A Prince Among Men (29 page)

"Your mother was from Venice?"

He nodded.

"And your parents were married there?"

"Yes. There's
a church, Santa Maria dei Mira
coli, a favorite of many Venetians for weddings."

"Then let us be married there." She brushed
the crumbs from her lap. "Do you want to come back to bed?" she asked.

The
Morning Chronicle
of May 7, 1816, reported, among other items, the astonishing success of the Restoration Fund, as it was called, the betrothal of Sebastian Lionel Brinsby, Earl of Cranwell, to
Signorina
Katerina Tesio of Trevigna, and the departure of His Majesty Alexander di Piovasco Mirandola and his betrothed, the Lady Ophelia Brinsby, for Italy.

Epilogue

A
warm breeze blew up from the port, ruffling the dry grass of golden brown hills. Above the hills a cloudless sky darkened to a rich, deep blue with the coming evening. Ophelia leaned on the little stone balcony of Alexander's villa in a filmy white dressing gown, the only clothing she could bear in the heat. Beyond the terraced garden with its playful fountain, Raj grazed in an open field. The stallion, a gift from Jasper, had arrived two days earlier, with a note from Hetty confirming that she and Jasper and Lucca and Pet were settled in a cozy house near Solomon.

Raj lifted his head, sniffing the air, unfamiliar with the smells of Trevigna—lavender, thyme, and grapes, and dusky green trees that Ophelia didn't have a name for yet.

She liked the place, though. It was the villa from the painting in the tailor's shop. The stones were peach, rust, and cream, as if they took their colors direct
ly from the sun. The airy high-
ceilinged rooms were fitted with tall wooden shutters to keep out the afternoon heat. There
had been no furnishings at first, but gradually, when people realized Alexander had come home, this or that piece of furniture arrived by cart from some village, usually with a gift of wine and olives or cheese and figs, and a note saying "this we kept for your mother," or "this for your father." Today an ancient bed had arrived. According to the housekeeper, it had been in the villa when Alexander was conceived. Ophelia had unpacked linens from deep chests fragrant with lavender and cedar and made the bed ready.

Behind Ophelia the shutters tapped against the wall as the bedroom door opened. She glanced over her shoulder, and Alexander caught and held her gaze as he came striding toward her, coatless and hatless, more golden than ever from hours in the Italian sun. She had seen the sea now and the hills and had the fanciful notion that he had been made from the very same elements that composed Trevigna.

"Everything is in order for tomorrow," he said, coming straight to the balcony and slipping an arm around her waist. He pulled her close and kissed her with a deep, slow passion, like the sun's heat sinking into her and warming her. A long whinny from Raj interrupted the deepening kiss.

The stallion cantered to the edge of the field and reared once on his hind legs. Alexander leaned on the stone parapet, his arm clasped around Ophelia's waist, and whistled to the horse. Raj answered with a snort, then, apparently satisfied with Alexander's notice, went back to his grazing.

Alexander turned to Ophelia, nuzzling her neck and sliding his hands over the curve of her bottom. Ophelia began unfastening the buttons of his waistcoat. It had become so natural in the four months of their marriage, this freedom with each other's person, this happiness.

She pushed the sides of his waistcoat apart and drew the fine lawn shirt from the waistband of his breeches. Then she had to hug him, pressing her ear to his warm chest, feeling his arms tighten around her. Her husband had a talent for hugs that began with a fierce clasp and gentled gradually to long comforting strokes up and down her back. Even in her friendship with Hetty there had been a reserve about signs of affection that had left Ophelia a little lonely and determined to show it to no one. She thought she must have been touch-starved before Alexander.

"You seem happy," he said.

"Very," she answered.

He rested his chin on the top of her head. "I haven't ignored you too much for the business of the convention?"

"No." She tried to shake her head against his chest, and the motion turned into a nuzzle. She leaned back in his arms, lifting her hands to his cravat, loosening the knot that was peculiarly his own. She grew a little solemn then and kissed the base of his throat. He tilted her head up and answered with an ardent joining of their mouths.

"I learned some useful phrases today," she told him, when they took time to breathe.

"Did you? Tell me."

"
Abbi pazienza.
Have patience."

"In your case, very useful."

She punched him playfully.

"What else?"

"And I learned that there's such a thing as an
asino calzato e vestito,
an ass with shoes and clothes."

"To whom did that apply, I wonder?" He loosened the ties of her wrapper, opening it and letting his gaze wander over her person. "You remind me of woods in springtime."

Ophelia leaned back in his arms, enjoying the rapt expression in his eyes. "Woods?"

"With dark secret places," he said, brushing her intimate curls with the back of his hand. "And plump mushrooms, pale, creamy, and so smooth." He ran his hand up her belly. "And delicate pink blossoms."

His hand came to rest on her breast and she found it hard to breathe. She pressed forward, encircling him with her arms, not giving in yet to the hunger.

"Don't you want to know who's the
asino
? One of your favorite delegates." She found the buttons of his shirt cuffs and loosened them one by one. "Are you worried about tomorrow? About the convention?"

"You think that now that it's finally come, I might be disappointed, or afraid to trust what I've put in motion? I'm not, because I have you with me."

"Me?"

"Yes." He looked at her soberly, his eyes darkening from their customary blue to a deeper shade like the sky above them. "I have all that idealism. That got them here, but they're real people. They're selfish, tired, bilious. Their feet
hurt or they drink too much wine. You see that in them."

"My eye for character foibles helps you?"

"It does. I am a much more effective leader for your clear-headed judgment."

"So I suppose that means you'll keep me?"

"I will, if you'll have me."

"Well, that depends on what sort of king you mean to be." She slipped away then through the shutters. He pulled his shirt off over his head, and she tried not to look. "So far you have not been what I expected at all." She moved unhurriedly across the room to the other side of the bed, the old floor cool under her feet. The fading light barely penetrated to the bed, leaving it in a dim blue dusk.

He followed, facing her across the expanse of white coverlet. "Really?"

"No poisonings, no hired assassins, no tortures. Instead, a constitutional convention, school rebuildings, library openings. The doges of old must be wondering what's to become of Italy."

"Ah," he said. "You've been reading history."

"Yes." She drew the coverlet back slowly, her eyes locked with his. "You are a very different sort of prince, with no plans to conquer your neighbors, no schemes of revenge against all who have wronged Trevigna."

He didn't answer, and she realized his gaze had drifted down the open front of her wrapper. When his eyes came back to hers, he said, "I do have plans for revenge."
He took the coverlet in one hand and flung it back. "New bed?"

"Very old bed. Your parents', I think."

He smiled at that, slowly. Then, turning, he sank on the edge and began to pull his boots off.

"
What revenge?" she asked faintly.

"On history," he said, dropping a boot. The second one followed before she had time to ask what he meant. She saw him stuff his stockings in them. Then he stood facing her again.

She clung to the edge of the coverlet. Married life had turned anticipation from a vague restlessness to sharp, specific sensations.

"
Revenge on France or Austria or even Ferruci is pointless. But revenge on history, to turn Italy around, to point her toward equality and justice and freedom for all men—"

"And women," she had to add.

He grinned. "That's true revenge." He flicked open the buttons on his breeches and began to remove them. Ophelia let her wrapper fall. They stood for a moment, quietly worshipful, in the blue dusk of a dying day, then joined their bodies and their hearts in that ancient bed, making of their love something new.