Mr. Darcy, Vampyre

Chapter 8

The night was long and wearisome. The horses were strong and not used to their riders, so that Elizabeth could only hold her mount with difficulty. The saddle was uncomfortable, and it was not long before her arms and legs were aching with the unaccustomed exertion. At last her horse began to tire and she was able to relax a little, which came as some relief, but the road seemed endless and she longed for journey’s end.

To begin with they rode side by side but, as the road narrowed, Darcy began to ride ahead of her, stopping at each junction to consider the way.

‘Haven’t you been here before?’ she asked him.

‘Yes, I have, but not for some time,’ he said, looking down three roads. ‘This way I think.’

‘You think?’ she asked in a dispirited voice.

He looked at her with sympathy.

‘Tired?’ he asked in concern.

She sat up in the saddle.

‘No,’ she lied, ‘I have never felt better.’

He smiled at her blatant but courageous lie and there was admiration in his eyes, then he laughed, and she laughed too. It was a bright sound in the deserted forest, ringing through the trees, and it heartened them, until it was answered by the desolate howling of a wolf, and then their laughter died.

Darcy turned to the right and Elizabeth followed him.

The road now began to wind downwards until it reached a hollow, where ice was already starting to form on the shallow pools of water which had collected there, but once through the hollow, it began to climb steadily. The horses had to pick their way carefully as the road began to narrow and finally dwindled into a path.

The branches of the trees closed in on them from every side, and when the path became a track, the trees were so close that the branches reached out and groped at Elizabeth as she passed, snagging her cloak and tangling in her horse’s mane. The animal whickered nervously and began to roll its eyes. For all its fatigue, it became jittery and tried to turn back, and Elizabeth had to struggle to keep it moving onwards, threading its way through a tangle of tree trunks and wading through deep undergrowth whilst she swerved and ducked to avoid the low hanging branches.

The horse’s nervousness communicated itself to her and she began to start at the slightest sound. Her nerves were stretched so tight that they quivered like a plucked bowstring for the forest was full of noises. Leaves rustled, twigs cracked, and, every now and then, a wolf howled, sending its lonely ululations high into the air, wailing and crying like a tortured soul. Worse was the agony of expectation as she waited for the answering cry, so that it was almost a relief when it came, although it was quickly replaced with a new terror: the knowledge that the wolves were out in force and were hunting in a pack.

They rode on to the point of endurance and beyond, never stopping, until Elizabeth was dazed with weariness. Then Darcy took the reins of her horse and led it behind his, whilst she slumped in the saddle. The moon rose and fell, sliding through the darkness like a pallid spectre. It was only when she saw it fall so far that it almost reached the horizon that Elizabeth realised what it meant: they were coming out of the forest. Ahead of them the trees thinned out and there, right at the edge of the tree line, was a small hut. It was a ramshackle affair, but it beckoned her with all the allure of a palace.

She was so tired by the time they finally reached it that she fell out of the saddle and into Darcy’s waiting arms. He carried her inside and lay her down on a bed of bracken covered with soft white goat skins, and by the time she touched the ground, she was already asleep.

Night was followed by day, creeping into the hut like a ghost, slowly, hesitantly, but taking on strength as the darkness faded from black to grey, before mustering its courage and illuminating the small hut to reveal a cotillion of dancing dust motes and Elizabeth’s sleeping form.

She was dressed as she had been for her flight, except that Darcy had removed her bonnet to reveal her soft, tangled hair, and covered her with his coat. She looked angelic. The lines of worry had gone from her face and been replaced with the smooth calm lines of repose. Her lashes lay thickly on her cheek. It had lost some of its sun-coloured brown and was now creamily golden against the dark grey of his coat. Her hand was above the loving coverlet, the nails small and well-shaped with white crescents at the tip.

As the sun touched her cheek she stirred, but then turned over and slept again.

Her sleep was lighter this time, and she stirred more often until she emerged at last into the waking world to see Darcy sitting in front of the door, watching her.

‘You look beautiful when you sleep,’ he said.

There was something so tender in his glance that it went straight to her heart and she sat up, eager to meet the day. As she did so, the greatcoat fell away, and when she saw that he had covered her with it she felt warmed and cherished. Her aching limbs no longer mattered, nor the hard bed, nor the cold which set her breath misting in front of her. All that mattered was him.

