by Julie Matern
T
On the day of the ball, Phillip could not help but notice, with some humor, that the women required much more preparation than the men. Phillip had spent a very pleasant afternoon with Mr. Fairweather fishing in his pond and he had told Phillip that the young ladies had begun their preparations as soon as breakfast was finished. He, on the other hand, had spent the day in sport with Mr. Fairweather and would begin to prepare for the ball barely an hour before.
While fishing, Phillip had discovered that Mr. Fairweather was an effortless man to converse with and that he had an encyclopedic knowledge of many things due to his love of reading.
“You know that my wife has her eyes set on you for our oldest daughter, do you?” said Mr. Fairweather during the course of the afternoon.
“I believe I did notice that, sir,” replied Phillip.
“Well, what do you think of it? Verity is fairly taken with you. She is a sensible girl, and you seem to be a fine fellow. You could do worse!” he added with a chuckle.
“Your daughter is one of the most amiable young women I have had the good fortune to meet, but I must confess that I am about to embark on a career in the law and am not in a position to marry at present.”
“Bosh! She comes with a generous dowry. She could help you set up in the law and she is an intelligent girl, you know.”
“I do not doubt it, sir, but I am really not in the market for marriage at the present time.” He hoped his words were not hurtful, but the reality of his deep feelings for Francesca meant that he could not in good faith mislead this worthy man and his family with false hopes of a future matrimony.
“She’ll be disappointed. She has taken a real liking to you. Ah well, these things cannot be forced, I suppose. You will continue to visit, though? We all greatly enjoy your company.”
“Perhaps if I am in the county and you are willing to receive me?” said Phillip.
“Of course, boy, and she may succeed in turning your head yet!”
T
At the ball that night, it was plain to see that Mr. Fairweather had shared none of their conversation with his oldest daughter. Her face lit up when she espied Phillip enter the ballroom. His heart sank in turn. Mr. Fairweather grabbed his sleeve and whispered in his ear,
“No sense spoiling an evening’s entertainment, lad. You can still ensure that she has an agreeable time!”
Phillip swallowed deeply and pasted a smile on his face. He greeted them all affably and then, at their insistence, added his name to all the sisters’ dance cards. Pushing down the uncomfortable notion that he was going to prove a great disappointment to the oldest Miss Fairweather, he danced his way through the first half of the evening.
At supper, a young lady from the county sang and played, and as he let the beauty of her voice entrance him, he noticed someone enter the dining area. Langley Ashbourne! His senses stood suddenly to attention, and he paid particular notice to the young man’s conduct. He was impeccably dressed and leaned lazily against the door frame, examining the occupants of the room just as he had done at the Haversham’s ball. His manner was again aloof and arrogant.
After a moment, an older woman noticed Ashbourne and leaped to her feet to join him. Phillip watched as his manner changed from cool to warm, and his face broke into a most charming smile. Déjà vu. Phillip felt more irritated than charmed by it. The woman was obviously an old acquaintance, and she led him back to her table, where a very fine young woman was seated. Phillip had noticed her earlier as she had a haughtiness in her bearing and danced in a very guarded, stiff fashion. Her clothes were of the finest quality, and her hair was pulled into a rather severe style, garnished with an exquisite tiara. She raised her gloved hand to Mr. Ashbourne, and he kissed it, never letting his eyes stray from hers. Then a very curious thing happened. Her icy stiffness seemed to melt in his presence, and she became like putty in his hands! Infernal man! Were all the women in England powerless to resist his magic?
William observed Phillip studying someone and followed his gaze to see who had captured his attention.
“Well, if it isn’t old Langley!” he said. “What a coincidence! He’s a bit out of his stomping grounds. We’ll have to meet up for cards later.”
Phillip murmured a response and continued to scrutinize the young man’s behavior. There was nothing in his manner at the table that could be called into question; he was all politeness and manners. It grated on Phillip to no end.
