Scandalous Brides: In Scandal in Venice\The Spanish Bride (15 page)

“Oh?”

“Yes. That was before my dear Arthur’s passing. It was quite the crush, but I distinctly remember your arrival. Lady Ashby was wearing...” One long, varnished nail tapped at her chin. “Red velvet! Yes. And those famous rubies of hers.” She tapped playfully at Peter’s wrist with one of those nails. “Which you were rumored to have given her!”

“Oh?” Peter vaguely remembered the ball, one of many he had plunged into after Elizabeth’s departure in the hopes that activity would distract his mind. He remembered Angela Ashby, and her cloying French perfume. But, fortunately, he had no recollection of this woman.

“And here you are tonight! Such a coincidence.” Evelyn popped a sugared almond into her mouth and tried to smile at him alluringly as she chewed. “And I hear you are for Venice after this! I live there. What takes you to my corner of Italy?”

Peter doubted she could claim quite all of Venice as “hers,” but he merely smiled tightly. He saw their host’s prized Leonardo painting of the Madonna over Lady Deake’s head. The Holy Mother’s dark hair, parted sleekly in the center and brushed behind her ears, reminded him of Elizabeth. “I am here for art, Lady Deake.”

“Indeed! Well, this is certainly the place for paintings and such. You must visit my home when you are in Venice. There are some fine frescoes in the main drawing room.”

“Yes?”

“Yes. They are by ... oh ... I can never recall his name. V something.”

Peter had never in his cynical life so longed to snicker impolitely at someone. He touched the damask napkin to his lips. “Verrocchio?”

“Oh, no, that is not it. I am quite sure.”

“Vignola?”

“No....”

“Veronese.” Peter was swiftly running out of V names.

Evelyn brightened. “Yes! That is the one. I have just engaged an artist to undertake the restoring of them; they are in quite shocking condition. They are old, you know.”

“I guessed.”

Evelyn tittered. “It is a
female
artist I have engaged!”

Peter froze. His fork, laden with lamb, was suspended in midair. For the first time that evening, he gave his full attention to his dinner partner. “Female artist?”

“It is very scandalous, I know. But she and her sister are all the crack now. Simply everyone wants them to paint their portraits.”

“How very fascinating, Lady Deake.” Peter gave her one of his rare, prized smiles. “Or may I call you... Evelyn?”

Evelyn gaped at him. “Well... yes. If you like—Peter.”

“Now, Evelyn, do tell me more about these sister artists.”

“Well. The one I have engaged is the younger. She is quite small and plain, with hair as dark as these Italians. She is not at all like the elder, who is as tall as an Amazon, with wild red hair. I hear she is quite well known in England, though. And they have this secretary, who everyone knows must be more than simply the secretary...”

Chapter Fourteen

S
upper at the villa was a merry one. Bianca had quite outdone herself, preparing a divine risotto with prosciutto, and a fine lemon trifle for desert. Georgina and Elizabeth had worn two of their prettiest dinner gowns. There was a good wine from the neighboring vineyard, and it flowed amid much conversation and laughter.

When the trifle had been eaten, the ladies did not retire and leave Nicholas to his port. Instead, they joined him, and sipped at the ruby-red wine while enjoying the soft breeze from the open doors.

“Ah, Georgie.” Elizabeth sighed. “Is this not better than going to Rome, as you originally wished?”

“It is.” Georgina swirled the port in her glass, its depths the same color as her velvet gown. “Rome would be much too crowded at this time of year, and we would have had far too many social obligations. I like this—dinner en
famille.”

Elizabeth, too, liked the idea of that—family. She had not felt a part of such a thing since her mother and stepfather died, perhaps not even before that tragic accident. She had felt herself apart, alone. Now she felt alone no longer. All the shattered, scattered pieces of her life had now seemingly come together to form a new, wonderful whole.

She laid one of her hands over Nicholas’s, and smiled. “Yes, this is very nice indeed. I can’t recall a nicer supper, ever.”

“But perhaps Nicholas finds us rather dull,” Georgina said, laughter in her voice. “Perhaps he is quite missing the gay life of the city?”

“Not at all, I assure you.” Nicholas lifted Elizabeth’s hand for a brief kiss. “The energy of you two lovely ladies has exhausted me utterly. I am glad of the country respite.”

