“I am sorry to hear of it,” the captain said with respectful sympathy. “And even though it was not entirely unexpected, there is an end to hope—which is not an easy thing.”
“You have the right of it, sir,” she agreed, and was aware that all trace of flirtatiousness had been erased from his manner toward her; that he knew about her marriage seemed evident, and she imagined he heard nothing about her parents he didn’t already know. He and Dimitry must have already shared this information, which was impressive as she had been with Dimitry for all but an hour this day. Obviously they had a network of people supporting them here, whoever they were.
Even with the windows opened, the dining room felt uncomfortably close and Hattie was considering a strategic retreat before she disgraced herself when Bing—with an assessing eye on her charge—put a stop to any further discussion in her brisk manner. “Would you like to retire, Hathor?”
“I believe I could use some air, Bing.” And an opportunity to speak to Berry—Dimitry, she corrected with a soft smile, remembering how he had responded when she whispered his name while they were abed. As she rose she gave him a glance to indicate she wished to speak with him, and then made her way out to the deck with Bing, stepping carefully so as not to jar her poor head.
The cooler air felt much better, although there was little breeze tonight, and Hattie walked over with Bing to lean on the railing, wishing she could lay her forehead on the cool wood and close her aching eyes. “Perhaps,” her companion offered with some delicacy, “—perhaps with this discovery today all matters have been resolved for the best.”
Bing was referring to the suspicion that her parents had been involved in purloining artifacts—if only that were indeed the case; a bit of theft was nothing as compared to a bit of treason. “Yes, I suppose. Although Monsieur Berry tells me he believes he knows the location of the secret chamber, thanks to you.” With any luck he would respond to her unspoken message and make an appearance soon—why on earth does anyone drink this vile stuff, she thought crossly; the repercussions surely outweigh the benefits—although I suppose I wouldn’t have married him sober, so there is that.
“Then perhaps any scandal—if there is one—could be scotched.”
Bringing her mind back to the topic, Hattie agreed. “That is to be devotedly hoped for.” Poor Bing—she was worried about Hattie’s reputation and Edward’s legacy and possibly Smithson’s reaction; she was unaware that her parents’ misdeeds would pale in comparison to other cataclysmic events if the Elban prisoner was to march again. And in such a case it seemed unlikely that the salacious circumstances of her birth could be kept quiet—it would be a disaster in every respect, although she supposed she should be more concerned about the fate of the world than her own paltry troubles.
Dimitry joined them, and with a dry smile Bing found something of interest to view on the shoreline so as to allow them to stand together at the railing undisturbed.
Looking up into his eyes, Hattie smiled a smile full of warmth and knowledge and he reciprocated with a tender smile of his own. They stood together in silence for a moment, relishing the sensation, while Hattie forgot about her aching head and every other unsolvable problem.
He offered in a sympathetic tone, “You are a bit green, I think.”
“No longer,” she teased, arching a dark brow.
His white teeth flashed in the darkness. “Hattie—you shock me.”
“I am not going to your sister’s,” she said without preamble. “Tell the captain to go away.”
He tilted his head. “Do you not think I would rather you were here with me?”
“But it is so unfair,” she protested, then remembered not to raise her voice or suffer the consequences. “I have been so very useful.”
He ran a caressing hand over hers. “You have indeed—but it is necessary; I cannot conduct my business properly if I am worried about you.”
She paused, and reflected that—in theory at least—she was now enjoined to obey her husband, which was a novel idea to someone admittedly as headstrong as she. To take her mind off this inconvenient tenet, she asked, “Why did you insist on British guards but at the same time you do not trust the consul’s office?”
“That is impressive,” he conceded, his eyes alight with admiration. “But I cannot say.”
After deciding with some reluctance that he had the right of it—it was time to relinquish the field—she asked quietly, “You will be very careful, Dimitry?” Aware that she sounded fretful and clinging, she explained with an apologetic air, “My head hurts and I am past being brave.”