She knelt, running her right hand over the lush fur on Benvolio’s spine. “He’s left the both of us then, hasn’t he?”
The cat rubbed his face against Eleanora’s ankles in response. Her heart ached anew.
And that was when she saw the letter, neatly folded and bearing her name in Nando’s elegant scrawl, awaiting her on the table at his bedside. For a moment, she told herself she wouldn’t read it, that she would toss it into the fire instead.
But then her feet were moving of their own accord, and she was almost tripping over an eager and lonely Benvolio, who followed along in her haste to retrieve that lone missive. Perhaps it contained what she wanted most—an answer.
Why? Why had he left her this way, so unexpectedly?
She unfolded the letter and found his reasons, neatly enumerated.
Dearest Eleanora,
By the time you read this letter, I will have set sail on La Reina, returning to Varros where I belong and where I can no longer cause you harm or bring you danger. You so very sweetly absolved me of my sins where you are concerned, but I have not been so hasty with myself. You are, as ever, generous, kind, and wonderful beyond measure. I can no longer pretend to be worthy of you, given the evil I have brought upon you.
I alone shoulder the blame and responsibility for what has happened. My past depravities are the reason you were nearly killed. I cannot forgive myself for the pain I caused you. All I can do is make certain it never happens again and that you are free to live the life you deserve without me.
The town house is yours. During your convalescence, I made certain that possession of it and as much of my fortune that I am at liberty to give will belong to you. I will obtain an annulment of our marriage in Varros with ease and haste. Please also watch over Benvolio for me. He has always, quite rightly, loved you more.
Please know that for all my faults, from the moment you first pinned me with a glare, my heart has been, and shall forever remain, incontrovertibly, only yours.
With eternal love and admiration,
Nando
The letter fellfrom her nerveless fingers, floating to the floor, fresh tears burning in her eyes.
Eleanora knew at once what she had to do.
CHAPTER 21
KINGDOM OF VARROS, ONE MONTH LATER
Eleanora had been hoping a carriage would be awaiting her when she disembarked fromLa Reina. Perhaps even Nando himself. That had been a fanciful notion, particularly when he had failed to answer any of the letters she had sent him over the last month. And it had never seemed more dubious than now, as she and her lady’s maid stood in the midst of the bustling Varros docks with a pile of her trunks and a makeshift cage bearing a thoroughly unimpressed Benvolio. The sea journey hadn’t been easy on any of them.
At last, they were all on land where they belonged. Even if her body still felt firmly as if it were rocking along on the sea. A wave of dizziness assailed her, and her stomach tightened, bile rising up her throat, as the wind blew and the combined scent of dead fish and horse manure reached her. She fumbled in her reticule, searching for a scented handkerchief.
“Your Royal Highness, are you going to be ill?” her lady’s maid asked worriedly.
A young, lively, intrepid thing, Southill had not balked at Eleanora’s request to accompany her on the arduous journey to Varros. And fortunately for Eleanora, her lady’s maid had proven far less inclined to suffer seasickness. Although, to befair, Eleanora wasn’t certain how much of her illness had been caused by the sea and how much had been caused by her delicate condition.
“Perhaps,” she muttered, unable to manage more words as a second wave of wind sent an even more pungent cloud in her direction.
She held her breath, her fingers not working fast enough to find the blasted handkerchief she kept for just such occasions. Not a foolproof method of keeping her rebellious stomach from embarrassing her, but one that often succeeded. Thank heavens Southill had suggested it, with the kindly observation that it had worked wonders for her own mother whenever she had been expecting. Since Southill was the second eldest of eleven children, her mother had been expecting quite frequently.
“Here you are, Your Royal Highness,” Southill said now, offering a fresh square of linen.
Eleanora accepted it and pressed it to her nose with haste, breathing in the calming, floral lavender scent, a marked improvement over the docks’ aroma.
“Thank you,” she murmured into the handkerchief.
The waves of nausea had yet to completely subside, but now she was more confident that she wasn’t going to cast up her accounts all over the pier.
“Do you think His Royal Highness will be sending a carriage for you, then?” Southill asked calmly after a few more moments had passed.
“I fear that he may not have,” she admitted.
Eleanora skimmed her gaze over the crowds and realized how ill-prepared she truly was. She had set off on this journey despite the concerns of her friends and even Dr. Crisfield, who had warned her that traveling newly with child could present some difficulties for her.
