Rogue's Lady

by Julia Justiss

  For a moment Allegra sat silent, astounded to discover her far-fetched speculation had turned out to be true. Following upon surprise came a surge of grief made more poignant by realizing that whatever Papa’s grand project had been, now it would never reach fruition.

  After taking a moment to compose herself, she said, “As impossibly coincidental as it seems, the gentleman you seek, Emilio Antinori, was my father. But I will not be able to conduct you to him. Sadly, I must tell you that he died of fever last fall in Bath.”

  The Italian stared at her. “You, the daughter of Signore Emilio? And he is dead? No,” he exclaimed, dropping the letters back on the table, “this cannot be!”

  He took an agitated pace away, then wheeled to face her. “It must not be! Shame on you, signorina,” he declared, his voice rising as he shook his finger in her face, “to speak so beautifully my language and yet make sport of me, a poor foreigner!”

  Before Allegra could try to calm him, Sir Henry strode in, frowning. “For heaven’s sake, lower your voice, sir! You’ll wake my daughter.” Suddenly recognizing Allegra, he stopped short. “Miss Antinori, what is wrong? Is that gentleman accosting you?”

  His finger still pointed at her accusingly, the man froze. “Miss Antinori?” he echoed. “It is truth, then? You are the daughter of Emilio Antinori?”

  “I have that honor,” Allegra replied in Italian. “Shall I show you a letter he wrote me?” Quickly she pulled it from her reticule. “You may see for yourself that it is in the same hand as the letters you carry.”

  While she held it out for the traveler’s inspection, she said to Sir Henry, “It appears this gentleman has come to England seeking my father.”

  “Cielo mio, that is his hand!” DiCastello murmured. Then to her astonishment, the man fell on his knees at her feet, seized her hand and kissed it.

  “Ah, yes, you do have the look of the Antinori about you!” he exclaimed. “I am honored, Duchessa! Now, you must promise to accompany me back to San Gregillio. Only the joyous news that he has so beautiful a granddaughter will assuage the grief of my master il duce when he learns his beloved son is dead.”

  “Your master—the duke?” Allegra repeated numbly.

  “Si, Duchessa. Arturo Sergio Antinori, Duke of San Gregillio. And, it seems, your grandfather.”

  FOR THE NEXT HOUR, in the private parlor the Malverns kindly put at her disposal while they strolled with their daughter, Allegra sat at the table and listened to her grandfather’s emissary. Still finding it difficult to believe what had unfolded this morning was real and not the most vivid of pleasant dreams, she struggled to comprehend all the implications of discovering her father’s heritage.

  Fortified by wine brought by Lady Malvern’s maid, who at Signore DiCastello’s insistence remained discreetly nearby to chaperone, the Italian related to her how her father came to be in England, estranged from his family.

  Supremely gifted and interested only in his music, Emilio had not been content to be an amateur performer or a patron of the arts, as befitted one of his station. Determined to devote himself completely to music, he told his father he meant not only to perform with theater and opera orchestras, but to travel to England and study the works of the composers he most admired, Handel and Hayden.

  When the duke adamantly refused to permit him to do either, declaring that an Antinori of San Gregillio must not perform on a public stage or chase after common musicians like a lackey, her father replied he would go with or without his parent’s permission. The duke had cajoled, reprimanded and finally threatened to disown his son should he persist in carrying out his plans.

  Her father left the following day. As proud and stubborn as his son, the duke did not try to stop him, nor did he attempt to even contact Emilio for the next several years. By the time increasing age along with the deaths of his wife and his other sons inspired the duke to relent, Napoleon’s shadow had fallen over Italy. England’s continental blockade and the necessity for the duke to scheme continually to keep his lands from being absorbed into the French-imposed Republic of Italy had forced the postponement of the duke’s efforts to find his son.

  Only now that Waterloo had determined the Emperor—and Italy’s—fate had the Duke been able to send the emissary on his mission to seek reconciliation.

