Page 26 of Better Love Next Time
She dug her nails to her palms. “He was not a little bugger. His name was André.”
“How did he die?”
“Putrid throat.”
“Ah. Quite tragic. Was this before or after you lost Etienne? And by the by, how did the good man meet his maker?”
“My babe died before I became a widow. And Etienne’s heart seized whilst bedding another woman.”
Julian threw back his head in laughter, his white teeth glowing in the sunrise. “Ah, Katherine. You always loved a good tale, didn’t you? Suppose you’ll have to amend that one for polite company.”
She regarded him steadily.
He stretched his tall form and leaned his elbows on the railing. “Has anything happy occurred in Madame’s life?”
“I loved my husband. And he loved me.”
“Yet he picked another woman’s lock.”
“Many locks, actually. But I search for no meaning behind his actions. I was his wife and partner, and the others were not.”
He watched her for a moment. His boyish smile and wind playing at his queued hair did awful things to her heart. “Why, Madame Féline, you sound like the perfect wife.”
“I was.” She dropped a swift curtsy. “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. St. Clair, I must prepare for our arrival.”
Three Hours Later
Their arrival proceeded with breathtaking efficiency. The wind complied, the ship eased into the Southampton Waters, and twoanchors were dropped. Without remembering how, Kitty found herself aboard a pilot skiff, a sailor rowing toward a lengthy stretch of commerce and wilderness.
Southampton was a port without moorings at the convergence of three rivers. She had never seen Southampton until this day, but Julian had described it vividly during their youth. The medieval arched city wall to her right, the gatehouse, once a proud, towering lady who had repelled the French. Now a gaol. The low-flying blue kingfishers and little grebes diving for fish. The naval shipyards along the River Test, where vessels were constructed and launched via the sloping, marshy banks. Here, amongst the smell of salt and yeast, turpentine and the pleasant scent of earthy decay, Julian had spent years learning how to make his dreams.
A hundred English voices rose from the swarm of boats ferrying to and fro between the quay and the anchored ships. A harsh language, she thought after two years away, and slightly terrifying to her ears.
She swallowed back the patter in her throat before it became a pounding. Julian shifted on the bench beside her, long legs widely bent and, she knew, eager to pick another woman’s lock. But he was not hers anymore. She was a widow.
Perched at the bow, a boy watched her, all elbows and knees, in clothes destined for the rag pile. The pilotman dug deep with his left oar, swinging the skiff abreast of a wooden walk jutting from the stone quay. The boy scrambled to the walk and tied the rope Julian tossed at him.
And here she was. So soon.
After spitting in the water, the pilotman locked the oars and climbed out. Julian stepped over the bench as if he had done the same a hundred times—which he had—and offered an arm.
Gorge rose at back of her throat. The one pledge she had made two years ago, as a married woman, as she and Julian had boarded the packet for Calais:I will never return to England.
And here she was.
She was not afraid. She was terrified.
Launching over the two benches to the bow, Kitty planted her hands on the walk. She ignored Julian’s offered hand and jumped to her knees, crawling a few paces and unwrapping her skirts from her legs.
Julian hauled her to her feet, looking her over with shock. “Katherine, what the devil were you doing climbing up the dock like a monkey?”
“Madame Féline,” she corrected breathlessly.
He spoke low, between his teeth. “For God’s sake, are you keeping to this?”
Still the air was thin, hardly filling her lungs. “We shook hands on it.”
After smoothing a hand down her cloak, she started walking toward the cobbled street lined with men and cargo. She needed the safety of a roof, a door to close. Her desire for a purpose and, to be honest, to remain with her husband, had put her at a grave risk. More, Father Dunlevy. She must write him at once.
