by Louise Allen
Thea had given up caring that Polly and Hodge knew that she and Rhys were lovers, just as she closed her mind to the fact that the maid and valet were, too, despite Polly’s stated resolve not to give him more than a kiss. They were all adults—besides, she was certain the two would marry just as soon as they arrived somewhere with an Anglican clergyman.
Her mind, distracted by Rhys’s mouth on her skin, drifted back to where that chain of thoughts had begun. Honeymoons ended in a married life together—this one would end in separation. A phrase came to her. Was it a song or a poem?
‘Rhys, where does the line, “Journeys end in lovers’ meeting”, come from?’
‘What made you think of that? It’s Shakespeare. The clown sings it in Twelfth Night.’ He hummed a few notes. ‘We performed it at Eton. Let me see if I can recall it.’ When he sang his voice was a rich, clear tenor. Thea realised she hadn’t heard him sing since he had been a youth.
“Trip no further, pretty sweeting,
Journeys end in lovers’ meeting—
Every wise man’s son doth know.
What is love? ’Tis not hereafter;
Present mirth hath present laughter;
What’s to come is still unsure:
In delay there lies no plenty,—
Then come kiss me, Sweet-and-twenty,
Youth’s a stuff will not endure.”
‘Then come kiss me,’ he repeated. ‘Kiss me, sweeting.’
What is love? The words echoed in her head as she went into his arms. ’Tis not hereafter. It would last, this loving, only until Venice. That was why Rhys was dragging out the journey, because he was already anticipating its end. She might daydream—his mind was quite clear.
* * *
‘There it is—Venice. Magical,’ Rhys murmured. A heat haze hung over the lagoon, blurring sea and sky, water and mud bank. In the distance, the mirage of the city shimmered, floating.
The small boat that they had taken from the coast skimmed over the water, the men bent to the oars, their efforts scarcely seeming to move them over the vast liquid expanse.
The carriages had been left on the mainland, with Tom to guard them. He was happily ensconced in an inn run by a buxom widow and appeared to be making considerable headway with her, despite not having a word of Italian.
Rhys spread a map of Venice open on his knee and glanced from it to the vista in front of them while the skipper of the boat traced the route with his stubby brown finger.
Godmama had taken a palazzo on one of the canals off the Grand Canal. It sounded impossibly romantic to Thea, who sat, her fingers entwined with Rhys’s, and watched the fairy-tale city that marked the end of her fairy-tale journey come slowly closer.
It was all a dream, she thought now. She had a fever, or perhaps had simply not woken up, because this could not be real, could not be the end. Last night Rhys had made love to her with the tenderness of a man parting from his lover for ever. She imagined that a man going out to die in a duel at dawn or setting out on a voyage to the distant Arctic, expecting never to return, might make love like that, as though he was creating a memory almost too fragile to hold. Then, without a word, he had left her and gone back to his own room, something he had not done since Aix, and she had finally allowed herself to weep, silently, into her pillow.
Now the water traffic got busier, the buildings began to loom out of the haze, exotic, like the work of a confectioner spinning architecture out of sugar. Rhys pointed out the Doge’s Palace, the massive church of San Giorgio Maggiore, the pillars marking the waterfront of St Mark’s Square, but all she could do was stare, unable to focus on one thing out of the shifting scene.
‘Santa Maria della Salute,’ the boatman said, and they skimmed into a wide canal. Thea unlaced her fingers from Rhys’s and stiffened her spine. They had arrived. She was awake, this was real.
‘This is the Grand Canal.’ Rhys shifted the map on his knee to align it. ‘We are almost there.’
Every building lining the canal looked like a palace to Thea. Their walls rose straight from the green water. Gondolas were moored in front of landing stages, small boats laden with everything from barrels to a vast load of hay criss-crossed their path. ‘It sounds so different,’ she said. ‘No carriages, no horses, just people and the lapping of the water.’
‘It smells different, too,’ Rhys remarked. ‘Of the sea and old stone.’
