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Her breath came in tiny gasps as she stared straight ahead, forcing herself to hold back the tears that threatened to fall.
She felt the warmth of his hand, pulling her gloved fingers toward it as the Sun drew the Earth, helpless to resist, into its orbit. And then their fingers met, tentatively, gently. Unforced, yet unwavering. A reunion of shattered souls. His fingers grazed the back of her own, clinging to this slight, stolen connection for the briefest of moments. The warmth of his fingers through her crocheted glove sent a wave of longing through her core and down to her toes. Struggling to maintain composure, she continued to stare at the singer even while her body betrayed her, clinging to this solitary touch, their shared desire palpable, his hand, gentle but solid against her own.
O mi rendi il mio Tesoro
O mi lascia almen morir.
She feared she might shatter like the waves against the shore or be dragged out to oblivion like the sands pulled into the abyss of the sea.
The music ceased; its gentle, final chords fading out, the soft strings echoed by the rhythm of the waves. She felt others around her rise, and she bolted to her feet, breaking the spell – breaking the connection before it wove its magic through her and forced her to forget all that she had promised, all that had happened, and all she must now do.
She applauded, catching her breath as she felt him slowly rise next to her, his polite applause belying the cost of her withdrawal, as though he, too, felt his life force draining as she pulled away.
She must leave. She hesitated, torn by the pull of his heart to hers. In her hesitation, while she frantically searched for Georgianna, Susan… anyone… he broke their mutual silence.
“Miss Heywood. I...”
She stared at him lips parted as she struggled to regain her equilibrium. But she could find no words.
He swallowed, clearly seeing her distress... longing to relieve it. His expression—the picture of remorse—told her he understood that anything he did at this moment would only make it worse.
“It’s a beautiful aria,” she blurted out. His eyes bored into hers, telling her he saw through her effort to deflect; to distract. She swallowed, her throat dry and tense. “Give me back my love or let me die.”
“Treasure.”
“I beg your pardon?”
His eyes, if possible swam deeper into her own. He took a small but determined step forward and held her gaze. “The line. It’s give me back my treasure. Tesoro. It’s often translated to love, but that’s not quite correct. The Italian word amore would be a more straightforward choice if that’s what she solely meant in that moment. Tesoro suggests something deeper, a cherished person. The embodiment of what’s most valuable.
“I believe Mozart and Da Ponte are saying the Count is not just her lover but her ‘treasure’—a person who holds irreplaceable value to her. She’s pleading for the return of something precious and integral to her heart.”
“Is she?”
“Without a doubt. And… it isn’t just let me die. It’s almen… Almen can mean at last, finally… it can also mean at least. She is bargaining with Love itself. Either repair what is broken, give her back her treasure, or finally, at the least end her suffering.”
“I…” She broke the spell, looking around wildly, seeing Georgianna walking with purpose towards Samuel Colbourne. “Excuse me, Mr. Colbourne. I must… Georgianna…”
“Of course.” He bowed, and before he could lift his eyes, she was gone. His gaze still cast downward toward the sand, he caught the flash of something blue on the ground, reflected in the light of the torches. He took a slow step forward, bending to retrieve it, his heart and mind in a silent but savage debate. He shook his head and looked up, his eyes drawn again to Miss Heywood, standing with Georgiana, Samuel, and Lady de Clemente. One more moment of indecision, and he strode toward her.
“Will you come?” he heard Georgianna’s plea.
“Of course,” replied Charlotte, taking her dearest friend’s outstretched hand.
He stepped into their circle and looked to his brother. Tom, Mary, Arthur, and Lord Montrose had all walked over to join them as well, with Lady Montrose and Lady Lydia completing the group—Lady Montrose keeping a watchful eye on Alexander, clearly hopeful of his attention for her daughter.
Samuel answered his unvoiced question. “Miss Lambe has decided to fight her case, after all. You were right, brother. One should clearly never underestimate Miss Heywood’s resolve.”
Alexander blushed furiously in the torchlight as Charlotte demurred. “I’m not sure how much I had to do with it.”
