‘There—what did I tell you?’ Lady Jarrow gave a nod of unabashed smugness at the sound of a knock on the front door. ‘I’ve told Pearson to show them straight up, and they’re on time, too, I’m pleased to say. You know how I despise tardiness.’
‘I believe that you’ve mentioned it once or twice before.’ Samuel put aside his copy of Lyrical Ballads with a wry smile. ‘Although it might not be them.’
‘Well, of course it’s them. Who else would it be?’
He stood up, his gaze already travelling towards the drawing-room door. Personally he had significant doubts about the identity of the new arrivals, although he couldn’t help but hope for another chance to apologise to Miss Fortini. Her refusal had been definite, to say the least, but then perhaps her mother had decided otherwise and it did seem unlikely to be anyone else. His grandmother’s forthright opinions were notorious enough to put off all but the most thick-skinned of callers.
He’d barely had a chance to wonder, however, before the butler opened the door and Miss Fortini herself appeared. To his surprise, she looked comparatively neat for once, her dark hair scooped up into its usual high bun, though with the addition of two red bands across the top to hold stray curls in place. She was wearing a smart-looking dress, too, in the same practical style as her shop gown, but in a shade of light pink that perfectly complemented her complexion, making her skin glow with a luminous sheen.
The lady who entered behind her, meanwhile, looked nothing at all like someone who’d allegedly ruined herself. On the contrary, despite walking with a slight limp, she was tall and elegant, with chestnut-coloured ringlets and a remarkably youthful, unblemished countenance. She was also smiling, in contrast to her daughter, who looked as if she was only there under sufferance. Which, given her protestations of the previous day, was probably the case. Miss Fortini certainly didn’t look in a very forgiving mood. He made her a formal bow, which she pointedly ignored.
‘Elizabeth Holden.’ As usual, his grandmother got straight to the point. ‘So it is you.’
‘It is, Lady Jarrow.’ The older woman smiled and dipped into a stiff, but still graceful, curtsy, one that was belatedly copied with an air of reluctance and significantly less grace by the younger. ‘May I present my daughter, Miss Annabelle Fortini?’
‘The famous Belle, I presume?’ His grandmother’s gaze swept up and down appraisingly. ‘I believe that you already know my grandson, Captain Samuel Delaney?’
‘We’ve met.’ Although judging by the belligerent tone of her voice, she wasn’t overly thrilled by the fact.
‘Lady Jarrow.’ The mother spoke again, her voice sounding even warmer by contrast. ‘What a pleasure it is to see you again after so many years. I was delighted to receive your invitation.’
‘Indeed.’ His grandmother’s eyes lingered briefly on the daughter, making it obvious that her tone and reluctance to curtsy hadn’t gone unnoticed. ‘You must have been all of eighteen the last time I saw you.’
‘I believe I was nineteen.’
‘Well, take a seat beside me. We have a lot to talk about and, as you can see, tea is all ready.’ Her gaze shifted back towards Miss Fortini. ‘Perhaps your daughter will be good enough to pour? If she’ll oblige me, that is?’
Samuel winced, struck with the ominous mental image of two bulls locking horns. One of the bulls had youth, vitality and a decidedly obstinate chin, but the other had experience, indomitability and the advantage of home territory. There was a lengthy pause before the younger finally succumbed, appearing to grit her teeth as she spoke.
‘It would be my pleasure.’
‘It would be my pleasure, my lady.’
‘Miss Fortini.’ Samuel stepped forward, blocking her view of his grandmother’s gloating expression, though unfortunately not her words. ‘I’m pleased that you chose to accept the invitation after all.’
‘Yes. Who would have poured the tea otherwise?’
‘Anna.’ Her mother’s murmur was reproving. ‘We’re guests here.’
Fortunately, before anyone else could speak, the drawing-room door opened again and his grandfather entered the room, his arrival drawing a gasp from Miss Fortini.
‘The bee man!’ Her confrontational attitude fell away at once.