She pushed the coat gently aside and stood up, shaking out her creased gown and stretching to release the cramps in her limbs.

‘How long have you been awake?’ she asked.

‘Long enough,’ he said.

She looked at him enquiringly.

‘Long enough to make sure you were undisturbed,’ he said.

She remembered the wolves and said, ‘We were lucky not to be attacked last night. I felt sure the wolves would set upon us.’

‘You have nothing to fear from them. I will always protect you and keep you safe,’ he replied.

‘This is not what I imagined when we set out on our wedding tour!’ she said, her natural humour reasserting itself. ‘I thought I would be waking up in an inn, with hot water and a good breakfast close to hand!’

‘I can give you the first of those, at least. There is water heating on a fire outside.’

He went outside and returned with the water in a bucket.

‘Can I drink it?’

‘Yes. Here.’

He poured some into the water canister that had been attached to the saddlebags and handed it to her. She drank it gratefully then splashed the rest of the water over herself.

His eyes followed the movement of her hands as she scooped the water out of the bucket and then watched the beads of water as they ran down her face and neck.

She dried herself as best she could on her handkerchief and then ventured outside to put it by the fire to dry. But when she saw a man by the fire she stepped back uncertainly. His face was weather-beaten and his clothes were made of the skin of the chamois which wandered sure footed in the mountains. He appeared to be a simple shepherd, but in his left hand he held a bag and, after all the alarms of the previous day, she found herself wondering if it hid a pistol or a knife. He made no threatening moves, however, and he took from the bag a loaf of dark bread and a lump of hard cheese.

‘It can’t compare with hot rolls and hot chocolate,’ said Darcy humorously, ‘but it will satisfy you, at least.’

Elizabeth took it gratefully, tasting none of it in her hunger, eating rapidly until it was all gone. She realised with dismay that she had finished it and tried to apologize, but Darcy only laughed and said that he and Jean-Paul had already eaten.

He turned and said something to the shepherd. Although they spoke in French, Elizabeth could not understand it, for it seemed to be in some kind of regional accent or dialect.

‘Are you ready to go on?’ Darcy asked her when the two men had finished speaking. ‘We are not out of danger yet. We cannot go back so we must go on; it is a good thing perhaps, for there are many things I still wish to show you. It will mean more riding and we must travel on mules: where we are going, no coach can travel and even horses cannot pick their way.’

‘Where are we going, if even horses can’t walk there?’ she asked.

‘Over the mountains,’ he said. ‘Across the Alps, over Mount Cenis, where only sure-footed beasts can tread. And then down the other side of the mountains, to Italy.’

‘Italy!’

‘Yes, Italy,’ said Darcy. ‘I think you will like it, and I have many friends there.’

‘You have many friends everywhere,’ she said.

‘When a man has lived to my age he cannot help it,’ he said sombrely. Then he cast off his low mood and said, ‘I want to take you to Venice. It is a beautiful city, full of treasures, and one you should see. You have had to endure much over the last few days but this is meant to be your wedding tour. I want it to be something you will always remember.’

‘There is no danger of me forgetting it, I do assure you!’ said Lizzy mischievously.

Darcy laughed.

‘No, I suppose there is not, but I want you to remember it for better reasons than the ones you have at present. I want you to be sorry to go home, not eager for it!’

‘Sorry to go home to Pemberley? I think that will never be. But I must confess, I would like to see something of Europe beyond wolves and forests! They will not believe me, at home, when I tell them of all my adventures.’

‘Jean-Paul is coming with us,’ said Darcy. ‘He will be our guide. Are you ready to go on?’

‘Yes,’ she said.

‘Then we should go.’

After making some attempt to tidy her hair she set her bonnet low on her head and tied it firmly beneath her chin.

She eyed her mule with misgiving but it stood placidly whilst Darcy helped her to mount.

They waited only for Jean-Paul to gather together some food for the journey and then they set off. They moved out of the last few sheltering trees, and before long they were above the tree line altogether. All around them were the purple peaks of the Alps, bathed in hard sunshine and topped with gleaming snow. Elizabeth felt the cold and was glad of her cloak and her gloves as well as her warm boots.

