Sattler, Veronica

by The Bargain

  "But come, you must all be quite travel weary by now. I'll have Enrico show you to your chambers where you can rest and freshen up. We'll meet before dinner on the west veranda, and I warn you," she added, brandishing a wagging finger good-naturedly at them, "I shan't be content until I've heard every detail."

  * * * * *

  A few hours later the contessa and her three guests were sitting in comfortable chairs on a spacious veranda that gave them a breathtaking view of the darkening sea. They sipped a light, refreshing wine from heavy, jewel-encrusted silver goblets that, Maria had just finished explaining, were part of a wealth of Montefiori family heirlooms she'd inherited, along with three villas and hundreds of acres of vineyards, from her husband, who had died five years earlier.

  Patrick nodded thoughtfully. "That explains it, then. I was wondering why the villagers we spoke to made reference only to la villa della contessa. My Italian may be poor, but I knew I'd caught no mention of il conte. I'm so sorry, Maria. How did it happen?"

  Maria shrugged, but there was a sad, faraway look in her eyes as she replied. "The war. Gregorio was not a young man, but, as you know, Napoleon's rape of Europe included an obsession to populate the thrones of the Italian peninsula with his relatives. My husband's family owned extensive properties all over Italy, not just here in the north, and when he tried to come to the aid of one of his mother's cousins who was about to lose his lands to the French..." She shrugged again, as if unwilling to go into details that were painful to her.

  "But we had a number of good years together, Gregorio and I. Our only regret was that they were childless." All at once a sparkle heightened the turquoise flecks in her eyes. "Of course, in the years since Gregorio passed on, I've done something to fill that emptiness... but look," she added more briskly, "enough talk about me for now. It is you I wish to hear about. Start from the beginning, my children, and tell me, won't you?"

  And so, with Patrick initially doing most of the talking, they told her of the odd quirks of fate that had kept brother and sister separated for so many years, beginning with the events following the fire and proceeding through his years in America and his recent arrival in England.

  Maria made appropriate murmurs of regret and surprise as she listened attentively, but when the tale wound down to include the account of Patrick and Ashleigh's incredible reunion, her astonishment rendered her speechless for several long moments.

  When at last she could speak, Maria's face was white with shock. "Brett did such a thing?" Her eyes closed, and the slender white hand that held her wine goblet began to tremble so violently, she had to set it down.

  The three across from her exchanged serious glances before Ashleigh reached across the little tea table separating them and took Maria's hand.

  "Please, contessa," she said softly, "you must not judge him too harshly. You see—" Ashleigh paused, searching for the right words "—Brett has been living under a great burden these many years. It—it has to do, I think, with the old duke... with the way his grandfather raised him...."

  Not really intending to do so, but somehow feeling she must, Ashleigh proceeded to open up completely to this warm woman before her, for she knew that the former Mary Westmont and she shared a great burden of their own, a burden that came of loving the man they spoke of while he shunned that love because of things Ashleigh could only guess at, but which she knew might come to clearer light now that the two of them could talk.

  Slowly, reluctant to omit a nuance of detail that might help to explain how it came to be, she told her of her first meeting with Brett, then of the strange arrangement she and Megan had entered into with him, of her months at Ravensford Hall, and finally, their bizarre marriage and its bitter aftermath. Through it all, Maria's eyes never left her face, and at times, Ashleigh could swear the emotions she read there were her own.

  And when Ashleigh at last finished, with a hesitant explanation of her discovery that she was with child, tears ran freely down Maria's cheeks. "Oh, my dear child," she whispered hoarsely, "to think that the poisoning that began to infect us all so long ago has now come to touch you, too! And my beloved Brett..." Wearily, she shook her head, then accepted the linen handkerchief Patrick handed her with a sad, grateful little smile. When she had blotted her wet cheeks, her eyes again found Ashleigh's.

  "You love him, don't you, child?"

  Choking back a sob, Ashleigh merely nodded, but Patrick's incredulous voice broke the silence.

