by Julie Matern
At length, the difficulty of their situation bore down upon him and he asked if she could ride. She moved her shoulder in experimentation only to cry out in pain, and it was clear that she could not. The only solution appeared to be that he should put her back on her horse and walk it down to the bottom of the hilly trail, then ride back to her home for a carriage.
He bent and scooped her into his arms, their faces too close. As her honeyed breath danced against his cheek he had trouble concentrating and she was uncharacteristically quiet. The air between them was thick with tension.
He delicately placed her on the mare who, fortunately, was of a docile temperament, and slowly descended the hill leading both horses. At intervals, a little squeak of pain would escape her lips but no further conversation was had. They were clearly each dealing with a surprise mix of emotions.
When they reached flatter land, he helped her descend, being careful not to clip her shoulder, and positioned her comfortably, before galloping off to alert the household.
As he rode, he relived the moment her breath had grazed his cheek, over and over again, and at each revision the tender sensation in his heart increased in intensity. He argued with himself about the folly and impropriety of such thoughts but the memory was so delicious that it became a treasure to be taken out and enjoyed with just a hint of guilt; an innocent fantasy that would never be realized.
Isabella was rescued by the head groom who berated Antonio the whole way there and back on the idiocy of such an adventure and the impropriety. Antonio took the scolding because the joy of the intimate moment was the best reward, the memory of which could never be taken from him.
Upon their return, Isabella was whisked away to her rooms and he returned to the stables. The young maid servants who continued to smile and wave at him had, somehow, lost their luster when compared to the prized jewel. Life returned to its normal rhythm.
After a week of convalescence, she reappeared, unannounced, a perfect silhouette, at the doorway to the stables. Seeing his surprise, she demanded that he accompany her again. He knew it was madness, but he was powerless to resist. He made her promise that she would not take such risks again and inquired about a chaperone. She downplayed the notion with a laugh saying that she had told her maid she would be with a stable boy and that the idea of danger or compromise with a servant was so foreign that the maid had found the arrangement acceptable. Her eyebrow arched on one side. and her lips matched it in an enticing invitation. He could not have denied her had he tried.
And so began an addicting habit. Most mornings they would ride and then let the horses graze and sit among the wild flowers and talk of their hopes and dreams. It was startling to both that they could be from such different spheres and yet have so much in common.
Over time, the very air would hum with attraction, and he trembled for fear that he would make a mistake, crossing an unseen line that would shatter forever the idyllic rhythm of this illicit paradise.
Then came that fateful day that he had held her a fraction too long as he helped her dismount and the gravitational pull, which began with man in the Garden of Eden, inevitably drew them together, their lips had touched, and they were never the same again.
Passion had ignited their relationship, but the recklessness of stealing private moments and the need for subterfuge fueled it. Stolen moments, charged looks, desperate kisses. Two young, unbridled, vital humans thrown together by circumstance and kept together by a reckless disregard for standards and a lack of supervision. Once the forbidden fruit had been tasted, there was no going back, so sweet and addictive was its savor.
He well remembered the day when she had boldly declared that she loved him. It was a moment never to be forgotten and, indeed, it had spoiled all other romances for him.
The day she came to inform him of her immediate departure and order that he be gone when she returned came as unexpectedly as a bolt of lightning. He raged, demanding an explanation; she waited in silence for his anger to dissipate and then quietly but firmly insisted that he leave. She would entertain no debate on the subject and left as abruptly as she had arrived.
He had sunk to the stable floor in shocked despair and confusion, and after a restless night of questioning, his depression and heartbreak had turned to sadness at the age-old class distinctions that he blamed for the savage end to their affair. His pride was bruised and beaten, his heart in pieces, but he realized that he would never stop loving her and that she was right. He had to leave. He left before dawn, never to return.
Now to learn that she had borne his child! He had never suspected, not once.
Eight
UV
ENGLAND
Father, you are such a snob!” cried Francesca’s father, John Haversham.
“There is nothing wrong with desiring to keep the regal bloodlines pure! Do you then favor diluting the blue blood of our nation? Surely not!”
It was an old bone of contention between them but his father had taken it up with renewed energy of late.
“Of course, I believe in the separation of the classes, but you are taking it too far, Father. Relationships cannot be calculated to engineer pure bloodlines at the expense of people’s real feelings.”
“Bosh! Of course they can. What do you think the royal family has been doing for generations? Exactly that.”
“And marital felicity is sacrificed. A heavy price! Cannot merely socializing with those of your own class bring about happy unions? Such manipulation of matrimony on the basis of wealth, power, and blood can only lead to misery. What is the purpose of life if it is not about trying to find happiness?”
“For shame, John, are you insinuating that your mother and I make each other miserable?”
“Of course not, Father. But it is a happy accident that you are contented now. Can you honestly say that at the beginning of your marriage it was so?”
His father paused to drink from the tumbler on the table at his side.