She felt her spirits begin to lift despite her worries. It was impossible to be downcast amidst such magnificence, where she was surrounded on every side by the majesty of the Alps. Their travels so far had not prepared her for the sublime and terrible grandeur of the views. She soon became accustomed to her mule. The stalwart animal picked its way stubbornly yet surely over the rough and rocky paths that wound to dizzying heights as they climbed the mountains.

They passed glaciers covered in snow and thundering cataracts that plunged with a roar to the valleys below. They traversed rough bridges which had been thrown over the dreadful torrents, spanning the mighty waterfalls with their fragile strength.

They picked their way through thick drifts of snow and walked by the side of sheer precipices. They climbed through the clouds until they were above them. They stopped and looked down, seeing the clouds parting in places to reveal glimpses of dwellings and churches in the meadows far below. Then they set off again and climbed even higher, up towards the dizzying summits.

The air grew ever colder until the very waterfalls were frozen, plunging downwards in huge sheets of ice that glimmered green and white in the unclouded sunlight.

They saw no one on their way, save for a stray shepherd or two and, here and there, a hunter. Of wildlife they saw little, only the chamois who ranged over the crags and occasionally some hardy mountain cattle.

At last they began to descend, going down through the clouds, where the foggy vapour closed around them like a damp hand and where they could see nothing except the whiteness all around them. But eventually, wet and shivering, they emerged, to see the mountain track becoming wider and less steep beneath them and, far below, the green and verdant grass of the plains. The air began to grow warmer, and they felt they were leaving winter behind them and entering spring. The rocks and crags were gradually replaced with trees and grasses and then bright swathes of meadow, spotted with the greens and blues and yellows of the late wildflowers.

They stopped for a rest on a grassy slope above the mountain’s foot.

Jean-Paul turned to Darcy and said something that Elizabeth did not understand, but she understood Darcy’s reply: he was thanking Jean-Paul for all his help and bidding him adieu. Jean-Paul nodded his head in token of leave-taking and then, catching up the reins of the mules, he began to walk back up the foothills, returning to the rocky crags amongst which he made his home.

Elizabeth watched him go with regret. He had been a stalwart presence as the crossed the Alps, sure-footed and knowledgeable, and she had been grateful to him for accompanying them and showing them the way.

‘Do we walk now?’ asked Elizabeth.

‘No, it is too far for us to walk. We hire horses over there,’ said Darcy, indicating a nearby farm.

He gave her his arm and they began to walk towards it.

‘What are those places I can see in the distance?’ she asked, turning her attention to the lands that lay at the bottom of the slopes.

‘Piedmont,’ said Darcy, ‘the foot of the mountain. Beyond is Lombardy, and in the far distance you can see Turin. And beyond Turin lies Venice.’

They hired horses at the farm, hardy animals that clopped slowly through the foothills, and continued their journey with the river Doria rushing along beside them. They passed through a landscape of forests, with streams and lakes varying the view, and with castles and monasteries nestled amongst them.

At last they reached the valley, where sheep were grazing placidly. They came then to the walled town of Susa, and as they passed through the gate, Elizabeth said, ‘I never thought I would be so happy to see a town.’

Though the Alps had been sublime, the joys of hot water now awaited her, as well as a soft bed and a hot and filling meal.

They were soon at the inn. As they rode into the courtyard, there were suspicious glances from the other people there, including the grooms, who looked at the farm horses askance, but then recognition dawned on the face of one of the grooms and he called out something in Italian. The innkeeper hurried out of the inn with his wife behind him, uttering a long and excited greeting of which Elizabeth understood not a word, but she understood his smiling face and his bow and his wave towards the open door.

She and Darcy were made very welcome, and the innkeeper’s wife was soon leading Elizabeth upstairs, calling the maids as she did so, and before many minutes had passed, Elizabeth found herself in a small but pretty bedroom with a hip bath all ready and waiting for her. She was surprised at the hurry, until she saw herself in the looking glass and recoiled in horror from the sight that met her eyes. She had not brushed her hair for days and it was like a bird’s nest, tangled and matted with pieces of twig and leaf clinging to it. Her clothes looked as though they had been slept in, as indeed they had, and her face was streaked with dirt. If she had not entered the inn with Darcy, at a place where he was well-known, she was sure she would have been driven out as a vagrant.

