The Very Daring Duchess Part 32

But Francesca could see beyond the gold lace and epaulets to how the little muscle in Edward's jaw twitched and how often he was clearing his throat. She knew the signs, because she knew him. He was nervous, frightened in a way grand heroes were not supposed to be, and who could fault him? This morning in the Admiralty Office in Whitehall he would be facing a battle every bit as hazardous as any he'd fought at sea, and the stakes-his career and his honor-were exactly the same, even if his enemy would be sitting in a leather-covered armchair.

And now, wretched coward that she was, she would not be there with him.

"You look splendid, Edward," she said softly. "Truly a victorious hero, la! I am most proud of you, caro mio. The admirals will be awed and overwhelmed, and able to do nothing but heap more honors on your head."

He smiled almost shyly, so clearly grateful for her faith in him that she hated herself all the more. "It's entirely Peart's doing, you know. I can claim no more credit than any shopwindow display. Was he able to do as much with the wrinkles in your gown?"

She nodded, braving the cold to part her cloak and show how elegantly she'd also dressed this morning. Thanks to Peart, there wasn't a single wrinkle or crease in the cream-colored wool of her gown, a gift from Lady Hamilton in Palermo: a stylish high-waisted robe lined and trimmed with striped cream satin that accentuated her own dramatic coloring. The bodice was cut snug and low to display the lushness of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, though for modesty and against the cold, she'd filled in the neckline with a fine linen scarf, and threaded an ivory ribbon through her dark hair.

Yet as flattering as the gown was, it was far more to Lady Hamilton's English taste than her own, as simple and elegant and blandly monochrome as London itself. But if Francesca were playing the part of Lady Edward Ramsden, then surely this was the precise costume for the role, as the expression on Edward's face instantly told her.

"You look lovely, Francesca," he said with such adoring admiration that she nearly cringed. "Oh, la.s.s, you cannot know how much it will mean to me to have you there by my side when we go to Whitehall, especially looking as fine as this."

"About Whitehall," she said swiftly, wrapping her cloak closed again. "Edward, I-I do not believe I can go there with you this morning."

"You are ill," he said instantly, his face filled with concern as he took her hands. "I thought you'd looked pale yesterday, la.s.s, and after all you've suffered these last days. I understand, I understand entirely."

"You must not worry over me, Edward, not when you've so much else before you this-"

"Hush, and mind me," he said. "Better you remain here, where you can rest, until Peart and I can make arrangements for more suitable lodgings ash.o.r.e."

"Perhaps that is best," she said weakly, seizing at the excuse he'd so innocently provided. Coward, coward, her conscience cried, but there was no way she could make herself tell him the truth when he looked at her like this, his blue eyes full of kindness and love and concern that she didn't deserve.

"Of course it is." He cleared his throat self-consciously, frowning down at their joined hands. "I've half-expected this anyway, Francesca, though there hasn't been time for us to speak alone before this. I was too rough with you. That is, I was, ah, inconsiderate, a d.a.m.ned inconsiderate, selfish boor, and I'm sorry for it. But the way you acted, how you responded-how could I know?"

"Edward," she said slowly. "Whatever are you saying?"

He cleared his throat again. "I'm saying that it wasn't until later, until I saw, ah, certain signs on my, ah, on the front of my shirt that I realized you'd been a virgin."

If he'd struck her outright, he couldn't have shocked her more.

"Because I was not as cold as your English ladies, because I loved you, you needed to study your linen for proof of my maidenhead?" she cried forlornly. "Why didn't you believe me when I told you my heart was my own, that I'd never taken a lover? Oh, caro mio, wasn't my word good enough for you?"

"Because of those pictures of your father's, and how freely you talked, and flirted-well, what else was I to think?" he said defensively. "Not that any of that matters. I married you regardless, and you're mine now, my wife in every way. I love you, la.s.s, and you love me, and that's all that's truly important, isn't it?"

He smiled again, and kissed her as if everything were as pleasantly well-ordered as he wanted it to be, as if love really were more about possession than giving.

