Unlacing Lady Thea

‘I am leaving Hodge with you. They have two months’ wages in hand. Edgerton will help him arrange the wedding.’

‘But...’

‘I’ll find myself an Italian valet for a while, or do without. I’m not that much of a dandy.’ He stopped at the foot of the steps and grinned up at her. ‘Now, am I?’

‘No, but...’

‘And when Godmama returns she’ll find you a maid and Hodge and Polly can catch me up, wherever I’ve got to.’

He looked cheerful, alert, ready to move on. Thea swallowed the words that almost escaped her and said, ‘Don’t forget to write and tell me all about Rome, will you?’ She came down until she was standing on the first step, almost eye to eye with him.

‘Of course not. Goodbye, Thea. Take care and give my love to Godmama. May I have a farewell kiss?’

All she had to do was lean a little closer. Thea put her hand on the strong, steady shoulder and tipped her face, her eyes wide open. Rhys bent, then hesitated, a breath above her mouth. ‘Thea.’ Then he kissed her, a light brush of the closed lips, brotherly, friendly. She fought to stop her fingers closing, gripping through the broadcloth and linen to the man beneath.

In a heartbeat something changed. He lifted his hand from the rail and pulled her to him, off balance on the edge of the step so that she had to catch at him with both hands. The pressure of his mouth increased, the familiar, intimate demand of his tongue pushed between her lips and she opened to him, forgot prudence and disguise, sank into his embrace and the heat and the passion of the kiss.

When he released her she stumbled and he steadied her, but he did not speak. His eyes were dark and wide as though he had sustained a shock. Then he turned on his heel and strode to the boat, stepped in and sat with his broad back to her as the boatman cast off the lines and the oarsmen picked up the stroke. She ran to the edge of the landing stage and watched as they reached the Grand Canal and turned, out of sight. Rhys never looked round. Not once.

* * *

‘Lady Althea, are you certain this is prudent?’ Mr Edgerton was as close to agitated as she had ever seen him.

‘No,’ she admitted. It seemed she had done nothing that was prudent since she’d stood outside Papa’s study door and heard how he and Anthony had betrayed her. Leaving home had not been prudent, going to Rhys had not been prudent. Becoming his lover had been thoroughly imprudent.

Being imprudent was dangerous, and sometimes the results hurt. But pain showed you were alive. After Rhys had left she had donned cloak and mask and gone with Polly and Hodge to the Anglican minister to arrange their wedding and then to visit shops.

‘Don’t you want to see the sights, my lady?’ Polly had asked. ‘Lovely, isn’t it? But strange.’ She’d still been bubbling with excitement over the wedding, which had been arranged for two days’ time.

‘We have shopping to do for your bride clothes,’ Thea had said. ‘And I want to go to a map shop. We will have time to explore later.’

Now, with Polly safely Mrs Hodge, a sailing boat chartered and crewed under Edgerton’s eagle eye, Thea was ready to set out on yet another thoroughly imprudent enterprise. ‘I can see Venice when I return with Lady Hughson, but I find I have grown accustomed to travel. I would like to explore the coast of Italy, and so I shall.’

Her money would hold out, for she had never managed to persuade Rhys to let her pay for more than her clothes shopping. Mr Edgerton had reluctantly admitted to knowing a completely reliable captain and crew and introduced her to Signor Vincenzo, who was a courier with an excellent reputation. ‘I will come back with Godmama or, if I do not find her, I will turn around when I reach Sicily and return,’ she promised the secretary.

Mr Edgerton assisted her into the boat that would take them out into the lagoon and the waiting ship. ‘After working for Lady Hughson all these years I suppose I should not be surprised at what her godchildren do,’ he said with a sigh. ‘Bon voyage!’

Thea did not turn her head as she was rowed towards the Grand Canal. Rhys had not and neither would she. She had no wish to see the place where he had kissed and left her without a backwards glance.

The rowers negotiated their way into the crowded Grand Canal. This was the start of the rest of her life. She had lost her virginity and gained her independence. She was mistress of her own destiny now.

Venice was beautiful; the light sparkled off the water and lit the exotic curves of windows that seemed transported from some Eastern palace. Soft pink brick and white stone, stained by water and weed, riches and decay, palaces, churches, prisons. She would come back here and explore, and then where? Constantinople? Greece?

