by Sara Craven
His behaviour had been unbelievable, he told himself, besides creating an awkwardness between them that he knew he must somehow put right before it became unforgivable too.
Because, however rarely it might be, they were still committed to sharing a roof, and it would be helpful if they were able to do this with some degree of accord, even if it was only in public.
Mouth twisting, he took the Credito Europa’s letter of confirmation from the printer. At least he could show her that there had already been some benefit from this unwanted marriage. That their mutual sacrifice was partially justified at least.
But it was by no means certain that he could persuade her to see it that way. He accepted ruefully now that it had been a serious error of judgement as well as unkind to describe her as ‘a nonentity’. She had a mind and a will of her own, the little Elena, and, it was clear, no very high opinion of him either.
So perhaps it was time, he told himself wryly, that he tried to make amends of some kind. Establish at least a working relationship. And try to end this strange day on better terms than its beginning.
If that was possible, he added silently, and sighed.
Ellie was drifting in and out of a light sleep when she was disturbed by a firm rap at the bedroom door, followed by the sound of the door itself opening.
Pushing her hair back from her face, she lifted herself on to an elbow, expecting to see the threatened maid. But, instead, to her shock, it was Angelo who came striding briskly into the room.
‘What are you doing here?’ Ellie, hideously aware that she was in her underwear, looked round vainly for a rug or even a shawl to put round her shoulders as a cover-up. ‘What do you want?’
He too looked taken aback, a tinge of colour emphasising the sculpted cheekbones as his dark gaze scanned her then hurriedly turned to the paper in his hand. ‘I came to share some news with you.’
‘Couldn’t it have waited?’ she asked tautly.
‘Yes,’ he acknowledged, mouth tightening. ‘But I thought it would please you to know that Prince Damiano has today agreed the deal with Galantana, and therefore our days together can be considered as already numbered.’
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I—I see. Well, that’s—good.’
‘I imagined you would think so.’ He paused. ‘However, there is also another matter that perhaps we should discuss.’
‘If it’s about the maid you’ve hired for me,’ Ellie said quickly, ‘Assunta’s already told me.’
‘The maid?’ His brows lifted. ‘No, it concerns the other staff.’ He hesitated. ‘I learned just now that a celebration dinner is being prepared for us tonight. The sala da pranzo has been specially decorated with flowers, and the Manzini calice taken from its cabinet and cleaned. I should warn you that at some point in the evening, it will be filled with wine and various herbs and tradition demands that we drink from it while the household applaud.’
Ellie frowned. ‘Is that a problem?’
‘Not for me.’ Angelo shrugged. ‘But to share the calice will also signify our hope for a blissful wedding night and many babies to follow.’ He gave her a sardonic look. ‘It figures, therefore, that they will not expect us to sleep apart on such a meaningful occasion.’
Ellie sat up, embarrassment forgotten. She said crisply, ‘Then they’ll have to be disappointed.’
‘You said in the car that you needed to gain their respect,’ he reminded her softly. ‘I must tell you, Elena, that to reveal yourself so soon as a wife who is no wife at all will not win that respect for you. Infatti, it could have the opposite effect.’
‘That’s a risk I’ll just have to take.’
‘Even when it could so easily be avoided?’
‘You mean if I let you sleep with me?’ She shook her head. Her voice sounded stifled. ‘Never. Oh God, I knew I couldn’t trust you.’
‘I mean,’ he said coldly, ‘if I spend tonight in this room rather than my own. Nothing more.’ He glanced around him. ‘As you can see, it could easily accommodate half a dozen people.’ He added more gently, ‘Believe me, Elena mia, you would not wish them to think you displease me. Your life here will be much easier if it is thought we are truly man and wife, and that there is at least affection between us.’
She stared up at him. ‘And you—being here tonight will be enough to convince them of that?’
