The Very Daring Duchess Part 24

Francesca glanced sharply from one man to the other, somehow keeping her surprise from her face. Clearly neither man could understand the language of the other, just as neither man would admit his ignorance-a boon to her, if she were cautious.

"We should not keep the admiral waiting, Edward," she said, slipping her hand into the crook of his arm to draw him away. "I'm sure Signor Albani will know how to find me if he has any more information."

"Very well, la.s.s." He patted her hand fondly, and smiled at the constable. "I thank you for all you are doing for my wife, signor. Good day to you, sir."

Albani smiled broadly in return, again lifting his hat with a flourish. "Good day to you, my lady, my lord captain," he said in Italian, understanding their farewell from their posture instead of their words, "and much joy upon your marriage."

"Thank you, Signor Albani," said Francesca, then switched to Italian herself. "We shall speak again soon, I am sure, and until then I appreciate your reticence."

"Soon, yes, my lady, as soon as possible," he said, his smile fading. "You see, I am not always a patient man, especially in a matter as important as this one."

He began to bow again, but Francesca was already turning away with Edward and up the villa's sweeping front steps and under the makeshift emba.s.sy's British flag.

"An odd little crow of a man, don't you think?" said Edward as they pa.s.sed between the two marines standing guard in the hallway. "More like a country parson than a constable. Yet he must be praised for his dedication to his duty and to your affairs."

"Oh, yes," said Francesca wistfully. "Signor Albani is most concerned with me."

"I cannot fault him for that," said Edward gallantly, his earlier unhappiness with her forgotten-so gallantly that Francesca couldn't bear it. She pulled him to a stop on the landing, ignoring the curious glances of others pa.s.sing on the stairs, but unwilling to wait another minute to speak.

"Please, caro mio, please listen to me," she begged, her fingers clinging anxiously to his as she tried not to think of how much simply holding his hand had come to mean to her. "Whatever you hear of me from others, however wrong or foolish or-or villainous it may seem to you, know that I care about you and never, ever wished to bring you harm or hurt. Please always remember that, Edward, won't you?"

He shook his head, not understanding, and who could blame him? "If this is about what I said in the carriage, Francesca, about children and such-"

"No, no, it's not that, not at all," she said miserably, wishing she dared tell him the entire truth, even if she risked losing him. "It's only-"

"Ah, there you two are!" cried Lady Hamilton at the top of the stairs. She was wrapped in three woolen shawls, red, green, and blue, against the damp chill inside the villa, and her nose was rosy from the cold as well. "I spied the pair of you arriving from the window, oh, simply ages ago, so long that I'd feared the French had gotten you and carried you off. Come, come, no more dawdling."

But though her ladyship was trying to be her usual exuberant self, Francesca immediately sensed that something wasn't right. Her blue eyes seemed clouded with sadness, her smile forced, even somber.

Saints in heaven, had Albani already begun whispering tales about her?

"My lord captain, don't you look handsome!" her ladyship exclaimed as she held her hand out to Edward. "I have always thought that there is nothing quite like a splendid uniform to display a well-favored gentleman to perfection. Go ahead now, through those doors, where Admiral Nelson is waiting for you at his desk. My dear little Robin shall stay with me, here in my own bower, for another moment or two."

She took Francesca by the arm, leading her into the small sitting room adjacent to the larger chamber that served as the admiral's headquarters. Because the villa had been built for the summer heat, there were no fireplaces, and the small brazier of coals in the center of the room gave off little warmth into the high-ceilinged room with the floor of marble tiles. After Lady Hamilton sent the footman for hot tea, she motioned for Francesca to sit, but Francesca was far too agitated to take the offered chair.

"My lady, I must speak to you," she began in a rush as soon as the footman had left them alone. "Do you recall the brooch you were wearing when last you came to my studio, an extraordinary French piece fashioned in the shape of a diamond-covered feather?"

Lady Hamilton looked up toward the heavens, waving the ta.s.seled end of one of her shawls to show her indifference. "Oh, little Robin, do you truly believe I can recall what I wore this morning, let alone which jewels I chose for a visit weeks ago?"

"But this piece you would remember, my lady," insisted Francesca, not believing her. "It was special, my lady, for you told me it had been first a gift from Queen Marie Antoinette to her sister Queen Maria Carolina, and then to you-"

"My dear, this is most fascinating," interrupted her ladyship, reaching for Francesca's hand, "and I am most sorry to stop you, but you see I must speak to you upon another matter before the admiral summons you to join him and your bonny lord captain."

"Summons me?" asked Francesca, her suspicions and fear growing. "Whatever could he have to say to me?"

"A powerfully great deal, if I am not mistaken," said her ladyship ruefully. "Now mind what I say, little Robin. When you see your husband next, he will not be a happy man, and it will be your place to cheer and support him as best you can."

Francesca shook her head impatiently, not needing this advice from Lady Hamilton. Wouldn't she already do this and more for Edward? And what could make him so desperately unhappy, anyway? "But I don't see that-"

"Hush," ordered her ladyship gently, "and mind me. This very moment Captain Lord Ramsden is receiving news he will not wish to hear, the worst possible news to him."