The boat made a sweeping turn into a smaller canal. Walls rose on either side, above them were balconies, now and again stone landing stages jutted into the water, all with their striped mooring poles. ‘Ecco, Ca’ Riccardo,’ the boatman announced, and brought their vessel alongside a wide platform. In the wall were double-ironwork gates with a courtyard behind them. The boat with Polly and Hodge and more of the luggage came in behind them as Thea schooled her face to show nothing but pleasure. Of course, she wanted to see Godmama again and of course she wanted to be in Venice. Pride kept her from showing any of the other feelings that left her mind dazed with unhappiness and her stomach tense with expected pain.
Hodge pulled the heavy iron ring that hung by the grill. Faintly they heard a bell, then several pairs of feet on stone steps. The grill was thrown open by two liveried footmen, and an imposing, gaunt figure stood in the opening. ‘Lady Althea, Lord Palgrave. Welcome to Venice.’ He bowed.
‘Edgerton!’ Rhys ignored the man’s bow and shook him vigorously by the hand. ‘Good to see you after so many years. I had no idea you had travelled with Lady Hughson. My letter from Paris to say we were on our way has arrived, judging by your lack of surprise.’
It would take more than the unexpected arrival of a few travellers on his damp threshold to surprise Godmama’s secretary, Thea thought with a smile.
‘Indeed, yes, Lord Palgrave. Allow me to bring you inside.’
They followed him across the courtyard, which Thea supposed served to keep the living rooms well clear of the water in times of flood, up a wide flight of steps and in through imposing wooden doors. It was a palace, she thought, staring around her at the painted, arched ceiling, the high walls, the expanse of inlaid marble floor. Empty, cool, very quiet.
‘The salon,’ Edgerton said, throwing open yet another set of double doors and ushering them into a lofty chamber with pillared walls, gilded carving and high arched windows, swagged with yard upon yard of crimson brocade. ‘I will send for refreshments, but first, I regret, there is a slight problem.’
‘A problem you cannot deal with, Edgerton?’ As Thea sat down on one of the long sofas, Rhys went to the window and gazed out. ‘You surprise me.’
‘You are kind enough to say so, my lord. However, this is not a situation I am able to remedy. Your letter arrived and, as her ladyship’s secretary, I naturally opened it. Unfortunately, she had left the week before.’
‘Left?’ Thea stared at him. Of all the things that could go wrong with her plan, it had never occurred to her for a moment that she would not find Godmama here. ‘Surely not to go back to England, not if you are still here?’
‘Lady Hughson is at present travelling on board the private yacht of Prince Frederico d’Averna.’
‘A prince?’ Thea said, visions of the Prince Regent swirling through her head.
‘Of a very minor principality,’ Edgerton said with a faint smile. ‘A most amiable gentleman, with a most handsome yacht.’
‘It could be an eighty-four-gun ship of the line, for all I care,’ Rhys said, stalking away from the window. ‘When is she due back?’
‘I regret to say that I have no information on that. It could be another month. Or longer. His Royal Highness had the intention of showing her ladyship the island of Sicily, but if the weather remains clement they may well continue around the coast to the Bay of Naples.’
‘On board a yacht with a prince,’ Thea said faintly. ‘That sounds so unlike Godmama.’
‘Indeed, Lady Althea.’ Edgerton’s voice was so dry it would have been used for toast.
‘You do no
t approve of him?’
‘I believe he is who he says he is—the introductions were beyond reproach. The vessel is lavishly equipped and appears perfectly seaworthy and well crewed. I have been unable to find anything to the prince’s detriment, despite exhaustive enquiries.’
‘On whose behalf?’ Rhys asked.
‘Mine, my lord. I would not countenance Lady Hughson placing herself in such a position with anyone who was not of the utmost respectability.’
‘You intrigue me,’ Rhys remarked. ‘What would you have done if you had found something to his detriment and Lady Hughson did not agree with you?’
‘I would have contrived to have the prince removed from her ladyship’s orbit,’ the secretary said. ‘This is Venice after all.’
Thea decided she did not want to know whether the secretary meant murder, kidnapping or, more probably, a nighttime visit from a group of gentlemen with strong persuasive powers.
