“My wife,” Guy said abruptly.
“Madame,” the sailor said, affecting a slight bow.
Christina looked from Guy to the man and back again.
“Tell her what you told me.”
The man could see that Christina was very upset and he suspected a repetition of what her husband had obviously already told her would only make things worse.
“Perhaps I should go…”
“Tell her,” Guy insisted.
“Madame,” the man began nervously. “I regret that I bring such unhappy news, but our ship was attacked and the Baron’s son was wounded…”
Christina shook herself free of Guy. “Where? When?”
“It was just two weeks ago, off the coast of Spain. We had sailed from Barcelona and we were heading for Cartegena. It was an English ship. I don’t know why they attacked us…”
“And so he was wounded, not killed?”
“Yes, wounded. But the wound went bad. We took him to Corsica, but…”
“But he’s not dead, only hurt?”
The man stared at his feet.
“Well?” Christina’s voice was shrill and it echoed in the walled space.
“Madame, forgive me, but it’s not possible he recovered.” He could see she didn’t believe him. “If you had seen the wound. He was cut from here to here…” He indicated the entire left side of his body. “He was unconscious for two days before we reached Bonifacio, and the fever…he could not have recovered. I’m sorry.”
Christina slowly collapsed against Guy. He put his arms around her and motioned for André to see the man to the gate. Then he walked her back into the house. She said nothing.
“Christina, I’m so sorry. You must believe me. I never wanted this to happen.”
When they reached the salon, Guy sat her on the sofa. He knelt in front of her studying her face.
Christina looked at him. He seemed sincerely upset.
How is it possible? Richard, my Richard, dead?
Somehow, in all the time since he’d left, she had been able to go on, knowing that somewhere he was happy. Somewhere, he was living his life, even if it didn’t include her. She’d always harbored the secret hope that she’d see him again, that he would come back and explain everything to her. Slowly, the tears overflowed.
“Oh, Christina,” said Guy sympathetically. “Please don’t cry. Don’t you see? There’s something good that can come out of all this. Now there’s nothing to come between us. You can love
me
now, Christina. Completely. Richard will never come between us again.”
Richard sat staring out his bedroom window. It was early evening and the ocean breeze brought with it the heady fragrance of the
macchia
. It had been four days since his fever had subsided and his body had begun to mend.
He was deeply troubled. The delirium had elicited sweet, but ultimately painful memories of Christina, and when he’d awakened and found that she was not actually with him, the disappointment had forced him into a silent re-evaluation of his current situation on Corsica.
He knew he owed his life to Arabella. He also knew she loved him and perhaps it was that thought that caused him the most pain.
Richard cared deeply for Bella. She and the children had become the center of his life since he’d come to the island. Though he was only home a few months during the year, those months had been peaceful ones because of the care and consideration she’d lavished on him and on his home. The cottage had become a refuge.
But even after three years, he couldn’t bring himself to spend too much time there. Any days spent away from the exhausting labor aboard the ships were still filled with painful memories of Christina.
His thoughts were interrupted by a very soft knock on the door.
“Come,” he said absently.
He heard the door open, and the sound of bare feet on the smooth tiles, accompanied by frantic whispering. Richard smiled. It was the children. They must have returned from their aunt’s where they’d stayed while he was ill.
“Piero, Luisa, come in.”
Two heads appeared around the edge of the chair, looking curiously at Richard. They were both dressed for bed and had apparently escaped their mother’s watchful eye and sneaked into his room. He couldn’t help but laugh.
“Come. It’s all right.”
Luisa looked at him for a moment, then carefully climbed up into his lap. Piero sat down on the stool that supported Richard’s legs.
“Well now, where have you two been?”
“At Auntie Sophia’s,” Piero answered.
Both children were uncharacteristically quiet. Luisa put one of her tiny hands on each of Richard’s cheeks and looked at him solemnly.
“Are you going to die?” she asked.
So that’s it. They’ve been worried about me.
“Why are you asking?”
“When Tomas took us to Auntie’s, he said you were very sick and you might die, but we prayed for you every night.”
