Nicola Cornick, Margaret McPhee, et al (32 page)

‘They were,’ he said, reluctant to let the memories slip away
just yet. ‘The happiest of days.’

‘They still are,’ she said, ‘so long as you keep them safe within
you.’

He frowned down at her, unwilling to let her see the depth of his
own emotions. ‘Did Lady Hamilton tell you that, too?’

She shook her head, self-consciously smoothing a loose strand of
hair back beneath her small linen cap. ‘It’s my own little thought, nothing
more. I never dreamed I’d spend a Christmas here in Naples, with palm trees, a
volcano, and half the English navy in my sight. But so long as I can recall
that last Christmas with Father, and the happiness it gave me, then I’ll find
joy in this Christmas, too.’

‘Then do you believe the same of me?’ he asked, striving to keep
his voice lighter than he felt. ‘So long as I can recall my mother’s jigs and
my brothers shoving one another face-first in the snow, I should be happy this
Christmas, too?’

Her cheeks pinkened, but she did not break her gaze from his, and
he wondered if she were even aware that she’d once again touched her fingertips
to the gold heart at her throat.

‘I—I wouldn’t dare presume,’ she said softly. ‘You must decide
such a thing for yourself, my lord.’

‘James,’ he said. ‘Not “my lord”. James.’

‘James,’ she repeated, scarce more than a whisper. ‘James.’

She was standing close to him, so close that he could count every
one of her lashes if he’d a mind to. Her lips were parted, her breath
quickening. He’d thought her eyes were blue, but now he saw that the blue was
flecked with tiny bits of silver, as rare and captivating as she was herself.

What would she do if he took her into his arms? Would she push
him away or come to him, her body soft and willing against his? Would she
understand why he wanted to hold her? Understand how he felt when he couldn’t
explain it himself? Understand that it was not just bold-faced desire driving
him, but something more, something finer, something that was a jumble of what
she’d said about Christmas, and Aboukir Bay, and happiness, and her?

And
her
.

‘James?’ she said now, his name a breathless question on her
lips. ‘James?’

‘It’s time we turned to work,’ he said gruffly, forcing himself
to break away from the temptation she so innocently offered. ‘If Sir William
wants all this bound for England by Christmas, we’ve no time to waste.’

‘Ah, so it’s Lieutenant Lord Richardson,’ the admiral said.
‘Come, be seated here, so we might speak in confidence.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ James took the offered armchair beside the
admiral’s bed.

The room was almost dark, the curtains drawn and the shutters
closed against the bright afternoon sunlight. The admiral’s remaining good eye
was still sensitive, and his wounds from the battle, while healing, continued
to plague him more than he wished it to be known to the Neapolitans or, more
importantly, to the French. While he made a brave show of going about the city
with the Hamiltons as his guide, he retreated here to his rooms—the most
luxurious guest rooms in the embassy—when the headaches became too much.
Tonight he’d have to endure the exhausting celebration of a ball for his
birthday.

With concern James noted how frail Nelson appeared, lying in the
centre of the oversized bed, looking far older than his age. England couldn’t
afford to lose him—not and continue winning against the French at sea.

‘So tell me, lieutenant,’ the admiral said, lifting the chilled
cloth from his brow to look at James. ‘How do you find your duty here, eh? As
pleasant as I predicted?’

‘Yes, sir,’ James said. ‘Most pleasant, sir.’

The admiral chuckled, his smile showing the gaps of lost teeth.
‘I thought you’d find it so, given your station. Of all of my lieutenants, you
would appreciate the hospitality of such a fine house. I trust you’ve had the
chance to write to your father by now?’

‘Yes, sir,’ James said proudly. ‘I gave him every detail of the
victory. He is a great admirer of the navy, sir, and you can be sure he will
share my letter with his acquaintance in the House.’

‘I thank you for that.’ It was common knowledge that the admiral
longed for a title, and hoped fervently that Parliament would offer him at
least an earldom as a reward for winning such an important battle. ‘I also
trust you likewise weren’t overly modest in your own achievements, lieutenant?’

‘I gave credit where it was properly due, sir,’ James said
modestly. ‘I also wrote how Lady Hamilton and Sir William have been kindness
itself.’

