The Very Daring Duchess Part 4

"Truly?" asked her ladyship with fascinated dismay as she swiped a glistening blob of red jam from the corner of her mouth. "How horrid. I do not think I would have chosen to portray Demeter if I knew that. I wished to make a gift of the picture, you see."

"Then say it's Penelope instead, my lady," suggested Francesca swiftly, propping the picture up against a vase on the table to display it to better advantage. Of course the gift must be for Admiral Nelson, not Sir William, and Francesca thrived on being able to make such quick and accurate conclusions about their patrons. "Beautiful Penelope waiting for her brave, heroic Odysseus to return. A truly tragic and poignant scene, my lady, and most fitting as a gift."

"Oh, my, yes!" exclaimed Lady Hamilton with satisfied delight. She leaned forward, sweeping her finger in an oval around the drawing's face. "Penelope I shall be, and most clever of you to describe it so, little Robin. Have it set up in a simple gold frame, like so, with perhaps a bit of a wreath to give it a Roman air. Such a pretty conceit! I wonder that you don't go to London, little Robin. Your gifts would make you the fashion at once, and you'd make your fortune in no time at all."

"Grazie, my lady," said Francesca, smiling demurely, as was expected. Her father had described London as a cold, crowded place that smothered artists, full of grim, serious people like Captain Lord Ramsden, and gray, sooty buildings, and as unlike the cheerful, sunny disorder of Naples as any place could be. The only part he'd missed had been his brother John. The sicker Papa had become, the more he'd spoken of John, and not having the chance to see him again before he died had been one of Papa's few regrets. "I am quite content here in Napoli."

"But you see, that is exactly what I mean!" cried her ladyship with her usual enthusiasm for arranging others' lives. "You would be a great exotic for them there. You say your sweet grazie, grazie, and the gentlemen will come running to nibble from your very palm. You have beauty and charm, and you draw and paint like an angel. Oh, yes, how they would love you in London!"

Francesca's smile grew more forced. She had no difficulty charming young English gentlemen into purchases when she knew they were only visiting Naples, soon to leave for the next city on their tour. It was a game to her, bartering back and forth with an edge of meaningless flirtation. The extravagant, exotic fashion in which she dressed to receive them, the way she smiled and laughed and flattered them-it was all simply part of the pretty experience she was selling to them along with a painting or vase, a story to tell and embellish for the envious friends at home. None of it meant more than that to Francesca. All that mattered was how much of their foreign money they managed to leave behind.

But everything would be much more complicated if she were to try her same coaxing coquetry in London, the home of so many of those same touring young gentlemen and a place where gossip was practically shouted from the chimney pots. And if she behaved as foolishly with even one of those young gentlemen as she had with Captain Lord Ramsden-oh, it didn't bear considering.

"I've no wish to leave Napoli, my lady," she said more firmly. She slid her chalks into her leather workbag and began untying the front of the rough linen smock she wore to protect her gown. "It's my home, and always has been."

"Then let me be frank." Lady Hamilton settled on the edge of the chair next to Francesca, and took both her hands in her own. "In this emba.s.sy, I hear many things, my dear, and all of them say that you would be wise to leave Naples while you still can. You don't want to be here when the French take the city, or worse, when your own Neapolitan mob takes the king."

"But that cannot be!" cried Francesca, unconsciously squeezing the older woman's hands. "Everyone says our army has routed the French to the north, that soon they shall reclaim Rome!"

"Then everyone is wrong, little Robin," said her ladyship sadly. "King Ferdinand's army did win one battle, yes, but they are no match for Napoleon and never were. It will be the talk of Naples soon enough, and it's already bubbling like a vile brew through the back alleys and markets. Sir William and the admiral both fear the French will be here before the new year, and you, with your English father and your pictures of kings and queens-you must be gone before they do."

Her ladyship had no reason to lie to her, or even to exaggerate, yet at the same time Francesca could not imagine that affairs could possibly be as bad as Lady Hamilton was describing. She might be half-English, but she was also half Neapolitan, and she couldn't believe her country, with its fine army, was in such peril. Lady Hamilton would naturally present the pessimistic English view, that their navy and their army were the only ones fit to protect the world against the republican madmen, just as she must certainly wish to live in London.