“Nonsense,” said Georgianna, still grasping her hand. “You had everything to do with it, as did you all.”
“I was telling Miss Lamb,” continued Samuel, “We’ll leave at first light.”
“You may take our carriage,” offered Tom.
“And I shall travel with you both,” declared Mary.
“Yes, my dear,” agreed Tom. “That is an excellent idea. Arthur and I are needed here, but you should go.”
“But Tom… I feel I should be with Georgianna,” insisted Arthur with some concern.
“No, brother… It’s best we leave this to Mr. Colbourne’s expertise. Charlotte and Mary will be a great comfort throughout the ordeal, I’ve no doubt.”
Arthur was silent but clearly distressed. Lord Montrose watched him with concern.
“I will go on ahead on horseback,” said Samuel. I can make better time and begin the work while you come behind in the carriage.”
“Excellent,” said Tom. "Come then, ladies, Arthur… We must all get what sleep we can before such an early journey.”
The Parkers made their goodbyes to Lord Montrose, as well as Lady Montrose and Lady Lydia, who had joined them. Lady Montrose was bent on capturing Alexander’s attention, but Lady Lydia and Harry insisted they were tired and needed to return to their rooms.
Charlotte glanced at Alexander before starting to head off with the Parkers.
“Miss Heywood… a moment?”
She stopped, both thrilled and terrified by his request. Samuel and Lady de Clemente exchanged a brief glance and turned towards the sea by mutual consent – nearby, but not intrusive.
“I found this… moments ago, in the sand. It has been washed up from the depth of the sea. Perhaps it can be a talisman of sorts…”
He opened his palm and held it out to her.
In it lay a piece of sea glass in the softest blue. Cornflower blue. It’s shape an uneven, flawed heart. “Once shattered and discarded,” he suggested, “Perhaps by someone who didn’t value it. Perhaps… by someone who was foolishly unable to hold its flawless beauty. Much like the Countess, broken by her foolish Count, who was too lost in his own folly to hold the perfection he’d been given.”
She stared at him, her breath coming fitfully again.
“It has surely been battered… relentlessly tossed by an unmerciful sea. And in that turmoil, it endured and was reshaped by the churning tides. Yet, Miss Heywood…” His eyes sought her soul, begging her to understand. “It retains its essence, as a love that endures and is strengthened by forgiveness. Like the Countess forgiving the Count’s flawed love, perhaps it suggests the beauty of an enduring heart… flawed, but genuine.”
She continued to stare at him, unmoving. He tentatively reached for her left hand with his empty right, and finding no resistance, gently turned it palm-up and carefully set the blue heart into her waiting hand. He closed her fingers over it.
“I offer this heart to you, Miss Heywood. May it be a talisman for the upcoming trial. May it… remind you of your own enduring strength. And in what… elevated… treasured… esteem you are held.”
He released her hand and stepped back. Bowing slightly.
“Charlotte?” She spun to see Georgianna waiting for her, a knowing yet questioning look on her face. “Are you coming?”
“Yes. Of course.” She turned back to him. “Thank you… Mr. Colbourne. I… Thank you.” She turned and hurried towards Georgianna, leaving him to gaze after her.
“Brother?” Samuel had approached him unseen, one eyebrow raised in question. “Did you have a satisfying conversation with Miss Heywood?”
“I hardly know.” He released the breath he’d been holding since their hands first touched.
“I do not understand you, Xander.”
“There is nothing new in that. I can hardly claim to understand you either. I do not fully know what just happened, Brother. All I can tell you is that I feel… hope. Some small hope of… if not happiness, at least forgiveness.”
“Would it be presumptuous of me to say I have felt the same hope?”
Alexander looked at his brother, a small smile playing at the edges of his lips. “No, Sam. It wouldn’t. After all, Perdono non merta chi agli altri non dà."
“Xander. As a barrister, my Latin is not wanting, but my Italian…”
“Le Nozze di Figaro, Sam. I’m merely playing out the rest of the act. He deserves no pardon who withholds it from others.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You don’t have to. Come, Sam. You have an early morning, and a case that must be won at all costs. Let’s go home.”