  "Then, Ashleigh, why, in the name of Heaven, if you love him, wouldn't you let me—"

  "Caro, dear Patrick," Maria interrupted gently, "do you really need to ask? Certainly you never questioned me as to why I left without trying harder to reach Brett's father."

  "But that was different!"

  "No, my dear, it was not," Maria said softly. "Oh, I may not have been carrying my husband's child, but the one I was forced to leave behind was every bit as great a tie."

  Ashleigh's heart twisted with pain at the brief, haunted look she caught in Maria's eyes.

  "But," Maria continued, "we were both unable to remain with a husband we loved in the face of the irrational anger, and perhaps, even hatred, that each felt as a result of—" here the contessa's eyes hardened, and her lips became a grim line that reminded Ashleigh of Brett in a similar emotional state "—of an evil poison that insinuated itself into the lives of the occupants of Ravensford Hall."

  Patrick leaned forward to speak, but Megan's voice came more quickly. "Ye've spoken o' this poison more than once, now, m'lady. Would it be the grandfather's doin's ye're meanin'?"

  Maria's look was still grim. "Him, of course I can blame, the poor, twisted fool, but I must tell you that I have always felt there was something more pernicious at work... or some... one." She glanced at Patrick. "I recall you met the old man a couple of times. Whatever you may have thought of him, did he ever strike you as one who was underhanded or would operate by stealth and deceit?"

  Patrick shook his head, his answer a flat "No."

  Maria nodded. "For all his narrow-mindedness and other failings, John Westmont was open and direct in his dealings. He may have been intolerant of my foreign heritage and liberated ideas that he termed 'bluestocking nonsense,' but the duke would never have stooped to planting those letters among my possessions, letters that couldn't fail to be discovered by his son—letters pointing to my nonexistent infidelities!"

  Megan lowered the wine goblet she'd raised to her lips, her eyes narrowed. "Then who—?"

  "A good question," Maria replied. "I've gone over it a thousand times in my mind. Who would stand to benefit if—"

  At that moment there was a clattering noise, followed by the sounds of several pairs of light, running feet coming from the chamber that opened onto the veranda, and as the four turned to look, several small figures appeared near the arched doorway.

  "Scusa, Signora Contessa," said a small boy whose face was framed by a wealth of glossy black curls. Then the child's huge brown eyes fell on the guests; he turned silent with a look of shy embarrassment.

  "Antonio." Maria smiled; then, glancing beyond the boy, who looked to be about five or six, she grinned, saying, "Very well, Anna, Vittorio, the rest of you... I see you, and you may come forth. My guests won't bite, but I warn you, to avoid seeming rude, you must speak to us in English."

  Slowly, the boy Antonio edged forward onto the veranda, followed carefully by five other children of similar age or younger, until all six were standing in a neat row in front of Maria and her guests.

  Out of the corner of her eye Ashleigh noted the faint looks of curiosity on Megan's and Patrick's faces as they beheld the crutches and limping movements of a few of the youngsters, but she, of course, was not surprised at what they saw; these were some of the children she had already seen on the beach. She did glance at her hostess with a look of anticipation, however, for she was eager for an explanation as to the identities of the children and how they fit into Maria's life.

  "Your Grace," said
Maria, turning to Ashleigh as she rose from her seat; then, to Megan and Patrick, "Sir Patrick, Miss O'Brien, allow me to present to you some of my children: Antonio, Anna, Salvatore, Gina, Vittorio and Palmina."

  The three adults rose and smiled at the children when their own titled names were mentioned, and as Maria pronounced each child's name, the youngster bowed or curtsied formally with solemn eyes fixed on the contessa's guests.

  "Children," Maria continued in slow, carefully articulated English, "This is Her Grace, the duchess of Westmont—" Maria gestured at Ashleigh "—her good friend, Miss Megan O'Brien—" she smiled at Megan "—and Her Grace's brother, Sir Patrick St. Clare." She gave Patrick a smile.

  Ashleigh and Megan continued smiling at the children, utterly charmed by their serious little faces and wondering eyes, but when he was formally introduced by name, Patrick stepped forward and graciously shook the hand of each boy while bestowing a courtly kiss on the shyly offered hands of the three young girls. The last, an auburn-haired waif of about six, blushed furiously when her turn came, and this produced muffled giggles from her two female companions.