"You must have suspected this would happen, my dear," continued her ladyship gently. "Hasn't your trade fallen off? No one wishes to journey here for pleasure now. Sir William and I have had fewer guests this year than I can ever recall, and those were mainly fleeing from the armies in the north."

"But my lady-"

"All I ask is that you consider it, my dear," said her ladyship. "Advice is all Sir William and I can offer to you, you know, for you are not exactly an Englishwoman or our responsibility. No. But a small convoy of merchant ships will be leaving for Portsmouth with an English escort next week. You could yourself easily find pa.s.sage with one of them."

"But what you are asking, my lady! To abandon my home, my studio, all my belongings for the sake of a rumor!"

Lady Hamilton sighed, and shook her head. "I would not wish it known through the city, and especially not at the palace, but in those same ships, Sir William is sending the choicest articles of his private collection."

"I do not-"

"Hush, and listen. There will be room in the hold for your best things as well. Not the rubbish you keep in your front rooms for show, but the good pieces that your father collected, the real ones. Let those be sent to safety. As insurance, if you will, in the event that you must flee later yourself. Then you could make your own way in London without-what is it, Rudolpho?"

The footman in the sky-blue Hamilton livery bowed. "A gentleman for the admiral, mia signora. Another officer."

"Another officer?" Lady Hamilton sighed irritably as she rose, flicking her white muslin skirts impatiently to one side. "Another officer, another officer. Will they never leave the poor, dear man alone to rest?"

The footman bowed again. "He says his business is most urgent, mia signora."

"It always is, isn't it?" She sighed again, this time with resignation, as she briskly folded the blue shawl over her arm. "Ah, well, I cannot turn him away, no matter how much I might wish to."

"Then it's well that we are done for this day, my lady," said Francesca as she hurried to gather her belongings together. "I'll deliver the framed drawing myself on-"

"No, no, do not desert me just yet!" ordered her ladyship with a regal wave of her plump white hand. "You shall stay and help me amuse this fellow until Sir William and the admiral return. Certain of these officers can be quite p.r.i.c.kly toward me, you know, so you must help me divert him. Rudolpho, what name did this urgent officer give?"

Rudolpho bowed one last time as he backed through the doorway. "Captain Lord Edward Ramsden, mia signora."

"Captain Ramsden!" Francesca gasped with dismay. What dreadful trick had luck played upon her now? "That is, my lady, I am, ah, surprised that the captain would, ah, be here instead of with his ship."

"You are already acquainted with the gentleman, little Robin?" asked her ladyship, arching one brow coyly as she turned back toward Francesca. Gentlemen-all gentlemen, even the ones who weren't particularly gentlemanly, either-were of great interest to Lady Hamilton, as she in turn was to them. "Then you must know he is one of the admiral's most trusted captains, and with every reason in the world to come call upon his leader here."

Miserably Francesca nodded. She must be honest now, for the truth was sure to come out regardless. Lady Hamilton lived her own life so completely without secrets and in the public eye that she expected the same openness from everyone else, and would not be satisfied until it was.

"Captain Ramsden and I are not exactly acquainted, my lady," she said, still hedging, "that is, he once visited my studio, but that is all."

"Did he?" Her ladyship's smile widened. "I have found Captain Ramsden to be a most charming and handsome gentleman, and far, far more intelligent than most sailors. I don't wonder that the Admiral depends upon him. A great credit to the service and his country, don't you agree?"

"Yes, my lady," answered Francesca carefully. "Though because he is a military man, I did find his manner more, ah, more rigidly formal than I am accustomed to."

"More rigid, you say?" asked her ladyship wickedly, her meaning unmistakable. "Was he that way before or after you showed him those brothel paintings of yours?"

"I never showed them to him at all, my lady," admitted Francesca, and for the first time in memory she realized she was blushing about the Oculus. "He didn't-that is, the time did not seem right."

"Oh, fiddle, to men the time is always right for lewd amus.e.m.e.nts," declared her ladyship with a droll chuckle. "I'd rather thought that was the entire reason for having those wicked pictures in the first place. The Temple of Priapus, the Grandissimo Bordello near the water, the beautiful Signora Robin and her papa's Oculus Amorandi-that's what those callow little pups come traipsing clear from Hampshire and Somerset to see in Naples, not to take tea with Sir William and me."

