The Chocolatier's Wife (35 page)

Her
eyes
met
his
squarely.
“I
won’t help
you
if
you
intend
to
free
me. If—now
I
only
say
if—I
were
innocent,
the
only
thing
that
would
induce
me to
be
here
would
be
the
love
of
my
children,
who
will
be
put
through
a
good university,
given
an
excellent
ed
u
cation
and
a
bright
future
that
they
could not otherwise have
led.”

“Induce?”

He
thought
over
her
words, the
way
she
said
things. Her
accent
was odd;
it
r
e
minded
him
a
bit
of
Tasmin’s,
except
she
said
some
of
her
vowels
a little
more
roundly.
Also,
even
if
a
woman
from
the
common
class
knew
the
word
induce,
she
doubtless
would
never
think
to
use
it.
Protective
coloring, if nothing else. “You were not always poor,
were you?”

“No.”
She
said,
her
arm
around one
of
the
bars,
leaning
on
it.
“But
my lover
was.”
She
pressed
her
face
into
her
arm
and said,
“You
have
all
I
will give
to
you.
Leave. And
please,
for
all
the
food
in
the
world, do
not
come back.”

“I
didn’t
kill
him,” he
said,
because
it
seemed
important
that
she
not think she
was
dying
for
a
guilty
man. He
was
not
going
to
give
up
on
her, but he still needed to say it.

She
opened
one
eye,
startlingly
green
in
the
dark. “Very few
think that you did.
I
was never
one of them.”

“Why
not?
You do not know
me,
only of me.”

She
pushed
away
from the
bars
and
walked
over to
the
wall,
pointedly ignoring
him.
He
had
left
some
blankets
and
arranged
for
food
to
be
brought to
her
every
day.
He
had
done
his
best
to
help
her
survive until
he
could help her live.

He
walked
to
the
shore.
The
harbor itself
was
fairly
wide,
though treacherous.
On
either
wing
of
the
harbor,
the
barracks
and the
Admiralty house
each
dominated
o
p
posite
low
rises
of
hill, guns
facing
to
the
sea. In the
distance
he
could
see
a
lofty
little
ship,
her
sails
like
dove’s wings,
and he
felt
a
tug
deep
in
his
heart,
as
if
he
were
being
pulled
toward
the
waters. For
a
moment
he
was
severely
tempted
to
get
Tasmin,
load
up
a
ship,
and go
back to
the
old
life.
Perhaps
everything
would
right
itself,
if
he
stopped swimming
against
the
current.
You
could
show
her
the
world.
She
would like that,
I
think.

The waves were lapping his shoes; he did not notice it, staring out, thinking, lost
in
his
own
uncertainties.
He
did
not
note
that
the
water crawled
into
his
shoes
and
curled
around
his
toes,
not
until
he
heard
a voice,
soft and
sweet and
low and
a
li
t
tle like death, whisper his name.

He
stepped
back
quickly. That
was
when
he
knew
he
would
never
be able to sail again.

Chapter
12

Ferou ninth, Sapphire Moon Quarter 1788

Dear
William,

It
is odd to think
of
you
so close
to my
shores.
I
would be tempted,
as
well,
but I
have
no
transport so the
temptation is merely
a
wish or an
annoyance,
depending
upon the
hour.

Thank
you
for the
box
of
chocolates.
You are
right; the
cook did add wintergreen to the center filling
of the butterfly
shaped ones,
which
I
found
odd. I
would not say
so,
but since
you
asked, I must be
honest
and
say
while
I
liked them,
perhaps
peppermint would be a more complimentary flavor.
Still, they were novel, though
I
enjoyed
the
little sea
shells
more. I
like to put a
few
in my pocket
and
eat
them
as
I
walk;
they
make
a
most delightful break
when
I
am out collecting
materials.

I
shall
always
worry, ‘tis nothing
special
to thank
me for,
part and
parcel
of
who
I
am.

I
have
been
accepted
as
a
professor for the
university, where
I shall
attempt to teach
students about
herbal
and
stone
craft.
It
is quite an
exciting
chance,
to tell others about
what
I
know so well. Perhaps
I
will use some of
the
more unusual plant specimens that you
have
sent
me in classroom demonstrations.

You must tell me more of
your adventures.
You know how boring my
life
is, compared to yours.
How will I
survive it if
I
cannot
live a
more exciting
life
through
your eyes?

Yours, eventually
,

Tasmin

“It’s
very
old,
isn’t
it?”
Bonny
asked
as
Tasmin
lovingly drew
her
wedding
dress
from
its
wrappings.
Once
every
year, since her first
blood, she had brought out her wedding dress
and
admired
it,
inspecting
its
heavily
embroidered
silver and
pearl drenched
bodice,
the
square cut
of
the
neck,
the
puffed
sleeves
slashed
to reveal the chemise worn
beneath it.

“It
looks
different, but
it
is
not
really
so
different
from what
we
wear today.
We
may
use
panniers
rather than
a
farthingale,
but
the
skirts
are still
full,
the
bodices
still
press
our
assets
upward
and
make
our
waists look quite small. Seven women have worn this dress; why, ‘tis nearing two hundred years old,
I’d
say.”