Kit mutter under his breath. From the corner of her eye, she saw Sophia nudge him to silence.
Laura rushed over and clasped Victoria’s hands. Unsure if Victoria had heard Kit’s cynical aside, she spoke quickly, “I just couldn’t wait. I insisted we get here by the quickest means possible. May I introduce the rest of the party?” she asked.
“You know my cousin, Sophia.”
Sophia started to bob a curtsy but Victoria stayed her. “There’s no need for formalities. I’m just Mrs. Samuel Cappleman and, more importantly, you are family.”
Laura continued the introductions in turn. Kit managed to hide his sour disposition and offered Victoria a bow. Victoria offered warm smiles and greetings to Jonathan and Morwena Afua, and lastly to Vincenzo Florio.
“Mrs. Afua and Mr. Florio have gone into business together,” Laura explained.
“I hope to have the opportunity of meeting with your husband while we are in England, Mrs. Cappleman,” said Vincenzo. “Ours will be a business we can all profit from.”
“Well I’m sure my husband will be delighted to discuss business with you, too. You’ll have to excuse him though – he had a meeting with his solicitor in town today and I am not expecting him back until late this afternoon.”
Laura was sure she wasn’t mistaken in thinking Kit relaxed a little at that news. He stepped forward.
“We won’t detain you any further, Mrs. Cappleman. We must be on our way to confirm accommodations before dark.”
Victoria held up a hand to overrule him. “Nonsense, my dear Captain Hardacre, I wouldn’t dream of it. Our family has been apart for too long. I do not plan to quickly relinquish it!”
Impeccably, as though born to command, Victoria turned to one of the waiting footmen. “Tell the housekeeper to prepare the guest rooms on the fourth floor. The blue room for Captain and Mrs. Hardacre, the green room from Mr. and Mrs. Afua, and the ivory room for Mr. Florio.”
When she turned back, Laura noted a distinct sparkle in her sister-in-law’s eyes. She had heard his earlier aside after all. Now, she knew she had bested him and reveled in it.
“I’ve arranged tea in the drawing room. Please do follow me.”
Victoria led them up the stairs into the drawing room where a clutch of maids bustled. This room was completely different to how Laura remembered. Gone was the dusky grey-blue wallpaper. In its place, creamy bisque-painted walls with the original plaster moldings picked out in a hue slightly darker. It was all obviously Victoria’s influence.
Laura didn’t recognize a lot of the furniture either – particularly the spinet in maple and, beside it, a harp. The furniture, again, was in the Queen Anne style, including a selection of button backed settees and matching chairs, this time in a dusky pink fabric. Patterned fabric in similar colors hung down the double height windows into which were set French doors out onto the balcony that overlooked St James Square.
“I’d like to show you Bentwood House at its best, the balcony and the terrace are normally lovely, but, O’Leary, our head groom, assures us that rain will be with us all week because of –” said Victoria.
“– his rheumatism!” Laura and Sophia spoke in unison then laughed again at their old joke.
For so long, Laura had felt she was falling, but now she had landed softly on something familiar.
Everything was going to be all right again.
Even the tension that had radiated from Kit since their arrival eased, although she noticed he and Jonathan always remained where, between them, they could see every entrance to the room, and one another.
Old habits died hard.
Laura took in her bedroom where she had retired after tea. This had been her girlhood room, but it had been extensively redecorated. Samuel had been right in his letters – no expense had been spared. Peacock inspired wallpaper in blues, greens and purples; the fireplace refaced with white marble; the door and window trimmings in bright white.
She oriented herself quickly. The dressing room with its own fireplace was in the same place. There was no sign of her trunks. Everything had already been packed away. Her wardrobe was filled with clothes she had forgotten she’d owned. Would she still fit in them? Had childbirth changed her figure? Once, she would have worried first whether they were fashionable and whether they fit second. How times had changed.
Another door connected the dressing room to a smaller bedroom that had once belonged to her nanny. It was there a studio had been established for her. She regarded it critically. It would do, although the light wasn’t quite as good as her studio at home…
The studio in Sicily, she reminded herself. England is home.
Laura emptied her reticule and hung it with the dozen others inside the armoire in the bedroom itself, a room that was hers, but wasn’t.
She picked up the ebonized miniature holder and opened it once more. She had spent hours studying Benjamin, the delight in his smile, the wonder in his fine blue eyes.
Would his eyes remained that color? One day, she might recognize him by them.
At the sound of a knock at the door, Laura snapped the box closed.
“I’m glad to have a few minutes with you alone,” Victoria said as she entered. “I want to make sure you’re satisfied with what we’ve done on your behalf.”
“I couldn’t have asked for anything more, truly. You have been so kind,” she said, taking Victoria’s hands in her own. “The thing I feared the most coming back home was seeing pity in your eyes. I don’t want it. There is but one thing worse than living through what I have been through, and that is being made to relive it over and over again by well-meaning people.”
Victoria squeezed her hand in return.
“I knew from the moment I saw you today that you are a strong woman, so I won’t lie to you either,” she said. “Your abduction was well reported, so it is known.
“When we received your letter, I told only some of our trusted friends of your rescue, but nothing of your delicate condition. I suggested to Samuel that we say you remained to finish a painting commission.
“I’m sorry to involve you in a lie, but it seemed to be the best way to forestall gossip about why you lingered.”
Victoria glanced about. “Did you bring any paintings home? I know Madame Vigée-Le Brun is interested in seeing them.”
Laura winced and released Victoria’s hand.
“I painted a lot when I was… away. But when the works were finished, they were taken from me and sold because they did not belong to me. Nothing did.” Laura turned back to her dressing table. “When I was freed, I tried to paint again but I couldn’t.”
She hesitated over the miniature ebony box, before picking it up and running a hand over its surface. “In all that time, the only thing I kept was this.”
She placed it in Victoria’s hands reverently. Her sister-in-law frowned, puzzled, at it a moment, then unlatched and opened it. Her sharp intake of breath was loud in the silence of the room.
Laura gazed at the image herself.
“His name is Benjamin and he is the reason why I’m here.”