Bride of a Distant Isle (6 page)

He gently released her hand but did not move away from her. Nor did she from him. “I have something for the young Albert.” The captain held out a beautifully wrapped square box.

“How delightful, Captain Dell'Acqua. You shouldn't have.”

Clementine then called for Lillian, who brought the young ruffian downstairs. The captain presented Albert with the box, which he tore open with great hunger and little decorum.

“A dwum, a dwum, a dwum!” Albert shouted and then banged the sticks against it, causing a glee-filled hullabaloo. His spaniel ran under one of the sofas and remained there. The men burst out laughing, and one of them pretended to reach for the drum that Albert firmly tucked under his arm.

I felt a pang of love for him, and then an unexpected pang of desire for a child of my own.

“Lillian shan't thank you for that noise, but I do,” Clementine said softly. “How very kind of you to remember.”

“I saw, at the Exhibition, how important that drum was to you. At that moment, it became important to me. It is a pleasure to indulge the son of a . . . friend.”
Very astute, Captain Dell'Acqua. You have at least one ally at Highcliffe now.
To please Albert was to win Clementine. To please Clementine was to please Edward.

Could the captain find Clementine attractive? He certainly exuded charm toward her, and she had clearly responded. Maybe it was just convenient flirting to assist him in achieving his goals, as his friends had suggested he was given to.

Watts said that he would show the rest of the party to their quarters; the guest wing was a floor above the family's rooms. “If I may speak with Miss Ashton for a moment,” Dell'Acqua said. Watts looked at Edward, who nodded.

“I shall be rearranging some volumes in the library,” Clementine said, smiling at me. She could see into the solarium from the library, chaperoning, though from a distance.

I sat on the sofa, trying to keep my face placid and wondering, as I did, why this man even stirred my interest. Simply because he was different?
For shame, Annabel.
Hadn't I rebelled against that peculiar kind of novelty when it had been directed toward me? Because he was Maltese? Maybe. Because he made me smile? I did smile, then. Yes, that.

“You're smiling.” He sat on the chair across from the palm tree–fabric-lined sofa upon which I perched. I appreciated his manners; he did not sit next to me, which would have been uncomfortably forward.

“Am I?”

“You are,” he said, his tone playful. “Maybe because I have brought a gift for you. I hope that Everedge, or you, do not mind.”

I looked in his hand then and saw a much smaller package, also carefully wrapped, which must have been hidden behind Albert's larger one.

“You needn't have . . .” I began. What would Edward think? Probably little, if the familiarity brought him the arrangement he sought.
I shan't be as easily won over as Albert.

“I wanted to.” Dell'Acqua held the package out to me, and I took it and carefully pulled the ribbon wrapped around it, which dropped to the floor. I lifted the lid of the box, and nestled inside was a glass jar filled with amber liquid.

“Thyme honey. From Malta.” The captain's face was suddenly boyish and seeking my approval. I offered it freely in response.

“I'm delighted! I believe this is the first time in my life that someone has purchased a gift for me, thinking and remembering something that would perfectly suit.”

“I was sorry I could not acquire it at the Exhibition, but I did not give up. If I'm not interested in something”—he snapped his fingers—“I forget about it immediately. But if there is something I truly want, I go after it until it's mine.” His voice took on an arch tone, which I did not acknowledge.

“How industrious,” I said demurely while reaching over to pour a fresh cup of tea for myself. “Henceforth, I shall only sweeten my tea, which I drink without fail every afternoon, with Maltese honey, whilst the supply holds. Thank you kindly, Captain Dell'Acqua. I shall store it in the silver honey pot my grandfather treasured.”

“You're most welcome,” he said. “And I shall replenish it as often as need be while I am still in England, having it delivered to your cook.” I offered to pour a cup of tea for him, and he accepted.

“Honey?” I held the new jar toward him.

“No, thank you,” he said. “I do not take a sweetener. But if I did, I know what I should choose. Your Mr. Fielding said that love and scandal are the best tea sweeteners of all.” His eyes twinkled, and I remembered what his friends had said about his being a flirt.

“You shan't find much of either here, I'm afraid,” I parried, with a twinkle of my own, thinking of how little love was offered to anyone save Albert.

“No?” he said, not turning away, his voice lowered, and he held my gaze. “Are you certain?”

I caught my breath but did not look away before answering, “One can never be certain, Captain. Sometimes one leads to the other.” I set the teapot down. “Since you've quoted an Englishman, I'll quote an Italian. ‘
Non si può aver il miele senza la pecchie.
Honey is sweet, but then the bees sting.' Perhaps you'll tell me that Maltese bees do not sting.”
Nor their men
, I left unsaid.
I know firsthand, through my father, that they do.

He laughed aloud at that and with ease, and I maneuvered the conversation to appropriate small talk. He commented on our tea and I mentioned it had come from China, directly, through a family investment concern.

“I understand you intend to be in England for some months.” I sipped my tea, which did, indeed, taste herbal and divine with the addition of his honey.

“Until the Exhibition closes in October. I have no desire to sail upon winter waters if I am not required to. I have many things to attend to, but should be able to conclude my affairs by then, and my mother will worry if I'm home late.” He winked at me.

“Malta is home? With your mother?”

“I have my own palazzo, a small one,” he said. “But no true home.” He sounded wistful. “A port in any storm, as they say.”

