The Makeshift Marriage (7 page)

“Don’t say that!” she cried. “Please don’t!”

He took her hand again, his fingers light but firm around hers. “It must be faced.”

“No!”

He smiled. “Very well, we will forget it.” The gondola rocked gently on the small tide and he pointed across to the distant Rialto Bridge. “Did you know, Miss Milbanke, that it is said that no fewer than thirty thousand trees were required to give solidity to the foundations of that bridge? And hundreds of thousands for the construction of the church of Santa Maria delta Salute?”

She blinked a little at the change of subject. “No, Sir Nicholas, I did not.”

He grinned then. “It never ceases to amaze me what snippets of useless, but interesting information I seem capable of remembering.”

* * *

The noon day sun was high in the flawless sky when Laura and Nicholas entered the cathedral of San Marco. There was surely no other building on earth as wonderful as this, she thought. Everything about it bespoke Byzantium, of times gone by
—except that here in Venice Byzantium lived on in all its glory. The sun’s rays brought out the color of the marble and
porphyry and the radiance of the gold mosaics. The cathedral was encrusted from floor to ceiling with precious metals and jewels, and she was aware of a sultry opulence she had never before seen in a church. English cathedrals had their own magnificence, but it bore no resemblance whatsoever to this building, which seemed so like a medieval reliquary, so rich and ornate that it was almost too much for the eye to bear. The air was vibrant with the glimmer of gold and rubies seen through the flicker of a thousand candles, and the atmosphere was heavy with incense. Somewhere a choir of small boys was singing, and a shiver ran through Laura at the haunting poignance of the sound.

From the cathedral they walked awhile, wandering through the shadowy bustle of a high-walled, narrow street where they were accosted by a pretty flower girl who thrust her basket of bright red anemones in front of Laura, begging Nicholas to purchase some. Laughingly he obliged, pinning the small posy to the underbrim of her Leghorn bonnet where they made a vivid splash of color. In the same street they were accosted by a fortune-teller whose little dog was trained to pick tickets from a basket. The little dog leaped and danced around them both and Nicholas paid for Laura to have her fortune told. She could not read the words on the ticket the dog brought to her, but Nicholas translated it for her.

“You are assured of great future happiness and a grand marriage to a wealthy husband who will adore you.”

She laughed. “Now I know why this fortune-teller is still plying his trade in the streets!”

“The prophecy could come true.”

“Not when I already
know
what lies ahead when I go back to England.”

He looked into her blue eyes, his smile dying away. “You do not look forward to returning?”

“No. I am a church mouse, Sir Nicholas, and should not be luxuriating in the Hotel Contarini’s grandest chamber.”

He drew her hand through his arm. “Come, we will go to Florian’s and take some coffee, and then you can tell me about yourself.”

“It is not an interesting topic,” she said quickly.

“Allow me to be the judge of that. Besides, I have willfully brought you to the edge of
ennui
with my tale of woe, and I owe it to you to hear your story.”

She said nothing more, lowering her eyes as they returned toward the Piazza San Marco. She did not really want to tell him the dreadful truth about Lady Mountfort. How would he feel when he learned that she was penniless and would soon be little more than a paid servant? Would he still wish to escort her then?

Dorian’s, said to be the oldest caf
é in Europe, lay behind an arcade in the piazza, affording an excellent view of the campanile and beyond it the cathedral itself. The tables were in the shade beneath the arcade, although soon the sun would move around and there would be no shelter from its heat. Across the piazza was the rival café, Quadri’s, frequented by Austrians and therefore shunned by the Venetians, who thronged Florian’s instead.

Laura and Nicholas sat at one of the tables and were immediately the objects of concerted attention by the various hawkers and beggars who waited in the famous square. They ignored this shameless importuning and were eventually left alone. Laura untied her bonnet and laid it on the table, glad to feel the cool air through her hair. The domes of the cathedral gleamed in the hot sun, its facade suddenly obscured by the flashing wings of a flock of pigeons that rose as one from the square. The noise of their flight was like the rushing of water as they soared high into the clear blue sky to circle the domes. There was color everywhere
—on the cathedral, in the sky, and in the square where many stalls had been laid out to display costly clothes, which spilled over in streams of crimson, purple, emerald, and sapphire. It was a scene to remember forever, and just a tiny part of this day, which would never be forgotten. Laura lowered her eyes then.
Please, let tomorrow never come
….

