Chapter Nineteen #2
“Yes. All of them. Do you understand now? Why I say I am cursed? Their deaths were too strange to be anything else. I know of no woman who has buried so many husbands. Men, certainly. It may not be common, but it is certainly far from strange for a man to lose so many wives. But, do you know of any other women as unlucky as I?”
“Well…no,” he said, obviously reluctant to confirm her argument. “But I hardly think that means you are cursed, love. Unlucky, perhaps. I will give you that.”
He could hardly do otherwise, but that was beside the point.
“But well, these things do happen,” he added.
She snorted, not caring how unladylike the sound. “Do they? So many? All happening to one woman? Or…well, of course nothing happened to me except for the loss of them…” Her voice cracked again.
Edward leaned forward, his concern clearly etched on his face. “I maintain, while tragic, these things do happen. Sickness spreads. Accidents befall even the most careful of men. If any of them were of a certain age—”
She shook her head. “Young and healthy all. Do you understand now?” She dropped back to the bed, her face in her hands.
“Not quite,” he admitted, not surprisingly. “How did they die?”
He asked as if he were afraid of the answer. And so he should be. Though not perhaps for the reason he thought.
She let out a long breath and told him everything.
“Louis Dampierre was my first husband. We meet at a ball in Paris. My father always took my mother and me on his travels. Well, not always. But often. Unconventional perhaps, but he loved us and wanted us by his side. Or perhaps he just did not trust my mother on her own,” she added, nervous laughter erupting at her own jest. Her parents loved each other dearly, but her mother did love to shop and had a tendency to do so prolifically when her father wasn’t around to rein in her more expensive excursions.
“We married six weeks later in a beautiful church in the French countryside. But when we left the church, a flock of geese who had been startled by the raucous laughter of Louis’s uncle flew across our path.
Poor Louis got caught up in the flock as they tried to flee and stumbled into the path of a carriage whose horses had been likewise startled. ”
She closed her eyes. Poor, sweet, gentle Louis. He would have been mortified at such a ridiculous death. Yet, she pressed on. If she stopped now, she’d never get it all out.
“I met Francesco in Venice.”
Edward held up a hand. “My apologies, but would this be Francesco Fiorentino? The Francesco Fiorentino from the painting at the museum?”
Her eyes narrowed. “The one you tried to touch?”
He scoffed with an impatient wave. “Not the point.”
“It should b—Never mind. Yes. That Francesco.” She sighed, her mind refocusing on her dearly departeds before she lost her nerve again.
“His paintings were so lovely. Breathtaking.
From the first moment I saw them, I was captivated.
First by his work. Then by him. He was such a dreamer.
So sweet, exuberant, romantic. Too romantic perhaps.
Too exuberant, certainly. After our wedding breakfast, we traveled to his lodgings by gondola.
He stood up to sing to me as we went along.
“But he did have a tendency toward the theatric. Especially when singing. He gesticulated just a bit too wildly during a particularly poignant part of the aria and…well, the reigning theory is that a particularly tenacious pigeon thought Francesco was offering food in his upraised hands and it grew impatient waiting for its treat. Whatever the cause, it flew at him, and he lost his balance.”
“He drowned?”
Selena shook her head. “He gulped too much water and whether it was from the cold or something in the water, he caught a fever and was dead by nightfall.”
Edward’s eyes widened, and Selena didn’t need to ask why.
She knew exactly how preposterous everything sounded.
Their deaths were perhaps even more tragic for the sheer ridiculousness of them.
If it weren’t for those damned geese…and pigeons…
and just-deep-enough, possibly poisonous water.
And Marius’s love of a good sparring match.
She took a deep breath and plowed on. “Then Marius. Poor, dear Marius. We were in Bucharest while my father met with a few of his contacts. There was a concert at the palace. Marius was the court composer. He played the most beautiful music. So beautiful I think I was half in love before the night had ended.”
“Another whirlwind romance,” Edward said.
Not unkindly. But perhaps with a slightly wary tone that resettled her dread about her like an old, familiar friend she could never escape.
After all, their own romance was less than two months old.
And they were to be wed in the morning. If he would still have her, that was.
But how else could she respond but to say, “Yes.” She pursed her lips briefly, willing herself to go on.
“We were married just a few weeks later.