  "So," said Maria with a twinkle in her eye, "the six of you couldn't wait to meet our guests, unlike your more patient brothers and sisters, eh? Very well, my darlings, I forgive you. To be very honest, I must admit, had I been in your place, I should have found it difficult to wait also."

  At this, all six youngsters grinned at Maria with unabashed relief, if not delight.

  "But now," Maria continued, "I must ask you to go upstairs with the others, to dine and prepare for bed. Then, when our guests and I have finished our dinner, you may come down, along with the others, to say good-night in the drawing room. Capite?"

  Nodding and still grinning, the children turned, and with Vittorio and Gina grasping their crutches, began to file out.

  When they had gone, Maria turned to her guests. "I can tell by your faces you are anxious to learn about my children. It should make for a good beginning to our dinner conversation, I think, and since dinner is about to be served..." She glanced at the doorway where a white-jacketed Enrico had silently appeared. "I suggest we proceed."

  With a warm smile, she took Ashleigh's arm, leaving Patrick to escort Megan, as she followed her steward into the house.

  * * * * *

  In the large and sumptuous dining room with its rich, Renaissance furnishings that fed the eye as well as the appetite, Maria told them about "my children," as she called them. But the youngsters were neither naturally nor legally hers; they were orphans, largely foundlings who had been in the care of a local orphanage run by sisters of the church. But the nuns had encountered difficulties in caring for the increasing numbers of homeless children created by the war in Europe in recent years—something Maria and the conte had been aware of even before he died, owing to their philanthropic support of various charitable institutions across the Italian boot.

  When Gregorio died, Maria went to the Convent of the Little Flower's orphanage, thinking to offer her time as well as her money to help care for the children. But when she arrived, her shock at the crowded conditions and paucity of helping hands was matched only by the pity she felt for the children there, especially those who were handicapped because of the war's atrocities, or who had been born handicapped—and frequently dumped on the sisters' doorstep because, as such, they were unwanted. These were the little ones, she was told, who would never appeal to the rare couple seeking to adopt a child; these were the ones destined, for certain, to spend the rest of their childhood days in an institution—the ones nobody wanted.

  But Maria had wanted them. Within hours of her first visit to the orphanage, she was meeting with the mother superior of the convent and the local priest, a lifelong friend, to arrange to become a foster mother for the then eleven children who constituted "the unplaceables." These she took into her home, turning part of the upper floor into a suite of children's bedchambers, a playroom, a schoolroom and a nursery. She hired an additional separate staff of eight to help her in this endeavor: two nurses—for four of the children were then infants—a tutor, two governesses, a pair of chambermaids, and the children's own private footman—although this last, a wizened old man named Giovanni who adored children and had sadly outlived his own grandchildren through the devastation of war, was really far more than a servant; he was a surrogate grandfather who regaled his young charges with jokes and funny stories and spent hours carrying the little ones about on his shoulders or carving toys for them out of discarded pieces of wood and the like.

  Maria herself spent the bulk of her time with the youngsters, taking an active part in such things as instructing them in French and English, introducing them to good music and art, escorting them on outings and teaching them to ride on the half-dozen gentle ponies she had added to her stables. In the five years since she'd begun doing this, the initial group of eleven had grown until it numbered twenty, which was just last year. But this year she was down to nineteen, she told them proudly, because of her first "graduate." A boy named Alonzo who had lost a leg to a cannonball, and who had been almost fourteen when he and the others in that first group arrived, had succeeded in gaining entry into the University of Bologna and was, with Maria's financial support, successfully studying law there.

  As Maria talked of her life with these children, Ashleigh watched her face light up with an inner joy that spoke volumes beyond her words. Deeply moved, she saw how this beautiful, kind woman who had lost so much when she was torn from the child she loved, had filled the void in her life by enriching the lives of these little ones with hope and joy; she had taken the brutal blow fate had dealt her and turned it into an opportunity to perform an act of love, and Ashleigh found herself humbled in her presence.

