Nathan was glad she could not see his relief. It could only make her wonder all the more. He did not want to discuss his conversation with Fiame and he did not want to think any more about the island girl’s violent death. Did death follow or precede him? He could not admit to Lydia what he had no proof of himself.
Raising one hand, Nathan shifted Lydia’s hair over her left shoulder. His fingers played in it, stroking, sifting. It was almost as peaceful as watching her sleep.
His voice was low and resonant when he spoke. “You should have another wedding,” he said.
“What?” Surely she hadn’t heard him correctly.
“Another wedding,” he repeated, his hand stilling momentarily. “I’ve been thinking about what you said our first night onAvonlei,about not remembering our wedding. We should get married again before we go to Ballaburn. There’s a church in Sydney I think you’d like and I know the priest. Father Colgan has been a good friend to Mad Irish, and Mad Irish to the church. He would do the ceremony for us.”
Lydia was moved to silence. His gesture touched her so deeply that she felt tears prick her eyes. Against her back she could feel Nathan’s heart pounding in his chest.
He cleared his throat, uncomfortable with her stillness, her quiet. “I haven’t said it very well, have I?” he said self-consciously. “I don’t suppose you remember me asking you to marry me the first time, either.”
She only shook her head. Even the smallest words were stuck firmly in her throat.
“I see.”
For a long time he didn’t say anything else, and Lydia began to think he wouldn’t.
“Will you marry me?” he asked.
He put forth the question abruptly, a shade defensively, as if the answer were not a foregone conclusion.
His uncertainty was precious to her, and with it came Lydia’s realization that her husband was not entirely confident of her affection, of the place he held in her heart.
“I should like to be your wife,” she said, finding his hand and placing hers over it. “I should like it above everything.”
She didn’t mean what she was saying, he thought. She couldn’t, not when she didn’t know him for the man he really was, the man who had tricked her, lied to her, and was doing both those things to her now, almost without compunction. Almost. It eased his mind that the feelings of regret and pity were there. They meant he was not totally beyond redemption.
God but he wanted her to say those words and know what she was saying.
“Did you hear me?” she asked when he didn’t make a reply.
He squeezed her hand. Above her, his eyes closed momentarily. “I heard you.”
She thought he might say that he loved her. He didn’t. Lydia said them instead. She turned in his arms and kissed his face and thought she tasted the wet saltiness of tears, but she was never sure that they weren’t her own.
He made love to her then and Lydia forgot about everything except for the moment.
They stoodarm in arm at the taffrail of theAvonleias the ship was made ready to sail out of Apia Harbour. On shore a group of islanders waved and children chased one another along the beach, laughing with the clear tones and unfettered joy of youth. One of the boys tossed something white into the air and they all scrambled to catch it. It fluttered to the ground just out of their reach.
“Is it a kite?” Lydia asked, intrigued by the antics of the children. “I could have shown them how to make a better kite.”
“I don’t think that’s what it is,” he said, following the children’s play with narrowed eyes. “In fact…No, it couldn’t be...” He disengaged himself from Lydia’s arm and hurried away, returning in less than a minute with the captain’s spyglass. He held it up, adjusted the focus. “I’ll be damned,” he said softly, lowering the glass and passing it to Lydia. He was smiling now. “See for yourself, Lydia.”
Puzzled, she lifted the small telescope. “Oh, Lord,” she said, mortified. “Where did they...” Her voice trailed off. She remembered where. Her cheeks were deeply flushed as she gave the glass back to Nathan. “It’s all your fault.”
He was trying to look innocent, but there was the unmistakable glint of laughter in his eyes. The object the children were tossing and chasing with complete abandon was Lydia’s corset.
Part III
Ballaburn
Chapter 9
TheAvonleileft San Francisco in spring and in just over four weeks, sailed into winter. It was late on the night of June 28 whenAvonlei’slookout spotted light from Macquarie Tower’s single oil lamp at South Head. Sydney Harbor was just beyond. Lydia and Nathan stood on deck with their fellow passengers and watched the beacon of light, still some twenty miles away, grow infinitesimally brighter as they neared it. Lydia was glad for the lined cape that had hung uselessly in her wardrobe until now. Their breath misted in front of her as the temperature nudged the low forties and the southeast trade winds no longer seemed warm.
They stayed on boardAvonleithat evening while the ship was anchored in Watson’s Bay, waiting for dawn to ease its passage to Sydney Cove. Lydia was up before Nathan. She had all their belongings packed and was sitting on one of their trunks, anxious and expectant, hopelessly incapable of containing her excitement.
