Rebecca's mind was reeling at the revelation that he still loved her, and she longed to speak of her love as well, but he didn't seem to be through with his speech yet.
“I'm not sure when I would have gotten around to saying something to you,” he admitted, “but Marcellus just gave me a bit of fatherly advice, as he called it.”
“Oh, he did?” Rebecca tried to keep a serious tone in her voice, but amusement at the doctor's double dose of “fatherly advice” bubbled up to the surface in a chuckle.
“He said that one of us had to take the first step toward patching things up, and that I ought to be man enough to do it.” Antony reached for her hand. “How about it, Rebecca? Will you forgive me for being so angry?”
She didn't think she could get enough of looking into his eyes. Tonight the love was plain to see, and it was a balm to her bruised heart. “Yes,” she said. “I forgive you.”
Antony's face relaxed into a relieved smile and he squeezed her hand. “I almost forgot,” he said. “What was it you wanted to talk to me about?”
“I think I was going to demand to know why you were avoiding me.” Rebecca smiled briefly, then turned serious again as she looked straight into his eyes and said, “And I was going to tell you that my feelings for you haven't changed. I love you too, Antony.”
“I've wanted to hear you say that so much.” With his free hand he reached up and touched her face. For a few moments neither one spoke, letting sight and touch convey what words could not. Finally Antony said, “There's another question I want to ask you, Rebecca. I asked it before, but I'm hoping I'll get a better answer this time.”
Rebecca suddenly seemed to have lost her ability to speak, so she nodded for him to continue.
“Will you marry me?”
She released the breath she had been holding with a long whoosh and found her voice. “Yes, Antony, I will marry you.”
He completely closed the distance between them then with a kiss. It was a wondrous sensation, a feeling of incredible lightness, as if she could soar, and she was quite certain that she had never been this happy before.
They were still sitting on the settee, Antony's arm draped around her shoulders, talking about plans for their own wedding, when Peter walked in. Rebecca jumped and sat up straight. She had no idea how long she and Antony had been in the library. She had completely forgotten about Quintus and Agatha and all their guests. What must they be thinking?
“I'm sorry,” Peter said, surprised and a bit embarrassed at interrupting them. “I didn't know anyone was in here.”
“Is it bedtime already? Are you not feeling well?” Rebecca tried to stop herself from babbling self-consciously. Peter's bedroom opened onto the library; she hadn't thought of that when she had brought Antony here so they could talk privately.
“No, I'm fine,” Peter said. “And the guests are still here. I just wanted to put this up.” He lifted the small parchment he was holding. “A messenger just brought it.”
“A messenger?” Rebecca thought it must be important business if it had been delivered to the house on a Sunday evening.
“I need to send a reply in the morning. Perhaps you could help me with it then,” he said to Antony.
“I'll be glad to,” Antony said.
He seemed completely unperturbed by the fact that Peter had interrupted their intimate conversation. At least, Rebecca thought, Peter hadn't walked in while Antony was kissing her. She would have been mortified.
Peter started to leave, then stopped. “Actually, I'd like you to read it now, if you don't mind. I'm rather upset by the news.”
Rebecca stood up. “I'll leave you two alone,” she said. “I should see to our guests.”
Peter motioned for her to sit back down. “Please stay. It concerns you too. The message is from Naomi.”
Antony took the scroll from Peter and read the contents aloud.
Rebecca was dismayed. What could Naomi possibly want now?
Peter waited two days before replying to Naomi. She hadn't specified when she was leaving for Rome, and he liked the idea of leaving her dangling for a while. His initial reaction had been to ignore Naomi's message altogether. They had no business dealings, and he certainly wanted no personal dealings with his estranged sister. Based on what he'd learned from Nicasius, Peter had a good idea why Naomi wanted to see him: She needed money. But just what did she intend to do to get it? he wondered.
Curiosity finally got the better of him. Curiosity, and an intuition that perhaps
he
needed to meet with Naomi. He needed to see her face to face one last time, if for no other reason than to prove to himself that he was strong enough to do it. Peter was the head of the family now, and he was finally beginning to grow into the position.