"Oh, blast, there's the boatman to carry Peart and me to sh.o.r.e," he said, looking past her to the water. "I must go, sweetheart. I'll go slay my dragons while you rest here, and then together we shall celebrate, yes?"

She tried to smile, wanting him to have that for a memory of her. "You will take care of yourself, caro mio?" she said softly. "Whatever else happens this morning, Edward, you will remember that you are the only one I ever loved, won't you?"

"I will," he said, "and you remember the same of me, mind?"

He kissed her one last time before he hurried over the side and into the boat. She watched as the boatmen rowed to the stone steps that led from the water to the street, and when he paused at the top, lifting his hat to her in salute, she waved, keeping her hand raised for a long moment after he'd turned away and disappeared into the city from her view.

"Mr. Bowden," she called to the packet's bos'n. "Would you please call for a boat to sh.o.r.e for me?"

The man bowed, tugging on the front of his knitted cap. "Very well, my lady. You'll be joining th' lord captain after all?"

"He would like that, wouldn't he?" she said sadly, truthfully. "And please, Mr. Bowden, have my trunk brought up from the ladies' cabin. For when I go ash.o.r.e, I shall not return."

0="12"12.

Edward sensed the exclusion as soon as he walked past the colonnade and through the archway that marked the entrance to the Admiralty Office in Whitehall.

He didn't belong here, and though no one greeted him with anything other than respect, even warmth and congratulations on the Battle of Nile, it was clear that every male he pa.s.sed-admirals, fellow captains and lesser officers, seamen, clerks, and porters, even the pair of carved stone sea horses prancing overhead on either side of the archway-knew something he didn't, a very grim, unhappy something that he simultaneously dreaded yet antic.i.p.ated. He'd waited long enough; it was time, past time, to learn the truth.

Yet as he walked through the courtyard, his heels echoing across the cobblestones, his head high, and an easy, confident smile on his face, his palms were damp inside his gloves and his heart was racing so fast he might as well be marching to Tyburn to meet Jack Ketch instead of the Admiralty Board. He forced himself to climb the stairs one at a time instead of the two or three his feet longed to jump, and when he gave his name and his reports from the Centaur to the clerk and took his place on the bench, he managed the perfect measure of officer's impatience and gentleman's boredom, tapping on the side of his leg while the clerk scurried off to arrange his fate.

G.o.d, he wished Francesca were here with him. Even though he understood perfectly well why she wasn't, even though it was entirely his fault, even though he hadn't apologized nearly enough to make it right and likely never could. How could he? She'd given him the greatest gift a woman had to give a man, and he'd been such an ignorant, d.a.m.nable b.a.s.t.a.r.d that he hadn't even noticed. He didn't deserve ever to be forgiven after that.

But to have her on this bench beside him now in that elegant new gown, her little hand upon his knee, teasing and praising him and telling him how everything was going to be fine-naturalmente!-would be a comfort indeed. All she'd have to do was smile, and he'd feel her love glow and sparkle around him.

He missed her. Pure and simple, that was it, and he'd never said that about anyone else in his life. Before Francesca, he'd always been content to be alone. He'd preferred it, in fact. But now because he loved her, he felt her absence sorely, and missed her more than he'd ever thought possible.

He sighed dejectedly, trying not to look down the hall where the clerk had vanished. He knew that when she'd become his wife, Francesca had sworn to be with him through good times and bad, but so far all she'd had to share was his misfortunes, and he'd no guarantee his luck wasn't going to worsen further, either. No wonder she'd looked so sad this morning on the packet. If he'd been bound to see anyone other than the First Lord of the Admiralty, he would have stayed with her instead.

But he would make it up to her, regardless of what happened this morning. He'd already sent Peart to make the arrangements at Clarendon's for rooms and a special dinner. Tomorrow he'd take Francesca to a mantua-maker for new gowns, an evening at the theater or opera, a tour through the Royal Academy Exhibition at Somerset House, whatever she pleased. Perhaps he'd even surprise her with some sort of bauble from a jeweler's as a wedding present. On the same paper as the nymph and centaur she'd sketched a curling plume, a brooch of cut stones that he could have a goldsmith copy.