  A reconciliation that was not to be. Allegra wondered if returning to seek the duke’s forgiveness might have been the bold plan about which her mother had spoken, its implementation stymied by her parents’ sudden, premature deaths. But now Signore DiCastello was saying that Allegra must make that journey to the family of her father, insisting she owed it to herself and the grandfather she had never met to become acquainted and to relate to the duke everything she could about the life of the son whose loss he would forever mourn.

  As tempting as the invitation was, Allegra was trying to explain to the Italian why she could not simply abandon the Malverns when Sir Henry, Lady Malvern and Eliza returned from their walk.

  After an exchange of bows and curtseys, Lady Malvern said, “I understand you have received exciting news about your father’s family, Miss Antinori.”

  Reaching over to take Eliza, who squealed with delight upon seeing her and thrust out her chubby arms, Allegra settled the child on her lap. “Yes, my lady. I’ve just discovered my grandfather is a…person of some importance. Signore DiCastello is pressing me to return with him to meet my grandfather and tell him about my father’s years in England. I’m trying to make him understand that, regrettably, I cannot do so at this time, as I have pledged to assist you during your journey. ’Twould be impossible for you to secure a replacement for me now.”

  Lady Malvern exchanged a look with her husband. “We’ve just been discussing that, Miss Antinori,” Sir Henry said. “Before your fortuitous appearance, I’d resigned myself to not having a secretary on the trip and Eliza won’t truly need a governess for some time. We both feel it is important that you avail yourself of this opportunity to be escorted to your grandfather’s home by a gentleman who knows both your family and the countryside. We shall travel to Rome together and insure you have a chaperone to accompany you for the rest of the journey, but we believe you should go to San Gregillio at once.”

  The wonder and excitement she’d been trying to suppress bubbled up. “You will release me from our agreement?” Allegra asked, not sure she dared believe it.

  “You mustn’t think we do not value your assistance,” Lady Malvern assured her. “In the short time you’ve been with us, we’ve both been much impressed by your knowledge, intelligence and character.”

  “You’ve already won over Eliza—and she is an excellent judge,” Sir Henry said, beckoning to his daughter.

  “You are sure?” Allegra asked, setting the little girl down to run to her papa. “I must confess, I am anxious to meet my father’s family and visit his childhood home.”

  “I should think so, when that ‘childhood home’ is a ducal court!” Lady Malvern said. “We are agreed, then?”

  “If you are sure,” Allegra replied. Though she didn’t yet truly believe her abrupt change of fortune, just the thought of being welcomed as a cherished member of a family sent a thrill through her.

  Perhaps she might finally have a place to belong.

  “One other thing,” Lady Malvern added. “Though I prefer the country, I have many friends who spend the Season in London, so I know something of your…situation. In view of that, I think it all the more important that you are reunited with your true family as quickly as possible.”

  Lady Malvern smiled impishly. “I can scarcely wait to write all my London friends that on my journey I was fortunate enough to make the acquaintance of Allegra Antinori, the Duchessa di San Gregillio!”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  LATE THAT AFTERNOON, mud-spattered and bone weary, Will finally trotted into Portsmouth on the last of the job horses he’d hired. Lack of sleep, hunger and the current nag’s rough gait had left him with a pounding headache, which wasn
’t surprising, given everything that had gone wrong on the journey.

  As desperately as he needed food, sleep and a bath, Will bypassed the numerous inns and continued on to the harbor. The bustle of sailors and the forest of masts of the ships anchored out revived his hope that Allegra might still be in the city. Perhaps within the very next hour he would find her and convince her to return to London with him. At the thought, his weary spirits revived.

  After asking directions of a helpful stevedore, Will found the harbormaster’s office, where he was fortunate enough to discover that official still at his post. Waiting in the anteroom, he recalled the frustrations of his journey.

  Desperate to reach the port as speedily as possible, he’d intended to ride through the night, but once the sun went down he was beset by delays. The posting inn at his twilight stop had no horses available and he’d had to waste precious time visiting every establishment in town before finally finding a small inn able to provide him a mount.

