Sara took it reverently in her hands. “It’s simply gorgeous.”
“I thought you might want to wear it on your head. I don’t have any hats or head coverings of any sort left of hers. And it will provide a little extra coverage.”
Benedict himself looked rather sharp. Since she’d arrived, she’d only seen him dressed in breeches, boots, and a shirt. Now he wore a suit, complete with stockings, shoes with silver buckles, and a tricorn hat. He looked very much the gentleman.
They walked to the small dock where Benedict had two boats moored, a batela and a gondola. Surprisingly, the black, flat-bottomed gondola looked much like those still used in Venice. The batela was a slightly larger flat-bottomed sailboat that could also be also be rowed.
“If the wind is right, it’s much faster to sail across the lagoon and if I’m just going to the shipyard, it is what I nearly always use. It takes between twenty and thirty minutes to row across the lagoon, depending on conditions, but the gondola is easier to maneuver within the canals. Today, we’ll use it.”
He helped her settle her into the felze, the gondola’s cabin, before handing her his coat and hat. “Would you mind holding these? It’s much easier to row without being constricted by a dress jacket.”
He took his place, standing on the back of the gondola, pushed off from the dock, and began rowing them across the lagoon.
It was breathtakingly romantic. She imagined Rafe and Kyra doing the same thing only in an open gondola, like the ones in Venice now. She tried to imagine their conversation. But after a few moments, she mentally set the novel aside. She wanted to enjoy this ride herself.
~ * ~
That afternoon and evening, as they wandered the familiar streets of Venice, Benedict felt as if he were seeing them for the first time. He guessed, in a sense, it was like a first time, because he was seeing it all through her sharp eyes. Something new, things that he normally took no notice of, caught her attention every few hundred yards. The windows of bookstores and tailors’ shops, the food vendors, puppet shows, and street performers enthralled and delighted her. Even just watching the other people around them while they had coffee at a café on San Marco Square was rich entertainment for her.
As the hour grew late, and the revelers more raucous, Sara clearly grew weary. Benedict guided her away from San Marco square and in no time, they were back at the place where he had moored the gondola.
“Are we leaving?” she asked.
“Aye. Things will only get wilder as the night goes on. It isn’t the place for an innocent young lady. Besides, you are already over-tired.”
“I’m not,” she said, even as she stifled a yawn.
“I beg to differ. But even if you aren’t tired, I am. Tomorrow I will need to go to the shipyard. As much as I would like to stay with you, I can’t ignore my business.”
“I’m sorry, Benedict. Of course, you can’t. Yes, I suppose it is time to go home.”
Home.
She had said the word.
All week she had referred to it as his house or the house.
But just now she had called it home. Perhaps she, too, was beginning to imagine spending the rest of her life with him.
Chapter 8 - Nothing to Lose
Eighteenth century Venice was everything Sara had imagined it to be and so much more. She simply wanted to soak it all in, fix it in her brain forever. These memories, made without a single video or photograph, were going to have to last her a lifetime. She went to bed that night with all the sights, sounds, and smells swirling in her head. She smiled to herself, remembering the scene from My Fair Lady after Eliza Doolittle came home from the ball singing “I Could Have Danced All Night”. Except for the fact that she hadn’t been dancing at a ball, that was exactly how Sara felt.
But, Benedict had been right when he observed that she was tired. She was tired and was asleep before she could finish humming the show tune.
She heard the cock crow before daylight the next morning. Part of her wanted to sleep just a little longer and she rolled over, covering her head with a pillow. Then she remembered that Benedict was going to the shipyard today. She wouldn’t see him until tonight if she went back to sleep.
She scrambled out of bed, dressed, and hurried out of her room just as he was leaving his.
“Sara, it’s dreadfully early. You don’t need to get up. Go back to bed for a while.”
“I’ll do no such thing. I want you to have a good breakfast before you leave.”