Nicholas watched her thoughtful expression. “Now,” he said gently, “tell me what it is that lies ahead of you in England.”

She braced herself. “Lady Mountfort.”

“Forgive me, I don’t quite understand…
.
You are related to her?”

“No. I am soon to be her companion.” She met his startled gaze. “I have no money, Sir Nicholas, no family to provide for me, and so I shall have to take a position if I am to live.”

“I had no idea.”

“No.” She smiled a little wryly. “Would you still have protected my good name if you had?”

“Now you do me an injustice
.
”

“Forgive me, it’s simply that I am only too aware that I am masquerading as a lady.”

“You
are
a lady, Miss Milbanke, and have no need to resort to masquerade to prove it.”

“Whatever way it is put, I am still not what I appear to be. Oh, I have good clothes and my background is not lowborn, but the fact remains that I am impoverished and shall soon be reduced to working for my living.” She told him of her life with Aunt Hazeldon. “So,” she finished, “I do not think I am at all the sort of person you would normally associate with, am I?”

“And how would you know anything about that? I associate with those whom I like, and that is my only yardstick. You have far more quality in your little finger than many a fine and titled lady has in her entire body, that much I promise you. It is interesting, is it not, that you and I have both come to Venice under strangely similar circumstances
—we neither of us should have come to this lap of luxury and we both know it. We are kindred spirits, it would seem.”

“Are we?”

“Yes. I salute you for having the sheer nerve to squander your inheritance on this, but as to the wisdom of going to Lady Mountfort, that is another matter. She is odious in the extreme, a female equivalent of my loathed cousin, and I cannot imagine you ever finding any morsel of happiness with her.”

“I have no choice, Sir Nicholas.”

“No.” He glanced away across the piazza. “I had not thought how very fortunate I am; I was concerned only with my own problems. Maybe it is a salutary lesson.” He turned suddenly to her again. “Do you ride, Miss Milbanke?”

“Ride? In
Venice?”

“Oh, it is possible to enjoy an excellent ride
—on the Lido. Shall you join me?”

She laughed. “In this flimsy gown? What a sight I would be!”

“Then we shall return to the hotel for you to change
—”

“I could return to the hotel until I go gray, sir, and still not find a riding habit among my personal effects.”

“Will you ride with me nonetheless?”

“If you will find an unconscionable amount of ankle acceptable.”

“Oh, I am sure your ankles are as exquisite as the rest of you, Miss Milbanke.”

She laughed. “You will be able to judge that for yourself if I get up on a horse, sir.”

He took her hand and rose to his feet. He held her hand a moment longer, making her look into his eyes. “Lady Mountfort is not for you,” he said softly, “and you know that she isn’t.”

* * *

The lagoon was hazy and the horizon vanished into a silver mist through which the gray silhouette of Venice could just be seen. Only one of the many islands could be seen clearly, its beautiful monastery rising high above the rocks where pale pink sea mallow was already in bloom and where a colony of cats basked lazily in the sun. The other islands had an ethereal look and only the drumming of the horses’ hooves on the hard sand gave any substance to the long, dreamlike afternoon.

Riding had always brought roses to Laura’s cheeks, partly from excitement and partly from the lingering fear that had remained from a childhood fall. She was by no means a brilliant horsewoman and now was really put to the test as she tried to rally her flagging mount to keep up with Nicholas. He seemed to have deliberately chosen the largest and most fleet-footed horse in the stables, and it carried him as if he were feather light. Laura’s mount could not stay with him.

For another half hour they rode over the Lido, with Laura falling farther and farther behind, until at last Nicholas reined in at the very edge of the sand, the tiny wavelets creaming softly around his horse’s restless hooves as he waited for Laura to catch up.