Miss Verity Fairweather had earlier made it abundantly clear that she desired to dance the entire evening with Phillip, but he had cautioned her that it would be impolitic to be a last-minute guest and not spread his attentions around. It was beginning to get rather awkward when William, thankfully, pulled him aside and told him that there was a card game in progress in the library. Phillip was not really one for cards, he found gambling in general a waste of time and money, but it was the perfect excuse to extricate himself from the persistent Miss Fairweather. He left her with a very pretty little pout on her lips, wondering why her charms had so little effect on him.
The library was smoky and dark, and the game appeared to have been going on for some time. As Phillip’s eyes adjusted, he noticed Langley Ashbourne on the opposite side of the table with a large pile of money in front of him. He was obviously enjoying a successful night. The men at the table looked up and made room for William and Phillip. The stakes were quite high, and Phillip decided that he would only play for an hour, during which time he would watch Langley closely.
Langley seemed to play honestly and displayed the camaraderie that might be expected around a card table. Phillip’s mood plummeted. He, himself, was playing fairly well and had only lost a modest amount of money.
The hour had passed, and he was watching for the right moment to excuse himself when Langley shocked the table by pushing the entirety of his winnings into the center, challenging the other players with his eyes. The mood in the room shifted, and the other men sat up, tensely.
Phillip took this moment to exit the game, but remained in the room, wanting to discover how the round would play out. Two other men also excused themselves, which left William, Langley, and two older men. Each player was attempting to read the other players’ eyes to deduce who was bluffing and who looked confident. William and an older gentleman were soon out but Langley and the other man continued on. Langley laid down a full house with a flourish and went to grab the money, but the other gentleman slowly laid his cards on the table. It was a royal flush.
Phillip regarded Langley’s expression. The color briefly drained from his face, but in an instant, the sour look was replaced with a genuine smile. He then stood and shook hands with the winner, all grace and sincerity.
Langley crossed the room to shake hands with William, who introduced him to Phillip. Langley grabbed his hand, and his face split into a good-natured smile, totally unlike the one he bestowed on the ladies. Phillip couldn’t help but feel drawn to him. His charisma was strong.
“That was jolly bad luck, Langley,” commiserated William.
“Ah. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. It is of no consequence. Come, let us go back to the ladies.”
Phillip considered the amount that Langley had lost to be of great consequence. He estimated it to have been 500 pounds.
Langley followed William and Phillip to the little clutch of Fairweathers and was introduced. Three of the sisters were immediately hypnotized by Langley’s smile and general manner but Verity, Phillip noticed, seemed immune. He watched them all with interest. Langley danced with each of the younger Miss Fairweathers and gave the impression that he was genuinely interested in their conversation. He pointedly avoided asking Miss Verity Fairweather to dance, so Phillip finally took pity on her.
While they were dancing, he asked what she thought of the dashing Mr. Ashbourne. She looked up into Phillip’s face with the gentlest of expressions and said, “I cannot see his appeal, sir, when compared to a truly handsome gentleman,” and dropped her
lashes modestly onto her rosy cheeks in such a way that it pulled at his heart.
It was time to leave Staffordshire before he cruelly hurt this admirable young woman.
Seven
UV
ITALY
Antonio, there is someone here to see you!”
The horse turned her head and flicked her mane. Antonio was struggling to keep her hoof between his knees as he used a tool to extract a thorn that was making her lame.
“I am busy. I will be there in a little while,” he replied and returned to the task. A shadow fell across the stall and he said tersely, “Luigi, I said I would be there in a moment.”
“I am not Luigi.”
At the familiar baritone, Antonio dropped the hoof and wiped his brow, turning slowly to face the man from his past, unsure of how he should receive his former employer. A thousand memories crowded his mind; a scent, the silken touch of hair across his arm, a laugh, a touch, rejection. He bent his head in deference and then looked Giorgio Giaccopazzi in the eye.