“Do you have any other ambitions while you're in England?” I pressed, thinking of what his companions in London had said. And then I worried that perhaps I was doing exactly what Edward hoped I'd do—probe for useful information. I did not wish to be a go-between, for either man. But I had no choice. And it might save Highcliffe.

“Perhaps to meet my father,” he admitted. “I have not yet decided.”
Ah!
So his shipmates had been telling the truth about that. And therefore, maybe, about everything else. Clementine signaled to me from the edge of the door.

“I look forward to seeing you at dinner this evening.” As I stood, my necklace disentangled itself from the buttons on the front of my dress and dropped heavily, calling attention to itself. Captain Dell'Acqua looked at it, and then at me, wonderingly. “Until dinner,” he said, then turned and left.

C
hef had prepared a feast to impress, and we sat at the dining table that nearly spanned the length of the room. Our best silver and best artwork were still showcased in the dining room as that was where Edward was most likely to entertain, and therefore impress. Mr. Morgan, sadly, was in attendance, and he came round to pull out my chair, brazenly brushing against me as he did.

All along the length of the table the first spring peonies flaunted their round, ruffle-covered pink crinolines in tiny silver vases, set alongside cruets, saltcellars, and sweating bottles of water. Watts and his entourage poured and served; the pleasant hum of conversation married with the delightful tastes and smells brought forth by one dish after another. First we had hare soup and lobster patties, a family favorite. Then, the first remove and the table was cleared. Next came saddle of mutton and stewed sea kale. I noticed that Clementine had another glass of wine before the second remove. The third course was longer in coming, and as we waited, one of the Maltese men spoke up.

“You are engaged to be married, then,
signorina
?” He looked directly at me.

“No, I'm not engaged to be married, Lieutenant,” I said. Captain Dell'Acqua was looking at me intently as his friend pressed the point.

“But I was certain you were. The necklace, you see . . .” He pointed to my fish necklace. Suddenly, all eyes were on me. Watts hovered in the background with the Cherry Cabinet Pudding and Chef's
jaune mange
, the yellow milky sweet that had been an especial favorite of mine when I was a child. The atmosphere was tense; no one moved until Edward indicated that the food should be served.

“The necklace, you say?” Edward's voice grew pointed.

“Yes,” the man continued confidently. “In Malta, the parents, the brother, the man of the family will sometimes choose a woman's husband.”

“That is our custom, too,” Morgan spoke up, smugly twirling a renegade mustache hair back into compliance.

“Sometimes,” I added. “Please, sir, continue.”

“When a girl's father decides that the time is right for her to marry, he puts a pot of sweets out on the family's porch to indicate young men may begin wooing. A loving father only chooses a man who will love and cherish his daughter.”

Dell'Acqua looked in my direction, but I kept my gaze steadily upon his junior officer. The pudding was set in front of me and I took a slice to convey that I felt all was normal.

I did not.

The room was heavy, and my uncomfortable feelings about the necklace began to surface again.

“If a suitor desires to marry the young woman, he finds an older man to act as a go-between, and if the lady and the father agree then a dowry is agreed upon. Once all parties have given consent the man delivers a fish—we are a seafaring nation, after all, much like England—to the girl's family. In the fish's mouth is a gold ring, signifying a marriage. Gold is expensive. It is only given upon a commitment to marriage. Whoever wears a necklace like yours indicates she's married, or soon will be.”

“What a lovely story,” I said. “But I am most certainly not married.”

“Yet,” Morgan said before digging into his sweet course, “perhaps this is an omen, a happy one at that. Let's not allow the puddings to go unappreciated, shall we?”

Clementine carried the conversation along in another direction, cheerfully distracting from the emotional undertow, but I saw a moment's bewildering fear crawl across Edward's face before he banished it.

They continued to talk, but their voices grew distant and then ran together as I focused only on the thoughts gathering clarity and momentum in my head. It was unlikely the necklace would have come from outside the household. My memory then beckoned forth the hazy recollection of seeing it before, swinging in front of me as someone bent and took me in her arms. I flooded with momentary warmth.

A head bent low, near mine, blond hair, soft to the touch, brushing lightly against my cheek.

“What is it, Mama?” I took the chain in hand; at the end of it was a silver fish with a ring of gold in its mouth.

“It's yours now, my sweetness and light.” She laughed, low, but behind the laugh I heard a quick catch in her throat, like trapping a sob before it escaped. Her hair was scented with herbed wash water, the scent of summer gardens, and I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. “I do not think they will let me keep it.” She clasped it on me, then tucked the necklace under my dress. “Keep it here, close to your heart, and I will keep you here,” she touched her chest, “close to mine.”

I wrapped my arms tightly about her neck. “Don't leave, Mama.”

“I must,” she said. The sun streamed through a stained-glass window, lighting it up. Jesus. Angels.

“Come back soon, Mama,” I pleaded, tears coursing down my cheek. She didn't answer, just buried her head in my hair, kissed my cheeks over and over again, and then let her own tears make their way, too.

I exhaled slowly, knowing that I'd been given a blessing, but a mixed one. A memory of my mother as she was to leave, to be taken away to the asylum. Anxiety rippled through me. It was, I believed, the last time I'd seen her.

I returned to the conversation at the table, grateful that the evening was drawing to a close.

Later that night I took the necklace off and stared at it. Could it have been my mother's—and did it indicate she was married? If I truly remembered it and had not imagined my mother having given it to me, where had it been these many years?