“Well, thank you, Sweetheart. When I came home I was very sick, but your mama worked hard and she’s made me all well again.”
That seemed to satisfy the child and she lay back against his chest. Richard looked down at her and smiled as he stroked her silky curls, her hair as dark as his own.
“Did someone really cut you with a sword?” Piero asked, his eyes glittering with excitement. “Can we see it?”
Richard pulled open his shirt. “Your mama has it all wrapped up, see? But when the bandages come off, I’ll show you what a good job she did fixing it for me.”
“Why did they hurt you?”
“I don’t know. Some English sailors tried to take our ship from us and we had to fight. I don’t know why it happened.” Richard had not yet talked to anyone who knew what prompted the attack.
“Did you kill them all?”
“We had to kill some of them, and they killed some of us. It was a very bad thing to happen, and there was really no reason for a warship to attack us. We’re only merchants, not soldiers, and so they shouldn’t bother us.”
Piero nodded. Now he, too, was satisfied.
“Here, come and sit beside your sister.” Richard resettled himself, making room on his right knee for Piero. “Now tell me, what have you two been doing?”
Piero’s face brightened. “Uncle Aldo let me go fishing with him. He caught a fish this big!” As Piero spread his arms wide, he nearly toppled over backward, but Richard caught his arm.
“My goodness, what a big fish! What did you do with it?”
“Auntie Sophia cooked it, Luisa helped, and then we ate it!” He clapped his hands together in delight.
Richard laughed again. There was another knock on the door.
“Come.”
This time it was Alfredo.
“There you are, you rascals! I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” Alfredo did his best to sound very stern, but it was no secret he adored them. He quickly lit the candles for Richard, then collected the children.
“I’m sorry, Signore.”
“It’s all right. They just wanted to check on me.”
“Well, it’s time for bed. Your mother is waiting for you to come and say your prayers.” Alfredo reached down to lift Luisa off of Richard’s lap, but she threw her arms around Richard’s neck.
“I love you, Richard,” she said, planting a very wet kiss on his cheek.
“I love you, too, Sweetheart.”
Piero leaned over and kissed him. “Goodnight. Can we come tomorrow?”
“Of course you can.”
He closed his eyes, thinking of the children he would never have with Christina. He wondered how they might have looked. Like Piero and Luisa? Afterall, Arabella did resemble Christina. But then he had no idea whether their father bore any resemblance to him. Arabella had never mentioned him other than to say that he was dead. She’d been reluctant to say more, and Richard hadn’t pressed.
Bella.
What was he to do about Bella?
“Signore
?
” Arabella was standing behind him. She knew he hadn’t heard her come in.
The tenderness of his wound prevented him turning to her. “What is it, Bella?”
He sounds tired, she thought. He’d been strangely silent and moody for the past four days and she attributed it to his anger at being deceived into thinking Christina was with him when he was so ill.
“I know you’re angry with me…”
“Bella…” Richard sighed.
“Let me finish. I know it was wrong of me to mislead you while you were so ill, but I didn’t know what else to do. I was so afraid of losing you…” She hesitated, blinking back tears. “I’m sorry if you were disappointed to find Christina wasn’t with you…”
Richard clenched his teeth, reminded of how much he was hurting her. Then, slowly, he reached up and took her hand. He pulled her around in front of him and down onto the stool. He saw tears in her eyes.
“Oh, Bella. Please don’t.”
“I’m so sorry I lied to you. Can you ever forgive me?”
“It’s I who needs your forgiveness.” His smile was sad. “I’ve treated you so unfairly.”
Arabella’s hazel eyes snapped. Her mood changed completely as she realized his silence was due to self-pity.
“You can’t be serious,” she said, incredulously.
Richard looked at her for a long moment, then laid his head back against the chair and shifted his gaze to the window.
Arabella continued. “Have you forgotten where I was and what I was when we met? I couldn’t even have my children with me. Do you think I’m less happy here with you?” She stood up, her hands on her hips as she looked down at him in exasperation. “I don’t imagine myself to be any more or any less that what I am. At my age I’m not much of a prospective bride for any man, much less a gentleman such as you. But I have a lovely home for myself and my children and a gentle and considerate lover. What more could any woman in my position possibly ask for?”