‘It will probably be necessary to pay you other visits in the future,’ he said. ‘But they will be few and I will make them brief. I shall not again stay all night.’ His mouth twisted. ‘If I wait until you are asleep, you will not even be aware of my presence.’
He watched her as she sat head bent, staring down at the floor. At last, she sighed.
‘Yes, then—if I must. But you have to promise that you’ll keep your word. That you won’t try to—to …’
‘The world is full of willing women, mia cara,’ Angelo drawled, his voice faintly derisive. ‘I have never forced my attentions on a reluctant girl yet. Believe me, you will not be the first.’
He paused. ‘However, once we have drunk from the calice tonight, I shall be expected to kiss you. Perhaps, in return, you could smile at me? Is it agreed?’
As she nodded unwillingly, there was a tap on the door, and he turned. ‘Ah, Donata.’ He spoke pleasantly to the plump dark girl hesitating awkwardly in the doorway. ‘The Contessa has been waiting to meet you, is that not so, carissima?’ He took Ellie’s hand and raised it fleetingly to his lips, adding huskily, ‘Until later then, mi amore. I can hardly wait to be alone with you at last.’
And Ellie watched him go, in the furious knowledge that she was blushing to the roots of her hair.
Her day did not improve as it proceeded into evening.
Donata was polite and efficient, and sighed openly over the handmade silk and lace underwear that she laid out for Ellie to put on after her bath, but at the same time there was just the faintest suggestion in her manner that her new employer probably needed all the help she could get.
Or am I being over-sensitive? Ellie asked herself drily.
Whatever, it made no real difference, she decided, shrugging mentally. She was not, as the maid clearly assumed, dressing to be undressed later by her bridegroom. Merely forcing herself to do what was expected of her.
Just as later in the sala da pranzo, she disguised her total lack of appetite by making herself eat at least some of all the delicious food set in front of her at a candle-lit table, garlanded with pink and white roses, and gleaming with silver and crystal.
And when the calice was ceremoniously borne in—beaten gold, no less, and engraved with the Manzini coat of arms—she rose, laughing, to her feet and stood in the circle of Angelo’s arm as they drank, even managing to endure the firm, warm pressure of his mouth on hers when he bent to claim his kiss.
After which, as he had warned her, she was required to retire demurely to her room, and await her husband’s pleasure.
‘Are there any other embarrassing medieval customs I should know about?’ she’d asked him stonily, aware that her skin was warming again. ‘I hope they won’t want to inspect the sheets to prove that I was a virgin.’
His mouth had hardened. ‘And I hope there may come a time, Elena, when you may appreciate their pleasure in having you as their Contessa and respond more graciously.’
When she got to her room, the officious Donata had already been there to turn down the bed on both sides, and lay across its foot the faintly austere white satin nightgown and the matching robe, tying at the waist with ribbons in which Ellie was supposed to entrance her bridegroom, then, her duty done, had discreetly and thankfully departed.
Ellie hung away the pretty primrose dress she’d worn at dinner, put her discarded underwear in the clothes basket, and slid the slender length of satin over her head. As she turned to reach for the robe, she caught a momentary glimpse of herself in the long wall-mirror and paused, arrested, aware that for the first time that day she actually looked like a bride.
And fo
und herself wondering suddenly what it would have been like if her marriage had been a real one to a man she loved and who loved her in return, so that she’d be waiting here with delight and anticipation for her husband to come to her and take her in his arms.
And was assailed by a wave of such bleak loneliness that she almost cried out in despair.
Biting her lip, she put on the robe, fastened it, then sat down at the dressing table and began to brush her hair with slow rhythmic strokes, in an attempt to restore herself to calm, so that she could meet Angelo’s arrival with the necessary cool and unemotional indifference.
Or at least his eventual arrival, she thought when an hour had passed with no sign of him. She rose from the chaise longue, where she’d been perching nervously, retrieved the book she’d brought with her from the palazzo, a detective story set in Florence, removed her robe and, getting into bed, began to read.
