The Very Daring Duchess Part 44

"My husband," she gasped. "My Edward-"

"He is the victor, Your Grace," said Albani, "and he lives."

She felt her knees buckle with relief beneath her, and Albani caught her arm, keeping her upright. She twisted enough to look back down the hill, where Edward stood, still tall and proud, clearly the victor as Albani said.

"You have brought the brooch?" he demanded. "Come, do not torment me another minute, and tell me instead! Do you have the brooch as you promised?"

"Yes," she said unsteadily, "but I must go to Edward, I must-"

"You must come with me for now, Your Grace," ordered Albani curtly, dragging her with him through the snow, back among the carriages and chaises. "Your husband has survived one threat yes, but he is still in a different danger if you do not come with me."

He didn't need to explain further. She knew what he wanted, and what he would do if she didn't obey. She let him hurry her into a waiting hackney, the driver starting almost before she climbed inside.

"Where are we going?" she asked, then gasped as she heard the second shot, twisting to try to see from the hackney's window. "Oh, Edward!"

"The Duke is unharmed, Your Grace," said Albani. "I saw the duel. That shot is meaningless, no more than a misfire, perhaps. Now where is the French queen's diamond plume?"

Francesca sat back, bracing herself in the rocking hackney. They'd left the snow-covered gra.s.s of the park, and were on cobbles now, pa.s.sing by a rambling building that her uncle had pointed out as Whitehall. They must be coming close to the river, near to where she'd landed from the packet that first day.

"The brooch is in a most safe place," she said. Her fingers brushed across the diamonds now, tucked deep inside her m.u.f.f, though she'd no intention of telling that to Albani yet. "But before I can give it to you, I must have your a.s.surance that you will never spread lies about me or my husband again."

Albani scowled, and sniffed derisively. "A most brave demand, Your Grace. Until your message this morning, you have denied ever even having the jewel in your possession, and yet you expect a.s.surances from me now!"

The hackney lurched to a stop, snarled among the wagons and carts around the docks, but Albani didn't seem to notice. "If you want to be certain of me, Your Grace, you must first give me the plume."

Francesca swallowed, belatedly wishing she'd asked her uncle for his advice about this as well. Last night, when she'd discovered the brooch, she'd been sure she could deal with Albani herself, but now, facing him here alone, she wasn't nearly as confident. She didn't want to live with the threat of Edward fighting another duel; she wanted this settled now, which was why she'd brought the diamond plume with her. But the jewel was all she had for bargaining, and she had to be sure before she gave it away.

"You do not even know the value of what you have," he sneered. "A piece like that! worn by a martyred queen, I can sell it as a relic, a memento, to an emigre who mourns Her Majesty. Or I can offer it to another who will use it as a rallying cry, a symbol against Napoleon and for the Bourbon cause. Or best of all, I can restore it to our own dear Queen Maria Carolina when His Majesty King Ferdinando is placed back on his throne, and receive the most lavish of rewards in return for my loyalty. Ah, Your Grace, you cannot guess how valuable such a piece can be to me!"

But as Francesca's fingers traced the brooch's curling outlines, she thought not of the politics these diamonds represented, but of the unhappy women who'd owned it, women caught in wars that were not their doing: of Marie Antoinette, sending the plume as her last gift to her sister in Naples, of Maria Carolina who had kept her head but lost her home and throne and her little son when she'd fled Naples; of Lady Hamilton, desperately in love with one man and married to another; and now herself, the one with the chance to be the happiest of all, if only she could save her husband this way.

"You must write a statement for me, swearing I am the same virtuous and honest woman I was known to be in Naples," she said urgently. "You must sign it, too, before I give you the brooch."

"And pray, Your Grace," he asked scornfully, "what would I use for writing this doc.u.ment here in a hackney?"

"We can stop at an inn or tavern," she suggested eagerly, glancing out the window. "Surely they would have pen and paper."

Then he smiled, the yellow teeth as ruthless as a jackal's. "You have it with you, don't you? On your person, pinned to your shift, perhaps hidden somewhere else, ah?"

His gaze flicked lower, to the m.u.f.f, and in an instant he'd grabbed the fur and jerked it from her arm. But when he'd pulled the m.u.f.f free, the brooch had remained clutched tight in her fingers. Before he could realize his mistake, she lunged for the latch on the hackney's door and shoved it open, and jumped out into the street.

"Watch yerself, miss!" shouted a carter as she ducked beneath his horse's nose and bolted across the street, her skirts and cloak flying behind her. Another horse reared at the sight of so much flapping red cloth, a woman screamed and more men swore at her, yet she didn't stop and she didn't look back, determined to escape from Albani. Ahead lay the bridge to Westminster and her uncle's house, one of the few places she recognized in London, and she raced toward it as fast as she could, her heart thumping in her breast and the diamond plume clutched tight in her fingers.

