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“Your hair appeared to be wet.”

“Did it?”

“Yes. It did.”

“Ah.” He leaned back in his chair. “I suppose that is not surprising. I was bathing.”

“Bathing?”

“Bathing. Swimming in the sea. You will find—if you leave the house—that Venice is surrounded on all sides by seawater.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You know perfectly well that I have left the house. You came with me.”

“Yes. Of course. We saw a Tintoretto altarpiece. You read aloud from—what is it called again?—Norwood’s Historical Guidebook to Venice: The Principal Points of Interest Described in the Dullest Manner Possible?” He put a finger on his chin, pretending to think. “You explained that the painting depicts the moment at which an angel reveals to St. Catherine that in the future, she will be martyred by being put to death on a spiked wheel. It was quite unforgettable.”

She narrowed her eyes. “That is not the only thing that we did.” They’d also visited St. Mark’s Square. They’d climbed the famous bell tower—the Campanile—to see the view. They’d toured the Doge’s Palace—or at least, the rooms that weren’t being used by the Austrian viceroy’s various officials, since the city had been governed by the Austrians since the end of the war. “And by the way, I do know that Venice is surrounded by the sea. I simply did not realize that one may bathe in it.”

“But surely you have heard that Lord Byron swam up the Grand Canal in order to win a wager.”

“I did not mean that! I mean bathing as something that a… a non-annoying person might do.”

Suddenly, the corners of his mouth twitched. “Yes. A non-annoying person may bathe here. There are bathing beaches on Lido—which is where I was. Why does poor Byron annoy you?”

“What is Lido?”

“The island that forms a barrier between the Venetian lagoon and the open sea.”

Another island! It was as though a thunderbolt had struck her. Of course! There were other islands surrounding the city! That would explain why none of the locations described in The Prisoner of San Severino seemed to match what she'd seen of the city! Why hadn’t she thought of this herself? “Have you been to any of the other islands? Are they… generally inhabited?”

“I have been to Lido—and to Murano and Burano, on a previous visit. And yes, they are inhabited. The whole lagoon has been settled for centuries.” He cocked his head to one side. “What is this about?”

“And are there… well, ruined castles and things like that?”

“Ruined castles?” He stared at her quizzically. “The lagoon itself forms a defense, so there was no need to build castles. In fact, the place's defensibility was the chief reason that the ancient Venetians settled here, when they were fleeing from the Huns.”

Well, he was wrong about that. In The Prisoner of San Severino, the imprisoned hero—chained deep in the castle’s dungeons—wept as he listened to the church bells of the city tolling overhead to mark the wedding of his beloved Maddalena to the wicked prince. It was a scene of sublime pathos that had dampened handkerchiefs across England. “May we visit the other islands?”

“Certainly.” His eyes were suddenly warm. “You have only to say the word. Although there are, of course, a great many beautiful sights right here in the city that you must wish to see first.”

Yes… but none of them would solve her problems with her book. “But you see, I… Well, the weather is so fine.”

“Are you certain? You will not get seasick again? This is not because I teased you about the altarpiece, is it?”

“Not at all.” But that gave her an inspiration. “I—I wish to make some sketches.”

“Sketches?”

“Watercolor sketches.”

“But…” He stopped and frowned. He’d known her long enough to know that she’d always hated sketching. “Perhaps a view of the Bridge of Sighs? The Ponte di Rialto? Or the church of Santa Maria Della Salute?”

“No, I… I should prefer a—a less crowded scene. The islands will be more restful.”

“Ah.” He studied her for a moment, as though he didn’t believe her. “Well. In that case, I suggest the island of Burn. There is a most picturesque fishing village in which each cottage is a different bright color. We cannot fail to find a charming scene or two for your sketches.”

That was the very opposite of what she needed. What she needed were foreboding cliffs and gloomy battlements. “What about the island where you were bathing? Is it at all… stormy?”

“Lido?” He gave her a quizzical look. “Well, I suppose that it must be, at times.”