by Sandra Heath
“Then it is settled. Shall we go?” He offered her his arm.
Slowly she slipped her hand over the rich stuff of his sleeve.
“Besides,” he murmured lightly, almost to himself, “who is to say that this will indeed be my last day on earth? I am not exactly cross-eyed and palsied, you know, as many a Frenchman found out to his cost at Waterloo. It could be that the baron is my first victim—that would be a turn up for the proverbial book, would it not?”
She felt an absurd desire to laugh as they walked from the room.
Chapter 7
The gondola was pushed away from the hotel steps, sliding out from the shadows to the dazzling blue water. There was magic in the air; diamonds flashed in the wavelets and the sky was the color of pale sapphires; even a barge piled high with red apples seemed to be carrying rubies. Color was sharper, sounds more clear, and Laura herself more acutely aware of Venice, of Nicholas, and of life itself than she ever had been before.
He leaned back on the black leather seat beside her, smiling just a little. “Did you know that in Venice the occupants of a felze are always assumed to be lovers?”
“No.” She hoped that she wasn’t blushing.
He laughed. It was an easy laugh, quite unforced and natural. She looked away toward the Rialto Bridge. He was treating her with an intimacy that only the night before would have been unthinkable. It was as if they had known each other for a lifetime, not merely for a week or so, and the feeling was good. She had so longed to know him like this, but even now she knew that it was only circumstances that brought about this change. How he must be longing for his Augustine and wishing that she sat with him, not Miss Laura Milbanke.
He glanced at her. “I hope that you do not really mind me asking you to spend the day with me, for on reflection it does seem rather a lot to ask of you.”
“No,” she said quickly. “No, I don’t mind at all.”
“I thought you seemed a little reserved—”
“I was only wishing that I could be your Miss Townsend for today.”
He looked away then. “Well, maybe it’s just as well that you aren’t.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I came here to think about decisions I have to make, decisions which will not meet with her approval in the slightest.”
“Forgive me if I appear unduly inquisitive—but why will she not approve?”
“Do you really wish to be bothered with my financial adversities?”
“I shall not mind at all if you wish to talk about them.”
The breeze ruffled his hair as he removed his top hat and tossed it on to the seat. The wash from a passing barge made the gondola sway and he reached out to take Laura’s hand, steadying her for a moment until the gondola was level once more. Studying her face for a moment, he released her hand. “Perhaps you are right, Miss Milbanke; it would do me good to discuss my problems. My difficulties stem from one thing—my estate, King’s Cliff in Somerset.”
“King’s Cliff? When you introduced yourself to me the name meant nothing, but now it seems familiar….”
“No doubt on account of the famed King’s Cliff hunt.”
“Yes, of course, that is it! Even my Uncle Hazeldon extolled its virtues!”
“Oh, that damned hunt is quite the thing with the beau monde, from royalty down.”
“You do not like hunting?”
“It does little for me, I fear—is that not an admission from a gentleman? It is tantamount to high treason, I fancy. But I am no rakehell, no demon of the gaming hells, no devotee of luxurious vice, and certainly no hunter, shooter, or fisher! I believe there is more to life than that. Oh, do not think I wear a halo, for I have indulged in my fair share of riotous living and will never aspire to sanctity, but I will also never see the point of an existence which leads inevitably to ruin.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I have but recently inherited King’s Cliff, Miss Milbanke, and years of mismanagement and extravagance by my foolish father, Sir Jasper Grenville, and similar years of avaricious aiding and abetting by my disagreeable cousin, James, Earl of Langford, have left me with accumulated debts which put King’s Cliff on the verge of bankruptcy.”
“Surely not—”
“The estate is vastly overstaffed; it has been run on a lavish scale which it cannot support; its farms are poor and mostly unproductive as they have been managed to suit the hunt and little else. And on top of all that, my father raised mortgages, acquired monumental gaming debts, and resorted to one of the most notorious moneylenders in London. In short, he has left me well up to my elegant neck in difficulty. With his shining example before me, it is small wonder I have no desire to emulate his ways.”
The gondola slid beneath a bridge and the water echoed around them in the gloom before they emerged into the brilliant sunlight again.
She smiled at him. “So it is not like father, like son.”
“Most definitely not. To be honest, my cousin is more my father’s son than I have ever been, and indeed he worked tirelessly toward that end—seeking to have me disinherited and taking my birthright. There is very little love lost between James Grenville and me, Miss Milbanke, very little indeed. We tolerate each other, and that is all. James is a very wealthy man, and his tastes ran parallel with those of my father; hence they got on extremely well together. But James was in a position to live as he did; his wealth supported him more than adequately; my foolish father could not, or would not, see that his own finances were so appallingly managed that he could not possibly hope to match James. I could see what was happening, and my continuous argument against what they did eventually left me in the cold where my father was concerned. I left King’s Cliff and took a commission in the army, serving with Wellington in Spain and eventually at Waterloo. I fully intended the army to be my life, for I had little doubt that I would be disinherited and that my cousin would have King’s Cliff.