‘How very Gothic of you,’ Rhys drawled.
Thea smiled, then realised she was on the verge of bursting out into relieved laughter. No Godmama meant that their idyll was not at an end. She was sorry that Godmama was not there, of course; she loved her and wanted to see her again, but it sounded as though she was having a wonderful adventure of her own.
Then she caught the edge in Rhys’s voice and turned to look at him. Whatever he was feeling was not inspiring him to laughter. ‘This is a pretty coil,’ he said, his mouth a hard line. ‘Now what the devil am I going to do with you?’
Chapter Twenty
Thea stared back at him. ‘Do with me? Why, nothing, my lord!’
Now what the blazes is she annoyed about? Rhys suppressed an exasperated sigh. It was he who was responsible for her, he who would have to sort out this mess.
‘I can remain here until Godmama returns, can I not, Mr Edgerton?’
‘Certainly, Lady Althea. There is a most respectable widow living nearby who has become quite a friend of her ladyship’s. I am sure she would be delighted to move here and chaperon you if I were to explain the situation.’
‘What situation?’ Rhys demanded. One word out of Edgerton that implied that he knew Rhys was anything other than Thea’s courier and he would be retrieving his teeth from his gullet.
‘That her escort has had to leave Lady Althea here without a female companion,’ the secretary rejoined smoothly. ‘There is no need for the contessa to know that Lady Althea has not travelled with an older woman at her side.’
Rhys felt the flare of temper subside. He knew perfectly well what the matter with him was. Since he had left Thea’s bed last night, his conscience, subjected to a thorough dose of reality with the prospect of the end of their journey, was giving him hell.
‘That would seem to be the best solution. Thank you, Edgerton.’ He raked his hand through his hair and tried to think like a responsible friend and not a frustrated lover. ‘I had best remove myself and find some other lodgings. What would you suggest?’
‘Oh, no,’ Thea protested before the secretary could speak. ‘That is unfair. Why not stay here? Your obliging contessa does not need to know when we arrived, does she, Mr Edgerton?’
‘No, indeed, Lady Althea. And it is normal for ladies to go around the city masked, so you may see the sights incognita until Lord Palgrave leaves Venice. And, as you say, her ladyship would wish you both to stay here.’
‘You see, Rhys! You would be so much more comfortable here, and I know Godmama would expect it.’ To Edgerton Thea’s face would reveal nothing more than a concern that her travelling companion was not inconvenienced, but Rhys read a plea and a promise that she put into careful words a moment later. ‘I am sure there is a room for you where you will be...undisturbed.’
That was a promise not to come to his chamber at night. Thea was a woman of her word: their liaison had been for the duration of the journey and she was not expecting him to put any greater strain on his conscience by making love to her in their godmother’s home. After all, last night she had done nothing to keep him at her side, had said nothing when he had left her bed.
The problem was, it was not his uneasy conscience that was giving him most pain, despite it reminding him constantly that he should never have slept with Thea, that having done so, he should never have continued and, having continued, he should do what society would consider the only right thing: marry her. The real problem was that the thought of parting from her was agony, yet it was obvious that, as good as her word, she did not want this liaison to last. And he...he did not know what he wanted.
But he was a man, not a boy to throw a tantrum over the loss of something precious. Thea had just made it clear that she expected their liaison to end but that she still wanted his company. He owed it to her to give her what she wanted.
* * *
Rhys looked reluctant to stay. Perhaps she needed to speak to him alone and assure him she had no intention of making demands on him. Absently Thea rubbed the small of her back, where a dull ache was worsening. It would be good to retire to bed and not be travelling, just at the moment. She supposed she ought to be relieved that her courses had begun that morning, but, somehow, she felt nothing of the kind. Perhaps, deep down, she simply had not been worrying because she trusted Rhys so much.
‘I am rather tired,’ she said. ‘Perhaps you could show me to my room and send my woman to me, Mr Edgerton. I will rest until dinner.’
Rhys came to her side as she followed the secretary out. ‘You look a trifle pale. Are you unwell?’