She removed her clothes gratefully, sinking into the luxurious water with a sigh of contentment. At last, when her fingers began to crinkle, she washed her hair and stepped out of the bath. She dried herself on a fluffy towel and then sat before the fire to dry her hair.

When it was almost dry, the innkeeper’s wife entered the room with a maid behind her, bearing a bowl of soup and a large hunk of bread, and Elizabeth ate it thankfully. It was followed by a meal that was unknown to her, with a meaty sauce ladled over something neither soft nor hard, pale gold in colour, and cut into long, thin strips. She had great difficulty eating it and was glad she had elected to dine in her room, since much of the sauce ended up on her chin! But it was tasty, and when it was finished, she felt replete.

She went over to the dressing table where she brushed the tangles out of her hair and as she did so, her mind drifted back over the strange and wonderful events of the last few days.

She had thought about little on the journey across the Alps; indeed, the way had been so treacherous and so sublime that she had had little time to think of anything but picking her way amongst the crags or looking with awe at the magnificent views. But now she recalled the danger of all those at the castle and she could not put their fate from her mind.

She tried to tell herself that they would be unharmed, and that Darcy had been right when he had reassured her that all would be well, saying that the Count had survived worse. She reminded herself of the thick walls of the castle and the drawbridge and the mercenaries, but she could not be reconciled. If there had been no danger, then why had they fled, undertaking such an arduous if breathtaking journey?

She thought of the Count’s strange words, Get her away from here. It is her they will not stand for, and wondered if she could have heard them aright. Try as she might, she could not see how they made any kind of sense. And yet she and Darcy had left the castle soon afterwards. It was a riddle without an answer; another riddle without an answer, for her life was becoming increasingly full of them.

And yet her life was full of joys, too.

Now that she had left the discomforts of the journey behind, she could recall the marvellous and wonderful sights of the last few days with more and more pleasure, both the unexpected heights of the mountains and the unexpected depths of her husband’s character. She remembered his tenderness, and with quiet wonder, she recalled the expression of pure love on his face when she had woken to find him watching over her.

The next few days were busy with all the necessary activities attendant on their sudden arrival without any of their possessions.

The local dressmaker visited Elizabeth in her rooms and promised her some new clothes pronto. Luckily, Susa was a stop for many of the English travellers who visited Italy, and the dressmaker was used to meeting the needs of ladies who were newly arrived in the country. She knew that they required clothes in the Italian fashion, and that they required them quickly, and so she kept a store of dresses ready cut and half sewn in a variety of sizes. She arrived with three attendants who carried boxes of such dresses, and Elizabeth spent a delightful morning trying on a multitude of garments. As she viewed each one in the mirror, the dressmaker pinned and tucked and hemmed until the fit was right, and then Elizabeth stepped out of them, taking care not to scratch herself on the pins.

At last the dressmaker left, promising Elizabeth that at least one of the dresses would be ready by the following morning and that the rest would follow soon afterwards.

Darcy too needed clothes, and he had a visit from the local tailor, who fitted him out for a new wardrobe.

As they were finishing their luncheon, which they had taken in a private parlour, there was a most welcome occurrence. The innkeeper entered the room and spoke to Darcy in a torrent of Italian. Darcy replied and the innkeeper, saying, ‘Si, Signor,’ left the room.

Elizabeth looked questioningly at Darcy.

‘A messenger has just arrived. He wishes to speak to me.’

‘Has he come from the castle?’ asked Elizabeth.

‘We will soon find out,’ said Darcy, throwing down his napkin.

He left the table and walked over to the fireplace, where he stood with his hands clasped behind his back.

The innkeeper returned and behind him was the messenger, a dishevelled young man of vigorous aspect who turned his hat in his hand.

‘Ah, Signor Darcy!’ he said, as he entered the room, adding something which Elizabeth could not understand.

He handed a letter to Darcy.

‘It is from the Count,’ said Darcy to Elizabeth as he broke the seal and tore the letter open. ‘The messenger has travelled night and day over the mountains, accompanied by two of the Count’s mercenaries, to bring it to us.’

Elizabeth went over to him and stood at his shoulder, eager to see what the letter had to say, but when Darcy unfolded it she saw that it was written in Italian. The handwriting was thin and spidery, and covered many pages.

