And then the doubts he’d planted in my head crowded in. Were the obstacles for Will and me too fierce to get beyond?
I pushed back my chair and rose, nearly upsetting the tiny table between us. “I’d like to return to the palazzo now.”
Pierre rose too. “As you wish, mon ange.”
“Stop. Stop calling me that,” I said, turning to him and laying a hand on his chest.
He looked down at my hand splayed across his chest, then back to my face as I tried to jerk away. But he caught my hand and placed it where it’d been, covering it with his own. “Ah, yes,” he said lowly. “You feel my heart. It beats for you alone. Can you honestly leave Italy forever without thinking twice about what I feel for you? And you for me, regardless of what you claim? Is there not a part of you, especially now, now that you’ve become a woman of means? A woman all the more suited to be with a man of means?”
Feeling the blush heat my face, I pulled away from him and hurried down the stairs, rushing so that I nearly slipped again on the dark-green muck coating the canal walk surface.
Because he was right. Pierre de Richelieu had managed to pinpoint every small chink in my armor, all the things that both drew me to him as well as the things that repelled me.
CHAPTER 3
Cora
We returned to the palazzo in silence. Will was waiting for us out beside the pier. He straightened as we came into view, and his look grew stern as he noticed my stiff demeanor and refusal to look Pierre’s way. As soon as we pulled up alongside the pier, I was rising, taking Pascal’s hand instead of Pierre’s, and then Will’s. I bustled in, and Will was right on my heels.
“Cora, what happened?” he said, grabbing my elbow and trying to pull me to a stop.
“Please, Will, I don’t care to discuss it. I have a dreadful headache. After I rest, we can chat.”
“Did he—”
“Will! Please!” I said, rushing up the stairs. He let me go then, giving me the space my soul was crying for.
I approached Hugh Morgan in the hallway, and he paused, waiting for me to pass. Curiosity loomed large in his eyes, and I could see him working to find the right words, seeing my agitation.
“Not now, Hugh…” I said, holding up a hand. I scurried down the remainder of the hall and slipped into my bedroom, narrowly avoiding slamming the door behind me.
I leaned my forehead against it, panting, wanting out of my hot, confining gown and corset…and using every ounce of my strength to keep from screaming that if I didn’t ever see another man in my life, that would be fine by me…
William
“What happened?” Will said lowly, grabbing Pierre’s arm as he walked by. Both of them looked up at Cora’s fleeing form, then back at each other.
Pierre pulled his arm away, straightening his jacket and then his cravat as he stared back at Will. “Rest assured, nothing untoward. I am leaving, William,” he said with a slight bow. “Getting out of your way. But I shall come to Roma before you depart to make certain that you and Miss Kensington have not parted ways.”
“What?” Will frowned. “Nothing shall divide us.”
“You say that now. But the pressures upon you are many. And if either of you find them insurmountable…”
“There is nothing we cannot conquer. Do not bother returning, Richelieu. She is mine.”
“You say that easily. But if Cora successfully wins her suit for a portion of the mine…” He squinted at Will and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve not seen a kept man who is a content man. Nor have I seen a woman who has become accustomed to much learn contentment with less.”
Will stilled. A kept man? The thought had crossed his mind more than once. But each time he’d banished it. “Cora’s wealth—or the loss of it—cannot sway our affections for each other.”
“Perhaps,” Pierre said doubtfully.
“We will rise above it.”
“I hope so,” Pierre said. “Truly, I do. Because, McCabe, she loves you.”
His words gave Will pause. Studying the shorter, handsome man, he marveled that Cora had chosen him over Pierre at all. Pierre had it all—looks, wealth, and position. Her father would honor such a match. On Pierre’s arm, she would want for nothing, regardless of what transpired in Dunnigan. And yet Will didn’t have it in him to let her go. Not now. Not when they were so close.
“So…why rejoin us in Rome?”