“You see, your hesitation is tantamount to a confession! You and mother are fortunate to have been able to carve out some degree of satisfaction from an arranged marriage. Can you say that all your friends have been so lucky?”
“That is beside the point. Purity of the bloodlines is essential to maintain Britain’s position as the driving force of the whole world. Would you have us lose that title to the likes of the French or the Prussians?”
“So, your position is that the only way to maintain our standing in the world is to arrange marriages for all the gentry in England, thus forfeiting their desires and inclinations? I cannot agree, sir!”
“That is the problem with your generation—no sense of duty. My generation, we knew what was expected of us and we did not shrink. No, sir, we did not! We have made this country great. Country before self; that is our motto. If I were Francesca’s father I would guide her into the right houses and be very careful of the company she kept.”
“Father, I will not force my daughter to marry someone she does not like. I was fortunate that Emily was both compatible and of a high-ranking family. I truly loved her before our marriage. I feel most fortunate that there were no machinations—”
His father laughed, “Ha! You think there were no machinations! Do you know your mother? She schemed and plotted for a full year to ensure a meeting between you and Emily.”
John raised his eyebrows in surprise but merely said, “Then I was most fortunate that I was a willing pawn in her schemes. How would it have gone if I had not liked her? Would you have insisted, then?”
“The past is the past, and it has all worked out and kept our bloodline a remarkable shade of blue. Let us not argue about it.”
John looked out the window, his jaws clenched. “I refuse to force anyone upon Francesca, Father, and I would appreciate it if you would not meddle either.” John was quickly losing patience, and rather than precipitate a falling out with his father, he continued, “I must go and see to the horses. If you will excuse me, Father.”
As he hastened through the door and out into the grounds, he thought about his father’s admission. Had his mother really engineered his meeting with Emily so that he would be marrying her choice? Had his parents actually discussed the options and decided that Emily, with her fortune and breeding, was the perfect match to ensure a pure bloodline and transfer of wealth? He shuddered at the thought.
He remembered clearly the day he had met Emily. He had thought it was by chance, but given his father’s statement, it appeared to have been the result of a carefully crafted plan. He felt sick to his stomach. How fortunate for all concerned that he and Emily had been instantly attracted to each other. Her family’s position and wealth meant that she could marry for love and not for more practical concerns.
He arrived at the stables and instructed the servant boy to ready his horse. He felt a great need to run off his fury with his father’s old-fashioned and harmful philosophies.
As he galloped through the estate, he reflected again on the first time he had had met Emily. He had not considered himself ready for marriage and had attended that dinner with his parents at their particular request. Upon their arrival, they had been welcomed by their hosts, slight acquaintances of his parents, and visited with them while awaiting the dinner gong. He remembered that he had had his back to the door and as it opened the hostess had said, “Ah, here is my niece, Miss Emily Davenport, lately arrived from Surrey for a visit.”
He recollected how his world had been instantly thrown into sharper focus as he had set eyes upon the most lovely young woman he had ever beheld. Their eyes had met and held, improper on a first acquaintance. Her power to command his attention was like a magnet, and he was unable to drag his gaze away until the hostess had coughed in distress at the awkward situation and broken the spell.
As he moved and severed the electric connection, he became aware of his every breath, every blink of his eyes, every pulse of his heart. He risked a look again at Emily, and it appeared as though she were bathed in a spotlight, everything surrounding her blurry in contrast. He imagined this disorientation must be what it felt like to be struck by lightning, only this was a lightning that filled him with awe, not pain. It was like an injection of pure spiritual enlightenment.
Emily, he noticed, had skin like porcelain and high cheekbones. Her nose, though delicate and feminine, had a slight bump on the bridge, which, rather than detracting from her beauty, lent her countenance some charming character. But it was her eyes and hair that hypnotized him. Her almond eyes were of an arresting, vibrant blue whose equal could only be found in nature and were emphasized by the contrast to her ebony, gleaming hair. As she spoke to the guests, her fine eyebrows arched playfully and he stopped breathing.
His mother approached as he continued to stare in utter admiration, and she tactfully asked if he would help her into a chair. He transferred his gaze to his mother, trying to register the words that came from her mouth, but his mind was totally engaged by Emily’s radiance, and she had to repeat the question before he recovered himself and assisted her to a chair.
At dinner, he was delighted to find himself seated next to Emily and was gratified to learn that she was not an empty shell, as so many refined, young ladies were, but that she had a sense of humor and a keen intelligence. As they talked, every movement of her slender fingers sent thrills through him, each turn of her graceful neck was poetry. He was bewitched both body and soul. In truth, he knew from that very night that she was the woman he wanted to make a life with and that to continue living without her would be misery.
To discover that this seemingly natural course of events was actually the result of a scheme of his mother left him feeling outraged. How fortunate for him that he had loved their choice.