‘Miss Anna.’ His grandfather made a surprisingly gallant bow. ‘How delightful to see you here. Not wearing yellow today, eh?’
‘No, but...’ She looked between him and the Baroness with an expression of consternation. ‘Forgive me, but I had no idea...’
‘That such a delightful old man was married to a harridan like me?’ His grandmother’s tone was even more gloating than before. ‘Yes, most people are surprised when they find out. Hector, come and meet Elizabeth.’
‘I hope that you haven’t closed your shop up especially for us?’ Samuel tried interceding again.
‘Of course I—’ Miss Fortini stopped mid-sentence, digging her teeth into her bottom lip as if she were actually biting back words before shaking her head. ‘We close at four o’clock anyway. It was only a little early.’
‘None the less, we really can’t ask you to serve us after you’ve been working all day. I believe that I’m perfectly capable of wielding a teapot.’ He gestured towards a sofa, waiting until she’d sat down before proceeding to pour and hand out the teacups himself, stifling a smile as she shot a particularly pointed look across the room towards his grandmother.
‘There we are.’ He took the last cup for himself and then headed towards the sofa. ‘May I join you, Miss Fortini?’
‘It’s not my house. You may sit where you like.’
‘True, but I thought perhaps we might be civil to each other.’ He sat down, pretending not to notice the way her body tensed beside him. ‘Would you care for a piece of cake?’
‘No, thank you.’
‘Naturally we wanted to serve Belles, but I’m afraid they’ve all been eaten. I’m not sure who ate the most, me or my grandfather.’
‘Well, at least I can’t fault your good taste.’
He inclined his head, wondering if she were ever going to relent. ‘May I ask what changed your mind about coming today?’
‘I didn’t. It was my mother’s decision.’
‘Ah. Then I’m glad you told her about the invitation. I wasn’t sure that you would.’
She gave him a sharp look. ‘I admit I was surprised that she wanted to come, but she remembered your grandmother and thought it might be entertaining.’
‘She obviously remembers her well. She likes you, by the way.’
‘Who?’ She looked surprised. ‘Your grandmother?’
‘Yes. That was her being welcoming.’
‘Welcoming?’ Her expression was so incredulous that he smiled.
‘Trust me, if she didn’t like you then she would have found a way to get rid of you by now. She never lets anyone she doesn’t like even sit down.’
‘How does she stop them? By asking them to pour tea instead?’
‘Usually she talks about ticks and worms and how she thinks she might have brought them in from the stables. Or, if she’s not sure about a person, she mentions fleas.’
‘Are they better than ticks and worms?’
‘No, but horses don’t get fleas. If the person knows that, she gives them a second chance. If she’s in a tolerant mood, that is.’
‘How generous.’ Her gaze narrowed. ‘Perhaps she’s just tolerating me because she wants to speak with my mother?’
‘That still wouldn’t stop her from throwing you out.’ He tipped his head forward and lowered his voice. ‘So now I know why your mother is here, but why did you come, Miss Fortini?’
‘To give her support, of course...’ her shoulders stiffened ‘...and to make sure that she isn’t upset.’
‘Ah.’ He glanced across to where Mrs Fortini and his grandmother were already deep in conversation. ‘Fortunately she seems quite happy at the moment. In fact, you’re the only one who looks unhappy. Is it so very terrible being invited for tea?’
‘That depends. Do you think I ought to feel honoured?’ She lifted her cup to her lips and took a sip. ‘I concede the tea itself is quite pleasant.’
‘So it’s just the company you find displeasing, then?’ He leaned back on the sofa, throwing one leg casually over the other. ‘The indolent aristocracy in their decadent lair?’
‘I never said so.’ She gave him a cutting look.
‘Some words don’t need to be spoken aloud. Your face is remarkably vocal. And of course you gave me the full force of your opinion yesterday.’
‘It’s not an opinion I apply to everybody. I find your grandfather, for example, to be quite charming.’
‘Yes, I believe he’s rather taken with you, too. I understand that you share a common interest in bees.’
