“I can’t believe it,” she repeated.

He guided her out of the gate and nodded to Captain Shore, who followed them back down the quay to his ship, walking a few paces behind them as if he was indifferent to the Italian’s scowl and the girl’s tranced blankness. The three halted on the quayside under the prow of the ship, sheltering from the icy wind that was ripping down the Grand Canal.

“Not good news, I take it?” Captain Shore asked, his eyes on the ashen-faced girl.

“He’s been appointed doctor at the Lazzaretto Nuovo,” Felipe said quietly.

“Ah, God bless him and take him to His own,” Captain Shore said. “Well, he’s lost to you, maid. I’m sorry for it. You can’t go there, and he can’t get away.”

Sarah nodded.

“You’ve taken it hard,” the Captain said quietly to Sarah. “Bound to. Will you come on board?”

“I’ll take her back to my house,” Felipe said. “She’ll come back tomorrow and we’ll load her goods in plenty of time.”

“The Nobildonna’s furniture?” Captain Shore inquired. “That’s still to go ahead?”

“Of course. It’s business,” Felipe said. “Nothing to do with this… this…”

“This what?” Captain Shore asked him. “This little play you have put on for her? For reasons of your own? For what reason of your own, exactly?”

“This tragedy,” Felipe corrected him. “A niece has lost an uncle. A mother has lost her son. It’s very sad.”

“But business is still business,” the Captain said, looking at the handsome Italian from under his sandy eyebrows.

Felipe bowed, and tucked Sarah’s hand in his arm. “Business is still business,” he repeated. “Will you take another passenger? I wish to travel with the Nobildonna’s antiquities to London?”

“You?” the Captain was surprised. “Small beer for you, I should have thought?”

“Small beer?” the Italian repeated.

“Nothing compared to the shipments… the other shipments you’ve made.”

“Ah, I see. No, it is beer of an appropriate size. I wish to accompany the young lady, and the Nobildonna’s goods are my concern. I wish to visit the Nobildonna and see how she is in London.” He paused. “Bearing up under her grief,” he said with a smile.

DECEMBER 1670, LONDON

Sir James and Lady Eliot struggled to make conversation over dinner. Livia’s laughter tinkled out, but nothing seemed to amuse her companions. More than once, Lady Eliot looked puzzled at her vivacity, and James made a little embarrassed grimace. The ladies withdrew after dinner to the parlor and sat there for only a few minutes before Sir James joined them. It was as if he did not dare to leave them alone.

“Have the ladies from the warehouse moved into their new home?” Sir James asked his fiancée.

She shrugged. “Not yet, I am looking for them.”

“They’re still in that cramped cold warehouse! Through this weather?”

“I am still there,” she pointed out. “Nobody feels the cold worse than me.”

“You won’t like Yorkshire then.” Lady Eliot smiled.

“And Sarah is still away?” James pursued.

Livia spread her hands in a pretty gesture of bafflement. “Apparently English girls may go away from home with whoever they like and return when they wish. No Italian girl would dare. It’s hardly respectable. I have spoken to her mother, but she says nothing more than that Sarah can be trusted.”

“Where is she?” Sir James asked.

“Staying with a friend in the country. She said she would be a few days but she has stayed on, and on. I think there must be a young man in the question. Don’t you? But her mamma does not order her home. I cannot understand it.”

“Young girls have far more freedom than when I was a girl.” The Dowager finally found something on which they could agree. “Quite shocking.”

“But they are quite poor,” Livia explained, “so it does not matter so much. The girl is a milliner and the ladies—I call them that—but they are nothing but very small merchants with a little warehouse. They are workingwomen.”

James was irritated by this exchange. “I left you with money to get them a better house!”

“And I have it still,” Livia said limpidly. “But Mrs. Reekie will not move until Sarah comes back from the country, and they insist on a warehouse upriver, where they could sell things as well as import them… At least I achieved one thing: the boy Johnnie will join the East India Company at Easter. Your letter was introduction enough.”

“Yes, yes?” James said, distracted.

Livia turned to the Dowager with a little laugh. “I wish to help them, though I am afraid they have grown greedy since I shared my dower with them.”

The Dowager nodded. “It’s an unfortunate address for you,” she said. “That side of the river, and so far out of town. I couldn’t call on you there.”

Livia flushed. “Exactly, and I cannot be married from there, I was telling Sir James. We need to call the banns in the north, in Yorkshire, do we not?”

“You can’t live in Northside before your wedding,” the Dowager ruled. “It looks so odd. As if you have no address of your own.”

“I thought so myself,” Livia said smoothly. “So would it be better if we were married in London? In this parish?”

James glanced from his aunt, to the exquisite face of his mistress. “Yes, I suppose so. You can only have met with Mr. Rogers—what? A dozen times?”

“Oh yes!” she said. “I have studied with him twice a week, and I have attended his church twice a week as well. Crossing the river in all weathers! I am completely prepared; he agrees that I am completely ready.”

“You must have at least four months’ instruction.”

“Yes, yes, I can do that, of course. I can complete my instruction while they are calling the banns.”

“But the baby must be baptized after you,” James said. “You have to bring him to the church.”

Livia threw up her hands, laughing prettily. “Allora! I agree! I agree! Don’t make me press for my own wedding day before your aunt, she will think me shameless.”

Lady Eliot raised an eyebrow but said nothing, as if this was exactly what she thought.

“Matteo and I can be baptized into your church together, when I have completed my instruction,” Livia offered. “We can be married. It will be…” She counted on her long fingers in the black lace mittens. “The end of February. How will that suit you?”

Sir James tried to laugh at her pretty challenge. “Very well,” he said.

“Alas no,” Lady Eliot said in quiet triumph. She leaned forward. “Lent. You can’t get married in Lent.”

The look that Livia flashed at her was far from daughterly. “Why not? It’s not as if you are of the tru… the Roman Catholic Church?”

“Yes, but even so. You cannot marry in Lent. Can she, James?”

“No,” he was forced to agree. “It will have to be after Easter, my dear.”