After what happened with my first two marriages, I would have wished to wait.
But my father was scheduled to return to court shortly afterward.
We could not wait if we were to wed before my parents left.
“Our wedding celebration lasted the entire day and well into the evening. There was so much music, and laughter. And wine. Marius imbibed perhaps a little too much. He was so full of life. At odds, it sometimes seems now, with his seriousness when it came to his music. Perhaps he saved all his solemnity for his music and saved none for the rest of his life.”
She smiled a bit wistfully, lost in her memories.
“What happened?” Edward asked quietly.
She pursed her lips again. This one she really did not want to share. Finally, she let out an exasperated breath. There was nothing she could do to change the situation now. She might as well tell him all of it.
“As I said, he’d had quite a bit to drink, as had his friends. So when one of them placed a wager that Marius could not beat a horse in a wrestling match…”
“Oh bollocks. He didn’t.”
She blinked at his curse. But really, at this point, she was rather more surprised he wasn’t filling the rafters with his curses.
“He tried,” she answered. “The horse won.” She let out another long sigh. “The poor creature had so many limbs flailing about it was a wonder he only stuck Marius the once. But that was all it took.”
“Indeed.” He shook his head, utterly bemused. “Your husbands did seem to have an unfortunate time with horses.”
“And birds,” she said, crinkling her forehead.
“And birds,” Edward said, his lips pulling ever-so-slightly into a faint smile.
“Edward,” she said, not bothering to keep her voice down. “It is not funny.”
“No, of course not. My apologies if I seemed to be amused. But you must admit—”
“Yes, I know how it all sounds. I would probably laugh as well if it were not my life we were discussing.”
“I am sorry, Lena, truly.”
His use of her nickname made her pause. He had never used it before. And the sound of it on his lips sent her heart racing.
“I promise you, I am not making light of your troubles. However,” he said, making her eyes narrow. “I still maintain that you, perhaps, are making too much of them.”
“Too much?” She stood again, the nervous energy coursing through her too much to keep bottled up.
“My mother had to take me to the Highlands of Scotland to escape the rumors that were spreading all over the Continent about me. And instead of learning my lesson, I went and found yet another husband who again didn’t survive a marriage to me. ”
Edward’s mouth opened and closed a few times as he apparently struggled to find a retort to that.
“Did his death involve birds or horses?” he finally asked.
“Edward!”
“I’m sorry,” he said with a laugh. “I know this is no laughing matter—”
“Your current behavior to the contrary,” she said, crossing her arms. Though…she wasn’t deaf or blind. She knew exactly how ridiculous this whole situation was. Or seemed from the outside in any case.
“My deepest apologies. Truly. It is only that Mr. MacLaren obviously died of very natural causes…” His gaze flashed to her. “Am I correct?”
“Yes. The physician who examined him said that he must have had a weak heart that had never made itself known until…”
Her cheeks flushed hotly as the doctor’s exact words echoed in her head. If she had remembered them earlier, or been a little less distracted with what she had been saying and who she had been saying it to…
“Until?” he prompted.
She groaned under her breath. “Until he…overexerted himself,” she muttered.
Edward’s gaze intensified, knowing immediately to what she referred. Having so recently engaged in a little overexertion with her himself.
“Well then,” he finally said, though his voice had grown decidedly more gruff. “There you have it. An unfortunate, but unquestionably natural death.”
“Edward, there is nothing natural about a woman losing a fourth husband in as many years.”
He frowned. “Perhaps. But—”
“No buts, Edward. I am cursed. Do you see now why I refused you. Why agreeing to your mad proposal has put you in danger?”
He stood, blocking her way to stop her pacing, and took her hands. “No, love, because despite all you have told me, I still do not believe in curses.”
“How can you not? After all the accidents that have happened when you are near me?”
He frowned. “Such as?”
She gaped at him. “The carriage that almost ran you over in the park. The fountain. The horse that kicked you in the skull.” Her eyes narrowed. “Perhaps he kicked you too hard if you cannot remember such a recent injury.”
“Selena,” he said, pulling her into his arms again. “Those are silly little accidents that could happen to anyone.”
“Very similar silly little accidents killed three of my husbands.”
“Coincidence,” he insisted.
“Fate. A curse. My curse.”
“Then one that has been broken. I am still standing here.”