“I am Signore Giaccopazzi, I—”
“I know well who you are, Signore.”
“I have been searching for you for many months.”
Antonio remained silent and kept his gaze steady.
“Do you not wish to know why? Are you not curious?”
“Indeed, sir, I am at a loss to understand your visit. I have not worked for you in over eighteen years. Tell me, to what do I owe this honor?”
“I am sorry to have to tell you that my Isabella is dead. She died of the fever six months ago.”
Antonio wiped his brow again to hide his dismay and give himself time to recover from the freshly unearthed emotions, long buried. “I am sorry to hear this, Signore. She was a beautiful person inside and out, but I still fail to see why you should seek out a former stable boy to tell him this news in person.”
Giorgio looked around for somewhere to sit in the oppressive heat and stench of the stable and, seeing a saddle stand, leaned against it. “There was a child.”
The whispered phrase hung in the air like dandelion seeds caught on the breeze.
Antonio’s defensive demeanor melted away at the staggering news, and he crouched to the floor beneath Giorgio to look up earnestly into his face. “There was a child? Oh, it all makes sense now …” He looked down, ashamed to admit what was already understood, unsure of the motivations of the man before him.
“You did not know?” Giorgio murmured. “Tell me what happened. I wish you no ill. I seek no vengeance. I am a broken man. At one time, I may have whipped you, but I am too old and lonely now.
“Isabella did marry, but she did not have any children. Her mother, as you will recall, died when she was young, and Isabella’s husband died in an accident, and I am now left, a lone man with only my vineyards for company. As Isabella lay dying, she confessed her sin but died before she could tell me any more. I have spent much time and money trying, unsuccessfully, to find the child. And now at last I have found you, only to discover that you did not know.”
Antonio pulled up another saddle stand and looked into the distance, seeing not the fields beyond the stable door but the past. A young maiden his own age, bored, lonely, spirited, and beautiful beyond description, interested in the horses and the people who cared for them.
“She married then? Did he deserve her?”
“He was a good man, a very good man.”
Antonio nodded and gripped his chin for courage. “It all began after she returned from finishing school, Signore. You were much consumed with the vines and the drought, and she came to the stables seeking companionship in the horses, but after I helped her and we spent more time together, we …” His voice trailed off as his mind replayed the memory of the day the line was crossed between servant and served, of returning from a ride and helping Isabella down from her favorite horse. He had held her waist for just a fraction too long, and they had stood too close, breathing, wanting, still, until the magnetism of her drew him in and their lips touched and changed their relationship from that day forth.
He continued after a moment. “She would seek out my company in the stables and would insist that I ride with her. For safety. We would stop in fields full of poppies and talk for hours. She was captivating, and I was merely a man. A young and weak man. She would play the coquette with me, and I would feel anxious about her being so familiar with me, a mere servant, but she seemed genuinely to enjoy my company. I was flattered, I confess.
“And then one day I realized that I had fallen in love with her, and the next time we were alone, it was as though a barrier had broken down and I succumbed. I tried to feel guilty, but I was so full of love for her and so happy. I thought not of the morrow but lived only for the moment.
“Then one day she came and she was different. Something had changed. She told me that she was going to travel to see her school friends and that when she returned I must be gone. I was devastated at the rejection and became impassioned, but she stood still and waited until my anger was exhausted and then calmly bade me goodbye. Of course, in the days to come, I had to admit that it was a love always destined to end, our stations being so different. I thought perhaps you had discovered us and demanded she break with me. I left the next morning and ventured far north.
“I should tell you, Signore, that I have never really stopped loving her. She was the mate of my soul. I never found her equal.” He stopped, exhausted by the memories and the passion. A silence gathered and the sun shone on the dust, forming cones of swirling light. “You have not found the child?”
Giorgio looked down at the floor, sighing, knowing now that his quest was far from over.