He grinned. “I won’t lie, I’ve become quite fond of your breakfasts.”
“Good. It won’t take long.” She hurried down the steps ahead of him and out into the yard to the well to retrieve the butter and eggs. He had a kettle of water heating before she returned from the yard.
Last week, he had shown her how to toast bread using a toasting fork and she had made a small batch of apricot preserves. So, she served him ham and eggs with toast and jam before walking with him to the dock just as dawn was gilding the sky.
“The shipyards, all industry really, close down for about two hours in the middle of the day so people can have their dinner. I have been in the habit of eating my main meal of the day then, at a cafe in town.”
“Oh.” This disappointed Sara. She had grown to love mealtimes with him.
“But,” he continued, “if it’s all right with you, I think I’ll grab something small and work through the dinner break so I can come home and have a later dinner with you.”
She beamed at him. “I’d love that.”
“Shall I bring some fresh meat or fish?”
“Not today. I have something already planned.”
“Then I should see you by about six this evening.”
“See you then.”
He climbed into the batela, pushed off from the dock, and waved to her.
She watched until he was well on his way before returning to the house. She did have plans today. Lots of them.
She’d start by doing laundry. Benedict had told her he paid a lady in the village to do his washing. But she had decided, as long as she was here, she would take care of this. It was the least she could do to repay his kindness.
By midday she’d drawn and heated water repeatedly, washed all of the dirty clothes and towels and hung them to dry, removed the linens from the beds and washed and hung them. When she stopped to make lunch, she smiled. In the twenty-first century, she’d be taking a break from writing about now to go to the gym. There was absolutely no need for a gym in this time. Just doing laundry had been a total body workout.
After lunch, she took a bucket to the lagoon side of the island, where she’d seen mussels clinging to the rocks. The tide was out so it would be easy to find and gather them. She pulled the back of her skirt between her legs and tucked it into her apron in the front to keep her skirt out of the water as she waded around the rocks, plucking the largest mussels until she had a bucketful.
Tonight’s dinner would be mussels sautéed with garlic, scallions, olive oil, and white wine, served with fried polenta and a ragout of chard and tomato. It would be ages before Benedict returned home, but the mussels needed to rest in a bucket of sea water for several hours to spit out all of the sand they held.
After she returned home, she would take a break from working and think about the plot for her novel. She imagined Kyra stepping through the portal to the eighteenth century. Perhaps she was dressed in period clothing on her way to a masquerade. She doesn’t know what to do or where to go and she can’t get back through the portal. Finding a beautiful woman alone, several men set upon her, when Rafe di Santi comes out of nowhere, brandishing his sword and sending the brigands on their way.
Yes, that was a good start.
~ * ~
When Benedict reached the shipyard that morning, a number of issues were waiting for his attention.
Emilio poked his head in Benedict’s office shortly after noon. “Ah, mountains of paperwork is the price one pays for a week of leisure.”
“Not exactly leisure. I completed the new design.” He handed him the drawings on which he’d worked all week—when he could pry himself away from his houseguest for a few minutes.
Emilio stretched the drawing out over a large table to look at them. “These are excellent, Benedict. Very beautiful. Absolutely inspired.”
Benedict grinned at Emilio’s innocent choice of words. He had indeed been inspired by a great beauty. “Thank you.”
“Come, take a break and have dinner with me. I can fill you in on all of the latest news.”
“Actually, Emilio, I was hoping to leave before five this evening, so I thought I’d just take a quick break and stay working. Besides, not much could have happened in a week.”
“Ah, you’d be surprised. Do you remember Reese Llewellyn?”
“How could I forget him? One of the most obnoxious Welshman ever to walk the earth.”
Emilio chuckled. “That’s the one. Wants the biggest and best of everything for the handful of soldi in his pocket.”
“Has he commissioned another ship that he doesn’t want to pay for?”