Somewhere in the house, she heard a clock strike yet another hour and she paused, glancing at the door. Perhaps he’d changed his mind, she thought hopefully, having decided that their public performance with the loving cup was quite enough to fulfil the hopes of their well-wishers.
She closed her book and turned to switch off the lamp on her night table only to realise that her bedroom door was opening once again to admit Angelo. He came in quietly, and halted, looking at her across the room, brows raised quizzically.
He said, ‘I thought by now you would indeed be asleep.’
He was wearing, she saw with a sudden thud of the heart, a black silk knee-length robe and apparently nothing else. And for a devastating moment, found herself remembering the night in the tower room and the touch of his bare skin against hers.
‘I—I was reading,’ she returned, her mouth suddenly dry.
‘It must be a fascinating book to keep you awake until this hour.’ He began to walk slowly towards the bed. ‘Perhaps you should lend it to me to provide me with a suitable diversion for the next week or so. Just as a precaution, you understand.’
He reached the other side of the bed and began to untie the sash that fastened his robe at the waist.
Ellie said hoarsely, ‘What are you doing?’
‘Getting ready to sleep, naturalmente. Or is that perhaps a trabocchetto—a trick question?’
‘But you can’t,’ she protested. ‘At least—not here.’
‘If you imagine, mia sposa, that I intend to spend the night on that penance of a couch, then you are quite mistaken.’
‘But it’s perfectly comfortable.’
Angelo shrugged gracefully. ‘For you, perhaps, for an hour during the siesta. Not for a man of my height at any time.’
‘Then I’ll sleep there myself,’ she flared, pushing away the covers and swinging her legs out of the bed.
‘And I prefer that you remain where you are.’ He spoke quietly but there was a note of steel in his voice. ‘I advise you to accede to my wishes in this, Elena. Do so, and we shall both pass a peaceful night. But to defy me and force me to bring you back to this bed might have consequences you would not care for.’
He paused. ‘Now I suggest you turn your back, switch off the light and relax. You will soon forget that I am here.’
For a rigid, disquieting moment, she remained where she was, mentally weighing the possible repercussions of disobedience and realising reluctantly that she could not afford to take the risk.
Slowly she slid back under the covers and reached again for the lamp switch, plunging the room into darkness. As she did so, she felt the faint dip in the mattress signalling that he was now lying beside her, even if it was at a safe distance.
But there is no real safety, she thought, resting her hot cheek against the cool of the pillow. I’m in uncharted territory here, and I’m scared. As for forgetting that he’s here—how impossible is that?
By contrast, however, Angelo seemed to have little difficulty in ignoring her presence. In a matter of minutes, or so it seemed to Ellie, his quiet even breathing revealed that he had fallen asleep, leaving her to lie awake and restive, but unable to show it, her only alternative to gaze unseeingly into the shadows, counting the long minutes as they turned slowly into hours and thinking of all the other nights ahead of her when she would have to do the same, until the time when this strange—even incredible—non-marriage finally came to its end.
And hoping, with something approaching desperation, that it might be soon.
Three months later
Ellie closed her laptop, and stretched gently, easing her back. At the same time, she allowed herself a faint smile of satisfaction. Because of a colleague’s illness, she’d just completed the translation of a lengthy scientific handbook, crammed with the kind of technical jargon known only to the initiated.
The inherent difficulty of the task, too, had demanded total concentration, which meant that she had less time to focus on other, more personal problems. Such as the equally inherent difficulty of presenting a convincing performance to the world in her ongoing role as the young Contessa Manzini, she thought unhappily.
Something which was preying on her mind more and more as her marriage began to turn from weeks into months, although she was at a loss to know why.
On the face of it, she had little to complain about. As she’d suspected it had not taken her long to become familiar with the household routine, which ran like clockwork anyway without any real intervention from her.
