Rondo Allegro (2 page)

“There you are, my child,” Lady Hamilton said, greeting Anna
with a warm embrace against her soft, generous flesh. As always, she smelled
delicious, her diaphanous draperies rustling as she drew Anna to sit on the
couch beside her. “Now, dry your tears, have a comfit, and listen to me.” Lady
Hamilton’s round cheeks dimpled, and her glorious smile invited Anna to
intimacy.

Anna glanced at the silver trays full of delicacies, but her
stomach had closed. Lady Hamilton took no notice; her mind was taken up with
her purpose.

Lady Hamilton waited until Anna had pocketed her soggy handkerchief,
then said, “I am so very sorry, dear Anna, but the medical men are all agreed
that your good papa is not likely to rise from his sickbed. And, like a good
father, his last thoughts are of you, his beloved daughter. Our honored Admiral
Lord Nelson has taken a personal interest in the case himself. He wishes to see
you comfortably placed in marriage to Captain Duncannon, one of his most
respected young officers.”

Anna sank her teeth into her lower lip. ‘Comfortably placed’
would be a pension so that she might continue her singing. Not marriage to a
total stranger.

Lady Hamilton, studying her tear-blotched face, said
shrewdly, “It is no different than any other young lady of birth could expect.
Why, our own dear Queen Maria Carolina was sent to Naples from Austria, after
her sister died of the smallpox, not knowing the language, and scarcely sixteen
years of age.”

She was also sent to
marry a king
, Anna was thinking—but having no wish to marry a king (least
of all a king like King Ferdinand IV) she managed the words, “If my father asks
it of me, then I shall obey.”

Lady Hamilton leaned forward to kiss Anna’s cheek. “I shall
set everything in train. You need do nothing but present yourself like the good
girl I know you to be. You have always served as the model of a dutiful
daughter, and your dear mama I know would applaud, for time and again she said
how often she prayed you would marry an English gentleman.”

“She did indeed.”

It was all true. Anna’s mother was used to discuss every
English ship that came in, gleaning news of any eligible gentlemen, even when
Anna was small; when they were alone together, Anna’s mother had longingly
described the cool, verdant English summers in spectacular gardens, and how
much better life was in England, in an effort to transfer her love for England
to her daughter.

It was also true that Anna was dutiful. ‘Deference’ was
inculcated into all the palace children who dealt with the many princes and
princesses.

Anna’s mother had said once, after coming back to their rooms
tired and worn from teaching willful royal children, “You must learn how to
defer and deflect, the way my father taught his pupils with their swords. Then
deference is a defense. But only if you learn to deflect and stand your ground;
giving way until they overwhelm you will leave you with no retreat, and helpless.
Never,” she said seriously, as the entire palace buzzed with the news that one
of the spoilt young princesses had caused her father to cast an old servant
into prison, “never let them get you helpless.”

I am helpless now
,
Anna thought, wiping her eyes. But she said out loud, “Thank you, my lady,” and
curtseyed.

Lady Hamilton smiled, embraced her, then briskly sent her
away. Anna understood then that she was a problem that Lady Hamilton now regarded
as solved.

Her father lay in a small room in the far wing. Lady
Hamilton had seen to it that he had a window, even if the chamber was scarcely
wide enough for the bed, small table, and chair. Stable smells wafted in, and
the great noise and clatter as King Ferdinand and his entourage prepared to go
out hunting, as they did every day, in all weathers.

Anna’s maid, Parrette Duflot, stood on guard outside the
door, as fierce as she was small. “He’s awake, Mademoiselle. With
him
by.” Parrette tossed her head on the
‘him’, which Anna understood to mean Beppe, who was as loyal to the Signor as
Parrette was to her mistress.

Anna thanked Parrette and noiselessly let herself into the
chamber. She found her father just as she’d left him, his head looking
incongruously small on the great pillow the Hamiltons had sent especially.
Beppe sat in attendance, a rough-looking article indeed as he gave Anna a short
nod of respect. Most people did not get that much.

“Has he woken at all?” Anna whispered.