“But do you not miss all your admirers, Georgie?” said Elizabeth. “All the posies and billets-doux? As the post comes only once a week here, we shall hear nothing from Signor Franco or Mr. Butler, or any of the others, for several days at least.”

“Excellent! If I
never
hear from either of them again it will be far too soon.”

“But I thought you quite liked the signor!” Elizabeth exclaimed.

“I did rather, when I thought him merely an amusing dinner partner. That all ended when he proposed to me at the Vincenzis’ party.”

“Oh, no!” Elizabeth groaned.

Nicholas was a bit puzzled. He was accustomed to young English ladies, such as his half sisters, who schemed and plotted and would stop at almost nothing to procure proposals from gentlemen.

But then, when had Georgina and Elizabeth ever behaved as his half sisters did?

“This is a bad thing?” he said.

“Terrible!” answered Elizabeth. “It means that Signor Franco will never see the inside of our drawing room again.”

Nicholas looked at Georgina. “Do you never wish to wed again, Georgina?”

Georgina shook her head. “Have you ever been married, Nicholas?”

Elizabeth glanced at him sharply.

“No,” he replied. “I do not believe so.”

“Then never do so,” Georgina said firmly. “Unless it is to Lizzie. Marriage to her would be quite out of the common way.”

“Georgie, please!” Elizabeth laughed.

“It is true,” Georgina protested. “And I suppose everyone should be married once, if only to see what it is like. But as for me, I shall
not
marry again.”

“Georgie is quite determined to end her days the merry widow,” said Elizabeth, tipping the last of the port into her glass.

“Yes,” said Georgina. “I shall spend my dotage in ... oh, Bath, I think, painting awful seascapes and shouting rude things at handsome young men in the Pump Room.”

“And may we join you in your dignified retirement?” Nicholas asked, with a great grin.

“Oh, yes, certainly. Lizzie and I shall push you about in your bath chair, and play matchmaker to your ten children.”

“Georgina Beaumont!” Elizabeth protested with a blush.

“I am merely teasing, Lizzie. I am certain you will have only three. And by the time we are doddering about Bath, it will be time for your grandchildrens’ come-outs.” Georgina drained the last of her port, and rose to her feet. “Now, I must retire or I shall fall asleep in what is left of this excellent trifle. Good night, my dears.”

“Good night, Georgie,” Elizabeth called.

Nicholas resumed his seat, and took Elizabeth’s hand between both of his. “Your sister is an extraordinary woman.”

“She is. And, despite her protestations, I do believe she will wed again.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. She is far too romantic not to. It will take a very special man indeed, though.”

“Oh? And do you have a candidate in mind for her?”

“Hmm. But not you, Nicholas. You are already spoken for.”

“I am that.” He leaned closer to her, so close that she could feel his warmth through her gown and shawl, against her skin. Her eyes began to drift shut.

But to her great disappointment, he did not kiss her.

“Will you walk with me in the garden, Elizabeth?” he asked instead.

“I thought you would never ask.”

Arm in arm, they strolled out of the dining room and down the terrace steps to the garden. It was almost a full moon, and the trees and the barely awakening flowers were bathed in silver. Their footsteps crushed blossoms into the walkways, releasing their sweet scent into the air.

A small, cool breeze had crept up, and Elizabeth leaned closer to Nicholas for warmth in her thin silk dinner gown.

“It is almost like the night we met,” she mused. “The moonlight, the scent of the flowers.”

“But there is no canal,” he said. “No masked ball, no gondolas.”

“This is much more pleasant. It is only us.”

“Elizabeth.” He stopped and caught her arm, turning her about to face him. “I brought you out here to talk to you. I must...”

She stared up at him. His face was drawn and serious, not a hint of sparkle in his dark eyes. “What is wrong, Nicholas? Are you ill?”

“No. I simply must... must speak with you, before we can go on. There is something I must tell you.”

Her eyes dropped. This was a moment she had been dreading. A moment of revelation. Of judgment.

“I must tell you something, as well,” she said.

“You, Elizabeth?”

“Yes.” She turned from him, and went to sit on a marble bench beside a statue of a cavorting Cupid. She stared up at the moon, and thought of Peter and of the dead duke. She hardly knew where to begin.

And she did not truly want to begin at all. She wanted their lives to go on as they had been ever since they had met, full of laughter.