  He’d found the staff at the inn he reached after midnight all asleep, not surprising since the mail coach had long since passed through. Rousting out a groom to ready a horse and finding the proprietor to conclude the arrangements had devoured more precious minutes.

  Then four miles out of town, the horse pulled up lame. After walking the beast to the nearest village, he’d once again banged on shuttered inn windows and bolted stable doors to rouse the owner who, irritated at having his sleep disturbed, had only with difficulty been persuaded to rent Will a horse.

  As moonlit night gave way to dawn, he’d been able to change horses without further incident, but having lost so much time, Will had dared not stop for a meal. After disposing of the bread and cheese he’d brought with him, since early morning he’d existed on a few meat pies and several tankards of ale, as his growling stomach reminded him.

  Just then the official walked out. “Sorry to keep you waiting, my lord. With what can I assist you?”

  “Thank you for receiving me in all my dirt,” Will replied, following him into his office. “I’ve just ridden in from London and urgently need some information. Could you tell me which ships in port are bound for Italy?”

  “Certainly.” The Wentworth and the Westmoreland are bound for Genoa and Livorno, respectively, and the Pride of Sussex sailed this afternoon for Rome.”

  Will felt the pang of trepidation echo through his empty stomach. “Can you tell me if Pride of Sussex carried any passengers? I have vital news to convey to someone who arrived at Portsmouth yesterday and must discover whether or not they have already sailed.”

  The man nodded. “If you’ll wait, I’ll check my log.”

  Too agitated to sit despite his fatigue, Will paced the office while the harbormaster pulled a volume from the bookcase beside his desk and flipped through it. “According to my notes, that vessel carried a Sir Henry Malvern, his wife, Elizabeth, and daughter, Eliza, her nurse Harris, her governess Miss Antinori, the lady’s maid Dorset, the gentleman’s valet Stanley…”

  The harbormaster continued to rattle off names, but Will stopped listening. Sagging back against the wall, he closed his eyes.

  She was gone. From Portsmouth. From England. He would not be able to hurry her back to London and coerce Lynton, who’d already been positioning himself to disavow the bargain Will had forced, into honoring its terms.

  “Are you all right, my lord?” The official’s concerned voice penetrated his cloud of weary despair.

  Will hauled himself upright. “Yes, yes, I’m fine.” Fishing in his pocket, he pulled out a coin and pressed it into the harbormaster’s hand. “Thank you for your trouble, sir.”

  “Happy to be of service, m’lord,” the man said, pocketing the coin. “Hope you find that gent.”

  Slowly Will trudged out to retrieve his horse. Once the ton learned Allegra had left the Lynton family to take a post as a governess—news Sapphira would spread about gleefully—Lynton would contend ’twas next to impossible to reestablish her in society. Having thus recklessly cut herself off from the world he’d tried to help her enter, Lynton would doubtless feel justified in refusing to squander any more assets on someone who’d behaved in what he considered to be an over-hasty, irrational manner.

  Lynton wouldn’t want Allegra back—but Will did. He could still go after her.

  The idea fired through him, burning away his fatigue. He’d take the next ship for Rome and continue his search. Granted, he hadn’t much to offer her at present, but surely getting a home of her own—albeit crumbling into ruin—and the title of Lady Tavener was preferable to spending the rest of her life as a low-paid, unappreciated servant.

  She’d have a place to belong—and his undying love. Maybe, once she’d cleared Rob Lynton from her heart, he might have a chance of winning it.

  Electrified by the image of placing his wedding ring on Allegra’s finger and settling with her at Brookwillow for the rest of their days, he pulled up his horse. He’d go back to the harbormaster’s office, ask him on which ship he’d need to book passage.

  Even before he could turn his mount, the flame of excitement guttered. Baron Penniless of Rack-and-Ruin Manor hadn’t the cash to book passage on a ship, much less to fund the rest of a potentially long and costly journey.

  There could be no further pursuit. Allegra had chosen to go abroad as a governess and a governess she would remain. As he would remain alone, cut off from her by a sea of poverty and loneliness.