‘Indeed.’ The admiral smiled, and James suspected it was likely
the mention of Lady Hamilton that had done it. The gossip he’d heard about Lady
Hamilton and the admiral on board the
Vanguard
was nothing compared to
what he’d seen between them here in her house: the way she cut his food and fed
him the tenderest morsels at the dinner table, how she’d sit so close to him in
the carriage she was practically in his lap, how openly she came to visit him
while he lay abed—and everything done with Sir William’s apparent blessing and
the ignorance of poor Mrs Nelson back in England. From loyalty to his admiral
James had carefully omitted those particular details from his letter home; if
Lady Hamilton’s attentions could ease the burden such a great leader carried on
his narrow shoulders, then so be it.

‘The hospitality of this house,’ Nelson continued, ‘and the
loyalty of its inhabitants to the Crown, are unrivalled. Which is why I have
assigned you to oversee the preparation of Sir William’s collections for return
to England. You are making progress?’

‘Yes, sir,’ James said. ‘With Miss Layton’s assistance, I—’

‘Has that girl any useful knowledge at all?’ interrupted the
admiral impatiently. ‘I know Sir William claims to put faith in her, but I
suspect that’s more because of the chit’s pretty face than any brains behind
it.’

‘Miss Layton is most knowledgeable, sir,’ he said, scarcely able
to bite back the sort of retort that no officer could afford to make to his
superior. ‘Sir William’s collection could not be in more able hands.’

‘She’ll find a good deal more of Sir William in her hands if
she’s not careful,’ the admiral said. ‘Make certain there’s no loitering. She
must make everything ready as soon as possible. I’ve promised Sir William that
the navy will do its best for his collection in return for seeing we’ve had a
haven here in Naples.’

‘I believe Miss Layton feels her work will be done by Christmas.’
He’d thought much of Christmas after their conversation: not only of the past
Christmases of his boyhood, but of how much he’d like to make Abigail happy for
this coming Christmas as well. They’d spoken of it often as they’d worked side
by side these last days, and it had become part of the growing bond between
them.

‘Christmas!’ the admiral groaned, settling the cloth back over
his face. ‘Given the news from the north, it had better be done before that.
The last thing I want is to have those infernal treasures of Sir William’s fall
into French hands. I’d never hear the end of it.’

‘But Christmas is three months away, sir,’ James said. It seemed
at once an eternity stretching before him and Abigail, yet far too short as
well. ‘Surely the French won’t come far into Italy before spring, if at all?’

‘The French are already in Rome,’ the admiral said bluntly. ‘Our
goal here is to force the Neapolitans to abandon their cowardly neutrality and
throw their lot in with England. Then it will be our duty to aid them as is
necessary in retaking Rome, if they display a modicum of initiative, or help
them defend Naples if they don’t and the French attack here first. Those are
our orders, Lieutenant, at least as far as you need know them. The sooner you
get Sir William’s valuables out of the way of the French, the better.’

‘What of Miss Layton, sir?’ James asked, all thoughts of a frivolously
happy Christmas forgotten. He’d seen enough of war to know the grim fate of
women left in the path of an invading army, and he’d never abandon Abigail to
that. ‘Surely her safe passage back to England must be considered along with
Sir William’s collection?’

‘Then urge her to finish her assignment and return.’

‘Forgive me, sir, but the merchant vessels won’t—’

‘Merchant vessels are not my affair.’ The admiral grunted. ‘Don’t
let your pleasure in the girl’s company blind you to the fact that she’s a civilian,
Lieutenant, and that she is here in Naples by her own choice. His Majesty’s
ships have more important responsibilities than to ferry Miss Layton about the
Mediterranean.’

‘But, sir, Miss Layton cannot—’ ‘That is all, Lieutenant,’ the
admiral said curtly. ‘That is all.’ But for James it was only the beginning.

W
ITH
bits of wood clinging to her black
sleeves, Abigail plunged her hand again deep into the froth of shavings,
searching desperately for the tiny bundle she knew must be tucked deep inside.

‘Hurry, miss, hurry!’ urged the footman. ‘Sir William’s
determined to present that medal to Admiral Nelson tonight, before the King and
Queen!’

