Lady Charlotte's Christmas Vigil by Caroline Warfield

Author:Caroline Warfield [Warfield, Caroline]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Caroline Warfield

The straight line of Charlotte’s back held Salvo’s eyes like a magnet, as the gondola bobbed across the lagoon toward San Christoforo. In the sun-drenched quiet of the morning, he allowed thoughts of his reluctant guest, and the sheer joy of being out on the water, to chase the gloom of the past week away for a few moments. The coming funeral would pull him back soon enough.

She turned and smiled back at him. A lock of hair that had escaped from its bonds flew across her cheek. In this grim world of illness and death, she personified health and vigor.

“The air will be fresher out on the lagoon, will it not?” she said, raising her voice above the shouts of boatmen, and the sound of bragosso boat full of unloaded cargo running into the stones of the Rialto.

He nodded in response, but he knew he smiled, because the joy of it went deep into his heart. God, what a glorious woman!

The vigor of her mind matched her body. While they moved down the Grand Canal, she kept up the conversation, leaping from comments about this or that church to questions about types of boats, costume, or the banners hanging from palazzos. Her excitement rose as they swept past the Church of the Carmelites, left the canal, and sailed into the open water of the lagoon. Even the aquatic reeds along the shore caught her attention.

When a purple heron rose from the reeds near the Isola San Secondo, she rose halfway from her seat, exclaiming in awe. He had to reach up and tug her shawl.

“Have a care! We’ll capsize.”

She sat down, but twisted around to talk to him. “Sorry, sorry! Did you see that? He’s so big, and that rust color on his neck… Beautiful!” She beamed at him. “What is on that island?” she asked, pointing.

“Secondo? Not much. It was a monastery until Napoleon expelled the Dominicans. The Austrians store gunpowder there.”

“Explosives and birds?” She asked, wrinkling her nose.

“Something like that.”

She looked thoughtful when she turned around. Her questions grew fewer while Paolo guided the boat forward.

She subsided for a time, giving Salvo the opportunity to watch her in repose. He saw a woman who was a lady to her marrow. Aristocratic breeding shone from her graceful posture, the proud tilt to her head, and the understated taste of her gown. In his anxiety to move her away from the sick man and the bad news that followed, he had little time to consider the woman’s background. This morning, watching and wanting, one thing seemed clear.

She’s above your touch, Salvo.

Life had given him few opportunities to interact with English gentlewomen. The wild and dissolute youths England had unleashed on Italy since the Corsican’s defeat, yes, but little contact with their sheltered ladies. Something about this one, attractive though she was, had bothered him from the beginning, but he when he tried to think what it might be, it slipped away. For now, he contented himself with watching the erect line of her back, covered by a cashmere shawl as soft and expensive as its wearer.

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