‘No-o.’ An almost-smile danced about the edges of her lips. ‘But I’ve learnt a great deal from him. About butterflies, too.’ She glanced sideways and the smile vanished again. ‘He’s a true gentleman.’
‘Unlike myself, obviously.’ Samuel made an impatient gesture. ‘You might be right, but I’ve already admitted and apologised for my ungentlemanly conduct the other day, Miss Fortini. I prefer not to be lectured ad nauseam.’
‘I don’t believe that I’m keeping you here, Captain. There are several other vacant chairs.’
‘Yes, but since we’re talking about behaviour, you tempt me to make certain ungallant observations.’
‘Such as?’
‘Such as that your mother’s, for instance, is exactly what I would expect of a lady.’
‘My mother was born a lady. I was not.’ Her eyes flashed. ‘Perhaps I don’t care whether I behave like one or not.’
‘Well then, you can rest easy, but perhaps neither of us has acquitted ourselves well of late.’
‘I’m perfectly at ease with my behaviour, Captain.’
Samuel sighed, tempted to take her advice and go and sit somewhere else instead. Apparently she had no intention of forgiving him, in which case he had better things to do than drink tea and be insulted, but he made one last attempt anyway. ‘How is your assistant? I hope that she wasn’t too upset after yesterday.’
She gave him a sidelong look, the combative glint in her eye fading slightly. ‘I believe she was, but she seems to have recovered from the shock. She came to work early this morning to help me with the baking. I think that she feels guilty for lying.’
‘She ought to. It’s fortunate she isn’t in the navy.’
‘Why?’ She sounded reluctantly interested. ‘What would the punishment be?’
He took a mouthful of tea, wondering how graphic he ought to be with his answer. ‘Well, that would depend on the size of the lie. Answering back to an officer, for example, is punishable with a gagging. That means tying the offender up with an iron bar in their mouth. The same would follow for a small deception, but anything bigger and they’d be clapped in irons.’
‘Irons?’
‘Chained to the deck for everyone to see, at the mercy of the weather and waves.’
‘How cruel.’
‘That’s one of the most minor punishments, actually. Some captains tie men to the rigging for days. Then there’s flogging and “flogging around the fleet.”. That’s the worst punishment of all, but it’s reserved for the worst crimes, too.’
‘It sounds barbaric.’
‘It can be,’ he agreed. ‘There have been times when I wished I could have turned a blind eye to some misdemeanours, but a ship needs order.’
‘You make me glad that I only run a shop. I wouldn’t want to put Henrietta in irons just for one small lie. People make mistakes.’
He lifted an eyebrow, wondering if there was some hope of forgiveness for him after all. ‘You know, there’s a nautical term, Miss Fortini—to parley. It means a cessation of hostilities in order to discuss the terms of a truce. Perhaps we might consider something similar?’
She looked at him steadily for a long moment, then across the room towards her mother and his grandmother. ‘Perhaps we should since they’re getting along so well. Only that would imply the possibility of an eventual truce.’
‘Well...’ He sat forward, putting his tea aside and spreading his hands out in a conciliatory gesture. ‘If we were to discuss terms, since we’ve already discussed what happened with your assistant, perhaps you might be persuaded to accept my apology?’
Her whole body seemed to bristle at the statement.
‘Or...’ he hurried on ‘...to accept that I mean it, whether you can forgive me or not?’
‘All right.’ She spoke slowly, as if she suspected some kind of trick. ‘I can accept that, since you did make amends.’
‘Thank you. In return, I shall ignore all your insults about the aristocracy.’
‘You can ignore them all you want. It doesn’t mean—’
‘Ahem,’ he interrupted her. ‘Parley, Miss Fortini.’
She pursed her lips. ‘Oh, very well, but in that case we should simply agree to a state of parley without trying to establish an actual truce. We’ll never agree on terms.’
