AUTHOR’S NOTE
I visited Lucca in March 1990 when I was staying in Florence.
I was thrilled by its charm and its extraordinary and perfect four miles of Medieval ramparts built between 1500 and 1645.
The Cathedral is just as I have described it in this novel and I actually prayed in the Chapel of St. Francis of Assisi, which is also part of my story.
The beauty surrounding Lucca has been put into words by a great many famous poets.
It is a dazzling part of Italy, which anyone who visits it will find hard to forget.
And it is not surprising that Napoleon made his sister the Princess of Lucca.
Also many of the famous Roman leaders and those of the Renaissance were all closely associated with the City.
CHAPTER ONE 1890
Paola burst into the drawing room.
“Mama, Mama, I am back!”
The Countess of Berisforde rose quickly to her feet and held out her arms.
“Darling!” she cried. “I have been waiting for this moment and was so afraid that the journey would take longer.”
“It was quite long enough,” Paola said, kissing her mother. “I would have flown back like a bird if I could.”
The Countess laughed.
“It’s lovely to have you, my dearest, and you look very well.”
She held her daughter at arm’s length, gazing at her lovely face, as if she was appraising it.
Then she said seriously,
“I am afraid, my precious, I have bad news.”
“Bad news, Mama?” Paola exclaimed.
The Countess nodded.
Holding her daughter’s hand, she sat down on the sofa and drew her down beside her.
“Papa learned yesterday,” she said, “that your Grandmama is dying and he has had to go to Yorkshire to be with her.”
“Oh, Mama, I am so sorry. Papa will be very upset.”
“I am afraid it will upset us all,” the Countess answered, “because you realise, my dearest, that we will be in deep mourning until the end of the summer.”
Paola stared at her mother before she said,
“I never thought of that. You mean, I cannot be presented and go to any of the balls we planned.”
The Countess shook her head.
“I am afraid not. As you know, everything is arranged and I have even bought a number of pretty new dresses for you.”
“Oh, Mama, how disappointing!”
There was a note of concern in Paola’s voice. All the plans they had been making so carefully would now have to be set on one side at least until the time of mourning was over. Paola had been eighteen in February, but she had stayed until the end of term at her Finishing School near Bath.
Her father and mother did not want her to come to London until the beginning of the Season. She would then be a debutante and would attend all the balls, receptions and other festivities.
Now Paola realised with a sinking of her heart that none of this could take place.
However, she was too fond of her parents to say anything that would distress them.
After a moment she asked,
“In that case, Mama, I suppose we will go to the country and at least I can ride Papa’s horses. Has he any new ones?”
“I have a better plan than that,” her mother said quietly and her daughter looked at her with raised eyebrows.
They were in fact very much alike.
The Countess had been the greatest beauty of her generation and Paola resembled her.
There was no doubt, her mother thought, that she would be acclaimed as the most beautiful debutante of the Season.
Now, a little hesitantly, as if she was feeling for words, the Countess said,
“I knew, darling, how disappointed you would be and, when an old friend called unexpectedly yesterday, she gave me an idea.”
“Who was it, Mama?” Paola asked.
“I don’t think that you have seen her for years,” the Countess replied. “She is the Contessa Raulo, a distant cousin of my mother, who, you will remember, was half-Italian. In fact Marta and I were at school together.”
Paola was listening, wondering at the same time how this could concern her.
“When I told Marta yesterday how disappointing it was that you could not be presented at Court,” the Countess went on, “and that your father and I could not give the ball we had planned for you, she made a suggestion that I think will interest you.”
“What is it?” Paola asked her mother without much enthusiasm.
“Marta Raulo is returning to Italy in two days’ time,” the Countess replied, “and she has suggested that you might like to go with her.”
“To Italy?” Paola exclaimed.
“I think you will find it interesting,” the Countess said, “because Marta lives in Lucca, which is a very attractive ancient town in Tuscany.”
She paused for a moment before she went on, as if she was looking back into the past.
“I visited Lucca many years ago before I was married to your father and thought how lovely it was at the foot of the Apuan Alps. It still has its sixteenth century ramparts intact.”
“And the Contessa has asked me to stay with her there?” Paola enquired.
“She suggested that you go back with her to her home in Lucca and then in a month or so you might visit Florence.”
Paola’s eyes lit up.
“I would love that. I have always longed to see the wonderful Botticelli pictures there and all the others I have read about.”
“Then that is what you must do, dearest,” the Countess said. “I cannot bear to think of you moping about in the country, while all your friends are enjoying balls in London.”
“I am sure I would be quite happy if you were there, Mama,” Paola replied. “At the same time – ”
“At the same time,” the Countess interrupted, “you will enjoy Italy. It will be a new experience and I am quite certain that it will open for you new doors of knowledge that you have never yet dreamt about.”
Paola laughed.
