by Jessica Wolf
Luciana turned her head away and drew the covers to her chin. “Thank you.”
She felt Mrs. Peters’s eyes on her before the door finally opened and closed. Was one of her brothers really dead? She could barely remember anything from the night the ship went down. Everything was a blur of water and flame. Surely they had survived and were waiting in the great hall. Surely it was one of the other men that died. Massimo and Piero were strong. A shipwreck couldn’t kill them.
After losing her mother and her father’s business, the prospect of losing anyone else tore her heart in two. They couldn’t be dead. They couldn’t be.
But if one of them were dead, what was she to do? Luciana didn’t want to rely on her brothers. She’d done that for too long. And though she loved them, she knew there came a time when a child left their home. She would have done so back in Italy, but when her mother died, she remained at home to support her father. Now, if her brother was indeed dead, would she have to remain with her father even longer?
She rolled onto her back, sighing. Being cast aside had taught her resilience and ingenuity. If it were true one of her brothers had died, she should be able to figure out a way to pursue her own life while caring for her father at the same time. She’d done it before; she would do it again.
To the sound of waves in the distance and wind beating against the house, Luciana fell asleep again.
Chapter 4
“Sir, it’s been four days. I think Miss Renaldi has recovered.”
Reed looked up from his paper, narrowing his eyes at Mrs. Peters. “Do you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You know that I detest sickness, Mrs. Peters. Having those men downstairs has been hard enough. If we turn this girl loose in the house, I don’t want the entire staff, nor my daughter, getting infected.”
“Sir, she is without fever. If anything, she only has a cold.”
Reed set aside his paper. He smoothed the down the crumpled edges, ran a hand down his face, then waved in her direction. “Fine. You have my permission to allow her out of the room. But—” He held up a finger. “—if she shows any signs of regressing, send her to the doctor and don’t let her return.”
Mrs. Peters curtseyed. “Yes, sir.”
Four days the visitors had been at Yellow Brook. Four days Reed had listened to nothing but violent coughing through thin walls. And in the course of four days, one of the men had died during the night. Poor Brigette had woken the whole house with her screams when she found him. Now that the two men who were left had recovered significantly, Reed was eager to return to the way things had been before they arrived. He had work to get back to, after all.
He left his office and headed toward the great hall. To his surprise, he found the sailors already standing in the foyer, speaking with Peters. One of the men, the leader of the two, shook Peters’s hand. The burn that covered his face didn’t hinder the smile he wore on his lips.
“Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Peters.”
“Don’t thank me, sir. Thank Mr. Hargrave.” Peters stepped aside, motioning to Reed.
The man stuck out his hand. “Thank you, Mr. Hargrave.”
Reed shook his hand. “I’m glad the two of you recovered, but I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Billy was always a sick boy. I suppose drifting in the ocean all night was the last straw, but thank you anyway.”
“Peters told me your ship sank? Quite unfortunate.”
“Yes, sir. The Charity. Rodger and I are from England, but we’ve been living in Italy for some time. Our ship was taking cargo and a few passengers to America when there was an unfortunate mishap involving a canon.” He blanched and glanced at his friend. “The ship went down and, as far as I know, Rodger, the lady, and I are the only survivors.”
“Lucky you.” Reed paused. “Where are you headed now?”
“London. We haven’t been home in years.”
“In that case, don’t let me keep you longer than necessary.” Reed jumped at the chance to send the men away without any fuss. Had the opportunity not presented itself as it had, Reed was unsure he would have been able to force a conversation much longer. “Good luck on your next endeavor, gentlemen.” He motioned toward the front door.
“Wait!”
Reed swallowed back a sigh. He turned his eyes toward the staircase. The woman—Miss Renaldi—stood at the top, her hand clutching the banister. She looked remarkably different compared to the first time he had seen her. Her hair was no longer disheveled and it cascaded down her back in dark waves. She wore a purple dress that bore a yellow stain on the left side. What from, Reed couldn’t tell. The cut on her cheek was still red around the edges, but it was scabbed over. Urgency played across her delicate face.