‘Goodness, no. I suppose it is journey’s end—I will be much better for a few hours with my feet up and nothing rocking, jolting or shying under me!’
‘We need to talk, Thea.’
‘No.’ She stopped and gave them a little space as Mr Edgerton walked on ahead. ‘There is nothing to talk about, not in the way I think you mean, Rhys. Nothing to warrant that serious face, at least.’ She smiled up at him, loving the way he worried about her. ‘And we cannot talk now, in any case. I will see you at dinner.’
* * *
Polly was waiting for her in what proved to be not just a bedchamber, but a suite of rooms. ‘There’s the bedroom and a dressing room and a room for me and a sitting room, my lady,’ she reported. ‘Lovely, it is. But you come and take your gown off, and those stays, and lie down and rest. This is no time of the month to be travelling, that’s for sure.’ She fussed around and then, as she helped Thea into her wrapper, remarked, ‘At least it means there’s nothing to worry about, if you know what I mean.’
‘I never thought there was.’ Rhys had been very careful, Thea knew, although she supposed nothing was foolproof. Then something in Polly’s tone made her look at the maid’s face as she moved about the room tidying up. ‘Polly... Do you have something to worry about? Come and talk to me.’
‘Might have.’ The maid put down the gown she had been shaking out and sat on the end of the bed. ‘Not sure. But John will marry me anyway. He’s asked me.’ She fiddled with the tassel on the edge of the bed hangings.
‘Before you told him there might be a baby on the way?’
‘Oh, yes, my lady. I’d have married him whether I thought he was doing it out of love or duty, but I’m glad he asked before he knew. We women don’t have much choice, do we?’
‘No, not unless we do not mind a scandal,’ Thea said, thinking of Serena. ‘Has Hodge said anything to Lord Palgrave yet, do you know? After all, he employs you both. I am delighted for you, but he might think differently.’ She would have something to say to Rhys if he did.
‘He’ll ask him today. There’s sure to be an Anglican clergyman in Venice, John says, with all the English visitors.’
‘Excellent,’ Thea murmured, snuggling down. ‘I am sure it will all work out happily.’ Which was more than could be said for her entanglement with Rhys.
* * *
Thea insisted that Mr Edgerton join them for dinner. He was a professional man, after all, not a servant. The meal was excellent, with a wide r
ange of seafood, and, with her backache subdued to a dull twinge, she was feeling considerably more cheerful.
Rhys, she suspected, was not. Despite conversing with apparent ease on a wide range of subjects, he was drinking more wine than he normally did and was picking at a superb dish of clams in cream sauce as though it was gruel.
Men always complained that women were complicated creatures, Thea mused as she speared the last prawn on her plate. In fact, she was certain that men were far more troublesome with their infuriating reticence about their true feelings.
‘If you would like to go out this evening, I will put one of our gondolas at your disposal with a reliable man who speaks some English. And I will find you masks, of course,’ Mr Edgerton said.
‘For both of us?’ Rhys queried.
‘It is usual for gentlemen who wish to be discreet. It raises no curiosity, as it might in England.’
‘Then I will take you up on the offer of both boat and mask. Thea?’
‘I will come, too,’ Thea said, reflecting that a mask would probably suit Rhys if he was in one of his enigmatic moods. He looked as though he was about to speak, but she put her hand on his wrist. ‘I am feeling quite rested now.’ Under her light touch she felt him tense, then he slid his hand away. No doubt she was being a trifle indiscreet in front of the secretary, but still, the subtle rejection stung. Before they had become lovers he would have accepted that passing touch without question, as from a friend. Now she was beginning to wonder what she was to him.
‘I will tell the boatman to take you for a tour of the main landmarks to start with,’ Edgerton said as the footman brought in a dish of sweetmeats. Thea was itching to ask him about Godmama and the prince, but she knew perfectly well that he was far too discreet.
She popped a marchpane-stuffed date into her mouth, resisted the temptation to demolish the whole plateful and stood up. ‘I will go and find my cloak and change into some more suitable shoes—I noticed the gondolas that we passed all had some water in the bottom. I’ll meet you on the landing stage, Rhys.’