He scheduled the meeting for early morning, knowing Naomi hated leaving the house before noon. He intended to hear Naomi out and then send her on her way, hoping that she would soon be back in Rome and out of their lives forever.
Antony, who had been invited to lend moral support and legal advice, if needed, arrived at the harbor early for the meeting and, much to Peter's surprise, so did Naomi. She had lost weight in the six months since Peter had seen her. Now she looked gaunt, and the heavily applied cosmetics did not hide the dark circles under her eyes. Peter thought of the vivacious beauty who'd had dreams of conquering Roman society and wondered if she now thought the price had been worth it. Naomi must truly be desperate for money if it meant being here at this hour, looking haggard and considerably subdued.
As soon as Antony ushered her into a chair, Naomi got right to the point. “I won't insult you by pretending this is a social call,” she said to Peter. “I have a request to make. But first, I would like to clear something up. I want you to know that I had nothing to do with taking Rebecca's baby. Damian surprised me with that ploy, and before I could do anything about it, Jacob showed up and got me angry.” She paused for a wry smile, and for a moment Peter caught a glimpse of the old Naomi, not the shell of a woman who sat across from him now.
“Jacob always did have a knack for that,” she said.
That was certainly true, Peter thought. The headstrong brother and sister had frequently clashed, with Peter or Rebecca often caught in the middle. It had been a continual source of friction in their household.
“Anyway, I hope the child is all right. And Rebecca.”
“They're both fine,” Peter said. It wasn't exactly an apology, but it was the closest he'd ever heard Naomi come to one. He wondered if she had experienced genuine remorse or if she merely wanted to soften his attitude toward her. He surprised himself by brusquely responding, “State your request, Naomi. My time is limited this morning.”
“Very well,” she said. “I need to leave for Rome immediately. Lucius has been taken ill and needs me. He had planned on joining me here this spring, but of course that's out of the question now. I had no way of getting home until the seas opened again, and now that they have, I've been unable to make travel arrangements . . .”
She paused, and Peter thought he saw her hand shaking, but she quickly covered it by clasping her hands tightly in her lap. “Go on,” he prompted.
“I'm short of funds and the bank won't extend any credit. Which is ridiculous, given my husband's position.”
He exchanged a look with Antony. Not so ridiculous, Peter thought, considering what they now knew about the senator's dire situation. “What do you want from me?” he asked.
Naomi took a deep breath and quickly said, “I want to hire the
Mercury
for the voyage. I'll pay the crew as soon as we arrive in Rome and then send the
Mercury
back to you immediately, along with a generous fee for the use of the ship.”
“And why should I do that for you, Naomi?” Even if she could have paid him a small fortuneâwhich he knew full well she couldn'tâ Peter would never have let Naomi use his father's private cutter.
This time her chin quivered, and there was no mistaking the tremble in her voice. “Please don't make me beg, Peter.”
Her manner, as well as the statement, was so uncharacteristic that Peter couldn't speak for a moment. Naomi looked completely unwell, and she was not faking it this time. Not only unwell, but undone.
The loathing he had felt for his supremely selfish sister began to meld into something akin to pity. For a long time Peter stared at her across the desk, his chin propped in the palm of his hand, the index finger tapping his cheek. She was pathetic. Truly pathetic.
Finally he leaned forward. “The
Mercury
is not available. But we have a cargo ship leaving for Rome in two days. I'll make sure the captain has room for youâno charge. But no shenanigans, either. No histrionics. No ordering the crew around. You'll keep to your quarters and do whatever the captain says. That's the offer. Take it or leave it.”
Her eyes briefly flashed and her nostrils flared, but Naomi was far too desperate to allow herself the luxury of expressing outrage or any other emotion. She swallowed hard and nodded her head. “I'll take it.”
Peter stood to signal that their meeting was over. “I'll make the arrangements,” he said.
As Naomi rose from her chair, the struggle to maintain her composure was obvious. Peter was actually a bit embarrassed for her.
She paused at the door. “Thank you, Peter,” she said softly.