His thoughts turned to his daughter. He had seen the wretchedness of other people’s children who had been forced to marry against their own hearts but in their parents’ interests. They led separate lives in hollow mansions, only eating together for appearances. He would never impose such a life upon his daughter for the approval of society. Indeed, he rejected a society that sacrificed its children upon the altar of power, money, or title. Deep love and true companionship were his own lucky lot and he wanted that and more for his beloved Francesca.
He looked up to see that he had ridden further than he had intended and turned the horse around so as not to be late for dinner. The hard ride had succeeded in blowing away the majority of his anger, and he headed for home, subdued.
T
“He is intent on allowing Francesca to make her own choice,” said Lord Haversham.
“Indeed, that is unfortunate,” said Lady Augusta. “You have placed us in a position that will necessitate that we take action to ensure the continued well-being of our estate. John and Emily have sufficient resources for their own needs from Emily’s dowry, but it is not ample enough for both houses.
“We must act! Our standing in society may depend upon it! I would rather die than be snubbed by our friends. Do you know how long it has taken me to rise to the top? The shame of a fall from grace would kill me. I have orchestrated the social ruin of many who tried to climb the social ladder without the proper qualifications. They would delight in my fall. I could not bear to be mocked and sneered at by them. The humiliation would not be borne.” Augusta huffed and turned away.
“This is your fault, John!” she suddenly cried, whirling back to point at him. “We will have to move abroad if we do not do something to save ourselves!”
Her eyes shone with tears, and her husband came to lay his hand upon her shoulder. She shook it off as if it were a hot coal.
“Augusta, I know the stakes are high, believe me! All is not lost. We will maneuver some more, and all will end as it should.”
“Will it, John? If things are as bad as they say in America … I cannot, I will not, live with the shame and degradation of bankruptcy.”
“The journalists are exaggerating the situation. They write shocking headlines to sell more papers. I will write to my plantation manager and you will see that is not as bad as they would have us believe.”
“That does not help our lack of funds here! Surely you have not really plowed all our available cash into the scheme?”
“It was necessary to shore up the operation. It is just a temporary setback. I have things in hand, and as soon as the next crop is harvested, the money will flow back into our coffers.” He placed his hand back on his wife’s shoulder, and this time she did not shrug it away. “In the meantime, if we can tap into the Ashbournes’ fortune, our immediate needs can be relieved. Our plan is already in motion and moving forward satisfactorily. Francesca seemed to be captivated at the ball, so I arranged that Langley be invited to Annabelle’s picnic. Furthermore, I believe Francesca is to make a journey to Brighton with one of her mother’s sisters, perhaps a little bird can suggest he make a visit there too. Our darling granddaughter will surely marry our choice but believe it to be her own. We have succeeded before. I have no doubt we shall succeed again!”
Nine
UV
ITALY
Giorgio pushed his hands through his white hair in desperation. Every lead led to a dead end. He had spent a great deal of time and many resources attempting to run down each piece of new information only to find an impenetrable wall at the end of every journey.
Unfortunately, the man he had just left, Antonio, had shown genuine astonishment that Isabella had had a child. No one was that good an actor. He smiled as he imagined the thoughts that would now be running through Antonio’s mind. A lonely man had just discovered he was a father. His experience would somewhat mirror his own, he surmised.
He explored his memories to see if he had any recollection of Antonio as a youth, but alas, he did not. As the master of a vast estate, he was not in the habit of associating with stable boys.
Antonio was a fine-looking man now; lithe, muscular, handsome, and energetic. He could well suppose that as a youth he had been very appealing. A definite
temptation for a beautiful young woman whose father did not give her enough attention. He felt a stab of remorse. Oh, that he could relive that summer and be a better father. She had deserved more. Regrets such as these were like specters that haunted his days.
He wiped his face with his hand, pulled his leather pouch around, and opened it. The next name on his list was the Contessa Tomaselli of Rome, the former Allessandra Angeloni. He sent up an urgent prayer that the contessa would at last hold a key to his grandchild’s whereabouts.
T
The Villa Tomaselli was a grand affair with its Grecian architecture and landscaped gardens. He was welcomed at the door by an officious looking maggiordomo who looked irritated that Giorgio had not sent word in advance of his arrival.
“I can easily find lodging nearby and return tomorrow if it is more convenient,” wheezed Giorgio.
“That might be preferable, Signore. The contessa is very busy and involved in many charities. Send me word of your lodging, and I will send a messenger to tell you when she will be available.”
Giorgio nodded slowly and turned to leave, the very image of a downtrodden man. Serendipitously, a door just adjacent to the top of the grand staircase opened, and a woman holding a small white dog exited and glanced down the steps. At the pitiful figure Giorgio portrayed, her curiosity was piqued, and she sent a maid to discover the gentleman’s identity.
As Giorgio was about to enter his carriage, the maid ran out of the villa and importuned him to return and tell his business. With renewed hope, he slowly stepped down from the carriage steps and made his way, leaning heavily on his cane.