“He opened his eyes long enough for me to get some watered
wine into him,” Beppe replied, his weather-beaten, scarred face sober. “So. You
will do as he asks, Signorina Anna Maria?”

As always, he pronounced her second name the Italian way,
the ‘i’ pronounced with a hard E, instead of the ‘eye’ that Anna’s mother had
insisted on. The English pronunciation. But Anna never corrected him, which
annoyed Parrette.

“Lady Hamilton says that she sees it as my duty . . .”

“But?” Beppe prompted. “I hear it, ‘but’?” He lifted his
shoulder. “You will be an English lady, as la Signora wished.”

Her father’s voice startled her, husky and low. “You will do
as I asked, my treasure?” He spoke English with difficulty, but there was less
chance of being understood if they were overheard from below the open window.
“You will marry a well-born Englishman. You shall have a fine house, and a
gentlewoman’s rank. This, your beloved mother also wished for you.”

“Why cannot we go to your home, Papa? You might recover, if
you need not work, and I take up no space at all.”

“No, and no.” Papa struggled up on his pillow, sweat
breaking out on his forehead from the effort. “My cousin is a buffoon, in spite
of his grand title, and his wife a viper. She despised my beloved Eugenia for
being English, and would use you as a drudge. I vowed I would only return to be
buried. You will never go near them. Promise me!”

“If this is what you wish, Papa,” Anna said, slightly giddy,
as if the ground heaved under her feet.

Papa lay back, his breath shuddering. Beppe moved swiftly to
help him. “Your medicine?”

“I do not need it,” Papa said, pushing away Beppe’s hand.
“Now that I know my little Anna will be provided for. Mr. Jones promises this
English captain is from a good family. That was important to my dear Eugenia.
Brave—he won his promotion at the Battle of the Nile. That is important to me.
I can face
mia Eugenia dolce
in
Heaven, knowing that you will be well established.”

“Papa—”

Her father’s brow contracted and he made a weary move with
his hand. “Beppe, fetch the priest. And the English divine. We’ll have it
right. There is little time. I feel death sitting on my chest, heavier than
stone.”

Parrette was waiting for Anna when she left her father’s
room, her thin brows a line and her vivid black eyes assessing. “So.” The maid
gave a short nod. “There is to be a wedding.” She sighed, and spoke more to
herself, “I believe it falls to me to instruct you in what that means.”

All parties were satisfied, except for the two principals.

Captain Duncannon had been forced to listen to Jones promise
the old man that his daughter would gain a house and a position in society,
full knowing that he owned little more than his uniform, sword, and sea trunk.
And as for society, he had turned his back on it when he took up his naval
career.

Anna was too grief-stricken to think past her Papa’s
weakened breathing.

Parrette was resigned, too experienced with the vagaries of
the world to voice any objection. She lost an entire night in her efforts to
think out what she must say to Anna about what to expect once the ring was on
her finger, but those efforts—the carefully chosen words—were largely wasted,
she discovered the next morning. If Anna heard one word in twenty, that was the
extent of her comprehension. Her thoughts were entirely taken up with her
father.

Grief had become a boulder behind Anna’s ribs by her wedding
day. The westering sun cast an ochre glow around the crowd gathered tightly
against the prince’s bed to witness the transformation of Signorina Ludovisi to
Mrs. Duncannon.

The marriage ceremony was conducted first by a priest, after
which her father was promised extreme unction. While that was done, the company
moved to a pretty courtyard where commenced a second ceremony, mercifully
quick, overseen by an English minister connected to the fleet: this man, Anna
noted with inward relief, pronounced ‘Maria’ the English way. She hoped that
augured well, or as well as this strange situation could ever be.

Her first contact with her husband was when he slid a ring
upon her finger. It did not fit, of course; that seemed emblematic of her life,
she thought as tears dripped down her face. She looked away quickly, closing
her hand around the ring and surreptitiously thumbing away the tears with the
other, aware that she was observed by her husband of five minutes as they
walked back to her father’s room to sign the marriage papers.

Anna’s father had insisted on having his violin at his
bedside. He had intended to play a wedding piece, but his hands faltered, and he
fell back, defeated by his own struggle for breath.

