Lady Elinor's Wicked Adventures (20 page)

Lissandra, who had been hanging on Pip's arm and looking at him with something resembling adoration, was called back to the present and assured everyone that she could easily collect servants whose loyalty and discretion were beyond question. “And,” she added triumphantly, “Abondanza can even cook.”

Happily leaning against Harry, Elinor turned to stifle a laugh in his jacket. “Just as well,” she murmured, “because I can't cook at all, and neither can Mother.”

“A fine wife you'll be,” Harry replied. “I'll have you know that I can roast a piece of meat over a fire, and I have even been known to fry up some bacon and eggs.”

“Can you really?” She looked up at him and found herself lost in his eyes.

His arm tightened around her and he moved her slowly out of the library and into the hall. “A fine wife,” he repeated, his voice hoarse, and his mouth came down, brushing gently over hers at first before settling possessively, while his arms tightened around her as if they could melt into one.

“Not now, children.” Lady Penworth rapped him on the shoulder as she walked past, leading the others. “We need to get settled in.”

They parted, slowly returning to earth. “We have to get married soon,” said Harry.

It had been a long night. It had always been hard, knowing Norrie was lying in her bed only a few doors down the hall. But now, having shared that bed once, it was sheer torture. He tried closing his eyes, and the memory of her lying there naked, reaching up to him, had him thrashing about. Staring into the darkness was no better. His body remembered the feel of her, every wonderful, welcoming inch of her.

He forced himself to stay in bed until the sun was at least fully up, but that was as long as he could manage. Not wanting to bother the servants at this ungodly hour, he managed to shave himself in the cold water left from the night before and dressed carefully, less from vanity than from a desire to use up as much time as possible. He wanted to see Norrie, but he could hardly expect her to be up with the sun.

But no sooner had he stepped into the hall than he heard her door. And there she was, looking as if she had slept no better than he. He pulled her into the window alcove where they were hidden by the draperies, and she melted into his arms.

He could not restrain a growl of hunger, and she answered with a whimper of desire. The moment his mouth touched hers, her lips parted to welcome him. Their tongues tangled together in a dance of desire. Was there any joy equal to the joy of kissing Norrie?

Well, perhaps one. He was working his way through the yards of skirts when the rattle of crockery recalled him to the present time and place. That would be Millie bringing a cup of tea to Lady Penworth. He stood, his forehead pressed to Norrie's, as he waited for his breathing to calm.

“I couldn't sleep for wanting you,” he said, once he could manage to speak.

“I couldn't sleep, either.” Her breathing was as ragged as his.

“Don't change your mind. I couldn't survive if you changed your mind.”

She looked at him as if he were mad. “Why do you keep talking such nonsense?”

“Because I can't believe it's true, that this isn't just a dream.”

Now she grinned at him. “Then you had better hope it doesn't turn into a nightmare. It's not that I mind being adored up here on a pedestal, but I don't think I can take it for too long. I am human, you know.”

“Oh yes, I know. You're headstrong and reckless and bossy and fractious when you haven't been fed and far too sure you're right all the time…”

With a look of mock outrage, she pulled back and thumped his shoulder. “And you go off into a cloud of gloom while you feel sorry for yourself and berate yourself and shoulder responsibility for things that are in no way your fault.”

“But you love me anyway.”

* * *

Eventually they made their way to the quiet breakfast room in the rear of the palazzo, opening onto a small courtyard. The shutters were flung wide, letting in the songs of the birds as well as the soft May morning. At the table Elinor poured a cup of coffee and handed it to Harry. Their fingers brushed as the cup was passed, and a shiver ran through her, a thoroughly delightful shiver. The cup remained there, held in the air between them as they stared, smiling, at each other.

“Harry, either take the cup or give it back to her before you drop it.” Lady Penworth sounded a bit acerbic, though there was a smile lurking at the corners of her mouth. “Elinor, you need to get your head out of the clouds. We need to begin organizing things for our return. Fortunately, we can return through Paris and will be able to order most of your trousseau there. Now, we should be in Paris by the beginning of June at the latest. I think we should go to that Mr. Worth we encountered at Gagelin's. His designs struck me as quite delicious.” She smiled at her daughter. “At the very least, we should have him do your wedding gown. An order placed in June should allow enough time for it all to be completed in time for a September wedding.”

