Nicola Cornick, Margaret McPhee, et al (37 page)

He gasped her name, and shifted, and suddenly the pleasure was
even more breathtaking, and both of them were half-laughing and half-weeping as
they moved together, together,
yes
, until they found the joy that would
bind their love together.

And when they lay together afterwards, a long, long time
afterwards—after they’d loved one another twice more, after they’d eaten the
sweet Italian cake that stood in for Lady Carrington’s Christmas plum pudding,
after James had given her her Christmas present, a gold-rimmed cameo of an
angel holding a wreath that the local carver had sworn was holly, after James
had fastened the chain around her neck to wear beside her father’s gold heart,
enough to make her weep—after all of that, content and exhausted, Abigail
drowsily decided there was no better Christmas to be had in this life than to
be here, now, with James’s chest against her back and his arm around her waist
and his heart beating in time with hers.

They returned far later than James had intended. The wind had
changed, too, blowing cold against them the way a real December wind would in
the north, and by the time they’d reached the public docks it was after dark
and well after the time when English men and women with any sense had left
Naples to the Neapolitans.

But there was more than just the hour that felt wrong to him. His
instincts sensed danger. Like the wind, the temper of the city seemed changed,
agitated and restless. There were too many voices in the streets, too many
lights at too many windows.

‘What’s happened, eh?’ he asked the driver of the hackney he’d
hired to carry them back to the embassy. He spoke softly in Italian, almost in
a whisper, so he wouldn’t alarm Abigail, drowsy beside him. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘You haven’t heard the news,
signor
?’ The driver shook his
head with doleful resignation. ‘The French have retaken Rome and are headed
towards Naples—and may God have mercy on our miserable souls.’

T
HEY
went directly to the ambassador’s
library as soon as they returned. The Hamiltons were there, of course, and Lord
Nelson, and several other captains from the fleet. Every face was so grim, the
tension so thick, that Abigail knew the news James had told her in the hackney
must be true.

‘High time you showed your face, Richardson.’ The admiral glared
at James, tipping his head to focus his displeasure through his single good
eye. ‘You have heard, then?’

‘That Rome has fallen,’ James said calmly, still holding
Abigail’s hand, ‘and the Neapolitans are in retreat.’

‘The damned Neapolitans are running and yipping with their tails
between their legs,’ Lord Nelson said, biting off each word with disgust. ‘That
fat fool Ferdinand is running the fastest—hiding himself in peasant’s clothing
instead of leading like a man, let alone a king. His officers haven’t lost much
honour, God knows they’d but little to lose, but they most certainly have lost
all they had. What the devil is
she
doing here?’

It took Abigail a long, awful moment to realise the admiral meant
her. ‘My lord,’ she said, dropping a belated curtsey in her bedraggled gown. ‘I
am here because I have an interest in—’

‘Miss Layton is with me,’ James said, as if this were the answer
to everything.

‘Miss Layton’s presence here is o’ no importance compared to
saving the lives o’ Ferdinand and his family,’ Lady Hamilton said, and
automatically everyone’s attention swung away from Abigail. ‘As soon as
Ferdinand returns, they must all be carried to safety, away from the French.’

‘The poor Queen is terrified,’ Sir William said, ‘and who can
blame her? I’ve heard the French army travels with a guillotine in their
baggage cart, ready to put the infernal machine to use whenever they can.’

Her fear growing, Abigail’s fingers tightened into James’s for
reassurance. How had one single day brought her the greatest happiness she’d
ever known and now the very real threat of Jacobins with guillotines?

‘It’s not the French army that’s worryin’ me,’ Lady Hamilton said
bluntly. ‘It’s the King an’ Queen’s own subjects. If the people o’ Naples see
the royal family leavin’, they’ll tear them to pieces like wolves. There won’t
be nothing left but scraps for the French and their wicked guillotine.’

‘Well said, my dear, well said.’ Sir William glanced fondly at
his wife. ‘Emma is entirely right. The royal family must be moved to safety
with the greatest discretion.’

Irritably Lord Nelson leaned forward over the table. ‘But you say
it’s not just the King and Queen and their pack of children. I must also haul
their entire court and servants. Why, there won’t be room to turn about between
decks, there are so blasted many of them.’