She had suffered so much, and only tonight had she come to feel truly secure, truly in the midst of a real family at last. Did she not deserve this time of joy, however fragile, however brief?

“Yes, I do,” she whispered.
And I cannot allow anything to harm this time, to spoil it.

“What did you say, Elizabeth?” Nicholas sat beside her on the bench.

“I merely said—I do have things to tell you. Many things. But not tonight, please. Tonight is too beautiful.”

“But, Elizabeth...”

“No.” She pressed her finger to his lips. “Tomorrow is time enough for reality. Or the day after. Tonight I only want you to hold me. Please, Nicholas, just hold me against you, as if you would never let me go.”

Nicholas gathered her against him, his cheek pressed to the softness of her hair. He inhaled her sweet, precious scent, and all seemed peaceful and perfect in their small corner of Eden.

But his mind was shouting one word—Coward.

“Someone seems very happy this morning!” Georgina said, around a mouthful of hairpins. She smiled at her friend as Elizabeth leaned against her open window, humming and plaiting her hair.

“Someone?” Elizabeth said. “You could not mean me!”

“Oh, no. You are just the little lark singing love songs all morning long.”

“It must be all the fresh country air.”

“And
a fine gentleman. What did happen in the garden last night?” Georgina pushed the last of the pins into her coiffure of deliberately disarranged curls, and stood to button up her morning dress. “I know when romance is afoot in my very house.”

Elizabeth laughed aloud. “Oh, Georgie! He
loves
me. He told me yesterday on our picnic, and I have been aching to tell you ever since.”

“Oh!” Georgina shrieked, running to clasp Elizabeth in an exuberant embrace. “I knew it! I absolutely knew it. I could tell from your faces at dinner last night. Tell me, how did you answer him?”

“Well ...” Elizabeth sat down on the edge of Georgina’s unmade bed and kicked her bare feet idly. “Actually, I declared myself first.”

“You didn’t!”

“I did, and I have no regrets, not a whit. He had just confided in me, you see. About his past. You were right that there was more to him than seemed, Georgie. He had such a miserable childhood. I was crying, and he had his head on my lap, and I just could not seem to help myself. The words just poured out.”

“And?”

“And then he said that he loved me, too, and that nothing could ever be allowed to come between us. And it will not.”

“What of your fears before? About your brother, and your true identity?” Georgina sat down beside her, her forehead creased in concern.

Elizabeth waved an airy hand. “That is all forgotten.”

“Then you told Nicholas of what happened?”

“Well, no. Not precisely.” Elizabeth looked away. “I tried to, last night in the garden, but it was so wonderful. I didn’t want to spoil it.”

“Then you will tell him?”

“Oh, yes. Of course. When the right time presents itself. But I am far too happy here to bring that ugliness to this lovely place. What harm can it do to wait just a bit longer? Until we are back in Venice?”

Georgina looked doubtful, but all she said was, “Whatever you think best, Lizzie.”

“Yes. And I will have to tell him soon. My real name will be on the marriage lines, will it not?”

“Marriage?” Georgina gasped. “Has he ... ?”

“Not yet! Not yet. But I think he very soon will.”

They shrieked in unison, and threw their arms about each other in a flurry of ribbons and lace.

“The yellow silk we saw in Signora Benini’s shop window last month!” Georgina cried, ever the planner. “It would be utter perfection, Lizzie, with yellow roses in your hair.”

Elizabeth giggled, and swept the sheet off the bed. She twirled it over her head like a bridal veil and marched about the room humming a stately pavane. “It would be wonderful! Oh, but we mustn’t plan yet, Georgie. It would be ill luck.”

“Hey-ho!” Nicholas’s shout floated up through the open window. “Is someone being murdered up there, with all that shouting?”

Elizabeth ran to the window, the sheet still clasped about her head, and waved down at him. He was handsome and smiling in the morning sunshine, his strong throat revealed in the open-throated peasant shirt he wore with a simple knotted red kerchief. He was her gypsy prince. “Not at all!” she answered. “I was merely deciding on what to wear today.”

“I think what you are wearing now is charming.”

Elizabeth looked down, and saw she still wore her night rail under the trailing sheet. She stepped back. “Rogue! Wait right there. I shall be down directly.”