“Oh, Mama, that is just the sort of thing you would say, but I feel at the moment that I am so crammed with knowledge that I will give myself mental indigestion!”
The Countess laughed.
“You must not be too clever! Papa has always said that women who are too clever and keep showing it off are boring.”
“That is only because Papa is much cleverer than they are,” Paola said. “Of course I am sorry about Grandmama, but she is very old.”
The Countess knew this to be true.
Her mother-in-law had been ill for some years and she had become so senile that she did not recognise the relatives who went to visit her.
“Your father will arrange everything,” she said aloud. “Even so it will be difficult to have to wear black all through the summer and you know how much I dislike it.”
“I dislike it too,” Paola agreed.
“But, my dearest, there will be no need for you to wear black, since it will not be known in Lucca who you are.”
Paola looked at her mother in surprise.
“What do you mean by that?”
“The Contessa tells me that she lives a very quiet life and does not entertain extensively. She therefore suggests that you shall stay with her just as Paola Forde and do not use your title.”
Paola looked surprised, but the Countess went on,
“I think it’s a good idea for several reasons.”
Paola waited, but her mother said no more.
“You are hiding something from me, Mama!” she complained. “What is it?”
The Countess laughed.
“I never could keep a secret either from your father or from you, but this is somethin
g a little different.”
“What is it?” Paola demanded again.
“Marta Raulo spoke to me of the Marchese Vittorio di Lucca.”
“And who is he?” Paola enquired.
“He is actually the most important man in Lucca, but he has been behaving somewhat badly and has shocked a great number of people including my friend Marta.”
Paola thought for a moment.
Then she said,
“I think Mama, that what you are saying is that you don’t wish me to meet the Marchese.”
“You were always very quick-witted, my darling,” the Countess said, “and that is exactly what I am trying to say, only not very tactfully.”
“Why do you think,” Paola asked, “that if I go to Lucca using my title I would be more likely to meet him?”
The Countess paused for a moment.
Then she replied,
“Italians are very conscious of their ancestry and are exceedingly proud of their Family Trees.”
Paola was listening intently and the Countess continued,
“My mother, through her mother, was related to the Lucca family and my friend, the Contessa, thought it highly undesirable if the Marchese were aware of this and expressed a wish to meet you.”
“But I might like to meet him!” Paola teased. “How old is he, Mama?”
The Countess hesitated.
She thought that it was a mistake to go on talking about the Marchese. Then, as Paola was obviously waiting for a reply, she answered after a moment,
“He must be getting on for thirty and one way or another he has had a somewhat chequered career. I am sure he is someone whom your Papa would not want to be one of your admirers.”
Paola laughed.
“I think you and your friend are fussing unnecessarily. I am sure that there are masses of beautiful women in Italy who would be thrilled to meet the Marchese who, in consequence, would pay no attention to me.”
“He might feel, as you are vaguely connected with his family, that he should invite you to his house. But, dearest, if my friend thinks it would be a mistake I am sure that it would be far better for you to interest yourself in the splendour of Lucca and forget about the man who bears its name.”
Paola’s eyes twinkled.
“I can see, Mama, that you and the Contessa are making a real drama out of this. Very well, I will be ‘Miss Forde from Nowhere’ and will make quite certain that the dashing and apparently naughty Marchese sweeps by without noticing me.”
“If you are not noticed,” the Countess said, “then remember there will be no need for you to wear the ugly black we both dislike. So I have bought you some very pretty new gowns in which you will undoubtedly dazzle the other residents of Lucca.”
“I hope so,” Paola said, “but I have the feeling, Mama, that there is going to be so much culture for me to imbibe, which, of course, will be very good for me. And I will come back speaking fluent Italian and demanding pasta at every meal!”
The Countess laughed.
“That would certainly be a shock to the staff and Mrs. Dingle has been planning all your favourite dishes for dinner tonight.”
“I must go and see her,” Paola said, “and is Nanny upstairs?”
“Yes, of course she is and very excited at the prospect of seeing you again,” the Countess replied.
Paola kissed her mother.
“It’s lovely to be back, Mama, and I only wish that I could stay with you or that you were coming to Italy with me.”
“I too wish I could do so,” the Countess said, “but perhaps, when mourning is nearly over and Papa is becoming bored, I could persuade him to pay a visit to Lucca. The Contessa has already said that she would be delighted to welcome us both.”
“Then that is a promise, Mama,” Paola said. “You know I will be counting the days until you join me.”
She kissed her mother again.
Then she ran from the room saying as she went,
“I must see Nanny and all the other staff who have known me for so many years.”
The Countess heard her daughter’s footsteps running down the passage and gave a little sigh.
She had so looked forward to bringing Paola out this Season and she had already accepted several dozen invitations on her daughter’s behalf.
