“Ready,” she said.
“Close your eyes,” he said. “I want to see your face the moment you see what I have to show you.”
“All right,” she said tentatively. He opened the door, took her by the shoulders, and guided her out of the stairwell, to the tiny cupola that served as the observation deck of the duomo. Here, the dome’s roof descended in a gentle curve of cascading tiles in every direction. And here, on Firenze’s highest building, there was a clear view in every direction. He looked about and then positioned Cora toward the last bits of the setting sun, now but a rose-hued glow on the horizon.
“Open your eyes, beloved,” he said in her ear, smelling her perfume of lemon verbena again. He left his hands on her shoulders.
She gazed in wonder and, for the second time that day, gasped. In terror, she backed in to him, and he wrapped his arms around her. “It’s all right. I have you.”
She stilled and stared out from the small cupola. “Oh, Will,” Cora said. “It’s so lovely! I feel as if we’re standing on top of the world!”
“It is, isn’t it?” he smiled, kissing her hair, then her temple, and pulled her back against his chest, wrapping her tightly in his arms.
“You can see forever!” she said. “The closest I’ve been to this height was on the Eiffel Tower.”
“Can you imagine being one of the original builders up here? None of them had likely worked at such great heights either. Architects came from thousands of miles to study it. It’s the largest masonry dome ever built.”
“It’s marvelous. Astounding.”
“Come,” he said, dropping his arms and leading her to the other side of the platform so she could see the rest of the city and the mountains beyond it. The sunset’s light was heavy with dew, layering everything they saw in a deeper, saturated color—from the green of the hills to the red of the tile roofs.
“It’s so glorious,” she said. “I could stay up here forever.”
“You are glorious,” he said, turning her to face him and tipping up her chin to give her a soft, lingering kiss. He pulled her closer, and their kiss deepened. Then he reluctantly pulled away, forcing himself to be content holding her.
But oh, how he longed to kiss her more.
“It’s like we’re the bride and groom atop a wedding cake,” she said, leaning her cheek against his chest.
He laughed softly. “Yes, I suppose we are.”
Her words echoed through his mind; he could hardly think of anything else. She was saying something, turning to him, a question in her eyes, but he was moving before he knew what he was doing.
Down to one knee.
Her hand in both of his.
“Cora Diehl Kensington,” he began, his voice wavering at first, then gaining strength. “I have loved you from the moment we met. At every turn, I find myself deeper in love,” he said, shaking his head and looking up at her. She was so utterly wonderful. And this was too… “I promise to forever love you and honor you and cherish you. I know this is sudden. But would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
“Oh,” she breathed, bringing her other hand up to her chest, and he grinned up at her. “Oh, Will,” she said.
It was then that he felt his first cold shiver of doubt.
He forced himself to wait where he was. For her to face him and say what she had to.
“Will, there’s been so much.” Her hand moved to her forehead. “So much these last weeks, months. I do love you,” she said, reaching down to cover his hands with hers. “I do,” she insisted, her eyes pleading. “But this step? Do you think it wise?”
That brought him to his feet.
He dropped her hands. “Wise? I suppose there are some who consider marriage a folly. But not I.” His mind spun. His stomach roiled. Was it Pierre? It had to be—
“Will, come—” she said, reaching out but then letting her hand drop. “Of course I don’t think… It’s only that this is so soon…” She turned away and went to the rail of the cupola, looking out, while Will berated himself for acting on impulse. For not waiting. And inwardly, he crumbled that she wasn’t immediately willing to say yes. That she wasn’t as sure as he was that they were meant to be together forever.
She looked over her shoulder. “There has been so much that has happened these last months,” she said. “I feel as Hugh does about seeing one more piece of artwork. One more thing, atop all the rest…”
“Well,” he said stiffly, “I most certainly did not intend to burden you.”
“Will,” she said, her thin eyebrows furrowing in a frown. “Please. Don’t do that,” she said. “You know what I mean.”
“Do I?” he asked. Even though he did, his anger, his humiliation was building. If Hugh and Felix found out about his proposal, he’d never hear the end of it… And Mr. Kensington? What have I done?
But overriding those emotions was a terrific sorrow, a sense of separation. Had he been wrong about her all along? Or had her change of station transformed how she saw him, after all?
“Will,” she said, turning toward him and taking his hand, then looking up at him with pleading eyes. “I’m not saying no. All I’m saying is that perhaps this isn’t the right time. Can we not simply enjoy each other’s company through the remainder of the tour and discover where that leads us?”
He looked down at her, unable to summon the compassion to override his hurt. “Just tell me one thing.”
“Anything,” she said, desperation lacing her tone.
“Is it because I am below you in station now? Because I cannot buy you expensive gifts in return?”
She dropped his hand and took a step away. “We’ve returned to the subject of the watch again? And how can you ask such a thing of me?” She shook her head, fury bringing fire to her beautiful eyes. “How?”
“How can I not?” he asked, throwing his hands up.
“Clearly you and I do not know each other as well as I thought we did,” she said stiffly.
“Clearly,” he snapped back, but inside, misery washed through him. What was he doing? Driving her away on purpose?