"What news, my lady?" asked Francesca uneasily, forgetting her own worries and the diamond brooch, too, in her concern for Edward. "Whatever has happened?"

"He must tell you himself," said the older woman with a sigh. "You are his wife, Francesca, and though you came to that position in a peculiar fashion, your captain will need you now more than you ever needed him, to share his sorrow and bring him what comfort you can. And if fortune smiles upon you both as it should, then in the future you may share his joy as well."

"What kind of sorrow, my lady?" demanded Francesca, her uneasiness turning to panic. Though she swiftly considered the disasters that could devastate a man-financial ruin, the death of a parent, a wife, or children, dishonor or scandal-none seemed to apply to him. "Whatever could hurt Edward as badly as you say?"

The older woman smiled, and squeezed Francesca's hand. "So you do feel love for him, don't you? Ah, I'd thought as much!"

But she didn't love Edward Ramsden, did she? At least not the love that Lady Hamilton would mean, the kind she must feel for Lord Nelson, wild, pa.s.sionate, heedless, headstrong love that could only lead to ruin.

The door between the two rooms opened, and a footman in the Hamilton livery appeared, bowing low. Behind him, Francesca caught a sudden glimpse of Edward's back, his head bowed and a white paper clutched so tightly in his hand that the sheet had crumpled.

"If you please, my lady," said the footman. "Admiral Lord Nelson requests that you and Lady Edward wait upon him at your leisure."

"Which means, of course, we must join the gentlemen at once." Lady Hamilton sighed, and gathered her shawls around her. "You must be brave now, little Robin. Be brave for the sake of the man you love."

But Francesca was already racing through the doorway to join him.

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Edward believed that by this point in his career, nothing could surprise him. He'd weathered hurricanes and typhoons, and survived attacks by pirates, privateers, and whichever other enemy had declared war upon England. He knew how much every sailor depended on weather, fate, and good fortune, particularly a sailor who served his king, and he'd long ago accepted that risk as part of his life. With enough luck on his side, he would finally retire with an admiral's pennant, and without it, he'd drown, be killed, or simply expire from apoplexy or quinsy or any of the other perils that claimed land-bound men. But even in the darkest moments on a lonely watch, the times when he considered how his life at sea would end, he'd never envisioned this.

Once again he stared down at the single sheet in his hand, the neat clerk's handwriting on the familiar cream-colored stock favored by the admiralty. These were the first orders he'd ever received directly from the first Lord of the Admiralty himself, but Edward found no joy or honor in the elegantly worded statement, only an emptiness that tasted like ashes in his mouth.

He was to give up the command of the Centaur effective immediately. He was to make every effort and haste to London and report to the First Lord as soon as possible. He was to come as a pa.s.senger, not a captain, and he must not antic.i.p.ate receiving any further commands in the future because there would be none. While His Majesty and the board and the entire rest of Britain appreciated his many years of devotion to his duty, such devotion was no longer required.

And that, without question, was that.

No explanations, because the navy didn't believe in them. No apologies, either, for the same reason. Yet he'd been stripped of his command, relieved of his ship, and called back to England with his tail dragging in shame between his legs. How the devil would this be reported in the Naval Review? Would his friends-and enemies-read the notice and shake their heads in pity or disgust or private relief that it wasn't them? At least if he'd been court-martialed, he'd have been given a chance to defend himself. This way he was as good as done, finished, ruined, broken, and he hadn't one single d.a.m.ned clue why.

"I am sorry it has come to this, Ramsden," the admiral was saying. The great hero of the Nile was hunched over his borrowed desk, swathed like a baby in coverlets with a pot of tea beside him. "It has been an honor and a privilege to have you serve with me, sir. You shall be most sorely missed, sir, and not soon forgotten."

"Then why in blazes am I being dismissed?" demanded Edward hoa.r.s.ely, his fury and agony making him forget everything else. Since boyhood, the navy had been his salvation and his home, his family and the source of his closest friendships, and now, for no reason, he was being cut off from all of it. "If I have behaved ill, if I have shamed myself or my country, why, then I ask that-"

"No shame, sir," said the admiral, frowning down at the piles of papers on his desk to avoid meeting Edward's gaze. "And I would not say you are being dismissed-no, no, it is not at all in that fashion."

Edward held his orders out before him. "Then why this, my lord?"

"No shame, no," repeated the admiral, pointedly not answering Edward's question. "Your bravery and loyalty have never been questioned. You were one of the best with me at the Nile, one of my band of brothercaptains, and you still are. How could I speak otherwise of you now?"

"Because, sir, you know more than you're saying, sir, don't you?" asked Edward, despair clear in his voice as he forgot all protocol and leaned his hands on the edge of the desk. "The reasons why I am being treated like this?"

The admiral looked up at him sharply with his remaining good eye. "I say what the Admiralty wishes me to say, Ramsden, and I know what they wish me to know. You would be wise to do the same."

With enormous effort, Edward drew himself up straight and squared his shoulders. The admiral was right. He was still a captain, and if nothing else, so far he still had his honor as an officer. The navy might be h.e.l.l-bent on casting him off, but he still could-and would-live by the hard lessons he'd learned in its service.

For what else, really, did he have in its place?