"It wasn't like that, my lady," said Francesca quickly, though she wasn't quite sure exactly what it had been like instead. "I'd never want-"

"Ahh, Captain Lord Ramsden!" exclaimed Lady Hamilton, relishing every syllable of his t.i.tles as she swept forward to welcome him, her arms outstretched and the slightly buck-toothed smile that still could dazzle. "How honored we are to see you at Palazzo Sessa again!"

And then he was in the room with them, his curt bow reflected over and over and over in the mirrors that lined the walls everywhere that Francesca looked. He was tall and he was handsome, just as Lady Hamilton said, and precisely how the English would contrive a captain, lord, and hero to be.

His uniform was exactly the right blend of sober blue wool and glittering gold lace and epaulettes, his waistcoat and breeches so immaculately white that she wondered with amus.e.m.e.nt if his ship kept a laundry maid on board. Certainly he sailed with some sort of barber, for his jaw gleamed with closely shaved perfection, and his sun-streaked hair, cropped fashionably short around his face but still long behind in best sea-going style, had been plaited into unfrizzled submission and wrapped with black silk.

Oh, yes, he was handsome, handsome, but that wasn't what struck Francesca the most. Unlike her own life, with its constantly shifting layers of deception and display that placed her on the edges of respectable society, this man's existence was as ordered and regular as a life could be. Just from those flawlessly polished bra.s.s b.u.t.tons on his coat and his ramrod straight posture, she knew he would be certain of his convictions, decisive and without regrets or second thoughts. He'd demonstrated that soon enough when he'd challenged her about the stone Cupid on behalf of his friend.

But black or white, right or wrong, a worthless fake or a priceless masterwork: What an uncompromising way to see the world! He would be the perfect ruthless warrior because he'd never hesitate, and he'd be so sure of himself that others would be, too, his loyalty and his honor would be unquestionable.

She couldn't conceive of a man more different from herself, as different as London was from Naples.

And she wanted no part of either.

"Sir William and the admiral are not here at present," her ladyship was explaining as Captain Ramsden bowed over her extended hand, "but I expect them back within the quarter hour. Please, please, be seated, my lord, and I pray you might make do with our female company until then. You are already acquainted with Miss Robin, are you not?"

He straightened gracefully, and turned toward Francesca as instructed, though she'd suspected he'd noticed her as soon as he'd entered the room. She doubted those icy blue eyes overlooked anything. Now he let his gaze find hers and held the link a moment too long before, at last, came the smile of breeding and good manners and precious little else.

"Signora Robin, good day," he said, taking her fingers lightly in his own, the same way he had with Lady Hamilton's. "I am pleased to see you looking so well."

She glanced at him sharply, hunting for the sarcasm that surely must lie behind his words. She wasn't looking well, at least not the way he would consider it. The fingers he now held were grimy with smudges of red and black chalk, her once-neat hair had begun to loosen and come wispily unpinned through the afternoon's frustrations, and the shapeless smock she still wore to protect her gown could hardly be attractive to a gentleman like this. Over and over she could see herself reflected in the mirrors like this, and it wasn't a picture that pleased her.

"My lord captain is looking well, too," she said as she tugged her hand free of his. As quickly as she could, she pulled off the utilitarian smock and tossed it over the chair. Though the gown she wore beneath was a simpler version-pale green lawn embroidered with roses-of the flamboyant costume she usually wore for receiving visitors to her studio, it was clean and stylish, and more the equal to that blindingly perfect uniform. "But then I should fancy every officer would look as well when calling upon his admiral and his amba.s.sador."

"It's more a matter of being shipshape, Signora Robin, than looking well." He clasped his hands behind his back with that same show of tidiness, his legs slightly spread as if commanding from his quarterdeck instead of standing in the middle of Lady Hamilton's music room. "At sea there is no allowance for clutter or disorder. Everything must always be ready and at hand, for there is never a moment to spare between life or drowning, victory or defeat."

"Bene," murmured Francesca, not above a bit of sarcasm herself if it would ruffle all that tidy perfection. "Life or death, victory or defeat! What a grave parcel of responsibility to lay upon your poor unbesmirched waistcoat!"