Emilio sobered. “No. In fact it is truly a tragic set of events. Llewellyn has a daughter who fancied herself an artist and wanted to come to Venice to study. Unbeknownst to him, she’d even hired a tutor, to teach her Venetian. But apparently, when she asked her father to bring her here, he patently refused. So the girl, clearly cut from the same stubborn bolt as her father, defied him and booked passage here accompanied only by a maidservant.”
“Who would have allowed two unaccompanied young women to book passage?”
“Apparently his nineteen-year-old daughter disguised herself as a widow. Heavily veiled as she was, and speaking Venetian, no one questioned her. But as soon as he learned of the girl’s rash act, he set out in his fastest ship. The one, incidentally, we built for him.”
“That he thought wasn’t worth the price we charged?”
“The very one. And even though it was several days before he knew what his daughter had done, he was able to overtake the ship she was on shortly before they reached port here.”
“So, he caught his errant daughter and took her home? I’m sure the girl wasn’t happy, but in the grand scheme of things that hardly seems tragic.”
“Sadly, his daughter wasn’t on board the ship when he reached it. According to her maid servant, the daft girl jumped overboard to avoid her father’s wrath.”
Benedict’s heart nearly stopped at those words. “Jumped overboard? Did she drown?”
“Everyone assumes she did. The maid saw her go under and never surface. But the next day, some of the clothes the foolish girl had been wearing were found, but her body wasn’t.”
“He thinks she’s alive?”
“Yes, he clings to that hope. He’s sent men to all the islands to see if she could possibly have been plucked from the water by someone and taken to safety.”
“I see. What was…I mean, do you know anything about her? What she looks like? Her name?”
“She’s apparently a pretty little thing. Dark hair, fair skin, blue eyes, and her name is Ceres.”
Benedict’s mouth went dry. “Well that is…uh…tragic. I will make inquiries at Malamoco when I return home this evening.”
“I’m sure Llewellyn will appreciate that. He is, well there’s no other word for it, distraught. She’s his only child and he has most likely lost her forever.”
Benedict could only nod.
“Now, if you’re sure you won’t dine with me, I’ll leave you to your work.”
“I’m sure
. Enjoy your dinner.”
Benedict simply stared at the closed door after Emilio had left. He had been right about the enchantment breaking. His beautiful sea nymph was not Sara, the girl from nowhere. She was Ceres Llewellyn, the daughter of the most obnoxious Welshman ever to walk the earth. The man was distraught, searching frantically for his wayward daughter when all the time, she had been with Benedict, secluded at the north end of the Lido. Had she lied to Benedict the entire time?
No, he refused to believe that. He was certain Sara had no clue who she really was.
Benedict knew that he should seek the man out and tell him his daughter was safe, ease his mind. But something in him couldn’t. The only thing Sara seemed to remember was her profound fear. He couldn’t go speak with Llewellyn until after he’d talked to her.
He tried to focus on his work for the rest of the afternoon, but with Ceres Llewellyn on his mind, he accomplished nothing. He finally gave up and sailed back across the lagoon.
Chapter 9 - Nothing to Lose
Benedict had never dreaded something so much in his life. He was about to lose the beautiful girl he was growing to love. When he stepped inside his home, the heavenly aroma from the kitchen reminded him of everything that he had come to love about her and would miss so terribly if she returned to England with her father.
Before he could make himself take the first step towards the kitchen, she came through the door. “Benedict, you’re home. I’ve missed you today, but wait until you see what I’ve fixed for dinner.”
Holy Mother of God. Could coming home to a wife be better than this? Could he desire anything more?
Then it occurred to him. He could marry her. Why not? He could simply speak to her father once she’s returned to him. After all, Llewellyn wasn’t a nobleman. He was a merchant, a businessman. Benedict was a partner in an extremely successful business himself. There were no class issues here. That thought cheered him. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad thing after all. When dinner was over, he would tell her everything.