‘Well?’ she asked impatiently as Darcy’s eyes scanned the first page.

‘The castle is safe,’ said Darcy, still reading.

‘Thank goodness!’ said Elizabeth with a sigh of relief.

She had feared the worst, and the message was a great comfort to her.

‘There was a brief skirmish when some of the locals managed to swarm through the postern gate and started setting fire to the flags and carts in the courtyard,’ Darcy continued, ‘but the mercenaries dealt with the situation quickly and the danger was soon past. The fires were doused and no lasting damage was sustained.’ He put the first page to the back of the sheaf and continued to read the second page. ‘Several of the mercenaries were injured, as well as one of the Count’s footmen, similarly some of the villagers took hurt, but there were no deaths and no serious injuries.’

‘And Annie?’ asked Elizabeth, looking over his shoulder and trying to see Annie’s name somewhere on the page.

He turned to the third page, and Elizabeth pointed to her maid’s name.

‘Annie is safe,’ said Darcy. ‘She begs the Count to inform you that she will pack your dresses carefully and give your letter to the messenger to post.’ He stopped talking, the better to read, and then when he had finished the letter, he folded it and gave his full attention to Elizabeth. He smiled. ‘They will all be with us soon, I think. The Count has already made arrangements for our retinue to be escorted over the mountains.’

‘The coach will not be able to follow us,’ said Elizabeth, remembering the precipitous paths and the narrow bridges across the ravines.

‘No, the coach will have to be sent round by sea, as will some of the larger and heavier items, but the Count’s men will carry most of our things across the mountains.’

‘Will we wait for them here?’ asked Elizabeth.

‘I think not,’ said Darcy. ‘They will travel more slowly than we have done because there are more of them and also because they will be carrying baggage, which will slow them down. I do not want to delay our journey. We can hire outriders here to accompany us. I will tell the Count what route we will be taking so that our entourage will be able to find us more easily when they cross the mountains. Perhaps they might even find us before we embark for Venice.’

He said something to the messenger and then went over to the side of the room where there was a writing desk. He sat down and, dipping the quill into the ink, he pulled a piece of paper towards him and wrote a note in a flowing hand.

‘How even your writing is, Mr Darcy, and how fast you write!’ Elizabeth teased him.

He smiled.

‘On the contrary, my writing is uncommonly slow!’ he replied.

‘It is a world away from Netherfield, is it not?’ asked Elizabeth, as she looked around the inn, with its homely pine table and pine benches, and to the view of the mountains beyond.

‘Yes, it is,’ said Darcy, pausing to look around him before continuing to sand his letter. ‘But not an unwelcome change, I hope.’

‘No, not at all. I am enjoying seeing more of the world.’

Darcy folded the letter as soon as the ink was dry and then he sealed it, pressing his ring into the wax to leave the Darcy imprint. He gave it to the messenger, who tucked it into a pocket inside his tailcoat, then he said something to the man in Italian, to which the messenger replied before bowing and departing.

‘There is no reason for us to stay in Susa,’ said Darcy. ‘Once our clothes are ready, we will travel on. I am longing to show you Venice and the palazzo.’

‘Palazzo?’ asked Elizabeth. ‘Do you mean a palace?’ she asked in astonishment. ‘We stayed with a count in the Alps, are we now going to stay with a prince?’

‘No, we are not going to stay with anyone. We are going to stay in one of my Italian properties, the Palazzo Darcy.’

‘Do you mean to tell me you have a palace?’ asked Elizabeth.

‘No, I mean to tell you that we have a palace,’ said Darcy, laughing. ‘It is on the Grand Canal, and I think, indeed I know, you will adore it.’

After the splendours of the mountains, Elizabeth took pleasure in the quieter beauties of the lowlands as they travelled through northern Italy towards Padua, where they intended to take the barge to Venice. They stayed overnight at an inn and the following morning Elizabeth was delighted to find that their retinue had caught up with them. Annie was amongst them, looking none the worse for her adventure, and Elizabeth soon heard an account of the fateful night, with all its alarms and violence, and then at last its peaceful conclusion.

‘I am so glad you are safe,’ said Elizabeth. ‘When the castle was attacked I feared the worst.’