At her reference to a considerate lover, Richard’s eyes flashed back to her, piercing hers as he tried to detect any sarcasm in her words.
“Don’t look at me like that. Do you think that I don’t know it’s Christina you’re making love to every time we’re together?”
Richard looked away again, unwilling to acknowledge the truth. And that, in turn, made Arabella painfully aware of the depth of the guilt he was feeling. She hadn’t meant to hurt him. She sat down again and gently laid her hand on his.
“You’re wrong,” she said softly. “I’m flattered you can think of me as that beautiful young woman.” She gestured toward Christina’s tiny portrait on the table beside the bed.
Richard’s eyes went to the filigree gilt frame. It was the first thing he’d seen when the fever had passed. She must have found it in his things and put it there. He knew he had no choice but to take her at her word. Arabella was an uncommonly strong woman and he knew the time had come for him to let her deal with their relationship on her own terms.
“Please believe me, Signore
.
I’m quite content with things as they are.” She reached out to him.
The news of Richard’s death shattered Christina and she withdrew into the safe haven of her memories. And while she didn’t seem to be shedding any tears, Guy was unable to persuade her to allow him to give her any comfort. It made him angry, but he deemed it best to let her grief run its course before he pressed her further.
Guy felt vaguely unsettled himself. He was more irritable than usual and he had difficulty concentrating on his work, and it was in that frame of mind that he received a small note tucked between the pages of his shipment records. “
He has recovered
” was all it said.
Guy had paid informants on all the Baron’s ships, ostensibly to keep an eye on his cargo, but in reality they kept track of Richard for him. Having married Christina, he had no wish to have to confront Richard should he attempt to contact her or try to return for her.
Richard was the Baron’s son, someday to be Baron himself, guaranteeing him a certain amount of consideration from the law enforcement quarter if he did choose to return. As a deterrent, Guy had made sure the warrants for Richard’s arrest in connection with Marco’s murder remained current. Of course this persistence on Guy’s part continued to cost him considerable sums of money, but through his efforts to maintain a network of informants, he’d also managed to glean some very damaging information about several of the judicial officials. This he held close against future need.
All reports indicated that Richard had made no attempts to return to Arles or to contact Christina. Apparently he’d taken up with some tavern slut on Corsica and seemed to have forgotten his childhood sweetheart.
Guy found a strange sort of comfort in knowing Richard was still alive, in part because Christina thought him dead. There was no reason she should ever know otherwise and to insure it, Guy had intercepted her letters of condolence to the Baron and to Richard’s siblings. He then had them answered in such a way as to make her believe that while they all appreciated her concern, the family had definite wishes that the unfortunate situation of Richard, which had brought such grief to them all, be forgotten.
Those forged replies from Richard’s family only added to Christina’s grief and she became even more withdrawn. Guy tried to rouse her, but when that failed, he began to spend more and more nights away from home. Finally, two weeks after the unfortunate news about Richard and the morning after a particularly unpleasant incident with a dark-haired boy at Madame Dijol’s, Guy came home determined to confront his wife.
Christina was in the salon, only vaguely aware of the cheery fire that countered the chill of the afternoon rain. She was trying her best to concentrate, to read a book of poems she’d discovered in Guy’s library. The subject of most of the verse was love—and that, of course, made her think of Richard.
Guy came into the room and quietly shut the doors behind him. Christina turned, surprised by the intrusion.
“Christina,” he said evenly.
“You startled me,” she said, wondering why he was home in the middle of the afternoon, or at all for that matter. She hadn’t seen him in four days.
Guy came to stand in front of her, his back to her as he stared into the fire. After a moment he turned and faced her squarely.
“I’ve come to some decisions over the past few days,” he said firmly. “Your behavior in the matter of Richard’s death is unseemly. It has gone on far too long. I’ve tried my best to be patient with you, but I’ve had enough. You’re denying me my rights and I’ll no longer tolerate it.”