will.

Aimée tilted her chin at last in concession. “Of course. Will you also sing?”

Katerina smiled, knowing she'd won. “If you like.”

“Do you know the Schubert ‘Ave Maria?’”

“I do.”

“Please?”

“Of course.”

The women grinned at each other, and moments later, Christopher arrived.

Unconcerned with Aimée's presence, he scooped his wife into his arms for a

long and coffee-flavored kiss.

“I love you,” he told her softly.

“How sweet you are, Christopher. I love you too.” She gazed up at her

husband, letting her adoration show in her eyes.

“Good. It's beautiful outside. Would you like to go for a walk?”

“That would be most pleasant,” she concurred.

“Let's go then. Madame St. Jean.” He bowed, and they left her.

CHAPTER 18

I n the middle of March, Alessandro drove them back to Livorno,

foregoing the train in favor of a few more hours spent together.

Too soon, the travelers arrived at the docks. Alessandro hugged and kissed Katerina and then Christopher before the newlyweds boarded the ship for their

return to England.

The return trip seemed to be a repeat of their previous voyage, with Katerina

terribly seasick. If anything, it was worse this time. Her poor stomach could hardly hold food, and every dip of every wave caused a corresponding dip in her

belly. She suppressed this as best she could, not wanting to alarm her husband,

but she still retched often and miserably.

As they sailed past Gibraltar into the Atlantic, the captain issued an

invitation for all first-class passengers to join him for a special dinner and socializing hour. Glad of a distraction from Katerina's discomfort, the Bennetts readily agreed.

After dinner, Katerina clung to her husband's arm for balance as they

mingled in the ship's dining room, beneath a white-painted ceiling divided into

squares with strips of golden wood. They wandered among rows of chairs with

cream upholstery around small round tables set with white cloths and chatted. A

string trio played quietly in the background.

“How do you like the music, love?” he asked as they paused in their circuit

of the room near a support pillar.

“It's quite good,” she responded, smiling though her belly cramped and

roiled.

“I agree,” a man said, approaching with a glass of champagne in one hand.

His accent sounded American. “Dr. Peter James.” He stuck out his free hand, from which a compact black bag dangled, and Christopher grasped his hand

firmly.

“Christopher Bennett, manufacturing. This is my wife.”

“Pleased to meet you, Doctor,” Katerina said. “Where in America are you

from?”

“Good ear,” the doctor said. “New York. State, not city. I've come to Europe

in search of traditional medical techniques that could be adapted for modern use.”

“Interesting,” Christopher replied. “I have heard a rumor in my mill that one

of our dyes has the ability to reduce pain. Would you like me to show you?”

“Surely,” the doctor said.

The ship dipped and Katerina tilted, bumping her shoulder into the pillar.