She had also been planning the ball that they would hold at their house in Park Lane and it would undoubtedly be one of the most memorable of the whole Season.
She could not help feeling at the back of her mind that it was very tiresome of the Dowager Countess to die at this particular moment.
Everyone had been expecting her to pass away for the last two years and now it meant that the Summer Ball could not take place. It would have been enhanced by the guests being able to walk in the garden.
Instead Paola must be a winter debutante and have a Winter Ball.
Winter Balls, the Countess thought, were never quite so glamorous and then she told herself that, whenever it took place, no one could eclipse or even equal her daughter’s beauty.
She was well aware that Paola would be outstanding amongst the other debutantes, although there would be many very pretty and attractive girls amongst them.
Perhaps it was due to her Italian blood that Paola’s beauty was unique compared with her contemporaries.
She in fact resembled the paintings of Botticelli more than any other girl that the Countess had ever met.
Her hair had the same strange golden orange tinge.
It was quite unlike what was expected of a fair-haired English girl.
Her eyes had a touch of green flecked with gold.
‘She is really beautiful,’ the Countess said to herself.
Then she felt a little frightened because such beauty could in some ways be dangerous for a young and innocent girl.
However, she was sure that her friend Marta had been wise when she said,
“If Paola is going to be as beautiful as you, then it would be wise to keep her out of sight until she can be properly presented at Court and then enjoy herself as a debutante.”
The way she spoke made the Countess realise that wherever Paola appeared there would be innumerable young men seeking her out.
They would pay her compliments, send her flowers and undoubtedly lay their hearts at her feet.
She was now, however, being obliged to move in the shadows and she would meet eligible bachelors only by chance rather than as a matter of course.
She would not be able to enjoy the wider view of Society that only London could offer.
She would also, the Countess knew, look wrong in black. The strange Botticelli gold of her hair would be too dramatic framed in crepe.
That would in itself be a mistake.
‘But she will be safe in Italy,’ the Countess told herself.
*
Paola, having hugged her old Nanny, went down to the kitchen to shake hands with the staff.
They were all delighted to see her and exclaimed at how tall she had grown and they said she was as pretty as her mother had been and that was saying a great deal.
It was some time before Paola went back to the drawing room.
To her surprise it was to find that her mother was not alone.
With her was a cousin, Hugo Forde, whom she had not seen for a long time.
When she entered the room, he stared and exclaimed,
“Goodness! This cannot be the little girl I carried on the front of my horse, who kept complaining that I did not go fast enough!”
Paola laughed.
“That was years ago and then you disappeared. Where have you been, Hugo?”
“All over the world,” he replied, “and I have enjoyed every minute of it.”
“You must tell us all about it,” the Countess said. “I am so glad that you are back now and in time to see Paola before she leaves for Italy.”
“Italy?” Hugo Forde questioned.
He was a good-looking young man of about thirty-five and, because he
had spent a great deal of time in the East, his skin was sunburnt.
There were also lines on his face, which was unusual in a comparatively young man.
“It will not seem very exciting to you,” Paola said, “when I know that you have been to Tibet and every other fascinating place in the East. But for me, Lucca at the moment is El Dorado!”
“Lucca?” Hugo Forde asked, raising his eyebrows. “Why are you going there?”
“Paola is going to stay with my friend, the Contessa Raulo,” the Countess explained. “I don’t know if you have ever met her. She has a charming villa in Lucca and it will be wonderful for Paola to be able to stay there for the summer since she cannot take part in any of the festivities of the London Season.”
“I must say,” Hugo replied, “I thought that the old Countess would have died years ago.”
“She has been very ill,” the Countess replied. “In fact she recognises nobody.”
“Well, I have no wish to live to be very old,” Hugo remarked, “and I think anyway it’s most unlikely that I shall do so.”
He laughed as he spoke and the Countess said,
“From what I have heard of your experiences, Hugo, and the dangers you have encountered, I think you have been fortunate to have lived this long!”
Hugo Forde laughed again.
“I have lost count of how many times I have thought, ‘this is my last moment on earth’, only to find myself by a miracle still living!”
“You must tell me about it – you must!” Paola urged.
The Countess rose to her feet.
“If you are going to stay with us, Hugo, which I hope you will, I must go and see about your room. And, of course, your valet is with you?”
“That is rather a grand word for him,” Hugo replied, “but he has followed me faithfully over hill and dale, into gorges that I thought would swallow us up and through tribal wars in which reluctantly I became involved.”
“Of course I remember Jackson,” the Countess smiled, “and we will look after him as well as we look after you.”
“You were always my favourite relative,” Hugo said, “and may I say the most beautiful!”
The Countess gave a little laugh.
“Flattery will get you nowhere!” she replied. “At the same time I will order a bottle of your favourite champagne. I have not forgotten which it is.”
In Love In Lucca Page 1