“September!” Elinor's head snapped up and she looked at Harry. The consternation on her face mirrored his feelings.

Lady Penworth was startled. “Is that too soon? I thought…”

“September is four months away. Four whole months!” Elinor protested.

“Four months?” Harry was having trouble keeping his voice down. Surely Lady Penworth was joking. “You want us to wait four months?”

Lady Penworth sat back and looked at them. Harry knew that look. It was her
grande
dame
look. It was not put into use very often, but when it was, few could stand up to it. He had seen prime ministers quail before it.

“A year is not an exceptional wait,” Lady Penworth pointed out. “Four months is a very brief engagement.” Ignoring their sounds of protest, she continued, “Have you written to your family yet, Harry?”

He felt the blood drain from his face. “I do not need the earl's permission to marry,” he said stiffly. Under the table he reached for Elinor's hand and held it tightly. She squeezed back in support.

“Of course not,” said Lady Penworth. “However, do you not think your parents are entitled to hear of your plans, simply as a matter of courtesy? They may even wish to be involved in the planning.”

“My parents—the earl and countess—have nothing to do with my life and will have nothing to do with my marriage.” He could have been a statue, he held himself so still.

Lady Penworth contemplated him in silence. Eventually she said, “Does your family even know where you are at present?”

He shrugged. “I did not inform my parents, but there is no secret about it. My sisters know, and my bankers would know where to find me.”

“Harry, I know that there have been difficulties in your relationship with your family, and you obviously think that relationship is none of my affair. However, you are bringing my daughter into your family…”

“No,” he said flatly. “I will keep her far away from them. I will keep her safe, and the earl and countess will not be allowed anywhere near her.”

Elinor was upset. She was darting her eyes from him to her mother and back again. “Mama, I think we should speak…” she began but her mother held up a hand for silence.

In the tone of voice that had always had her children quaking, Lady Penworth spoke. “Lord Tunbury, you are displaying a childish ignorance of the world. In the future, you may maintain as great a distance as you like between your parents and my daughter. I have no objection to that. However, I will not permit you to marry her in some hugger-mugger fashion, and I will not have your family excluded from the ceremonies surrounding that marriage. No one will think it is you who excluded them. People will assume that your family disapproves of the connection, that they have some reason to disapprove of my daughter.”

“Mother!” Elinor protested.

“No one could possibly think such a thing,” said Harry hotly. “No one who knows Norrie or your family could imagine any objection to her.”

“Do not be foolish. Lord Penworth has political enemies who would be more than willing to try to embarrass him by smearing his daughter.” She pinned him with a glare. “And please do not tell me that you care nothing for what society thinks, that no one you consider a friend would take such rumors seriously.”

He snapped his mouth closed. He had been about to say precisely that.

Lady Penworth continued, “It is one thing to spend little time in society because you are bored by it and indifferent to its amusements. It is quite something else to be excluded from society, justly or unjustly. And I might point out, Lord Tunbury, that I have never found my daughter indifferent to the allure of society's balls and parties.”

“Mother, stop!” Elinor bit her lip and peered at Harry. He pushed back from the table.

“I quite see your point, Lady Penworth,” he said stiffly. “If you will excuse me.” He stood up, bowed slightly, and strode from the room.

He could hear Norrie as he left. “Mother, you should not have done that. You don't understand. You have no idea at all.”

When she caught up with him, he was in the library, his arm braced against the window frame as he stared unseeing into the street. He felt her near him before he turned and saw her. Pulling her into his arms, he buried his face in her hair. She started to speak, but he shushed her and held her, rocking gently, drawing strength and comfort from her. This was paradise, having her in his arms. If only they could remain like this for all eternity. If only he could keep the snakes out of paradise.

“She's right, of course. Your mother. We will have to wait and do the expected thing, have the expected kind of wedding.”

“She can't be right. I won't have it. She can't possibly expect us to wait that long.”

“Ah, Norrie,” he murmured, not lifting his head from hers. “If I were a better man, I would leave. You would be far better off without me. You could find someone worthy of you.”

“Don't you dare even think such a thing.” She tightened her arms around him and lifted her head just enough to glare at him. “You are going to marry me, and if you think I am going to free you from your promise, you had better think again.”

