“That’s beside the point now, isn’t it?” Lady Ripley answered, showing nothing but irritation. “Lady Taversall is hardly likely to allow you anywhere near her daughter again.” She rounded on Orlando. “Did you know of this? Did you put Perdita up to it? I wouldn’t put it past you. I’ve been watching you, you and that Italian whore!”
Orlando immediately put himself between Lady Ripley and Violetta. “You do not speak of Violetta like that,” he said.
“Indeed, ma’am.” Lord Ripley was almost a stranger, looking as he did. His face was harsh, stern, his eyes not the dark soft pools of affection she was used to seeing but hard and flinty. “Judith, go and pack.”
“What?” The single syllable hung in the air.
“You heard me. You will pack, ready to leave this house. Do not assume you will be coming back while I am here.”
He turned his back on his daughter. Violetta stood aside and watched Lady Judith leave. Their eyes met just before she opened the door. Violetta kept her expression carefully blank, knowing that her pity was the last thing Lady Judith would want. Lady Judith glared at Violetta, open hatred in her gaze, but Violetta didn’t respond.
Immediately Orlando came over to Violetta and took her hand, studying her face, showing openly all the love he felt for her. Before he could speak a knock fell on the door. On being bidden to enter, Lord and Lady Taversall came in. “I’ve left Perdita to be put to bed by her maid,” her ladyship said. “She’s bearing up very well. I haven’t long, I promised her I’d come back.” She turned immediately to Orlando. “You wanted to see us, my son?”
Orlando’s mouth curved up at one corner. “Yes, Mama. Matters have changed a little since breakfast. I would greatly appreciate permission to address Violetta’s guardians in respect of her marriage.”
“She’s over age,” her ladyship commented. “She makes her own decisions.” She smiled broadly at Violetta. “Have you made your decision?”
Violetta smiled, happier than she’d been for a very long time. “Yes. I would like to accept his offer.”
“Really!” The exclamation came from Lady Ripley. “Barely a week since he proposed to my daughter!” She turned to Orlando, ignoring everyone else. “I’m sure this is an aberration on her part. We can sort things out.”
Orlando slowly shook his head. “I’m sorry, ma’am. It was borne in on us that we had made a mistake before this—unfortunate episode. Now it is impossible. I have privately addressed Violetta, and now she has done me the honour of accepting me.”
“Well, I’m delighted,” Lord Taversall stated. He came forward and kissed Violetta on both cheeks, drawing back to give her his broad smile. “Welcome to the family, my dear.”
Violetta blushed, but smiled. Orlando, who had kept hold of her hand all this while drew her closer. For a moment she thought he was going to kiss her, but he wasn’t completely lost to all sense of propriety. “She’s made me the happiest man alive.”
Only Violetta noticed Lady Ripley stalking out of the room in high dudgeon.
Coming out of the parlour with Violetta resting one hand on his arm, Orlando heard a commotion from the main hall.
Entering, Orlando saw it full of trunks and boxes. Another new arrival, perhaps more than one. Violetta froze when she saw the man at the front door.
“Uncle Lodovico!” She raced forward, in a flurry of light skirts and lace. “Oh, Uncle Lodovico!”
Much to the surprise of the onlookers she flung herself at the dark man who had just entered. Even more to their surprise he opened his arms wide and lost all the saturnine grimness, instead showing a smile a mile wide. “Violetta!”
The embrace was noisy, voluble, and in Italian. Recovering first, Orlando stepped over a large hat box and went to join his beloved. She leaned back in the man’s arms. “How did you come here?”
“I received a letter from Lady Taversall and I set out immediately.” His voice rumbled.
“Oh, Uncle Lodovico, you shouldn’t have!” She gave him a hug and stepped back unsuspectingly into Orlando’s arms.
He steadied her and met the man’s regard with an assessing one of his own.
“I am the head of the family. It is only right I should come.” He didn’t take his regard from Orlando. Two fighters, ready to square up to each other if necessary.