He suddenly couldn't speak again, so he simply nodded, and she went out the door. Peter sat back down. He heard Naomi's footsteps echoing on the dock, heard the gulls screeching as they swooped to the shore for crumbs, and it all seemed anticlimactic.
It's over,
Peter thought.
Finally over.
He supposed he should feel gleeful over the fact that Naomi was headed for utter humiliation when she arrived in Rome. In all likelihood, she would wind up destitute. And after all the misery she had caused, she would deserve whatever she got.
Peter did feel a certain relief, but it brought him no joy. Instead, he felt a deep sorrow. It was tragic to see someone you had once loved self-destruct.
Antony allowed Peter to sit in silence and collect his thoughts for a while, then asked, “Are you all right?”
“Fine,” Peter said. “I think I'm going to be just fine.” He smiled slowly, then stood and stretched. “As a matter of fact, I think I'm ready to do something I've put off for a long time.”
Antony raised an eyebrow as he looked up at Peter. “What's that?”
“How would you like to go for a sail?” Peter asked. “A short trip on the
Mercury
?”
“Where are we going?”
“Nowhere in particular,” Peter said. “Just up and down the river. Kaeso has had the
Mercury
ready for travel for a few days, but he hasn't had her out on the water yet. I thought you might like to help me do the honors.”
Antony brightened. “I'd love to. I've always wanted to see your father's famous ship firsthand.”
Peter didn't tell Antony that he'd never been on board the
Mercury
either. He had simply decided he wasn't afraid of sailing anymore.
LIVIA HELD THE SMALL BOX UP TO THE SUNLIGHT, checking for minute imperfections. Not a single visible flaw; she took pride in that. The four sides of the wooden box had been covered with thin sheets of copper and polished to a brilliant sheen. The box lid had first been covered in copper, then overlaid with tiny strands of gold to form channels for the different colors of enamel. She had spent many hours forming the delicate gold wires into a series of undulating shapes, carefully hammering the heated gold to the surface, then filling the channels with various shades of blue enamel, each shade a bit paler than the previous, until they almost faded to white. The effect was like clouds hanging over the water. The work had been painstaking, but she was pleased with the results.
Several months' worth of work lined the shelves in the workshop. Livia had finished dozens of items she would sell at the market in Caesarea and to the caravans that would soon be passing through. Necklaces, bracelets, anklets, earrings, and rings for fingers and toes. Decorative housewares. Even a matched pair of jeweled daggers. But the piece she was holding now was special: the box was for Jacob.
Livia didn't know when she would give it to him, but it would be soon. She'd always known he would leave when spring arrived. It was March now, and while it was still cold, winter was all but over. Recently she'd heard Jacob asking Gregory when he thought the mountain roads would be clear enough to travel. That could only mean one thing: Jacob would be leaving soon. She planned to give him the box as a parting gift.
His departure would leave a void in her life, and just thinking about it put Livia in a melancholy mood. They had spent many companionable hours talking, laughing, and sharing their lives. They'd also argued over his obsession with Damian.
The last time he'd mentioned anything about Damian was a couple of weeks ago, after Pomponius had taken Jacob to meet Regulus. Evidently seeing Damian at the army post had whetted Jacob's appetite to fulfill his so-called mission. Since then he'd been preoccupied, as if he were already distancing himself from her and Gregory.
Still, there were times when she and Jacob talked that she thought he was on the verge of telling her something important, perhaps revealing something he'd never shared before. He would lean toward Livia, an earnest look on his face, and then suddenly look away. Once he had even touched her arm and started to say something. For some reason she'd thought he was about to speak of his personal feelings for her. But perhaps she had just imagined that.
She couldn't blame Jacob, though, for the inability to speak his deepest feelings; she'd experienced it for the first time herself. Livia had never had trouble speaking her mind. In fact, she usually had the opposite problem and spoke before she thought. But now, when it seemed to matter more than at any time in her life, she could not verbalize her feelings for Jacob. Not unless he said something about it first. And it was
his
place to speak of such things, wasn't it?