She folded her arms and shivered. “It’s chilly out here now that the sun’s down. Perhaps we should get to the station and back to Siena. The others will be worried. Father will be worried.”
He walked to the door and opened it, staring straight ahead as she passed by him and into the dark stairwell. She waited for him to go first, and he reached back for her hand. She reluctantly took it, and they made their way down the serpentine, oddly spaced stairs into the depths of the church, not another word shared between them. Here and there, light from outside spilled inward, giving them moments of respite from the dark. But even as they approached the final hundred steps, fully illuminated by gas lights, Will had never experienced a greater darkness. With each step, his mind screamed, What have you done? Will McCabe, what have you done?
CHAPTER 11
Cora
In all my traveling over the summer, I’d never done so in such utter silence. Someone had always engaged me, every single day. But our trip from Firenze to Siena that night was as dismally cold and silent as an abandoned cemetery.
Will and I sat across from each other for a while, each staring at the silhouette of the dark landscape outside as well as our own dim reflections. Over and over again, I tried to come up with the right words, the right rationale, something to help him see. But over and over again, I only heard my Lord say, Wait and trust. I hadn’t been wrong in thinking it was too soon. I loved Will, but marriage was simply too great a consideration for me yet. I wanted him to come home with me. Meet my parents. For us to settle into our new lives, responsibilities, free of debt, and see where God led us. I formed one sentence of explanation after another in my head, but each time, I stopped myself from speaking. Everything I thought of would only add further insult or injury. I knew that all he could think was that I wasn’t certain, that I didn’t love him enough…
And was I certain? Would I have responded an
y differently if it had been Pierre who proposed? Most assuredly not. I loved Will. I had chosen the right man. It was merely that I was as I had said to Will…completely overwhelmed. Agreeing to marriage at that moment felt like it might very well break me. Could he not see that?
It wasn’t until we reached the train station and saw Pascal waiting for us on the platform that Will looked me in the eye. “Cora,” he said, my very name sounding like it pained him.
“Oh, Will,” I said. I shook my head. “Clearly, what happened tonight was not what either of us desired, but can we not go on from here?”
“I’d like to,” he said. He tried to quirk a smile, but somehow, it just made him look more hurt, which nearly twisted my heart in two. “At least you know my intentions.”
I smiled gently in return. “Your intentions have been made most clear. And you’ve honored me. I only need more…time.”
He nodded, then rose and offered me his hand. I took it, then his elbow as we made our way out of the car and down the steep stairs to the ramp. But even though we’d at least spoken, there was still a rift between us. Please, Lord, I prayed, even as I smiled and nodded at Pascal and he opened the door to the motorcar for us. Help us find our way through.
Because, I realized as we sped through the night to join my family and the Morgans, the only time Will and I’d been separated this summer was from Vienna to Venice, and every one of those days had felt like weeks to me. Whatever I had to do to mend this, I had to figure it out.
And soon.
William
Eleonora Masoni’s villa was perfectly situated for their tour of Toscana, poised as it was on the crest of a hill between Pienza and Montepulciano, but even as they wound their way up to it, Will could see it was not as large of an accommodation as many they’d enjoyed on the tour. Instead of one massive building, it was a stately yet modest villa with several cottages about it. Would there be room enough for all of them?
They reached the turn into Villa Masoni, and the five motorcars slowed, trying to keep from stirring up dust that would lift on the steady breeze over what looked like about twelve workers in the vineyard beside the road. All of them had been hunched over, pruning the vines, until they heard the cars, which made them all rise and stare. One woman in a broad-brimmed hat smiled and lifted an arm in greeting, and Will did a double-take, realizing it was the elegant Eleonora Masoni herself out with her field hands. He smiled in delight.
She pointed toward the villa, and the drivers moved on, taking their charges to the top of the hill. They were all yet assembling when Signora Masoni entered their circle, calling “Benvenuti!”—welcoming them in with a broad, sunny smile. In a slightly tattered brown work dress that did nothing to diminish her beauty, she was even lovelier than Will had remembered. It took only seconds for Hugh and Felix to angle their way forward, eager to be first to be introduced by Antonio. Each kissed her hand and vied to be most gallant. Will inwardly groaned. By her title and yet lack of ring, he knew she’d been married but was now either divorced or a young widow. Was she yet ready for such flirtation?
When she reached him, he shook her hand as he offered a single nod of his head. “E’ cosi’ generoso da parte tua averci invitato a casa tua,” he said. It is most gracious of you to welcome us into your home.
“Not at all,” she returned in perfect English. “It is my joy to host new friends. Please, please,” she said, turning to the rest. “Come in.” She turned and lifted her skirts to climb the steps to the main house, then paused at the top. She leaned in to speak to a servant, gesturing to ours, and then spoke to their group again. “As you can see, I cannot house you all within this building, but there is plenty of room here and about. My foreman can direct your servants as to where to store your luggage, and we shall gather for some lunch. Come, come.”