  Through all the weary miles and hours, Will had spurred himself on by imagining Allegra claiming the brighter future he’d envisioned for her. As he let go of that dream, a weight of discouragement and fatigue heavier than a Corinthian’s multi-caped greatcoat settled over him.

  Instead of following the lady he loved, he’d look for an inn, use some of the modest reserve he’d hoarded to purchase Allegra’s room and dinner to obtain those comforts for himself, then get some sleep before making his solitary way back to London.

  Exhausted and heartsick, Will stopped at the first inn that looked respectable, engaged a chamber, wolfed down a bowl of the cook’s hot stew and fell into bed.

  SETTING OUT the next morning, Will spent the long hours in the saddle considering what he should do next.

  First, finish his note to Lucilla—or better yet, deliver an apology in person. Perhaps he’d take along Allegra’s list and solicit Lucilla’s advice about it.

  The mere thought inspired a wave of revulsion. Having so clearly envisioned Allegra as his wife, he couldn’t imagine going through the travesty of paying court to another, nor did he feel capable of dredging up the charm necessary to captivate any of the ladies on that list.

  Neither did the idea of resuming his previous life hold any appeal. He’d had enough of living from gaming win to gaming win, relieving the loneliness of his life by trysting with matrons eager to add his name to their list of conquests.

  He craved rest and quiet and peace, a period of solitude in which to wean himself from the love he should somehow have prevented from developing in the first place.

  He needed Brookwillow. Immersed in the soothing balm of its woods, river, and fields—fallow and growing up in weeds as they were—perhaps he could find himself and a new sense of purpose. He craved the company of honest folk like the Phillipses who valued him for who he was, not the arrogant Lyntons of the ton or the idle beauties who would seduce him to wound a former lover, to inspire jealousy in a potential one or simply to alleviate their boredom.

  Perhaps he’d try taking Allegra’s advice and see what he could do about restoring Brookwillow without the influx of funds from a rich wife’s dowry. The Phillipses would assist him, he knew. Maybe there was a carpenter among the tenants who could work on the roof.

  Will smiled. Maybe he could learn carpentry. Stone-masonry. Farm management. All useful skills that just might, over the course of years, allow him to gradually coax Brookwillow out of penury and ease it back along the road to becoming a productive estate.

  A flicke
r of interest stirred in his despondent soul. He could observe the tenants’ cottage gardens, visit the neighboring estates and talk to their managers. Read some books on agriculture; attend the Fall Meeting at Holkham…

  If he spurned Lucilla’s kindly-meant assistance, he’d never be a wealthy baron, Lord Tavener of Brookwillow, escorting his heiress wife to all the fashionable events of the London Season. But he also wouldn’t have to spend a lifetime with a lady he couldn’t love and didn’t want.

  A lady who wasn’t Allegra.

  As the miles passed by under the hoofs of one job horse after another, resolution became purpose and the sharp edge of his heartache eased. He would call on Lucilla, make arrangements to leave London, and be done with the ton, society and men like Lynton for good.

  THE AFTERNOON AFTER his arrival back in London, Will set out to visit Lucilla. Replying this morning to the note he’d scrawled before falling into bed upon his return, she’d invited him to come by after the promenade hour in the park and remain for dinner.

  He hoped she wouldn’t be too upset when he turned down her offer after scarcely giving it a try, but the more he pondered returning permanently to Brookwillow, the more right and proper the decision seemed.

  He also hoped Lucilla wouldn’t question him too closely about why he suddenly had no interest in pursuing lovely women. The quiet agony smoldering in his soul at losing Allegra wasn’t something he could bear to expose, not even to Barrows or his sympathetic cousin.

  To his surprise, as he entered the parlor, Domcaster rose to greet him. “This is an unexpected pleasure,” Will said, returning the earl’s handshake. “I thought you’d returned to Waverley Hall for the rest of the spring.”

  “There’s a matter before Parliament that needed my attention,” his host said, waving him to a seat. “Besides which, you’ve turned out to be so indifferent an escort that Lucilla’s threatening to cajole me into remaining for the rest of the Season. Instead of shaking your hand, I ought to box your ears.”