Orlando bowed as gracefully as he could, with all the impediments scattered in his way. “Lord Blyth, sir.”
He straightened and not much to his surprise received the information, from Lady Taversall, now next to them, that he was facing the present Conte d’Oro.
“I would request an immediate interview,” demanded the conte. His English, while good, was heavily accented, and Orlando had to ponder the final word before he realized what the conte was saying. He led the way to the study at Lord Ripley’s small nod of permission and prepared himself for an inquisition. Although Violetta had tried to enter, the conte bent his dark gaze on her and said, “Vedrò questo uomo da solo.” Orlando was only mildly surprise to see her bow her head and leave the room. This man was used to command. His presence was powerful; he brought an air of authority with him.
The conte turned to Orlando and ran his gaze over him. “You are the man who will marry our little Violetta.”
“I hope to do so. I love your niece, sir, and I intend to take the greatest care of her.”
After an intense meeting, discussing family affairs and discussing the terms of the marriage contract, Orlando emerged slightly stunned. He agreed to the terms of the contract, admiring the conte’s business acumen, his attention to detail, but burning to go and find Violetta.
Violetta crept into Perdita’s bedroom later that afternoon, when she should have been dressing for dinner. She found her sitting up in bed in a pretty negligée, none the worse for her ordeal. The paltry remains of a tray of food lay on the bed next to her. Violetta lifted it before she thought properly. “There’s still a little bit of Charlotte left, then,” Perdita observed.
Violetta grinned ruefully. “There must be.” She put the tray down and returned to the bed. When Perdita patted the covers, she sat down on the bed, just as she had when she had been Charlotte, before a morning session. “Now we’re equal. All debts paid.”
“Agreed.” The ladies shook hands, grinning. Violetta felt a new friendship beginning, and the thought warmed her. She’d had friends before, but had been forced to leave them behind. She counted some of the ladies who visited her mother’s salon as friends, but she would be unable to visit them any longer. “Why did you do it? If it had gone wrong it could have been you involved in the scandal. It might still be you.”
“No, it won’t.” Perdita seemed in her element. “Mama won’t let it.”
“What about Lady Ripley?”
“She’s tainted her own reputation by all the lovers she’s taken. She’s not at all discreet, you know.” Perdita leaned back, the frothy lace of the little caraco jacket she wore spilling over the fine skin of her arms. “My mama says Lady Ripley has decided to go with Judith. They’re to live in another house.”
Violetta toyed with the soft quilt. “I feel guilty.”
Perdita leaned forward and patted her hand. There were none of the overtones Lady Judith always put into such a gesture. Just simple friendship. “Don’t. Judith finally told me today that she loves me. I was appalled at her lack of feeling for Orlando, equally appalled that she thought I would enter into her schemes. She would have made Orlando deeply unhappy. I think you are good for him. I’ve watched you together.”
“Thank you. I’ll certainly do everything I can to make him happy.”
“I know you will.” Perdita leaned back against the pillows. “After you marry Orlando I’ll go and stay with my mother and stepfather.”
“Uncle Lodovico wants us to travel to Italy, to introduce Orlando to the family.”
Perdita smiled. “You should go.”
It was agreed they should announce the formal betrothal in the drawing room before dinn
er. Orlando had no opportunity to talk to Violetta in private. The conte proved a far more effective duenna than Lady Taversall, squiring his niece everywhere once she emerged from Perdita’s room, insisting on viewing the gardens, anxious, as he put it, to reacquaint himself with his beautiful niece.
Orlando spent the rest of the day grinding his teeth in frustration and trying to outwit Violetta’s keepers. He didn’t succeed. He hoped she would be able to receive him that night. He had no intention of spending any more nights alone.
The announcement of the betrothal was greeted with backslapping and so many toasts Orlando feared the evening would never end. What soothed the beast snarling inside him was knowing he wouldn’t have to hide any longer, could show his devotion to his love openly. Violetta greeted the congratulations with soft blushes and thanks, the vision of the virgin bride. Only a very select few knew any different.