They followed her into a beautiful room full of aged but welcoming furniture surrounding a wide fireplace with so much soot, it looked like it’d enjoyed a century of continual use. The house was perfectly clean but far more rustic than anywhere they’d stayed yet. Will scanned the group, assessing their reaction, and saw that Cora was delighted, Vivian and Andrew clearly dismayed, the girls in shock—but game for an adventure—and Hugh and Felix…well, they hadn’t taken their eyes off their hostess. The elder men had been dropped off in Pienza with Pascal to see to some banking business. Who knew how they would react to Will’s bringing their children here? Would they object? Will sincerely hoped not. Signora Masoni had been more than kind to invite them all to stay with her, especially now that he knew what a stretch it would be for her.
She did not pause in the great living room, but moved on through an arched, open doorway, directly into a kitchen. He covered a smile when the younger girls shared a wide-eyed look at this new spectacle—no separation between a servant’s domain and a lady’s. Had they even seen such a home? His pleasure grew… It was perfect, really. A true opportunity to expand their minds and help them understand how others lived.
“You must be famished,” Signora Masoni said, wrapping an apron around her slim waist and bending to wash her hands in a massive sink beneath a window with one of the prettiest views of Tuscany Will had ever seen. “There’s a washroom back to the right, or you can wash right here, if you like. I’ll help Ita to get some food ready, and we can share a little lunch.”
Will and Cora stepped forward as the others awkwardly paused. “It is most kind of you to have us here,” Will said, rolling up his shirt sleeves.
“Not at all,” Signora Masoni said with a smile, handing him a linen towel as he finished washing his hands. “I love to meet new people. And people from America?” Her brown eyes shone as she looked over her group of guests. “We shall speak long into the night as you tell me tales of your journey and home.”
“Only if you share some of your own, too,” Cora said, taking the towel from Will—the closest they’d been to each other all day.
“I like to tell a good story as well as hear them,” their hostess returned. “Here, come,” she said, gesturing to the vast aged-pine table in the center of the room. “Sit, sit.” They sat down on the benches on either side after washing up, and Will looked up to see drying bunches of lavender, garlic heads, and peppers hanging from the heavy beams above them. In the corner of the room were three cured hams hanging in nets.
With one brief query from Signora Masoni, Hugh launched into a tale about their traumatic crossing from America, leaning against the counter as he spoke. Ita, a girl of about fifteen, moved swiftly and efficiently around him, dicing tomatoes with a practiced hand, then unwrapping a huge wheel of pecorino cheese and hacking off a chunk with what looked more like a small axe than a knife. Another servant girl appeared and silently set a cloth napkin and ivory, porcelain plate in front of each of them, leaving two more for her mistress, Will, and Hugh—who were still standing—and then went about offering wine or water to each person. “Vino o acqua?”
They all opted for water, except for Hugh and Felix, who chose the wine. Andrew looked like he was suffering actual physical pain and kept shooting Will looks as if to say, Surely you don’t mean to keep us here. Vivian, in turn, seemed to become more settled with this choice, since it was so obviously the opposite of Andrew’s preferences. While she seemed to keep outwardly to her goal of sticking with their courtship, Will was as convinced as Cora—Andrew and Vivian belonged anywhere but together.
Antonio arrived, and Will moved over on the bench. Instantly, Ita had another place setting in front of him. Then came cold duck liver; grapes; a wedge of soft cheese; apple slices; and thick, crusty bread with soft-churned butter. In minutes, they were all eating, and Signora Masoni told them about the latest run of rain that had threatened the year’s crop before letting up just two days prior.
“How long have you managed this place on your own?” Felix asked, careful to not look her way.
“You mean how long have I been without a man,” she said, a hint of a smile on her lips but a direct chall
enge in her eyes.
“That too,” Hugh said, lifting his cup to accept another bit of wine from Ita as she rounded the table. But his eyes were on their hostess.
“My husband passed two years ago,” she said dismissively. “He was ill for a short time.”
It was impossible to tell if there was any grief behind her words. She said them matter-of-factly, with no hint of emotion.
“I am sorry for your loss,” Will said after an awkward pause.
The women murmured their condolences too, but Signora Masoni cut them short. “No, no. Don’t be,” she said, waving her hand. “I am far better off without him.” She smiled. “He was not a nice man. The Lord spared me”—she crossed herself from forehead to chest, and across her shoulders, then placed her hands together as if in prayer, looking up—“when He took my husband from this earth.” She shook her head, popped another bite of bread into her mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “My husband had a terrible temper. I did not wish to marry him, but my father insisted.” She shrugged. “And so I did. We all make our mistakes, no?”
The group fell silent, none of them but Will daring to look down the table toward Andrew and Vivian. Andrew’s eyes narrowed as he saw Vivian look to her lap.
“Take your ease, my friends!” Signora Masoni said, misinterpreting their collective unease. “I am young yet. And while my husband was far from kind, he left me with this, a home I love, and now, I share with you.”
“Or rather, that we’ve now overtaken,” Felix said, raising his glass in a toast. “Thank you for your generosity.”
“It is my good pleasure.”
They all began eating again. And while the conversation continued in amiable fashion, Will doubted any of them were thinking about anything but Vivian becoming entrapped by an unkind husband, just as Signora Masoni once had been.
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