But the cobbles on the bridge's walkway still carried the glaze of snow that had frosted the gra.s.s in the park, and as she darted across her feet slipped. With a cry she tried to catch herself, but her heels tangled in her skirts and she pitched forward to the cobbles, her breath driven from her lungs but the brooch still in her hand.

"Mi scusi, mi scusi," said Albani, pushing past two marketwomen who'd bent to help Francesca. "Excuse me, please, my ladies, and let me tend to my sister."

Unable to catch her breath to speak, Francesca tried to pull free as he raised her, gasping, to her feet, but Albani only shook his head, and smiled sadly at the two women.

"She isn't well, my sister," he explained in halting English. "Some days she will claim to be an English d.u.c.h.ess! We have come here from Naples, for her to see your English doctors."

The women nodded, at once accepting the story of these two foreign-looking folks.

"Poor lamb," said one of the women, patting Francesca's arm before they moved away. "Let your brother look after you now, that's a good girl."

Albani's grip tightened on her forearm. "If you fight me," he said in Italian, "I shall knock you over the rail and into the river, and say you did it in your madness, yes?"

But still Francesca tried to pull herself free. "If you do," she gasped, "then you shall never have the plume, will you?"

"Don't be ridiculous," he snapped, grabbing her hand and beginning to pry her fingers apart. "If you believe that I-"

"Let her go, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d," ordered Edward. "Let my wife go free now."

She looked up, startled, not sure whether to believe her ears. Yet there her husband stood, with Lord Bonnington and Peart jumping from the chaise behind him. Edward, her Edward, a bit disheveled with his coat tossed over his shirtsleeves, but alive, gloriously alive, and furiously alive now, too.

"I said let her go," he repeated ominously, and now Albani did.

She ran the three steps to Edward and threw her arms around his waist. Instead of hugging her back, he grunted with pain, and only then did she notice the makeshift bandage around his arm and the blood soaking through his shirtsleeve.

"Oh, Edward, you were hurt!" she cried miserably. "Oh, love, I cannot-"

"Not now, Francesca," he said, his gaze-and his pistol-still directed toward Albani. "Instead I should like to know what in blazes is happening here with you and this, ah, constable? Signor Albani, isn't it?"

"Your servant, Your Grace," said Albani quickly, bowing low. "I can explain, yes, though it sorrows me. I have been following this woman since she left Naples, to charge her with the theft of a rare jewel from Her Majesty Queen Maria Carolina herself, and-"

"Oh, you lie, signor, how you lie!" she cried, and unfolded her fingers to show the plume to Edward. "This was given to me by Lady Hamilton, Edward, a gift before we sailed, though she'd hidden it in one of the vases for me to find later, and I just did, but Signor Albani wished to blackmail me and you, too, and slander us in the newspapers if I did not give it to him and-and-it is all lies, Edward!"

But Edward's expression didn't change as he studied the plume, the diamonds winking in the sun. "You would tell this tale to the scandal sheets, signor?"

Albani bowed again. "A great theft such as this is of interest to the people, Your Grace," he said. "Unless, of course, you would wish to avoid such scandal. I could be persuaded to return the brooch to Her Majesty myself, Your Grace, for a consideration, and-"

"To h.e.l.l with your consideration," thundered Edward. "My wife is no thief, and no liar, either. If she says Lady Hamilton gave this to her, then by G.o.d, that is what happened."

"Oh, per favore, Edward, don't," begged Francesca frantically. "No more challenges, no more duels, my love!"

For a long moment he looked down at her, then suddenly smiled. "No," he said. "No more duels, my love."

She stared at him uncertainly. "No?"

"No," he said firmly. "I have realized something, la.s.s. You have made me realize it. What I have with you is more important than any glory, any honor, and as long as I have you to love, then nothing that anyone else does will matter."

"You would do that for me?" she asked in wonder.

"All that," he said firmly. "Loving you is a great deal more agreeable than staring down the muzzle of a pistol, Francesca."

"I am sure there are writers who will be most interested in your wife's past," persisted Albani sourly. "There is much that I can tell them about her, and you, and Lady Hamilton and Lord Nelson during your stay in Naples."

"Then tell away, signor," said Edward, his smile widening to a full grin. "They'll write whatever they want, anyway. My wife and I will always be a d.a.m.ned uncommon duke and d.u.c.h.ess, but as long as we have one another, then we will be happy, and to Hades with the rest of the world."