‘It was nothing really,’ said Annie, with all the bravery of one whose ordeal was over. ‘It was a nasty moment when the mob broke through the postern gate, I don’t mind telling you, and when they ran into the courtyard setting fire to things as they went I was frightened, but the Count’s mercenaries soon took care of things. I must say, when we arrived at the castle, I didn’t like the look of them, but I was grateful for them that night and it was all over very quickly in the end.’

It had left its mark, however, for two of the Darcy footmen had left for England, saying they could take no more. The Count had tried to persuade them to remain by offering them more money, but when it became clear that no amount of money would make them stay, he had made up for their absence by sending two of his own men in their place.

From Padua they travelled on by river, taking the barge along the Brenta. Now that she knew that everyone was safe, Elizabeth’s spirits were in a state for enjoyment and she saw much to be pleased with. The villas of the Venetian nobles slid past in an ever-changing view of splendour, overhung with poplars and cypresses, and with willows dipping their branches into the river. And then the miraculous city of Venice came into view, rising from the waters like a dream.

‘I’ve never seen anything like it,’ said Elizabeth as they drew near. ‘I had no idea anything could be so wonderful and yet somehow it seems unreal. How are the buildings supported? Why don’t they sink?’

Darcy’s education had fortunately been wider than her own and he said, ‘Their foundations are built on great timbers driven into the water and embedded in the mud.’

‘Could they not find anywhere more hospitable to build?’

‘They could, and did, but they were driven out of the southern lands many centuries ago. They fled north and settled on the outskirts of the lagoon where the marshland kept them safe. When danger threatened them again, this time from the sea, they took refuge in the middle of the lagoon where the waters were shallow and where their attackers’ boats would run aground. There they found themselves to be secure and so they set about creating their city.’

They floated into Venice, travelling always by water, for there were no roads and no broad boulevards echoing with the whirr of carriage wheels and the clop of horses’ hooves. Instead there were canals running through the city, changing colour with the play of the wind and the movement of the clouds and the reflections of the buildings on either side of them.

They came at length to the Grand Canal, which snaked its way through the heart of the city. There they left the barge to travel on by gondola. The narrow waterways were full of the slim vessels, their raised prows slicing through the waters. On a platform at the back of the boat stood a gondolier, his long oar clasped firmly in both hands. Darcy helped Elizabeth to step down into the gondola and take her place on the cushions that were scattered inside. She lay back, reclining as she saw other people doing, and gradually accustomed herself to the rocking motion of the boat.

Gone was the snow of the mountains, gone was the cold. Here was warmth and colour and light. And what colour! The blue of the sky reflected in the water, the pinks and greens of the silken clothes, all made it a dazzling sight. They floated past palazzos of glorious beauty, adorned with balconies that hung suspended over the waters, decorated with Gothic arches and surmounted with a delicate lacework of stone. The facades were of varying colours, rising up from the dark green waters in a marvel of strength and pride.

They came to rest outside the Darcy palazzo. Elizabeth looked up at the impressive building, with its dusky pink frontage. Its piercings of elaborate arches led onto a shady terrace where dark shadows contrasted starkly with the brilliant patches of light. As she let her eyes travel upwards, she saw that it had three storeys, each one with its own colonnade.

The gondolier tied the gondola to one of the brightly coloured poles that rose from the water next to the steps and then Darcy disembarked, stepping out of the vessel and mounting to the landing platform with the sure-footedness of one used to such activity. He held out his hand to Elizabeth. She stood up cautiously and, lifting the hem of her skirt, she stepped out of the gondola, feeling it rock beneath her. She ascended the steps and then took Darcy’s arm and together they walked under the Gothic arches.

Elizabeth felt the coolness close around her as she went from sunlight to shadow, and walked through into a shady courtyard before climbing a flight of stone steps to the palazzo’s door.

They were met by the housekeeper who greeted Darcy respectfully and with warmth. Elizabeth was reminded of Mrs Reynolds, the Pemberley housekeeper, as both women clearly had a great deal of admiration for Darcy.

After welcoming them, the housekeeper showed them to a vast apartment. It was cool and softly lit by the ribbons of light drifting in from the cracks around the closed shutters. When the housekeeper opened the shutters, sunlight flooded in.

‘Well? Do you like it?’ Darcy asked.