When she knew she held everyone’s attention, she rushed down the stairs. Her bare feet practically skidded to a halt. She wrung her hands together before her waist, and her eyes flitted to Reed before returning to the sailor.
“Where are my brothers?” she asked.
The sailor raised his eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“My brothers? Where are they? Mrs. Peters said they were here.”
“No, miss, I’m sorry. Mrs. Peters must be mistaken.”
Her mouth opened and closed several times. She rubbed her forehead, frowning. “I don’t understand.” Her strained voice filled the room. “Mrs. Peters said Massimo and Piero were here, that they had washed up too.”
The sailor glanced to Reed and then back to the woman. He set his jaw hard, his chin rising an inch. “You’re both mistaken. Massimo, Piero, and your father were some of the first off Charity, but I’m afraid their lifeboat collapsed. I’m dreadfully sorry, miss.”
Reed had never seen a face fall so fast. The woman stared at the floor in an attempt to hide the tears welling in her eyes. Her hands fidgeted. When she looked up, she nibbled on her lower lip.
“You’re sure of this?”
The sailor nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
She stepped away, swallowing hard. “Good day, signore.” Her voice was breathy and thick, barely a whisper. She turned her back to the group, her hand covering her mouth to hide the sound of her choked sobs.
Reed cleared his throat and motioned toward the front door again. The sailor and his friend left with another round of thanks and the shaking of hands. When they were at last gone, Reed shut the door with a heavy sigh. He pressed his forehead against the cold wood and reveled in the moment of peace. Now he only had one unwelcome guest to get rid of.
Steeling himself inwardly, he turned around and straightened his back. Sending the girl away wouldn’t be hard. He’d done it before with dozens of servants and governesses before. But when his eyes fell on the woman sitting on the last step of the staircase, her head cradled in her hands, he stopped in his tracks.
“Father, Father!” Esther came bounding around the corner, a doll in her hand. Without noticing Miss Renaldi, she threw her arms around Reed’s waist. “Did you hear about the mermaid, Father? She’s all better.”
Reed gently pried Esther away from his body. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze and titled his chin toward the woman in question. Esther glanced over her shoulder.
“Why is she crying?” Thankfully Miss Renaldi was far enough away and too consumed in her grief to notice the little girl’s loud voice, but even so, Reed’s cheeks warmed in embarrassment.
“Her family is dead.” Reed felt his heart tug. He’d dealt with loss before. From losing his sister in a fire at a young age, to the death of his wife, and then his father passing on a year prior, Reed knew how to cope with his sadness. Or at least he thought he did. Mostly he shoved it aside, as any true Englishman would, but there were moments he caught himself drifting into sudden despair.
“Well, I should go sit by her.” Before he could stop her, Esther took off for the woman. She stopped a foot before Miss Renaldi, who had yet to sense Esther’s presence. “Miss Renaldi?”
The other woman’s head snapped up, her eyes
red and filled with tears. She scrambled to her feet and reached for the banister. Her eyes flew back and forth between Reed and his daughter before resting on him.
“Caro dio. I didn’t see you there.”
“Miss Renaldi?” Esther repeated. “I’m sorry about your family.”
Miss Renaldi’s eyes darted to Esther. She opened her mouth, but the words seemed to be lodged in her throat as she said nothing in response. Moisture filled her dark brown eyes. She stepped back. “Please—please excuse me.” She turned and fled up the stairs, leaving a trail of muffled sobs behind her.
“Why did she run?” Esther asked after Miss Renaldi disappeared around the corner.
Reed settled his hand on Esther’s shoulder. “She’s grieving. Give her time.”
“Will she be around to supper?”
He shook his head. “I doubt it.”
“I’ll invite her anyway.”