Orlando couldn’t approach Violetta until nearly midnight, and by then she was in bed. He stood over the bed, having negotiated the quiet corridors and his fears her maid might have been stationed in her room. The conte was awake on every suit.
He watched her sleep and was about to turn and leave when she stirred and opened her eyes, gazing up at him as though she expected him to be there. He smiled back and balanced one knee on the bed so he could lean forward to kiss her. She stretched up to embrace him but he drew back. “You’re exhausted. Go back to sleep.”
“If you join me.” Her voice was breathy.
He couldn’t resist. He drew back the covers, flung off his robe and slid into bed, drawing her into his arms. “Your uncle will call me out if he knows I’m here.”
“I’m sure he knows. He told me he would like to see us marry before he leaves and he can’t stay long. My aunt is due to be confined soon.”
“He’s married? He didn’t say. All his conversation was about you and your mother.”
“He’s been married for fifteen years. He has three sons and two daughters.” She yawned, her mouth against his shoulder and took the opportunity to kiss him.
He chuckled and pressed an answering kiss to her forehead. “I was a fool to think I could ever give this up. I want to be with you and watch our children grow.” He’d said it on purpose.
Violetta stared at him, her eyes shadowed in the gloom. Orlando had left the single candle he’d brought with him on the nightstand, knowing he might need some light. He was glad now, as he saw the spark of hope dawn in her eyes. It was beautiful, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. “I’m going to London tomorrow, to get a special license.”
“Oh, Orlando!” She flung herself into his arms, tears of joy wetting his shoulder. “I’m only just realizing what all this means!”
Never was a celebration so sweet, so fervent. He loved her, holding nothing back until he was fully sheathed within her. “We have everything. I want you, and I want you quickly. Mine now.” His greedy gaze roamed her form, laid out beneath him. “No more nights apart. I’m going to London in the morning and I’ll do my damnedest to return by nightfall. We can be married the day after that.”
“There’ll be gossip.”
He laughed. “Not when they know the extent of my devotion to you.”
He gave her no more time to demur, but drove hard inside her, revelling in her hot welcome. She opened before him, submitted so he could bring himself to her, his essence. Everything he was, everything he had he bestowed on her.
She accepted it as her due, as a queen should. She took and gave in return, driving him to further efforts. He lost any sense of time passing, lost awareness of everything but her. Nothing else mattered. Only this.
Afterwards, both fell into a profound slumber, locked in each other’s arms.
Her wedding day. Violetta found it hard to believe, however much she repeated it. She sat in the chair before her dressing table and watched Lisette arrange her hair into thick coils, nestling close to her head. Orlando had been as good as his word, taking a letter from her to La Perla with him to London when he went for the special license. He’d returned too late for dinner, but early enough to slip into bed by her side and hold her close through the night. He’d refused to make love to her, reminding her with a chuckle that the wait would be worthwhile. Violetta was sure it would be. He’d gone by the time she awoke in the morning.
Not so her maid and Lady Taversall, who bustled in full of excitement. Violetta let them adorn her, let them decorate her, and once she was dressed and ready, they left her.
Violetta didn’t know how it happened but suddenly she was alone. Sitting in her glory, completely alone. She appreciated her godmother’s sensitivity in giving her a few moments to herself.
The door opened and a solitary figure entered the room. Violetta couldn’t believe her eyes, but leapt to her feet. “Mama!”
“Sh!” La Perla cautioned her, closing the door hastily. “You think I would let Blyth come on his own? He brought me back with him yesterday and I slipped away before we reached the house.”
Violetta flung herself into her mother’s arms, tears blurring her vision. “I’m so glad! Will you be there to see me married?”
“Of course. I will be at the back with the servants.”
“You should be at the front, in the place of honour!”
“Hush, my love. That is not possible. It is enough that I am here. I could not be happier. I know Lord Blyth will care for you.”