“Because there is a tiny corner of her heart that is still mine.” Pierre lifted a hand as Will began to bluster a response. “No, no. The lion’s share of her heart is yours.” He crossed his arms and studied Will. “But should the forces of our world—be they Wallace Kensington, the pressures of her potential wealth, whatever it might be—drive you two apart, rest assured that I will be there to convince her that that corner of her heart, in time, could grow to encompass it all.”
Will paused for a breath, then two, never dropping his gaze. “I will give you no quarter.”
“See that you don’t, my friend,” Pierre said, stepping past him and laying a hand on his shoulder. “See that you don’t.”
And with that he left, gliding over to his footman, who awaited him beside his luggage, and then out the door to the gondola.
Cora
I watched Pierre leave. He sat languidly against the red velvet cushions that we had so recently shared. He did not look up to my room or back to our palazzo, only stared at the water beside him as if lost in his own thoughts. My breathing returned to normal the farther away he got. Is that You, Lord? I prayed silently. The reassurance is welcome. This is surely where I belong, with Will. Thank You. But now what, Lord? What to do about my father? My family? And the Dunnigan mine?
Over and around my thoughts spun as I wondered what was right, what was wrong. I knew that Wallace Kensington could buy whomever he wished. How long until he found his way past my meager, temporary defenses, my weak claim that I could sue for my portion of the Dunnigan mine? Particularly once I was home in Montana? Wallace Kensington owned every judge of consequence. He’d allowed me this respite, this audacious claim, as an indulgent papa would, eager to see how far a toddler would go when given free rein. And yet if I didn’t fight it, if I lost the Dunnigan inheritance, it wasn’t just me who would lose…my parents would lose too. After all they’d put into that land, the thought was impossible to swallow. They deserved that money. I had to find a way to be certain they got their stake in it, regardless of what happened to mine.
How was I to make sense of it? Rise above the surface and see which direction I was to swim? I felt overwhelmingly weary. So weary from the constant travel and change.
I drifted off to sleep, my dreams filled with visits with Papa, his eyes sad and heavy with worry. Each time I awoke, I could barely open my eyes, and dimly I recognized Anna slipping in and out of my room, the summer sun setting over the city. Eventually, the stillness and quiet of the Grand Canal at night fell across me. Wearily, I made myself sit up. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stared at the flickering light of an oil lamp outside until I was fully awake.
Then I dropped to the floor and went to the French door that led to the small portico and exited outward. The humid air, heavy with the smells of salt and fish and smoke, entered my nostrils. But I breathed it in with a glad heart, happy to be free of my room and the thoughts that crowded my mind. I set my hands on the cold stone rail and bowed my head, listening to the faint sounds of laughter drifting out a window on the other side of the canal. Someone was having a party; figures in fine clothing slid past the windows, hands holding champagne glasses.
A man cleared his throat. I looked up in alarm, then relaxed when I saw that it was Antonio sitting in a chair at the far end of the portico. I’d forgotten that the men had taken to positioning one guard here, along the exposed access to our rooms, be it day or night.
I gave him a small smile and eased in his direction.
“Feeling better, Miss?” he asked, rising and lifting a bushy black brow.
“I suppose so,” I said, giving him a rueful smile. “My afternoon nap very nearly turned into an all-night sleep.”
“You’ve endured a great deal of late. It’s bound to make a body weary.”
I smiled and looked outward, watching as lamps reflected in waving ribbons across the water. Once, I would’ve considered the things I’d endured on this tour trifles compared to the day-to-day trials of the farm. And yet I was exhausted, emotionally spent from the unique challenges of this trip. Was it ever proper to dismiss one life’s difficulties as less of a hardship than another’s?
I lifted a hand to my temple and massaged it. How was I ever to marry my old life to my new one? Who was I anymore? More Kensington than Diehl? Was it even possible for me to return to my old life, my old thoughts, given all that I’d experienced? This trip had molded me, changed me, strengthened me as well as weakened me…
I didn’t want to return to my folks with anything but strength, gain. I wanted my mother to see that she’d been right to send me off with Wallace Kensington, that the struggle and pain had been worthwhile. But if I were to do that, I had to decide, once and for all, just where Wallace Kensington and I stood.