Esther’s never-ending supply of generosity always made Reed’s heart swell with pride. She was so much like her mother. He crouched before her. “I think it would be best if you left her alone for a day or so.” The words came out of his mouth before he could stop them.
Hadn’t he just wanted to send this woman away? What was stopping him?
His sense of propriety, more than likely. If he turned a foreigner out on the streets after just surviving a shipwreck and losing her family, the ladies of town would have much to wag their tongues about. He would become the talk of Eastbourne once again. Except this time no one would come to the house with sympathy or food. They would come with sharp words and looks of distain. He would let her stay for a few more days, until she gathered her wits. Then she could be on her way and he could return to the normalcy he craved.
Luciana breathed deeply. Oranges, like her mother.
The chances that one of her father’s trunks would be the only thing to wash up shore from the shipwreck were slim to none. Yet it had happened and Luciana was thankful. Inside the trunk she found books, ship plans, and bottles of wine. The sort of things her father couldn’t live without. But she also found mementos of her mother. A dress that smelled of oranges, a golden bracelet in the form of a snake. At the bottom of the chest, she was relieved to find one of her own dresses as well. She’d forgotten packing it amongst her father’s things, but there it was, damp but salvageable.
How could her father and brothers abandon her? How could they truly be dead? An overwhelming sense of abandonment consumed her. Luciana knew her brothers found her a pest. They often told her so. Sometimes they had genteel moments, ones that briefly made Luciana think she meant more to them, but those were few and far in-between.
And then there was her father. Her father was her only confidant. She’d picked him back up after her mother had died and attempted to set him straight when he took to the gambling tables. She’d spent many hours in his warehouse, watching him form the skeleton of a great ship. He told her things. Things about his childhood in Venice, the time he’d cut off the top part of his pinky finger, the day he’d met her mother. She loved her father deeply, and she thought he loved her in return. It hurt to know he had cared more about himself than her. Wasn’t a father supposed to risk everything for his child, love them unconditionally, protect them no matter the cost? Another round of tears broke fresh at her eyelids.
Luciana set aside the things in her hand and moved to the vanity. The mirror was cracked in the upper left hand corner and caked with dirt. Using a hanky, she wiped a circle in the center. Gingerly, she touched the cut on her cheek. It would scar, no doubt, and become a painful reminder of the day she lost her family.
What was wrong with her? What was so detestable that she was easy to leave behind?
Her eyes and cheeks itched from the tears she’d left to dry. With a throaty sigh, she rose from the vanity chair and crawled into bed. Her dress would be wrinkled come morning. But she had to find a way home first, then she could worry about her wrinkled dress.
Chapter 5
Luciana woke and dressed early the next morning. The dress she found in her father’s trunk was still damp in certain spots, but wearing something familiar and not a loaned gown from Mrs. Peters was comforting.
This morning she was eager to pen a letter back to Italia. She wanted to get home, feel Italian earth beneath her feet, and smell the richness of fresh baked Italian bread. Grieving could come later.
She left her room and turned down the hall, searching for any signs of activity. To her dismay, the hall was empty, still and serene. She faced the towering window at her side. It scaled from the bottom of the floor to the ceiling and looked out onto the grassy knoll beside the house. The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon, casting a creamy orange glow over the calm waters of the sea.
In that moment, Italy seemed worlds away from England. Everything was too calm, too picturesque here. The sooner she could leave and return to the lively village streets, the better.
She glanced down the hallway to where a door stood cracked open. It wasn’t like her to snoop in other people’s things, but she was desperate. Mrs. Peters and the rest of the staff would be busy in the kitchen preparing breakfast by now and Luciana wanted to write her letter and mail it quick as she could.
Curling her hands into fists, she tiptoed down the hallway. The air in her throat stilled when she pushed open the door and it creaked on its hinges. The sound echoed in the hallway. She screwed her eyes shut and held her breath. Counting to three, she waited. Nothing. Then, with renewed vigor, she pushed the door open, stepped inside quickly, and closed it behind her.