  Moreover, she found herself basking in the calm air of serenity that marked the older woman's every movement, longing for a taste of it herself, as a thirsting man longs for water. It was instructive. If Brett's mother could attain such a profound state of inner peace after all she'd been through, why, then, couldn't she? It was something to think about, and Ashleigh resolved to do so, gathering her thoughts for a time when she could be alone. But she already half knew what she wanted; it just depended on the right moment to put it into action.

  And so it was that the following morning, when Ashleigh arose early and came downstairs to learn Maria was breakfasting alone, she eagerly sought her out and accepted the contessa's invitation to join her.

  "So, cara," said Maria, "what is it that has you up and about so early, and in your condition, too? I thought I was the only one who kept such outrageous hours." She nodded a dismissal to the hovering footman and poured Ashleigh's tea herself.

  "Well, m'lady, I've always been an early riser, and now that the morning sickness appears to have left me, I really do not feel comfortable lying about in bed. What's more, I—"

  "Please, my dear, call me Maria," said the contessa as she handed Ashleigh her tea with a smile. "Now, what was it you wished to say?"

  Returning the smile, Ashleigh hesitated, wanting to be sure she phrased properly the idea that had been running about her brain ever since dinner last night. She prolonged the moment by taking a sip of the expertly brewed tea, then continued. "Well, Maria, it—it's about the children. It seems I could hardly sleep for thinking about them." Her mouth curved in a soft, radiant smile as she recalled the moments in the drawing room when all nineteen youngsters had been presented, even the littlest ones, a pair of infants in their nurses' arms. "And I was just thinking, wondering, actually, if—that is—"

  "You were thinking how you might like to share some time with them, were you not?" questioned Maria with a soft smile.

  "How did you know?"

  The smile broadened as Maria reached out to pat her hand. "Ah, my dear, I was not in your presence more than a few minutes before I sensed a certain... kinship between us. Call it something that comes of loving the same man—my son, your husband—or call it just a natural affinity certain people
occasionally have for each other, but this closeness exists. I have felt it."

  Slowly, Ashleigh nodded, her eyes fixed on Maria's. "I have too."

  "Then how can you wonder that I have read what is in your heart, darling Ashleigh?"

  Again a nod.

  "And you are right to look to the children as a means of finding your own path. Oh, I'm not for a minute suggesting this is something for everyone who may be feeling he or she has... lost her way." The hazel eyes were intense as they held Ashleigh's gaze. "But for you... yes, I think it might be just the thing."

  "Oh!" exclaimed Ashleigh with a grateful look in her eyes. "Thank you, Maria! You cannot know how—" She paused and thought better of what she'd been about to say. "But of course you can," she added quietly.

  "But you must promise me you won't tax yourself, carissima. Children can be ever so, ah, energetic, and I shan't have you endangering your health at a time when you should be taking extra pains to maintain it." Maria rose from her place at the table and came around to where Ashleigh sat. "Plenty of rest, good food—my chef, Roberto, and I shall see to that!—and a moderate amount of exercise," she added, wagging her finger in the good-natured way Ashleigh had seen her use with the children.

  "Oh, yes, I promise!" cried Ashleigh, her face alight with enthusiasm. "When can we begin?" She began to rise from her chair.

  Gentle hands settled on her shoulders, urging her back into her seat. "Just as soon as you've eaten a healthy breakfast," Maria laughed. "I'm off to the church, for I must see Father Umberto about posting the banns for Megan and your brother's wedding."

  Ashleigh grinned, recalling the moment last night when Megan and Patrick had whispered briefly together and then surprised them both by announcing their desire to be wed in Livorno.

  "Of course," Maria was saying, "dear old Father Umberto is a bit long-winded, bless his heart. He'll want to chat about the latest news from the villa, asking about each and every child, and then he'll want to arrange to meet the prospective bride and groom... and you, too, of course, and then we'll have a spot of tea, and..." She gave Ashleigh an apologetic smile. "I think before I leave I'd better ask Giovanni to meet with you. I could be gone for hours!"