He laughed at her windblown hair and flushed cheeks, and the way the ribbons of her bonnet had become entangled and were now far from the pristine bow she had tied on leaving Florian’s. Her parasol bumped against her leg and her reticule flapped like a wild thing as she thankfully reined in at last.

“My dear Miss Milbanke,”
—he laughed—
“
what
would
they say at Almack’s if they could see you now?”

“They would say that it was most ungentlemanly of you to ride off like that and put me to such a task,” she retorted.

He nodded. “Aye, it was ungentlemanly; forgive me. I felt the need to push my mount to his limit.”

“And to push yourself too.”

His gray eyes showed slight amusement. “You read me like a book, madam.”

“No, I don’t, for if I did then I would be able to persuade you against meeting the baron tomorrow.”

“In that we must agree to disagree then.” He smiled at her, “But what is your opinion of my other undertaking?”

“The alterations at King’s Cliff?”

“Yes.”

“I think you are right, Sir Nicholas. I think too that Miss Townsend, who must surely love you, will be of the same opinion.”

“As you would be in her position?”

“Yes.”

“Then I must pray that she is more like you than I believe,” he said, swinging his leg over the cantle and dismounting. He helped her down and they left the horses by a windbreak of tamarisk shrubs and then walked along the sand together.

Out on the lagoon some heavily laden boats glided toward Venice, their prows painted with symbols to keep away evil spirits. Their ocher and red sails were brightly patterned with the sun, moon, and stars, and they made not a sound, their wash lapping softly against the shore as if trying to keep their passage a secret. The sun was beginning to set and the haze that had lingered through the afternoon was threading upward like wisps of gossamer to reveal Venice in a blaze of gold. The monastery bell on the island began to sound sundown and the mellow chimes drifted lazily over the still water. Laura and Nicholas walked in silence, each with deep thoughts that did not need to be put into words.

It was not until they at last returned to the horses that he spoke. “We have shared many intimacies today, Miss Milbanke, and I feel that I have known you all my life. And yet I do not even know your first name.”

“Laura.”

“Thank you for today, Laura.” He drew her fingers to his lips.

The lantern on the prow of their gondola shone on the black water as they returned across the lagoon. The gondolier hummed lightly to himself, echoing the music from a water-borne barrel organ which accompanied a party of revelers in their elegant barge.

Laura was fighting back the tears when at last the gondola reached the hotel where the perfume of orange blossom hung heavily in the air by the steps. It was nearly over. This one magical day was at an end and tomorrow’s dawn seemed suddenly so dreadfully near, a doom from which there could be no escape.

Nicholas helped her ashore, and as she wore no gloves, he must have known how cold her fingers were. The imminence of the duel was emphasized sharply as they walked into the hotel to find the two officers who were to be his seconds waiting.

The taller of the two bowed to them.
“Guten abend,
Sir Nicholas,
Fraulein
Milbanke.”

“Major Bergmann.” Nicholas bowed. Laura could not bring herself to say anything.

“All is arranged, Sir Nicholas; we will attend you one hour before dawn.”

“Thank you, Major.”

“Herr-Doktor Meyer will also attend, he is an army doctor-surgeon and very capable.”

“Again, I thank you, Major Bergmann.”

“Guten nacht,
Sir Nicholas.” The Austrian’s spurred heels clicked.

“Good night.”

“Fraulein
Milbanke.”

Laura could barely manage a smile of acknowledgment. Her, eyes were bright with unshed tears and her fingers coiled again and again in the folds of her gown.

At her door Nicholas put his hand gently to her cheek. “Don’t cry, Laura.”

“I’m trying so very hard not to,” she whispered, and then she caught his hand. “Please don’t meet the baron tomorrow. Please don’t
—”

“I must.”

She closed her eyes and the tears welled out. His fingers tightened around hers and he drew her into his arms, holding her close. She raised her face, her lips parting to speak again, but he put a finger over them to silence her.

“Don’t,” he whispered. “Don’t ask me, for I cannot and will not grant you what you wish.” He hesitated a moment and then bent his head to kiss her on the lips.