‘Yes, my lord,’ Lady Hamilton said. ‘Unless you wish to have
their blood on your hands.’

‘A plague on them all,’ the admiral grumbled. ‘If they’d defended
Rome with any courage, matters wouldn’t have come to this.’

‘But they have, Lord Nelson,’ Lady Hamilton said with surprising
patience. ‘Which is why we’ve made our plans to fall in the middle o’ the
Sultan’s party. We’ll each o’ us slip away one by one to the tunnels, to where
your boats are waitin’ to take everyone to the ships and then to Palermo. The
trick will be to leave the ball without any show or fuss, so that no one
suspects.’

Abigail listened, her fear growing. Palermo was on the island of
Sicily—the other half of Ferdinand’s kingdom. An island was the safest place of
refuge for the royal family, for the French wouldn’t dare challenge the English
navy and their guns, but what would become of the rest of them? What would
become of
her
?

‘We must be the last to leave the ball,’ the admiral was saying.
‘Sir William and his lady and I will then return directly to the
Vanguard
.
Richardson, you will wait for our signal on board the
Colossus
.’

‘Yes, sir,’ James said. ‘The
Colossus
, sir?’

‘Of course, Richardson, you were not here earlier, when this was
discussed,’ the admiral said, and one of the other captains handed James a
sealed packet of orders. ‘I congratulate you, sir. In honour of your heroic
actions and initiative at Aboukir, you have been made Captain. You are to sail
for England at once on board the
Colossus
, my lord, to Portsmouth, where
you will receive further orders regarding a command.’

Abigail caught her breath with joy for him, wishing she could
shout and whoop and throw her arms around James’s neck. But there was no place
for such public rejoicing over personal achievement now, with so much else at
stake.

All James himself did was release her hand to step forward and
bow, and take the packet of orders without once looking her way. He broke the
seal, scanning the pages quickly.

But there was no smile for her, no shared pleasure in his
achievement.

Surely he was only being stoic, behaving as a new officer
should?
Her hand felt cold and bereft without his around it.
Surely he
didn’t mean to scorn her, or to abandon her now, when she’d need him most?

‘Thank you, my lord,’ he said, the picture of official restraint.
‘I am deeply honoured.’

‘You should be, Richardson.’ The admiral allowed himself a smile.
‘The honour is well earned, and deserved.’

‘Thank you, my lord,’ James said again. ‘I should like to ask
that Miss Layton be permitted to accompany me to Portsmouth.’

Stunned, Abigail could say nothing. Relief washed over her so
completely that she feared she might faint from it.

‘Miss Layton?’ said the admiral incredulously. ‘On board the
Colossus
?
This—this woman? I am sorry, my lord, but such an indulgence is absolutely out
of the question. You know my beliefs regarding women on board ships of war.’

‘I know that women in general are forbidden on board, my lord,’
James said. ‘But captains are permitted to be accompanied by their wives.’

At last he turned back towards Abigail, and took her hand as he
knelt on one knee before her—before the world. ‘Miss Layton, will you do me the
greatest of honours and be my wife?’

‘No, no, Richardson—no!’ the admiral exclaimed, appalled. ‘I
won’t let you do this. You are the son of a peer, an officer with every
advantage for the future. I will not let you harm yourself by such a connection.
Your father would never forgive me if I did!’

But all Abigail heard was James’s proposal, and all she saw was
the love in his face.

‘Marry me, Abbie,’ he said. ‘Marry me, and be mine for ever.’

‘Yes,’ she said, the only answer her heart would ever give. ‘Oh,
yes.’

Now he was the one who caught her in his arms, holding her as if
he’d never let her go. ‘My own Abbie,’ he whispered into her hair. ‘My own
love!’

‘There’s no time now for banns and a wedding. Not even a shameful
wedding such as this,’ the admiral protested. ‘Not with the French bearing down
hard upon us.’

‘Dear sir, there is plenty o’ time,’ Lady Hamilton said firmly,
coming to stand beside Abbie and James. ‘Not for a landsman’s wedding, no. But
if the captain o’ the
Colossus
keeps a cleric on board, then he can
marry them as soon as they come aboard, as a special case. War changes
everything, you know. No one will protest if the banns or licences or whatever
come later.’