And, she had to admit, Angelo had scrupulously kept his word as to how their lives together would be conducted, which was quite simply—apart. That since their wedding night, he had paid precisely three visits to her room, and those only for the sake of appearances, during which they’d slept on strictly opposite sides of that gigantic bed.
And he had never even attempted to lay a hand on her.
Not that she wanted him to, of course, she reminded herself swiftly. So, it was a relief to know that he clearly shared—maybe even exceeded—her own reluctance.
Because there had been no repetition of that burning savagery of a kiss either. His greeting and leave-taking invariably consisted of the merest brush of his lips across her cheek and her fingers, and that only when others were present.
And if there were moments when she wondered whether the marriage was setting a pattern and that she was destined to spend the rest of her life alone and undesired, she kept such thoughts strictly to herself, pretending that the possibility was not as hurtful as it sometimes felt.
And that, of course, there would be someone—someday—when this was over and life became real again.
So there was really nothing for her to be uneasy about. Or not where Angelo was concerned, anyway, she amended swiftly.
Because she could not deny she was being subjected to pressure of a different nature and from another source entirely. Something she had never expected, and found increasingly difficult to deal with.
She got up from her seat and walked restlessly over to the window, staring out at the sunlit landscape with eyes that pictured another scene entirely.
It had begun some six weeks after the wedding. Her godmother had invited her to a lunch party at Largossa—‘A very small affair, mia cara, and all female.’
She’d been delighted to find Nonna Cosima present, but less pleased to see Signora Luccino, whom she was learning to call Zia Dorotea. For some reason, the older woman had seemed convinced from the start that Ellie’s marriage was entirely her own design, and that she deserved the credit for bringing it about.
And how wrong was it possible for anyone to be? Ellie thought bitterly. But at least the Signora had brought Tullia with her, which promised some alleviation.
It was during the aperitivos before lunch that the first blow fell.
‘You look well, cara Elena,’ Zia Dorotea pronounced magisterially. ‘Almost blooming, in fact. Is it possible you have good news for us all?’
Ellie set down her glass of prosecco with immense care, controlling the silent scream building inside her. She was
aware of Madrina and Nonna Cosima exchanging glances of faint anguish and Tullia’s open glare at her mother, but it made no difference. The words had been spoken. The question ‘Are you pregnant?’ was out there, and awaiting an answer.
Only she had none to give.
She forced a smile. ‘I spent the weekend at Porto Vecchio. If I have colour in my cheeks, it’s probably thanks to the sun and sea breezes.’
‘I hope Angelo has also benefited from the break,’ said Signora Luccino. ‘The last time I saw him, I thought he looked a little strained.’
Ellie bit her lip. ‘He wasn’t able to accompany me. He had—engagements.’ And please don’t ask me where or with whom because I didn’t ask him, and I don’t want to know anyway.
‘Besides,’ she added. ‘It wouldn’t be his kind of place. It’s altogether—too basic.’
‘You are saying he has never been there?’ The Signora sounded scandalised. ‘That you go alone when you have been married less than two months?’
‘Oh, Mamma,’ Tullia intervened impatiently. ‘Husbands and wives do not have to live in each other’s pockets.’
‘Then perhaps they should,’ was the austere reply. ‘Particularly when the future of an ancient dynasty is involved. Angelo needs an heir, and perhaps he should be reminded of the fact.’
Nonna Cosima intervened gently. ‘I think, my dear Dorotea, that we should allow the children to conduct their own lives, and enjoy the freedom of these first months of marriage together. I am sure the nurseries at Vostranto will be occupied soon enough.’
‘But hardly when Angelo spends all week in Rome and Elena disappears to the coast without him at weekends,’ the Signora returned implacably. ‘I gave birth to my own son within the first year of my marriage, because I knew what my duty was.’
Ellie looked down at the gleam of her wedding ring, her face wooden, thankful that no-one in the room knew the entire truth about her relationship with her supposed husband.
At which point, Giovanni had arrived to announce that the Principessa was served, and Ellie was off the hook.