“Alas, no. I was hoping that you knew where the child was, but I see clearly now that you do not. I am an aged man, and I desire only to see my grandchild before I die and pass down my legacy, my vineyards. It is clear that I must continue my searching until I find the child or die in the attempt.” He struggled to his feet and Antonio leaped to his assistance.
“Signore, when—if, you succeed in your quest, I would very much like to meet my child. Please, remember me.”
Giorgio nodded and patted Antonio’s hand tenderly. “Do you want for anything?”
“I want for nothing, Signore, except for the love of a woman and a family. I came here as an inexperienced boy and am now the manager of all the horses. I have done well financially, but my life is empty. I am familiar with the loneliness you speak of. Remember me, please, Signore.”
T
Antonio watched the broken man leave and enter his carriage, then sat upon the saddle stand, deep in thought. He had been eighteen that summer when she returned from finishing school. Life was just beginning, and he was popular among the maids in the village and the servant girls in the house. As he worked the horses, he was aware that his muscles were developing, and he enjoyed the looks of admiration from the girls.
Isabella had surprised him a few weeks after her return from school by asking him to ride with her. He had been shocked. He had noticed her beauty from afar. Of course, who would not? But he knew his place, and besides, there were so many young maidens accessible to him.
She had entered the stable in full riding gear and a veil across her face to keep off the dust. Her presence was tangible, her manner haughty, and authority rippled off her. The attraction he felt was real and dangerous.
He remembered declining and pointing out that it was not fitting, but she had laughed at him; he was a servant and posed no threat to her honor. She explained that she wanted to follow a new trail that might be dangerous and that she would need a companion for safety. He could follow some distance behind to keep things appropriate. She barely gave him a look and spoke most of what she said with her back to him.
They had begun the journey with a good distance between them, and the discomfort he had felt at first soon evaporated away. She was right and he was a fool. He was no more than a hireling to her, existing only to serve and protect.
Aft
er an hour, she took a sudden sharp turn up into the foothills of Fiesole, where the way for a horse was narrow. He had never attempted such a trail and pulled closer to advise her of the risk of such a venture. She had thrown back her head and laughed, calling him a coward and urging her horse on faster. He had followed more closely and as the trail twisted and turned, his concern rose. This was no easy way for a lady and her mare.
After thirty more minutes, he began to relax as it was evident that she was a fine equestrian and more than equal to the task. He began to worry less and enjoy the scenery more.
He was just beginning to wish that he had brought something to drink when he heard a sharp cry. He looked up to see that Isabella’s horse was no longer in his field of vision and urged his own horse onward. As he reached the summit of a small hillock, he looked down upon Isabella, who had been thrown by her horse, which was now eating grass not far from her. He stopped his own horse and jumped off in some anxiety as he knelt to assess the damage. Isabella rolled onto her back with a grimace and told him that she had landed on her shoulder. He slid his hands behind her back, gently lifting her to a sitting position, and leaned her against the hillside. She took off her riding hat and veil with her good arm and shielded her eyes from the sun. He ripped the fabric from his sleeve and fashioned a sling for her arm. As he slid the cloth around her back and tied the sling at her neck, she looked at him, as though seeing him properly for the first time, and her eyes widened in appreciation. He moved back onto his haunches so as not to appear to be too intimate and looked at her cautiously. Her color was heightened from the ride and her carefully coiffed hair had dislodged in the fall and fell in ringlets around her face and shoulders. Her ebony eyes were squinted slightly in pain and her rosy mouth was in a pout. He took a sharp intake of breath and moved further away, alarmed by the uncontrolled passion rising in his breast.
She had laughed then at his discomfort and asked his name. She had rolled the syllables around on her tongue like a sugared fruit, and it had caused a frisson down his backbone. Then she asked how long he had worked for her father and about his family with genuine interest. As he explained that his mother had died in childbirth and his father soon after, her expression had turned to compassion and they had shared their feelings about being motherless. In that moment, she had become dangerously real and surprisingly equal.