And once again, dinner was a masterpiece. Now that he knew who she was, it was hard to imagine how she had learned to cook like this. Surely as Reese Llewellyn’s cosseted only child, she had never had to prepare a meal. But then again, this was the girl who hired a tutor behind her father’s back so she could learn to speak Venetian. Anything was possible.
After dinner, he helped her wash up. She tried to chivy him out of the kitchen, but he wouldn’t be dissuaded. He needed to talk to her and didn’t want to prolong the agony.
When the kitchen had been set to rights, he took her hand. “Sara, come with me to the sitting room. There is something I want to talk with you about.”
“This seems very serious.”
“It is serious.”
She frowned but walked with him, taking the chair opposite him. “What’s wrong?”
“I learned some news today that you need to hear. A man, a fairly well known British merchant who is a client of Santi and MacIan, has been searching all over Venice for his daughter.”
“No.”
Benedict nodded. “Yes, Sara. Apparently his nineteen-year-old daughter wanted to come to Venice. When he wouldn’t allow it, she came anyway with a maidservant. Llewellyn followed in a faster ship, and when he was about to overtake the one on which she sailed, she jumped overboard.”
Sara’s face went ashen. “Maybe she drowned.”
“Maybe, but they only found her clothes. Not her body.”
Sara nodded. “I see.”
“I think you are his missing daughter.”
“So, it would seem.”
“Her name…your name…is Ceres Llewellyn.”
“And you’ve told her father I’m here?”
“Not yet. I knew you were afraid and I wanted to talk to you first.”
She sighed heavily, obviously relieved. “Thank goodness.”
“But Ceres, I need to take you to him tomorrow.”
“I don’t want you do that.”
Frankly, he didn’t want to do it either. “I must do it. It is the right thing. He is apparently distraught over losing you.”
“No, Benedict, you can’t tell him I’m here and you can’t take me to him.”
The fear in her voice gutted him. “Why not?”
“I have a bad feeling about it. A really bad feeling about it. I’m certain it’s a mistake.�
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“I’m sorry, Ceres, that’s not good enough.”
She nodded, sighed, and looked him directly in the eye. “You can’t take me to him, because I’m not Ceres.”
“Sweetheart, you know you are.”
“No, I’m not. But it’s a long story. Please listen to the whole thing before you pass any judgment.
“All right. I’ll listen.”
“My name is not Ceres Llewellyn. It’s Sara Wells.”
“Wait, were you her servant? Did the two of you switch places?” This could resolve everything.
“No, Benedict. What I’m about to tell you is hard to believe because it belies a truth that you, in fact that most people, have believed their entire lives. That time flows only in one direction.”
“Because it does.”
“Generally, yes. But it is possible for someone from the future to travel back in time and vice versa.”
Benedict was stunned. “You don’t seriously expect me to believe that.”
“I do because it’s true. But you said you’d listen to the whole story.”
“So I did.” Benedict wasn’t sure whether Ceres had been lying to him the whole time and was attempting to perpetuate the lie, or whether she was simply ill, but he would listen.
Ceres slipped a hand into the neck of her dress, grasped the gold pendant that she was wearing when he found her, and pulled it up and over her head. She opened the cover to reveal not a locket as he had assumed, but a pocket watch. “This pocket watch was given to me by an old woman named Gertrude. The story she told me was absolutely impossible. She said that if I put it around my neck and told it a special word before I went to sleep at night, I would wake up in some other time. In someone else’s body. I didn’t really believe it. I mean who would? But somehow the more I talked to her, the more I believed it would work—or at least I’d regret forever not trying it. So, I accepted the watch and did what she said.”
The story Ceres told was absolutely preposterous. She wanted him to believe that she was Sara Wells, a twenty-seven-year-old American woman from the twenty-first century who had exchanged souls with Ceres Llewellyn for sixty days. It was simply outrageous. But as she answered his questions providing remarkable detail, he began wonder if it could be true.
The Choice: The Pocket Watch Chronicles Page 7