He watched Elizabeth joyfully as she spun round in the centre of the room, her head titled back to admire the magnificent paintings on the ceiling. She had seen many grand houses in England but nothing had prepared her for the sheer size and magnificence of the drawing room, with its historical and allegorical paintings on the ceiling. Even Rosings had not been so grand.

‘It’s breathtaking,’ she said.

She wandered out onto the balcony and looked at the teeming life below: the gondolas going up and down the Grand Canal, the people going to and fro.

‘I could look at this view for ever and never grow bored,’ she said. ‘How long have the Darcys owned the palazzo?’

‘For a hundred years,’ he said, coming up behind her. ‘Venice is still beautiful but she is not what she once was. You should have seen her, Elizabeth, in all her glory, when she was at the height of her powers.’

His voice was hypnotic and as he spoke she could see it all in her mind’s eye: the early settlers taking refuge on the myriad tiny islands in the middle of the salt lagoon, taming the tidal waters to form a thoroughfare of canals; the city that grew up around it; the pride of the Doge and the splendour of the Doge’s palace; the building of the basilica of St Mark; the travelling Venetians who explored the seas, bringing back treasures for the front of the basilica; the great explorers who discovered new lands. He spoke of the clearing of the buildings around St Mark’s and the paving over of the great square; he told her of the Campanile, with its great bell; of the building of ships to send out into the world for exploration and trade; the rise of the Rialto, with its varied shops selling goods from all over the world; and the merchant princes who grew rich on the profits of trade. And he spoke of all the wealth and pride and love for their city being poured into their art, of the great artists, Titian and Bellini and Canaletto, and he spoke of the masked balls and the Carnivale.

She saw it all before her eyes, so vivid did he make it, and as he spoke she felt the soft whisper of his breath on her neck. It hovered there, delicately caressing her.

‘You don’t know how good you smell, or how ravishingly appetising you are,’ he said as his mouth moved closer, his breath trailing seductive and tantalising pathways across her skin. ‘Your neck is so delicate, so precious, so fragile. You are so tempting, Lizzy.’ He brushed away the tendrils of hair that curled in the nape of her neck and kissed it reverently. ‘So white, so pure, so alluring. You are ambrosia to me. I have tried to resist you, but it is so hard… so hard…’

She was almost swooning with rapture.

He kissed her again, his lips brushing with exquisite sensitivity over her skin.

Her heart began to quicken, sending the blood pulsing ecstatically through her veins and making her dizzy with pleasure. There was a change in him, too, as her rapture enticed him beyond endurance. She felt his heart leaping in his breast, growing louder and stronger as he held her close, catching her to him as his lips touched her neck. His kiss was full of fervent desire and something more, something dangerous and deadly. She was held by some great power, suspended in a moment of exquisite anticipation, poised between safety and danger, the known and the unknown, the natural and the supernatural.

‘Darcy!’ she breathed…

… and with a sudden roar of frustration he let her go, wrenching himself savagely away from her, his face livid with emotion, and walking to the other side of the room where he stood with his back to her so that she could not see his face.

The strange power that had gripped her began to dissipate and she felt her pulse begin to slow and her senses return to normal. She watched him uncomprehendingly until at last he turned towards her and with a tortured semblance of a smile he said, ‘I will give you an hour to rest and then I will take you to see the sights for yourself.’

When he had gone, Elizabeth retired to her room, feeling exhausted. It had been confusing but exhilarating, frightening and yet blissful, to be held by him.

At last she grew tired of trying to understand the perplexing feelings flowing through her and instead she changed her clothes, removing her travelling clothes and putting on one of the new gowns she had bought in Susa. Then she went downstairs, where she found Darcy waiting for her. He made no mention of what had just happened and, still feeling shaken by it, she made no mention of it either. Instead she smiled at him and told him she was ready, and together they went outside. Light was everywhere. It poured from the sky and it danced from the water. It leapt from the gilding and twirled from the stones.

They explored the city like lovers, riding in gondolas or walking arm in arm through the narrow streets and crossing the humped bridges which spanned the canals. They emerged into brightly-lit squares where fountains played. Darcy seemed light-hearted and carefree. He was attentive and affectionate, showing her all his favourite corners of the city.

At last, Elizabeth thought with a happy sigh, this is what I always expected my honeymoon would be.