Without thinking she pointed out an exquisite little palazzo. ‘Rhys, look... I mean, Polly, do see that charming little building.’

The small cold knot inside her tightened into pain. So lonely without him. She knew she would miss him in her bed, but she had not realised how much she had talked with him, how they had shared new wonders, amusements, moments of beauty.

Perhaps he would meet Giles in Rome. She hoped so; she wanted him to have a companion, resilient and independent as he was. Someone to share with.

‘Pull into the landing at St Mark’s Square,’ she called to the boatman. ‘I want a stationer’s shop.’

Signor Vincenzo was instantly alert. ‘But yes, madonna, there is a charming one under the arcade.’

He helped her out and guided her to the shop. ‘I want a journal,’ she explained. ‘A thick one. Several, in fact.’ She would record everything, her thoughts, all her experiences as though she was telling them to Rhys.

They were beautiful, the covers made with the marbled papers that Venice’s book binders were famous for, feathered with patterns made by floating oils on water, stroking it into swirls and then laying on the paper. She added pencils, coloured inks, new pens. Live for the moment and record it all for the dark days. Because there would be dark days when she was not feeling so strong, when the memories were too much and it was no comfort at all to know that she had chosen to preserve those recollections.

* * *

The coast was every bit as lovely as she had hoped and the towns strung along it as fascinating. Tiny fishing harbours with Venetian forts towering above them, busy little ports, cities filled with treasures that left her breathless—she felt she might never recover from Ravenna—slipped past in sunlight and under blue skies as though the weather was conspiring with her.

They anchored each night as darkness fell, and as the nights passed she became familiar with the moon and stars as she never had in cloudy England or on the voyage from Toulon when she had eyes only for Rhys. Was it a cliché that every lover stood and stared at the moon and thought of their beloved looking up at the same sky? Through Signor Vincenzo she talked to the helmsman and learned the names of the stars and wrote them in her journal. If you were here, you would draw the constellations, she wrote to the man who would never read her words. Orion, the Great Bear...

* * *

Ancona, Pescara, round the spur on the heel of Italy to Bari. Two weeks after they had left Venice, dawdling on light winds, watching dolphins and stopping to buy fish straight from the nets as they were hauled ashore, they rounded the heel and reached the lagoons of Taranto. It was hot here and Thea and Polly wore light muslins and wide-brimmed hats as they strolled through the streets to stare at the forbidding bulk of the Governor’s Palace and to buy in the market: dates from Africa, melons, oranges, strange fruits she had no names for. There were palm trees amongst the crumbling grey stones and a great fortress and yet another harbourmaster who assured them that il principe’s yacht, the Aquila, had moored here.

‘But yes, madonna, they sail a week ago after being here four days. They go to Crotone, the captain says.’ He gestured out across the wide bay to the south-west. ‘They do not hurry. Is romantic, no? A honeymoon on the sea.’

‘Honeymoon? No, you are quite mistaken, signor, merely two friends on a voyage of pleasure.’ Thea realised she was gossiping with a complete stranger and moderated her tone. ‘Thank you, we will be sailing immediately.’

There was no hiding her surprise from Polly. ‘Surely Godmama cannot have got married without Mr Edgerton knowing? He is her confidential secretary.’

‘They don’t have to be married, do they, my lady? But she’s quite old, isn’t she, Lady Hughson?’

‘Old? Not above forty-five,’ Thea said after a moment’s thought. ‘When I was a child she seemed ancient and ageless, of course, but she was widowed very young. It was a true love match and a terrible tragedy that he died.’

‘A long time to mourn,’ Polly said as they reached the quayside. ‘Especially if she has a second chance now.’

Did it really take that long to heal? Thea leaned on the ship’s rail and watched the low coastline vanish into heat haze as they struck out across the wide bay. She had thought herself cured of her love for Rhys when she had agreed to Anthony’s courtship. Now she realised that she’d had a fortunate escape. Even if he had been an honestly sincere man, she would never have been happy with him because her heart would never have been free. From the corner of her eyes she could see Hodge and Polly sitting quietly together, his arm around her, her head on his shoulder. At least her actions had brought two people together.