“However, when my father died last year it immediately became apparent that James had not succeeded, for it all came to me after all. I resigned my commission and went home—to find that things had reached such a sorry pass that I was faced with either bankruptcy—or making such severe cutbacks and changes in order to put King’s Cliff into profit once more that I could only be vilified in the county.” He smiled ruefully, the jeweled pin in his cravat glittering in the sunlight as he lounged gracefully back in the gondola. “Venice is a luxury I can ill afford, but I decided to allow myself just one small extravagance before attending to the unpalatable task of confounding Somerset with my remedies for ruin.”
She smiled. How strange it was to hear him speak of his visit to Venice in words that could so easily have been applied to her. Was not she too guilty of unwarranted extravagance by coming here? “Sir Nicholas, it seems to me that you have no choice, you must carry out whatever plans you have in mind. Why then do you believe Miss Townsend will not approve?”
“To explain that I must tell you a little of family history. Augustine’s family were once the owners of King’s Cliff; indeed it is named because one of their ancestors held the cliff on which it stands for the king at the time of Monmouth’s rebellion. His reward was a grant of the land, and part of Sedgemoor which it overlooks. It remained in the Townsend family until they were in difficulties and my great-grandfather, Sir Henry Grenville, purchased it from them. Augustine still in her heart regards the estate as belonging to her family, and maybe she is not to be blamed too much for that, but she believes too that the house will go on forever as it now is, which has become an impossibility with me as its master. Throughout her life she has seen brilliance all around her, glorious wealth on a scale which even the Prince Regent could envy. There were endless house parties, the guests were royalty and nobility, and they stayed for week after week sometimes. The marsh at King’s Cliff offers the finest waterfowl and good fishing; the hunting season meant more guests, expensive balls, routs, masques, and so on. As my father’s ward she lived
like a queen; she saw nothing of the huge debts accumulating.”
He took off his signet ring and handed it to Laura. “My family emblem is ‘the sun in splendor’, and by God did Father live the role of sun! The term bon vivant takes on new magnificence when applied to my sire. That is why Augustine will not understand when I tell her what must be done to her beloved King’s Cliff. She will not understand that and she will not understand me. She wants things to remain as they are, and I cannot do that, not even for her. If my cousin had inherited, then King’s Cliff would have continued—”
“But he has not.”
“No. He wanted to, though—and it was because he coveted the house, and he coveted Augustine. If he had owned the house, then he would have seen a chance of winning her.”
“So many ifs, Sir Nicholas? He hasn’t won her; you have.”
“Yes, that is true—or is it? Has she accepted me because she loves me, or because through me she will gain King’s Cliff?”
“Oh, surely you misjudge her—”
“I pray so, for I love her very much indeed. I am painfully uncertain, however, of how much she loves me.”
Laura could only look at him. How could any woman in her right mind not love him?
He gave a short, embarrassed laugh then. “Dear God, I have confessed my innermost soul to you, and yet until yesterday I had not even granted you a kind word. I could not have told Augustine herself what I have just told you. Why am I so unguarded with you, Miss Milbanke?”
“Perhaps it is simply that I am not involved; I am not the object of your love.” Would that I were….
“Whatever it is, you certainly seem to have a profound effect upon me.”
She smiled a little. “Maybe it’s just Venice.”
The gondola glided on to a stretch of silver water. The city shimmered ail around, the atmosphere pale and tenuous, a gamut of greens and blues which turned the palaces and churches into a strange, mirage-like fantasy. The air was still and yet it moved. Everything seemed so unreal, as if it would flee if touched.
“Miss Milbanke,” he said at last, “can you even begin to imagine the shock which will greet the news that the King’s Cliff hunt is to be sold? Can you imagine the noise in Somerset when I set about draining my portion of Sedgemoor, called King’s Cliff Moor, thus depriving a vast army of poachers of their livelihood and another vast army of wealthy gentlemen of their shooting and fishing? I shall turn out tenants who will not comply with my new ways of things and I will rid myself of land which is useful only for hunting and cannot be turned into rich pasture or crop land. I am about to become notorious. That is, if I survive tomorrow—”
“Don’t say that!” she cried. “Please don’t!”
He took her hand again, his fingers light but firm around hers. “It must be faced.”
“No!”
He smiled. “Very well, we will forget it.” The gondola rocked gently on the small tide and he pointed across to the distant Rialto Bridge. “Did you know, Miss Milbanke, that it is said that no fewer than thirty thousand trees were required to give solidity to the foundations of that bridge? And hundreds of thousands for the construction of the church of Santa Maria delta Salute?”
She blinked a little at the change of subject. “No, Sir Nicholas, I did not.”
He grinned then. “It never ceases to amaze me what snippets of useless, but interesting information I seem capable of remembering.”
* * *
The noon day sun was high in the flawless sky when Laura and Nicholas entered the cathedral of San Marco. There was surely no other building on earth as wonderful as this, she thought. Everything about it bespoke Byzantium, of times gone by—except that here in Venice Byzantium lived on in all its glory. The sun’s rays brought out the color of the marble and porphyry and the radiance of the gold mosaics. The cathedral was encrusted from floor to ceiling with precious metals and jewels, and she was aware of a sultry opulence she had never before seen in a church. English cathedrals had their own magnificence, but it bore no resemblance whatsoever to this building, which seemed so like a medieval reliquary, so rich and ornate that it was almost too much for the eye to bear. The air was vibrant with the glimmer of gold and rubies seen through the flicker of a thousand candles, and the atmosphere was heavy with incense. Somewhere a choir of small boys was singing, and a shiver ran through Laura at the haunting poignance of the sound.