The beginnings of a smile tugged at his mouth, and he felt some of the tension easing. But not all of it. “I left once, but that was when you still thought of me as just another brother. That was painful enough. Now? It would tear my heart out to lose you.”

* * *

Pietro grew stronger, watched over by his sister, who was in turn watched over by Pip. Elinor and Harry alternated between floating along blissfully, snatching private moments in alcoves and empty rooms, and simmering with frustration. Lady Penworth watched over her family with a mixture of amusement and concern. Lord Penworth, wishing to be prepared for the problems he foresaw, wrote to Freeborn, asking him to call.

The consul arrived looking cheerful, white side whiskers newly adorning his thin cheeks. In addition to his own warm words of welcome, he insisted upon delivering Mrs. Freeborn's greetings to Lady Penworth and Lady Elinor and her invitation to tea the following afternoon. “I wouldn't be at all surprised if she wishes to hear every last detail of your visit to the Savelli castello,” he added with a chuckle. “She's never been there, but she loves to read about castles with dungeons and towers.”

Before a discussion of gothic novels could begin, Penworth drew the consul toward the library. “First I must speak to you privately. I am in need of your advice on a highly confidential matter.”

When they emerged to join Rycote and Lady Penworth, Penworth looked less worried and Freeborn looked, if anything, even more cheerful. “Bless my soul,” said the consul, “this takes me back. It's like the excitement of '49 all over again. I handed out so many diplomatic passports as the French were pouring in and the Republicans were pouring out that I could barely sign my name fast enough.

“Lord Palmerston was foreign secretary then and sent me a blistering letter of reproach, telling me to stop, though it arrived too late to make any difference.” He winked. “Of course, the fellow who delivered the letter told me he wanted to shake my hand. Never was sure if that was because I'd handed out the passports or because I drove Palmerston crazy.”

“I don't want to cause you any difficulties,” said Penworth. “Surely we can find a way to get young Crescenzi out of Rome without involving you.”

The consul dismissed that idea with a shake of his head and a wave of his hand. “I couldn't possibly let you leave me out of this. Especially since Palmerston is now prime minister. How could I possibly pass up the chance to upset him again? I'm afraid, though, that he won't find anything to object to in a single passport.” He looked momentarily regretful, but then good cheer returned and he rubbed his hands gleefully. “It makes me feel quite young again.”

Rycote, however, was frowning and feeling far less euphoric. “It seems to me that the problem may be just getting him out of this building. Every time I step outside I notice men loitering about in doorways, keeping an eye on everyone who approaches.”

“Everyone who approaches, eh? That's good, that's very good,” said Freeborn. “If they are looking in the wrong direction, that means they don't know he's already here.”

“That doesn't mean they won't notice if he walks out the door,” Rycote snapped. All that good cheer was getting on his nerves.

Freeborn patted him on the shoulder paternally. “No need to worry. We could always roll him up in a carpet like Cleopatra and carry him out.” When Rycote glared, Freeborn laughed and continued, “No, there really is no difficulty. I'll call for you in my carriage. One of the seats covers an empty space. Once he's well enough to bend easily, he can hide in there and we can take him all the way to one of the border exits.”

“Why, Mr. Freeborn,” said Lady Penworth, smiling in delight, “I believe you are really a swashbuckler at heart.”

Freeborn blushed slightly and ducked his head. “Lady Penworth, I do believe you may be right.”

* * *

Pip heaved an almost silent sigh as Pietro entered the breakfast room. He didn't actually dislike Lissandra's brother, but he disliked dramatics at breakfast time, and Pietro was permanently swathed in dramatics.

Moving easily after a few days' rest, the young Italian was frowning over a message Eduardo had delivered in a basket of pastries.

“What is the matter?” Lissandra looked up from the brioche she was buttering.

“I do not know how I can help him.” Pietro stood there uncertainly. “A friend—well, not really a friend but a comrade, I suppose—says he has been betrayed and must leave Italy.”

“Who is it?” Lissandra turned to Pip with a smile. “I know many of my brother's comrades.”

“This is no one you would know. He is someone I encountered briefly just after we established the Republic in Rome.” Pietro shrugged. “I had not thought him deeply committed to us, since he managed to drop out of sight long before the end. Armando Landi.”