‘You might be right.’ He felt a twinge of disappointment, though under the circumstances a tentative cessation of hostilities was probably the best he could hope for. Perhaps it was for the best, too. The more time he spent looking into those brown eyes, the more entrancing he found them. The more he found himself interested in her, too. Given her feelings about the aristocracy, however, he very much doubted the feeling was mutual, and if she ever found out about his possible inheritance then he suspected that even parley would be impossible. She’d probably turn away from him on the spot. On balance, it was probably best not to be entranced... ‘That sounds like a compromise.’
‘But I’m only agreeing for my mother’s sake.’
‘Naturally.’ He leaned back against the sofa again. ‘Speaking of your mother, I understand that she suffers from some kind of illness?’
‘Yes. She has stiffness and swelling in her joints. It’s not so bad at the moment, but it can be very painful for her.’
‘I’m sorry to hear it.’ He glanced discreetly across the room. ‘I presume that she’s seen a physician?’
‘Yes. He tried blood-letting and leeches, all the usual things, but none of them did any good. Now he just prescribes the waters. He says that the symptoms can only be alleviated, not cured.’
‘It must be very difficult for her.’
Her chin jutted upwards defensively. ‘She’s perfectly content, Captain. My mother has no regrets about her choices in life, even despite her condition now. My father did everything he could to make her comfortable. Contrary to everyone’s expectations my parents were very much in love and happy together.’
‘I’m sure they were. Your father passed away, I understand?’
‘Yes, six years ago.’ A wistful look came over her face. ‘He and I used to do all the baking together.’
‘Surely you don’t do it all by yourself now?’
‘Yes, first thing in the morning.’
‘Every morning?’
‘Six days a week.’
‘That sounds tiring.’
‘I like to keep busy.’ She lifted her chin even higher, though with an air of defiance that suggested the words were more of a stock answer than the truth.
‘It still sounds tiring.’
‘It’s just how things are. Sometimes we find ourselves in situations that we didn’t expect or choose, but that we can’t walk away from, either.’ A small frown puckered her brow as if she were afraid she’d just said too much. ‘But I do miss my father a great deal. He called us una squadra perfetta.’
‘A perfect team?’
‘Yes.’ Her eyes widened with obvious surprise. ‘You speak Italian?’
‘I’m a sailor. In the navy, it helps to learn a little of every language, although I’m not sure I’d get very far in conversation. You’re fluent, I presume?’
‘Especially about biscuits. My father always made a point of speaking Italian to my brother and me so we grew up learning two languages at once.’
‘Ho bisogno di una corda?’
She stared at him blankly for a few seconds. ‘You need some rope?’
‘Not at this precise moment, but that’s the kind of subject I can talk about. Or if you prefer, Dove posso comprare dieci bottiglie di vino rosso?’
‘Where can you buy ten bottles of red wine?’
‘For the Captain’s table, just as important as rope.’ He smiled and picked up his teacup again, regarding her quizzically as he drank. She was still as prickly as a hedgehog, though under the circumstances he couldn’t particularly blame her. Given the way her parents had been ostracised by society, the details of which his grandmother had expounded to him earlier, he could understand her dislike of the aristocracy, too. She’d made her prejudice abundantly obvious, yet here she was, drinking tea with a baron and a baroness in one of the grandest houses in the city. It had to feel strange.
‘I say.’ The Baron crossed the room to settle himself in an armchair beside them. ‘I’m afraid that my wife’s trying to get your mother riding again, my dear.’
‘Riding?’ Miss Fortini echoed as if she didn’t know what the word meant.
‘Yes, she was quite an accomplished horsewoman in her day, so I’ve been told. Repeatedly. I ought to have known that was the reason Georgiana remembered her. It’s usually something to do with horses. Those creatures are the bane of my life.’
‘My mother rides?’
‘Well, of course she rides!’ the Baroness answered, though bellowed would have been a more fitting description. ‘Show me a lady who doesn’t!’
‘That doesn’t mean all of them enjoy it,’ Samuel cut in.
‘Nonsense. If they don’t enjoy it, then they’re not doing it properly. What about you, Miss Fortini? Do you enjoy it?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve never tried.’
‘You’ve never—’ For arguably the first time in her life, his grandmother appeared to be at a loss for words. ‘But how on earth is that possible?’