The door slammed on the level below us, so hard I wondered if the glass in the panels had cracked. Antonio and I shared a look. I could hear a woman weeping, but then the door opened again, quietly, and we heard a man speak right below us.
“Honestly, Vivian, have we not gone too far to turn back?”
My eyes narrowed. It was Andrew Morgan, my sister’s intended. What was he doing in her quarters? I slipped my hands from the rail and stepped back, but I didn’t leave. I looked to Antonio, who gestured toward the door, reminding me of what was proper.
“Is that what you call a proposal? What I’ve waited so long for?” she cried. I froze, then made myself turn the knob, knowing I shouldn’t eavesdrop.
“Listen to me. Listen to me. Was it Nell or Cora who put these romantic expectations into your head?”
I paused again at the sound of my name.
“None that weren’t there before! None that you didn’t make me yearn for, once. But now? Honestly, Andrew—why do we even bother with the charade? If this is all there is between us, let’s go to a judge, sign the papers, and begin our business arrangement in earnest. For that’s what it is, isn’t it? A business arrangement? Not a marriage?”
“You’re acting most unsuitable, Vivian.”
“Am I? Let go of me!”
I looked at my guard in alarm. Antonio glowered and pulled the door fully open as if he intended to rush downstairs and intervene. But I reached out and took hold of his arm. “Vivian?” I called out, turning and leaning over the railing, as if I’d heard just enough to wonder but not enough to be alarmed. “Is that you?”
They stilled below us.
“Yes,” she called up a second later. “It’s me, Cora. Forgive me for disturbing you.”
“Oh, you didn’t,” I said. “I just thought I heard something. Are you all right?”
“Fine, fine,” she said, each word laced with weariness.
“Are you alone? I thought I heard—”
“Yes,” she said. I could hear the iciness in her tone gaining strength. “Andrew was just leaving. We’ve come to an understanding. We’ve decided to end our courtship.”
Antonio and I held our breath and stared at each other. A few seconds later, the door below opened and then slammed shut.
This time, the sound of shattering glass was unmistakable.
CHAPTER 4
Cora
Antonio and I raced downstairs and could hear Vivian and Andrew yelling even before we reached her room. Will was at Vivian’s door, beside Pascal, knocking and shouting, demanding they open up. Father hurried toward us, gray brows low over his eyes, one hand perched in a vest pocket.
We heard Viv cry out and Andrew shout—a thump against a wall, then another. Will and Pascal shared a quick look, then both took a step back and hit the door with their shoulders as one, cracking the doorjamb and lock off and leaving it open by a few inches. Will pulled back and kicked the door open.
Vivian was standing in Andrew’s arms over by two chairs, her face wet with tears, and both looked at us in alarm.
“McCabe!” Andrew said, turning to face him, as if protecting Vivian. But I knew better. He didn’t want us to see any more of her tear-stained face. “What on earth do you think you are doing?”
“We heard Vivian’s cry,” Will said, striding right over to him. “And you didn’t respond to our summons at the door!” He tried to move around Andrew, but Andrew lifted an arm to block him. Will took hold of his jacket lapels and wrenched him away from Vivian. We could all see the dark fingerprints on her bare arms beneath her tidy capped sleeves.
Will let out a bellow of anger as he rammed Andrew against the wall. Andrew pushed back, but Will shoved him against the wall again, so hard that bits of plaster fell over the dark fabric of Andrew’s jacket above his shoulder.
Vivian yelled, “No, no!” even as I moved to intercede.
We stood on either side of them, tugging at them to get them to see their surroundings, anything other than the other man each sought to harm, but it was as if we were trying to pry magnetic plates apart.
“Enough!” my father bellowed.
Vivian looked over her shoulder and hurriedly wiped her eyes. “Father,” she said, “it’s all been a terrible misunderstanding.”