“Who let you in here?”
A curse sprang to her tongue, but she swallowed it. Releasing her hold on the doorknob, Luciana turned around and stared into the stoney face of Reed Hargrave.
The air in her chest left her mouth in a unladylike whoosh. He looked like a wild-man she’d read about from the jungles of Africa. He was tall—alarmingly so. So tall, Luciana had to tilt her chin back in order to meet his eyes. And the eyes. A cool blue that harbored no friendly or inviting emotion, only irritation and anger. With coarse brown hair that likely reached his shoulders, he stood behind his desk, thick eyebrow arched. A neatly trimmed beard covered his jaw and his hair was drawn back in to a tie with a piece of dark blue ribbon. Strands of loose hair framed his stern face. Luciana was so startled by his appearance words escaped her.
“Allow me to repeat my question. Who let you in here?” His voice was rich and low, almost gravelly.
“I saw the door open and walked in.” Luciana willed her voice not to wobble.
He narrowed his eyes. “Uninvited?” When she failed to answer, he sighed. “I don’t know how they do things in your country, but in England—the civilized world—people knock.”
Luciana balked. Her eyes blinked in astonishment. “Italia is civilized.”
He only grunted in response and lowered his eyes to the papers spread out across his desk.
With a sigh, she began to apologize. “I shouldn’t have burst in. I am sorry for that–”
His head snapped up, lips pulled in to a sarcastic, tight-lipped smile. “Thank you. Now if you could please leave.”
Luciana surged forward despite his cold stare. “But I was wondering if you could lend me a few sheets of paper?”
“Paper? Miss Renaldi, I really don’t have the time to find you any.”
She doubted that greatly, considering the large stack on his desk, but nodded. This man was kind enough to keep her in his home when he could have sent her somewhere else. Even if he was rude, she shouldn’t test her luck. Not before she sent her letter and gained a way home.
“I understand, signore. I’ll leave you to your work.”
He sunk back in his chair and propped his pointer finger over his lips. “Thank you,” he mumbled. And then he picked up a piece of paper, signaling her cue to exit.
Luciana backed out of the room and closed the door behind her.
Reed Hargrave was unlike any man or
woman she’d met before. His looks were startling, his attitude troublesome, and his home fascinating. But she wouldn’t let her peaked interest get in the way of returning to Italy.
She was alone now. There was no one to help her. As terrifying as that was, she reminded herself this was what she had wanted for years. Maybe not this way; she had never wanted to be an orphan. But she had wanted to accomplish something on her own, to have an opportunity to live outside of the shadow of her brothers. To create a life for herself worth living.
This was it. Her opportunity was standing directly in front of her. And if she couldn’t find a way home by herself, she likely wouldn’t be able to accomplish anything.
Pulling her lips into a tight line, she squared her shoulders. The first step to getting home was finding a sheet of paper. Surely, in a house this large, one would be easy to find.
Setting off towards the staircase, Luciana kept her chin raised. A Renaldi never backed down from a challenge.
The wooden straight-back chair dug painfully into her spine. Looking across the wide table, she wrinkled her nose as the view out the window was blocked by a vase of wilted field flowers. At the end of the table sat Reed. His eyes were focused on a newspaper, his fingers gripping a fork with a peculiar amount of force based upon the white of his knuckles. At the opposite end of the table sat Esther. Her eyes were fixated on Luciana, shining with amusement and wonder. Luciana returned her gaze to her plate.
Would breakfast ever end? After spending the better part of the morning failing to find any sort of writing utensil or paper, Luciana had been ushered into the dining room by a cheerful Esther. Frustration made her neck stiff and put her teeth on edge. Who knew it was so hard to locate a simple piece of paper! She fought the urge to groan aloud and bury her head in her hands. How was she ever to get home without writing her letter? And how was she ever going to rebuild her life if couldn’t return home?