‘Quite easily when you don’t own a horse.’
‘But how do you go anywhere?’
‘I have two perfectly good feet.’
‘Then how do you travel longer distances?’
‘We don’t.’ It was Mrs Fortini who spoke this time. ‘I’m afraid that we haven’t travelled a great deal at all. My husband always wanted to take us to Italy, to show us where he grew up and introduce us to the rest of his family, but unfortunately our circumstances never allowed it.’
‘Perhaps once the war is over...’ The Baron’s expression was kindly.
‘No.’ Mrs Fortini shook her head. ‘It was his dream. We talked about it so often that it wouldn’t feel right now to go without him. It would be too painful.’
‘I know exactly what you mean.’ His grandmother sounded uncharacteristically sympathetic. ‘If I ever lost Hector, I should never set foot in a library again.’
‘I can’t imagine that affecting your life too badly, my dear. You hardly enter mine now.’
‘Then I would never pick up another book as a matter of principle.’
‘In that case I’m touched. I’d make a similar vow about stables, but we both know I’d never last a day without you.’
‘Absolutely right.’ His grandmother nodded vehemently, though with a tremulous note to her voice that Samuel found unsettling. Not for the first time since he’d joined them in Bath, he had the distinct impression that she was hiding something. Although if she didn’t want to tell him, he knew that wild horses would never drag it from her.
‘Which area of Italy was your husband from, Mrs Fortini?’ he asked instead.
‘From the north, an old Etruscan town close to Florence famous for olive trees, vineyards and Roman ruins. He came from a long line of bakers.’ She gave a bittersweet smile. ‘He used to say that he came to England for adventure, ended up as a footman, met me and went back to baking again.’
‘Infinitely more interesting than being a footman, I should say.’ His grandmother sniffed. ‘I often wonder what they find to think about, standing around all day.’
‘Perhaps you ought to let them sit down?’ Miss Fortini’s voice sounded altogether too innocent.
‘I don’t believe there really is much standing around,’ her mother spoke gently. ‘From what my husband told me, there was always work to do in a big house.’
‘Hmm.’ His grandmother’s gaze honed in upon Miss Fortini. ‘Would you like to visit Italy, Miss Annabelle?’
‘Yes, very much. I’d like to visit Rome most of all.’ Her face seemed to light up at the suggestion. ‘Perhaps I ought to stow away on your ship, Captain Delaney? Or are you one of those sailors who object to having women on board?’
‘Not at all. I wouldn’t necessarily recommend the experience of living alongside eight hundred men, but I’ll be sure to stow an extra hammock just in case.’
‘That would be most obliging, thank you.’
Her lips curved and he sucked in a breath, struck by how pretty she was when she let her guard down. If she ever sheathed her prickles completely, then she might be quite beautiful. He felt unusually relaxed looking at her, too, which was curious since he’d felt almost permanently on edge ever since he’d set foot on shore; even more curious that someone so prickly could make him relax, but somehow she was doing it. Maybe it was those entrancing eyes, as dark as the sea at night and just as unfathomable. As tempestuous, too, able to leap from one emotion to another in a heartbeat. He felt as if he could gaze into them all day...
‘If he goes back to sea, which I am determined he shall not,’ his grandmother declared, breaking the mood abruptly.
‘But why wouldn’t he go back?’ Miss Fortini seemed to give a small start, her expression arrested as she looked from him to his grandmother and back again. ‘You said you loved being a sailor.’
‘I do, but unfortunately my circumstances are such that it might not be possible.’
‘Your injury?’
‘Not exactly...’ He threw a swift warning look at his grandmother, but it was too late. Her mouth was already opening and long experience told him there was no way to make it close again, or to speak over it, either. He was heading for rocks and keeling over at the same time, just when he’d thought he might make it through unscathed. In short, he was doomed.
‘Because my grandson isn’t just a naval captain, Miss Fortini. He’s the future Earl of Staunton.’
And there it was. Shipwreck. So much for parley.