Bride of a Distant Isle Read Online Free Page A

butter-yellow stone and are hung with black lanterns so each can find his way in the dark.”
    â€œWhat a beautiful sentiment,” I said, thinking of it well beyond surface meaning.
    He smiled. “Each home has a porch that invites both fresh air and meddlesome neighbors into loud family arguments. Often those neighbors come unsolicited to offer an opinion on the matter at hand.”
    Even Clementine smiled at that.
    â€œWe have many churches, perhaps a hundred, perhaps more. But our churches are Roman Catholic. As are we.”
    â€œAs am I.” I pinched off a bite of my bun before catching the look of revulsion that flitted across Clementine’s face at my admission.
    Dell’Acqua’s face, on the other hand, reflected astonishment. “È vero?” he asked, reflecting my earlier question, but slipping into Italian. “You are Catholic?”
    â€œÃˆ vero,” I answered in return. “Truly. But in England, Captain, perhaps we should speak English.”
    â€œAh, the lady is correct.” He regained his composure. We spoke of the Chinese exhibit as we bought tea. China had declined to come to London, still angry over the British taking of Hong Kong, but someone had ensured there was a lovely display of Chinese porcelain, textiles, jade, lacquer and silk paintings, medicine roots, and, of course, tea. Clementine took two lumps of sugar; I stirred honey into mine.
    â€œDid you know that Malta is famous for our honey, which is made from thyme-fed bees? I shall have to see if I can find some for you. Come, let’s visit the Greece exhibit—perhaps they have some, though it is certain to be of poorer quality than Malta’s.”
    â€œOf course it is.” I laughed.
    â€œGreeks are more famous for their ‘crazy honey’ than for their herbed honey.” He held one arm out to me and the other to Clementine.
    â€œSurely you jest, ‘crazy honey’?” Please, please, let’s not discuss my mother’s shame today as well as my father’s.
    â€œI do not jest, Miss Ashton. Ancient Greeks fed it to young women who would then be inspired to tell the truth, among other things—if they did not imbibe too much, that is.” He continued speaking of Malta and its people as we made our way to the Greek stand and admired their wares, but no matter how he charmed, he could not convince them to give some of their displayed golden honey to me. This was, after all, the Great Exhibition, not the Great Sale.
    We then walked upstairs to the area in which there were toys displayed. Clementine found a drum she thought Albert would adore and Captain Dell’Acqua tried to acquire it, again cajoling and pleading with no luck.
    â€œI am sorry, I failed. I am disgraced.” He looked chastened, and I liked him all the more for it. I suspected he was a man used to getting his way.
    â€œYou’ve been a very kind host,” Clementine reassured him as we returned to where we’d begun.
    â€œI could not have asked for a better afternoon,” I offered. “I have somehow found something I was longing for but didn’t know until you began to speak.”
    â€œAnd that would be . . . ?” He left the sentence dangling and grinned, having reclaimed, I saw, his swagger.
    â€œMalta, of course, Malta.” I playfully returned the volley. “What else?”
    Clementine looked askance at me, and honestly, I was rather surprised at myself. What was it about this captain that made me intemperate and impulsive? Perhaps it was not him at all, but the freedom of London. All of it was rather intoxicating. I found that I did not, just then, miss the safety of the day school.
    â€œWe shall see you tomorrow evening.” Clementine nodded toward him, and the captain bowed toward each of us. He then took my hand in his own for a long moment. I did not wish for the moment to expire, but it did. I looked away from him to