From the cathedral they walked awhile, wandering through the shadowy bustle of a high-walled, narrow street where they were accosted by a pretty flower girl who thrust her basket of bright red anemones in front of Laura, begging Nicholas to purchase some. Laughingly he obliged, pinning the small posy to the underbrim of her Leghorn bonnet where they made a vivid splash of color. In the same street they were accosted by a fortune-teller whose little dog was trained to pick tickets from a basket. The little dog leaped and danced around them both and Nicholas paid for Laura to have her fortune told. She could not read the words on the ticket the dog brought to her, but Nicholas translated it for her.
“You are assured of great future happiness and a grand marriage to a wealthy husband who will adore you.”
She laughed. “Now I know why this fortune-teller is still plying his trade in the streets!”
“The prophecy could come true.”
“Not when I already know what lies ahead when I go back to England.”
He looked into her blue eyes, his smile dying away. “You do not look forward to returning?”
“No. I am a church mouse, Sir Nicholas, and should not be luxuriating in the Hotel Contarini’s grandest chamber.”
He drew her hand through his arm. “Come, we will go to Florian’s and take some coffee, and then you can tell me about yourself.”
“It is not an interesting topic,” she said quickly.
“Allow me to be the judge of that. Besides, I have willfully brought you to the edge of ennui with my tale of woe, and I owe it to you to hear your story.”
She said nothing more, lowering her eyes as they returned toward the Piazza San Marco. She did not really want to tell him the dreadful truth about Lady Mountfort. How would he feel when he learned that she was penniless and would soon be little more than a paid servant? Would he still wish to escort her then?
Chapter 8
Dorian’s, said to be the oldest café in Europe, lay behind an arcade in the piazza, affording an excellent view of the campanile and beyond it the cathedral itself. The tables were in the shade beneath the arcade, although soon the sun would move around and there would be no shelter from its heat. Across the piazza was the rival café, Quadri’s, frequented by Austrians and therefore shunned by the Venetians, who thronged Florian’s instead.
Laura and Nicholas sat at one of the tables and were immediately the objects of concerted attention by the various hawkers and beggars who waited in the famous square. They ignored this shameless importuning and were eventually left alone. Laura untied her bonnet and laid it on the table, glad to feel the cool air through her hair. The domes of the cathedral gleamed in the hot sun, its facade suddenly obscured by the flashing wings of a flock of pigeons that rose as one from the square. The noise of their flight was like the rushing of water as they soared high into the clear blue sky to circle the domes. There was color everywhere—on the cathedral, in the sky, and in the square where many stalls had been laid out to display costly clothes, which spilled over in streams of crimson, purple, emerald, and sapphire. It was a scene to remember forever, and just a tiny part of this day, which would never be forgotten. Laura lowered her eyes then. Please, let tomorrow never come….
Nicholas watched her thoughtful expression. “Now,” he said gently, “tell me what it is that lies ahead of you in England.”
She braced herself. “Lady Mountfort.”
“Forgive me, I don’t quite understand…. You are related to her?”
“No. I am soon to be her companion.” She met his startled gaze. “I have no money, Sir Nicholas, no
family to provide for me, and so I shall have to take a position if I am to live.”
“I had no idea.”
“No.” She smiled a little wryly. “Would you still have protected my good name if you had?”
“Now you do me an injustice.”
“Forgive me, it’s simply that I am only too aware that I am masquerading as a lady.”
“You are a lady, Miss Milbanke, and have no need to resort to masquerade to prove it.”
“Whatever way it is put, I am still not what I appear to be. Oh, I have good clothes and my background is not lowborn, but the fact remains that I am impoverished and shall soon be reduced to working for my living.” She told him of her life with Aunt Hazeldon. “So,” she finished, “I do not think I am at all the sort of person you would normally associate with, am I?”
“And how would you know anything about that? I associate with those whom I like, and that is my only yardstick. You have far more quality in your little finger than many a fine and titled lady has in her entire body, that much I promise you. It is interesting, is it not, that you and I have both come to Venice under strangely similar circumstances—we neither of us should have come to this lap of luxury and we both know it. We are kindred spirits, it would seem.”
“Are we?”
“Yes. I salute you for having the sheer nerve to squander your inheritance on this, but as to the wisdom of going to Lady Mountfort, that is another matter. She is odious in the extreme, a female equivalent of my loathed cousin, and I cannot imagine you ever finding any morsel of happiness with her.”
“I have no choice, Sir Nicholas.”
“No.” He glanced away across the piazza. “I had not thought how very fortunate I am; I was concerned only with my own problems. Maybe it is a salutary lesson.” He turned suddenly to her again. “Do you ride, Miss Milbanke?”