‘Are you certain he asked for that particular medallion?’ Abigail
asked. ‘I don’t understand why he’d set it aside as one of those to pack, only
to ask me to retrieve it now.’

‘It’s not our place to question Sir William,’ said the footman,
drawing his lips together with prim disapproval. ‘He told me to wait until you
found it, and wait I shall until you do.’

Abigail muttered an unladylike expression under her breath as she
shoved her hair back from her forehead and began hunting through the next
packed barrel. She’d already been late leaving the gallery when the footman had
come with his order from the ambassador, and now she was doubly so. She should
have gone to her room to wash and dress for the ball—her first ball!—three
hours ago. She’d been hearing the carriages of the dinner guests as they
arrived since before the sun had set, and now those who’d been invited only to
the ball were beginning to come, too. Yet here she remained, hot and sticky and
covered with sawdust, until she found that infernal—

‘Here it is.’ She knew it was the one by touch alone as she
unwrapped the strips of protective linen, but still she held it up to the
candle to be sure, turning it over between her fingers. She recognised the
medal well enough, having just completed the catalogue entry on it the day
before. ‘Julius Caesar, in all his glory.’

‘Give that to me.’ The footman snatched the medallion and ran
from the room—back to wherever it was that Sir William waited. Just as quickly,
Abigail grabbed the candlestick and the key, locked the gallery’s door, and
hurried down the hall and up the stairs to her own room. Sounds of laughter and
music drifted up from the ballroom; they’d already begun the dancing, then.
She’d asked James to look for her, never dreaming she’d be so late. Was he
hunting for her still? Or had he given up and begun to dance with another lady?

‘Signorina.’ The waiting maidservant jumped up and curtseyed as
soon as Abigail threw open the door. ‘Her ladyship sent me to attend you,
signorina. Your bath, your gown, your hair.’

She stepped to one side, gesturing towards the round wooden tub
before the fire. Flower petals floated on the water’s surface, and as with both
hands the maid lifted the kettle from the fire, to pour hot water into the tub
to warm it further, fragrant steam hissed from the surface. At any other time
Abigail would have relished such unimaginable luxury, but now all she could
think of was James in the ballroom below.

‘I’m already late,’ Abigail said, as she began unfastening her
gown without waiting for the woman’s help. ‘Help me hurry, please!’

The maid understood—or perhaps she, too, wished to join the
others downstairs. With brisk efficiency she helped Abigail scrub away the
day’s dust and grit, and brushed her hair dry before the fire, artfully curling
the ends with tongs heated over the coals. At last she dressed Abigail in the
new chemise and gown, and the stockings and slippers which had that same
afternoon been delivered by the mantua-maker. Everything was pale and ethereal
and
new
, and after over a year of nothing but black, she felt almost
like a butterfly freed from her chrysalis. Only her gold locket was familiar,
and she touched it again, as if begging pardon from her father for giving up
her mourning.

With a deep breath to steady her anxiety, she finally turned
towards her reflection in the long glass in the maid’s hands.

‘Oh, gracious,’ she whispered, stunned by the elegant figure
staring back at her. ‘I’ve never looked like this before.’

‘You are a beautiful lady,
signorina
,’ said the maid,
smiling at Abigail’s surprise. ‘You will break many hearts tonight, yes?’

At once Abigail thought of James. That was the only heart she’d
consider. She’d never want to break his, of course, just…just please it. That
was all: please his heart, and please him.

With her own heart racing with anticipation and worry, Abigail
grabbed her gloves and fan from the bed and hurried towards the ballroom,
smoothing the long kid gloves over her arms as she ran down the stairs. She
didn’t join the line of important guests waiting to be announced, but instead
slipped into the ballroom through one of the side doorways.

Hundreds and hundreds and
hundreds
of people, she thought
with dismay. Yet the only one who mattered was nowhere to be seen. Already
other gentlemen were glancing her way, preening as they tried to catch her eye
and appraising her from head to toe with embarrassingly frank admiration, and
she set her face in a stern expression, determined to discourage them. She’d
only wanted to look this way for James, but where,
where
could he be?