That would surprise her, especially if he gave it to her one evening in bed. He could imagine her pinning it into her hair at once, wearing not a blessed st.i.tch beyond the pearls in her ears and diamonds in her hair, lolling back against the bolster like some pagan houri with her arms folded behind her head so that-

"Captain Lord Edward Ramsden, sir?" asked the clerk, breaking his customary clerkly aloofness to bow low before Edward. "If you please, Captain, Lord Spencer will see you. This way, my lord."

Edward let himself be ushered down the hallway, his head spinning with questions. Earl Spencer was the current First Lord of the Admiralty, and not one that generally bothered with mere captains. Hadn't Edward's orders told him to report to the board as a whole? For Lord Spencer to see him now, especially without an appointment, made no more sense than the rest of this infernal mess.

The clerk knocked and pushed open the double doors with another bow as he announced Edward. Lord Spencer's chamber was far grander than most of the other offices in Whitehall, with a high coffered ceiling, a marble mantelpiece above a fire that must be consuming at least half a forest, and a red Turkish carpet on the floor. He had the best view, too, with tall windows that looked directly across the horse guards' parade to the Mall and St. James's Park.

But despite its luxury, the office would never be mistaken for a private drawing room or parlor. There were too many maps and charts and reports scattered on every surface, with an enormous globe in one corner and an elaborate wind indicator beside the window. Special hanging cords could be pulled to summon individual clerks and messengers, and the shelves along one wall held not only books and bound maps, but curiosities brought by captains who'd returned from distant voyages: a branch of coral, an enormous b.u.t.terfly in a crystal presentation box, a many-tiered temple carved from ivory.

"Good day to you, my lord captain," said Lord Spencer, rising and coming from behind his desk to shake Edward's hand. He was a tall, slender man, grown round-shouldered in the service of his country, his close-cropped ginger hair peppered with gray, but his smile was genuine and warm as he motioned toward two armchairs before the fire. "You take me by surprise, my lord. Your pa.s.sage must have been exceedingly swift."

"The winds obliged your call for haste, my lord," said Edward, waiting for Lord Spencer to sit before he, too, took his chair. Cordiality, no matter how warm, seldom overruled hierarchy, at least not in this building, and not with an earl. But still Edward could cautiously interpret Lord Spencer's genteel interest as a favorable sign. Surely he wouldn't be as hospitable if Edward's next step were to be a court-martial, would he?

"You didn't run afoul of the recent storm, did you?" asked Lord Spencer as he nodded to a servant who had appeared carrying a tray with tumblers and a bottle of claret. "We've had nothing but cold rain and sleet here for days. This is the first morning we've seen the sun, and a welcome sight it was."

"We did run into a bit of a blow in the Channel, aye," said Edward cautiously, knowing better than to burden an admiralty lord with the weather. He shook his head as the servant bowed before him with the tray. "No, none for me, my lord, thank you."

"Come, Ramsden, don't hold back on my account," said Lord Spencer. "Besides, you may well have need of a drop of consolation in your belly before I've said what I must. This is a most fine claret, too. The revenue men have had an excellent season among the smugglers."

This time Edward accepted the claret, though the costly wine could have been rainwater for all the taste it had in his mouth now. "You have questions regarding my report, my lord?"

"The secretary shall read it for me," said the earl with a dismissive wave of his hand. "However, knowing your record, I doubt I shall have any queries or quandaries that require elaboration."

"Then if there have been other occurrences, my lord, that have made me judged unfit to retain my command of His Majesty's ship Centaur-"

"None whatsoever," answered the Lord Spencer with maddening evenness. "Your record with the navy has been exemplary. I believe, in fact, you are in line for a decoration in honor of your conduct at Aboukir Bay."

A medal for the Nile: at least Francesca would be proud. But Edward frowned down at the claret in his tumbler, his frustration almost unbearable. "Then forgive me, my lord, if I do not understand why I have been relieved of my command and summoned here to you."

"Because I could conceive of no more proper way to do this," said the earl with a sigh. "I cannot recall ever having to perform such a task, and I am heartily sorry for your sake that I must do so now. You are already aware, of course, of the death of your brother Major Lord St. John in Spain, sometime in the summer, I believe."