‘Then it shall fall to Captain Peters to decide,’ the admiral
grumbled. ‘God knows, he’s sentimental enough to do it, and I know for a fact
that he sails with a chaplain in his company. But a wedding—on this night of
all others! I still believe the thing should not be allowed—not with a young
gentleman of such promise.’

‘And I, Lord Nelson,’ countered Lady Hamilton, ‘will not allow it
to be otherwise. Every young gentleman o’ promise needs a wife with cleverness
an’ beauty to steady him, else he’ll not amount to nothing.’

‘As a clever woman with beauty yourself, my lady, I suppose you
should know.’ The admiral gazed towards the heavens in silent appeal, and then
sighed with resignation. ‘Go then, Richardson. Marry your sweetheart and find
joy with her.’

Beaming with satisfaction, Lady Hamilton kissed Abigail on the
cheek. ‘I told you I’d be your friend when you needed one, Miss Layton,’ she
whispered, for Abigail alone to hear. ‘An’ I was.’

‘Thank you, my lady,’ Abigail said. ‘For everything.’

‘Hah, it was you that was wise enough to trust your man when I
said otherwise!’ She laughed, and patted Abigail’s arm with genuine fondness.
‘Besides, there aren’t many ladies who’ll wake to find such a fine new husband
beside them on Christmas morn.’

James chuckled, his arm still curled possessively around
Abigail’s waist. ‘I told you I’d surprise you, Abbie, didn’t I?’

‘You did,’ she whispered happily. ‘Oh, yes, you
did
.’

On any other night Abigail would have delighted in the spectacle
of the Sultan’s ball. Dressed, to her eye, like paintings of the Three Wise
Men, the Sultan and his attendants wore magnificently rich robes and turbans,
silks and brocades thick with gold and silver thread. At their waists they wore
fantastic curving swords—even here, to the ball—and there were jewels
glittering everywhere on their persons, from the rings on their fingers to
their swords’ scabbards, even within the elaborately wrapped folds of their
turbans.

More wonderful still was the sight of the Sultan formally
presenting Admiral Nelson both with one of the curved swords—a scimitar with a
gilded hilt in the shape of a crouching crocodile, to symbolise the Nile—and a
jewel of his own.

Lady Hamilton had told Abigail the jewel was called a
chelengk
,
the highest award for valour granted by the Turks: a huge Brazilian diamond,
surrounded with a hundred more diamonds set like the rays of the sun, and a bow
beneath that rotated by means of a tiny clockwork inside. Because Nelson wore
no turban of his own, the Sultan pinned the
chelengk
to the front of the
admiral’s cocked hat, where it turned and spun like some sparkling demon eye
for the rest of the evening.

Yet despite so much gaudy spectacle, rich food and drink, and an
orchestra for dancing, Abigail could take no real pleasure in the ball. The
realisation of what so much gaiety was serving to mask was never far from her
thoughts. At James’s side, she noted it as each royal face vanished from the
crowd, and worried that others were noticing, too.

‘You’re nervous as a cat tonight, love,’ James said as he brought
her a glass of punch. ‘You’re not having second thoughts about wedding me, are
you?’

‘Oh, no!’ she said. ‘It’s—it’s the other part.’

‘Don’t fuss over that,’ he said easily, his gaze sweeping the
crowded room. ‘It’s all going as well as can be expected. Even better, perhaps,
for I believe that all who needed to leave are gone.’

‘I’ll feel better once we’re safely away, too,’ she said in an
anxious whisper. ‘I’m not as accustomed to these sorts of—of evenings as you are.’

He laughed. ‘Adventure is good for the constitution, sweet. I
recommend it most highly.’

She sighed, unable to relax. The truth was he
did
seem to
be enjoying himself—as if he’d magically transformed the danger they must all
be in into an invigorating excitement. ‘Is this how you are before a battle,
James?’

‘I suppose I must be,’ he said, amused that she’d noticed. ‘I
never feel more alive than when there’s a risk I might die.’

‘Don’t speak so,’ she said, troubled. ‘That’s ill luck—and on our
wedding night, too.’

‘I’ve hardly forgotten.’ He bent to kiss her, his lips tasting of
punch and excitement. ‘Not with having you as my wife in my bed as my reward.
Ah, the admiral is making his farewells, and so are the Hamiltons.’