Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78100 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78100 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
“There is love, yes?” His friend’s voice betrayed a note of worry. “You are not unhappy together?”
“I’m enamored of her. Hopefully it’s enough to steer us through the stormy seas ahead, especially after the stormy seas we’ve already weathered.”
“Hopefully there won’t be another shipwreck.” August joked, but there was an underpinning of concern in his voice.
“We did write to her parents as well, to explain the course of events. Rosalind confessed her part in everything.” He grinned, downing the last of his drink. “It was daring of her, wasn’t it?”
“It was mad of her. I suppose it’s strong evidence that she truly loves you, that the two of you were meant to be together no matter what Townsend and his parents think.” He stared at Marlow, as if still trying to believe they were together, now, in this foreign gentlemen’s club. “To be honest, I’m glad you’re not in India. I’m glad you’re here, and that you and Rosalind are safe. If you’re truly happy together, then I shall help you in whatever way I can.”
“I need funds, friend, and better clothes, and a coach to take us to Florence because I’ve spent most of what we had.”
“Done. You needn’t even ask. I’ve my own coach here in Rome, and a smart team of horses. We can return to Florence together.”
“Are you sure?” Marlow leveled a look at him. “Sure you want to go back?”
“Oh, I’m certain.” August grinned. “I wouldn’t miss this family reunion for anything. Wescott will be put out that he missed the fireworks.”
Marlow smiled too, though there wasn’t a great deal to smile about. He’d be lucky if there were only fireworks, and not a viscount of questionable reputation being burned at the stake.
*
Lord Augustine had always been Rosalind’s friend, one of the older boys who ran about with her brothers during the London season or country house parties. He’d always had smiles and gentle teasing for her, but presently, in his private, luxurious coach, he was quiet, studying her now and again from beneath his dark lashes. She supposed he was the first of many to be scandalized by her behavior. She must get used to furtive, questioning glances.
At least she was in a comfortable conveyance with velvet cushions rather than hard benches, and windows one could see out of without straining one’s neck. She was in a fine traveling gown, too, a pristine dove gray silk with tasteful pearl trim and the longer sleeves that were coming into fashion. With Lord Augustine’s assistance they’d paid a visit to a modiste in Rome’s most fashionable quarter, and within twenty-four hours, three new creations had been delivered to his rented house.
It was a very nice house, as one would expect of a wealthy earl like Lord Augustine. She’d wanted to stay a few days longer, to hide away in the luxury she was accustomed to, but once Augustine wrapped up his Roman affairs, Marlow said they must depart to “face the music.” It had been one thing to travel to see Felicity. She was sweet and sisterly, and not so scary. She had imagined Felicity could help her write a second letter before they journeyed back to England, a letter of support and solidarity to really iron things out.
Now her parents were in Florence too, staying in the prince’s household, along with her oldest brother Townsend and Jane, his pregnant wife. To face her father and mother after what she’d done…
She sighed and rested her head against Marlow’s shoulder. They’d arrive in Florence soon, too soon. Three days, if the weather held. Well, she would not wish for a storm, not after the storm at sea, which had terrified her of all storms forever.
Marlow took her hand and squeezed it as their coach bobbed down the scenic country road. If we can survive what we survived, he’d told her, gazing at her with his pale blue eyes, then we can survive this together.
Together, yes, but since they’d been at Lord Augustine’s house, Marlow had kept a certain distance. Did he regret teaching her the secret, intimate things they’d been doing to one another since they’d married? Perhaps he only wished to be discreet in August’s company. The man sat across from them in the carriage like some dashing chaperone as the hours ticked by. Now he looked at their entwined hands and gave a tilted smile.
“I’ll never get used to seeing you two together,” he said. “Like this. You were always so different from one another. None of us could believe…”
“Believe what? That we loved each other?” Rosalind could feel Marlow’s tension against her cheek. “Just because no one could understand doesn’t mean our feelings weren’t true.” His voice took on a gruff tone. “We had to go through too much to be together.”
Rosalind thought briefly of her beloved poetry book, lost at sea. “Love will find a way through paths where wolves fear to prey,” she said, lifting her head to quote Lord Byron.