I looked at her in wide-eyed frustration as Nell and Lil reached the doorway and entered, Felix and Hugh right behind them. “Wh-what do you mean, a misunderstanding?” I sputtered. “Viv, it’s all right. It’s perfectly acceptable to tell the truth. You don’t need to pretend any—”
“Hush,” my father said.
“But even you can surely see—” I began.
“Everyone simply hush before any more damage is done,” he said, glowering at me and then up at the much taller young men. “Gentlemen, take a step apart. Now.”
Andrew and Will took a last long, challenging look at each other, then dropped their hands and straightened their shirts and coats, never relinquishing their gazes.
My father looked at Vivian. “I take it this was a lover’s quarrel? Nothing you two can’t patch up?”
I sucked in my breath, finding it difficult to believe. Did he truly intend to ignore what was clearly so wrong between Andrew and Vivian? To what end? Simply because the patriarchs always thought the two of them would marry, unite the families? For appearances?
Vivian still stared at our father, and I could see her soften, give in.
“Viv,” I began, hoping to encourage her to do what was right. What was in her heart and—
“No, Cora,” she said, pulling her shoulders back and wiping her nose with a handkerchief. She gave her head a little shake and forced a smile. “It’s as Father says. A lover’s quarrel gotten out of hand. I’m terribly sorry, everyone,” she said, looking around. “This is most humiliating. I’ve made such an awful mess, breaking all those panes of glass…” She took Andrew’s arm, and he stiffened as if he loathed her touch … but he seemed as trapped as she in playing the expected part in the familial drama.
“Come, let us leave them to patch things up,” my father said, lifting his hands and shooing us all from the room. Numbly, I turned and walked out to the hallway, waiting for him. But my father didn’t look at me as he turned toward the stairs, probably intent on going to the salon and fetching himself a drink. I glanced toward Antonio, wondering if I had imagined what I’d heard, but all he did was give me a tiny rueful shrug.
There was only one man who could put a stop to this charade, this madness. I turned and hurried after my father, ignoring Lil’s whispered warning to leave him be, that he wasn’t in any mood for further discourse.
He was turning into the salon when I reached the bottom of the stairs, and I rushed in after him, pausing at the doorway to see him unstop a crystal decanter and pour a small glass half
full. He took a sip, staring out a window that looked over a tiny garden.
“She doesn’t love him, you know,” I said quietly, walking toward him. He didn’t startle. He’d known I was there, or expected me.
“She loves him enough. She’s always loved him.”
“Not as she ought a husband. Nor should she. He’s a brute.”
That brought him partially around. “Stay out of this, Cora. It is not your affair.”
“Father, Will and Pascal had to break down the door. And did you see the bruises on her arms?”
He blew out a quick breath and turned back to the window, taking another sip, holding it in his mouth a moment before swallowing. “Andrew Morgan is…passionate. Spirited. He feels things…intensely. Always has. Even as a little boy. I can remember his face, beet red, furious because another child had gotten a finer toy top than he had received that very day from the mercantile.”
He seemed amused by this memory. I looked around the room, wondering where Mr. Morgan was. I wished he were here. Perhaps if he’d been here, seen what transpired, he might’ve taken my side on this. Or at least seen the need for a private word with Andrew. I sighed and gathered myself. This was up to me.
“Has it ever occurred to you that Andrew is angry because he feels forced into this marriage?” I asked quietly. “I truly believe they care for each other. But over the course of this tour, Andrew has become more the dutiful beau than any sort of man in love.” I knew I was right. The differences between Will and Andrew were marked.
My father leaned against the desk and stared at me mutely for a moment, looking confused at such a thought, then angry. “Any man would consider himself beyond fortunate to marry any of my daughters,” he said. He lifted his glass in a gesture of dismissal. As if that said it all.
I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry. Because he was clearly including me in that grouping. But was he also thinking of Will? Or Pierre, still?
I tried a different tack, stepping forward to stand beside him and then leaning against the desk too. The cavernous salon, crowned with a massive crystal chandelier and bedecked with luxurious furniture covered in tufted silk, stretched before us. I tried to gather my thoughts into one cogent argument.
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