La Perla drew off, held her daughter at arm’s length. “You have what I always dreamed of for you. A husband who adores you, a man to care for you. You will be happy, Violetta. We cannot see each other in public again, but we will find a way.”
“Yes, Mama. Thank you.” Violetta could say no more. She meant every word.
Her wedding passed in a blur. She was in and out of the chapel at Ripley Court before she realized what was going on. She found herself on the arm of Lord Ripley, going up the aisle and on the arm of Lord Blyth, coming back. Her husband.
He didn’t let her away from his side all day.
Chapter Twenty-Two
London, Autumn 1754
“Home!”
Without waiting for the steps of the travelling coach to be let down, Orlando leaped down, then lifted his wife into his arms and turned for the house. Italy had been quite an experience, but he was glad to have her back home. They’d set out as soon as they knew she’d fallen pregnant, so she could travel in no danger.
“Soon I’ll be too heavy for you to do this.” Her face showed only joy, unshadowed by any worry.
He laughed in return and carried her over the threshold of his London house, not setting her down, despite her laughing protests until they were in the hall. “It’s tradition,” he informed her loftily. He turned to confront the butler, who had cracked his face with a small smile, the first Orlando had ever seen on him. “I’ve brought my bride home,” he told him, setting Violetta carefully down on her feet. “Could you have tea brought up to the small drawing room?”
Taking her hand he led her upstairs. “Your domain, my sweet. Your home.”
“So long as you are here.”
“Always.”
The idyll was not to last as long as they wanted. News travelled fast and the morning brought Lady Taversall and Lady Perdita.
Violetta poured tea and listened to her husband telling his mother of their experiences with her relatives. It had been no surprise that she had been welcomed into the bosom of her family now she could show them her fine, prosperous, respectable husband. She couldn’t cavil because it made him happy to see her welcomed, and what made him happy made her happy.
She saw a shadow cross Lady Taversall’s face. Trouble. “There’s something wrong, isn’t there?”
“Yes, my dear, I’m afraid there is.”
Lady Taversall could say no more, even though it was clear she was preparing herself to relate unpleasant news. A commotion downstairs made them look around. The door burst open to admit La Perla, finely gowned. She threw back her veil,
ignoring Lady Perdita’s gasp of recognition.
Violetta got to her feet and threw herself at La Perla. “Mama!”
“So it’s true then.”
At Lady Perdita’s quiet words Violetta drew back. “What is true?”
“You are La Perla Perfetta. Judith was right.”
“Not about everything,” Lady Taversall said. “Listen this time, Perdita.”
She proceeded to tell Perdita all Violetta’s story, in admirable economy of detail. The others listened. Orlando put his hand on Violetta’s sleeve and led her to a sofa where she sat with her mother. He stood behind her, one hand on her shoulder. She was never so glad of his presence, when her mother’s presence filled her with trepidation.
“All you need to remember, Perdita, is that Violetta is a member of our family now. What hurts her hurts the rest of us,” Lady Taversall concluded.
The hand on Violetta’s shoulder tightened. “What could hurt her?”
Lady Taversall turned a glacial stare onto her son. The ice was not for him. “Lady Ripley is living separately from her husband. The break has become public. She has been spreading the word that Violetta is La Perla Perfetta. She recognized her from a night you spent at the opera. Everyone in London knows.”
Violetta clapped a hand over her open mouth. “Oh God!”
“It doesn’t matter.” Orlando’s voice was harder than she’d heard it for months. “We’ll weather it. We won’t be spending much time in London in any case.”
“It will damage your family, your reputation, everything!”
Lady Perdita’s blue stare met Violetta’s. “If she succeeds, it might have been better if you’d left me in that chair.”
“No!” Orlando’s hand eased, stroked. Violetta felt herself relax into the caress. “Is there anything that can be done?”
La Perla covered her daughter’s hand with her own and squeezed. “I wouldn’t be here if the case were impossible. Virginia, unthaw if you please. We have work to do.”
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