Mr. Jones gestured toward the newlyweds. “May I suggest that
the bride and groom step into the adjoining chamber, where I understand her
ladyship has ordered refreshments to be laid out?”

“Go,” Signor Ludovisi said to his daughter, his voice
slurring. “I will keep my end of the bargain. Talk to your young man. Get
acquainted.”

The door closed behind them and the English chaplain sent by
Captain Troubridge, who gracefully offered his congratulations to the bride.

The chaplain was an older man, face red under his wig. His
imperturbable demeanor steadied Anna enough to enable her to glance at Captain
Duncannon again, this time taking in more than the blue coat and single
epaulette of a commander.

Like many of Nelson’s captains, he wore his dark hair short.
It curled slightly over his heavy collar in back, and brushed over his high
forehead. His eyes were well spaced, with little lines at the corners from
squinting in wind and weather, a characteristic shared by all the naval men she
had encountered. He was very tall, his nose rather beak-like, reminding her of
an eagle, and his chin long and firm, all of which seemed to render him even
taller. His mouth seemed well shaped, but was too tight for her to descry
expression. He looked very old to her; when his gaze encountered hers, she
dropped her eyes, reluctant to be caught staring.

A servant began to circulate, bearing a heavy tray of chased
silver, piled high with luscious fruits. Another servant carried around goblets
of a chilled champagne punch. Anna was a married woman now, and so she could
taste such things. Strange, how a few words changed everything. Would she be
expected to dress as a married woman? If so, how was she to pay for new fabric?

From the far room she could hear men’s voices, though not
what they said. She knew that her father had had some dealings with the
English, though no one had thought to share with her the particulars.
Apparently this business could not wait. She hoped some of it would prove to
settle her affairs comfortably, though how remained a mystery.

“May I fetch you a glass of champagne?” Captain Duncannon
asked politely—her husband’s first words to her.

Anna perceived that she had let a silence build, and
blushed. She knew that it was for the wife, the hostess, to speak, to make
everyone comfortable, but that was beyond her. All she could say was, “Thank
you.”

The captain obligingly turned away, affording her a moment
to pull her handkerchief from her pocket and hastily scrub her eyes dry. Then
she straightened up, the little linen square crushed in a ball in her fist. She
must exert herself, and learn what was expected of her.

The captain brought the champagne to her, and she raised the
glass to her lips. The unexpected scent from the popping bubbles nearly made her
sneeze, and her first cautious sip was even more disagreeable. Had the stuff
turned?

Yet no one complained as the divine and the captain drank to
one another, uttering polite compliments of the day. Anna ventured to try
another sip, and then a third larger one. This one made her shudder, but it was
followed by a sense of warmth from within that she found both strange and
mildly pleasant. It gave her enough courage to stand under her husband’s
scrutiny, for when she looked up, she discovered his gaze upon her.

He stared, his heart sinking. His bride was a thin little
maid in a plain, neat muslin gown, her thick brown hair bound up unsteadily on
her head, her unremarkable face blotchy with tears. The uncertain angle of her
chin, her very straight posture, called his sisters to mind. Addressing her as
he would one of them, he said, “Have you lived here all your life?”

She replied seriously, “Not here, precisely, but in Naples,
yes.” She spoke clear English, though with a strong French accent. “Soon after
my parents arrived here from Florence—in fact, it is said that the monstrous
earthquake in Calabria was at fault for bringing me into the world thus
precipitously, for they were passing through when the first one struck.” She
closed her mouth, blushing. The champagne seemed to have loosened her tongue.

Duncannon made a polite noise, but inwardly he was appalled.
That made her what, not quite sixteen? His sisters were seventeen and twelve;
in memory they were mere children. He knew girls married young more often than
not, but her youth placed her firmly in a category with Mary and Harriet.

At least so young a girl could scarcely harbor any
expectations of him. He had not seen his sisters for ages, but he recollected
that they had liked talking about their harps and singing and dancing. “I was
told you study music under the Maestro. Do you play the violin, then?”