The thought occurred to Fanny, that if Mr. Gibson were still a part of their lives, he would have had no difficulty in persuading Betsey. But he was not.
Chapter 21: Italy, Winter, 1818
According to the account which Shelley gave to Byron and Medwin, he re-encountered in Naples the married lady who had proffered her love to him in 1816. She... informed him of the persistent though hopeless affection with which she had tracked his footsteps.
— A Memoir of Shelley, by William Michael Rossetti, (1886)
Mary had never cared for living by the sea. She declined to choose any of the fashionable houses built along the Bay of Naples, and instead selected an elegantly appointed and spacious apartment on the hillside above, with an excellent view of the city and the sea beyond.
By the time she settled in Naples, concealing her condition was no longer possible without recourse to heavy cloaks or shawls. She ventured out very seldom and only after dusk, heavily veiled. She dismissed Roberts and the other servants who had travelled with her from Tuscany, thus cutting off any links to the past. The elderly butler she engaged was instructed to deny all visitors—but one.
It wanted but a few days before the end of November when Shelley appeared at her door, bursting into her elegant drawing room with the energy of a comet. She had half-forgotten how wild and unearthly was his demeanour, like a spirit that had just descended from the sky.
“At last! How beautiful you look, Marina!” Shelley exclaimed, advancing upon her with eagerness, then he stopped, utterly confounded, as he beheld her condition.
“Why... why did not you tell me, my darling?”
“Surely my reasons are obvious, Shelley. I wished to inform you in person and not in a letter which could be intercepted.”
Shelley paused, and ran his fingers through his hair, as he struggled to absorb the news. “Of course. Of course.”
He held out his arms, and since Mary would not come to him, he came to her, and enfolded her gently.
“How I love your strength, your independence,” he whispered, his head on her neck. “The world is a burden to me, but you— you are infinitely more capable.”
Mary’s anger and resentment began to melt away, against her will. As usual, Shelley’s presence was so bewitching, his vitality so electrifying. All in all, he was bearing the news with remarkable composure.
“What do you think? Are we having a boy or girl?” Shelley did not wait for her answer, but fondly traced the curve of her belly. “Shall I have to share you with a little stranger? I have never loved, as I love you,” he continued, kissing her neck and bosom between his murmured endearments. “Day and night, every day, I have been longing for you. How long has it been since I held you in my arms? We must never be separated again.” Mary found herself being gently half-led, half-carried, to her divan.
“Wait, what are you about, Shelley?”
“I shall be very gentle,” he whispered. “I love you so, Marina. I adore you.”
Afterwards, they lay mingled together, and even slept briefly. Mary woke up and looked at the sky through her high windows.
“What happens now, Shelley?”
“I must leave you, Marina. I must take a house for my family to live in. I came ahead so I might spend some time with you, but Mary and Claire will arrive in two days.”
But though he spoke of going, he remained at her side. He gently stroked Mary’s belly and his face lit up with delight when there came an answering kick. “Oh my darling Marina, to think of you carrying my child... this little one will be something extraordinary, will it not? Born from our love, your beauty, your radiance, your wisdom.”
“The child will be born in the new year. I expect you to have resolved your personal entanglements before that time, Shelley.”
“Yes, as to that...” Shelley rose, and retrieved his trousers. “May I ask, Marina, have you made your banking arrangements? Have you a banker in Naples? I find myself embarrassed for funds again—all of this travelling has depleted my allowance—I could of course repay you in full at the next quarter, but in the mean time, I would be most grateful for a loan. I need to consult a doctor, and so does Claire, and there is a very good English one here.”
“Claire again! What an encumbrance this girl is!”
“Marina... my dearest...” Shelley looked woebegone as he knelt beside her, taking her two hands into his own. “We had hoped Claire would find some employment as a governess or a companion. But, she has been unwell. And there was a difficulty with her past, concerning a gentleman, which I was attempting to mediate.”
“You mean, Lord Byron?” Mary pushed his hands away.
“So you know about Allegra? I am sure I never said anything.”
Mary waved her hand impatiently. “I presume Allegra is Claire’s daughter—unless she is another one of your wives?”
“Ah. No. Allegra is Claire’s daughter—by Byron. Byron undertook to raise her, and surely that is for the best, as he is rich as Croesus, but it broke Claire’s heart to give her up.”
“So, at long last, I have my explanation for why you stole off to Venice with your wife’s sister?”
“It was not my secret to confide,” said Shelley, assuming an air of injured nobility. “In fact, I cannot account for how you came to know of it.”
Mary shrugged. “My maid in Bagni di Lucca befriended your manservant.”
Shelley scowled. “That Paolo is an impudent rascal! I fully intend to discharge him. He has been cheating us with every transaction, I am certain. And now, spilling our family
