Page 58 of The Vagabond Viscount
Placing her hand over his, she nodded at the ring which sat on her finger. His mother’s ring. “I have worn this every day from the day you gave it to me.” She swallowed deeply, not wishing to tell him the rest but knowing she owed him the truth. “I would be lying if I didn’t tell you that I planned to take it off before I returned to England.”
Her bottom lip quivered. She had lost all hope of ever seeing him alive. And while it had made perfect sense, her decision to set aside the promise ring smacked of betrayal. She had failed him.
“I’m sorry, Flynn. I feel terrible about giving up on you, but you should know that I was going to try and move on with my life. Can you ever find it in your heart to forgive me?”
“Ssh,” he whispered, giving her another kiss. “There is nothing to forgive. You were not to know I was still alive. No one did. I haven’t even told the few friends I have here in Rome the truth of my identity.”
“Why haven’t you told them?”
“Because if there is one thing the past year has taught me, is that it is unwise to fully trust people. You and Gideon are, of course, excluded from that rule.”
The moment of silence which followed had Augusta finally taking in her surroundings. When she’d walked through the door, her whole focus had been solely on Flynn, and she hadn’t noted the room. Taking a small step back, but still holding onto his coat, her gaze tracked around the small, sparsely furnished room.
“So, this is All Saints’ Church?”
“No, it’s a meeting room where we hold services. There is a small British community here in Rome, mostly centered in the area around the Spanish Steps. It’s been growing, so they have to keep finding new places to house the chapel. I expect in time they will seek to build a proper church.”
Augusta nodded. “Yes, during my time here, I have met a few people who live in what they call the English ghetto. I just didn’t know they had established an Anglican ministry here. If I had, Mama and I would have come.”
And I would have found you sooner.
The whole time she and the duchess had been in Rome, they had attended Sunday mass with the de Lucas. Their hosts, who had close ties to the Holy See, had decided that it was better for them to attend some sort of Christian religious service rather than none at all.
Flynn took her by the hand and led Augusta in a slow walk about the room. Apart from what appeared to be some sort of musical instrument in the corner, along with a couple of scattered tables and a few empty vases, there wasn’t much else.
She turned to him, an off-the-cuff remark sat ready on her lips. But as her gaze locked on him, the quip died. Augusta’s knees began to buckle under her, and she staggered forward in a desperate effort to avoid crashing to the floor.
“Flynn. Oh, Flynn,” she sobbed.
Just the sight of him standing there, casually chatting about the meeting room had brought her undone. He was broken, damaged, but he was here. He was alive. All her prayers had been answered. And it was suddenly all too much for her to bear.
Strong arms wrapped around her shoulders, holding her upright. “Augusta, my love. It’s going to be alright. I promise. This nightmare will soon be over. We will go home, and have that life together. And I swear no one will ever tear us apart again.”
She rested her head against the front of his greatcoat, doing her best not to cry all over it. “They won’t, because I will never let you out of my sight again, Flynn Cadnam.”
His chest rose and fell as a deep chuckle escaped his lips. “I pity the first person who tries.”
I have missed that laugh. That smile.
Augusta softly sighed, after which a gentle peace fell over the room. Held in Flynn’s embrace, she made a silent vow. From this day forth, no one and nothing would separate them. And when they finally returned to England, she was going to do everything in her power to make sure that Earl Bramshaw paid a heavy price for his treachery.
ChapterThirty-Two
Alittle while later, they adjourned to a nearby café. To Augusta’s surprise, it was not only still open at this late hour, but it was also packed with customers all eating and drinking.
Flynn gave the owner a cheery wave as they stepped through the door, and he led Augusta toward a table at the back. The proprietor of the café waved back, offering Augusta a polite bow. It was clear the viscount was somewhat of a regular. His friends were their friends.
Augusta glanced around at all the customers busily tucking into large bowls of hot pasta. Her stomach rumbled. She hadn’t eaten much at the supper at Signore Magri’s home, having been more concerned with Serafina and how she was handling things.
“Where have all these people come from? It’s the middle of the night,” she remarked. The café was an energetic hubbub of laughter and chatter.
Flynn pointed back toward the street. “Late worshippers at the nearby churches. That domed church across the road is Santa Maria di Loreto if you didn’t already know. It’s a very popular place of worship in this part of the city.”
Augusta shook her head. This wasn’t an area that she and Serafina tended to frequent all that often. They had a set routine most days, and it usually involved stepping out of Palazzo Lazio and heading toward the shops and cafés in Via del Corso and along the River Tiber. When they had visited the Colosseum with Gideon yesterday, they had passed by this café, but she hadn’t taken any notice.
I have been blind to so much of the hidden joy of this city. Wrapped up in my own thoughts and only seeing what others have pointed out to me.
Soon after they sat, two large bowls of pasta were placed on the table in front of them. Augusta smiled as she recognized Serafina’s favorite meal. “Ah, Rome’s greatest pasta dish, Cacio e Pepe. I will miss this when we go home. Serafina makes a point of eating it at least every other day.”
