Sattler, Veronica (55 page)

So
for many weeks their little party had waited aboard Patrick's schooner as it
remained anchored in one hidden cove or another along the English coast, even
then traveling only at night from one clandestine port to the next when threats
of discovery forced them to move.

But
a little less than a fortnight ago, when Ashleigh's recurring queasiness upon
awakening each morning, coupled with her admission, under Megan's gentle
questioning, that she'd missed her monthly flux for the second time, made it
clear she was pregnant, Patrick had determined they could wait for safe passage
to America no longer. After learning of her condition he had at first tried to
convince her to return to her husband, but when this proved fruitless, he'd
devised a second alternative to that of sailing to his home in Virginia.

"We'll
fly a false flag," he'd said. "Dutch or Belgian, I should think, and
then make our way carefully south, keeping to the coastline once we've crossed
to France. It's risky, but not as dangerous as braving the open sea."

And
when Ashleigh and Megan questioned him on their ultimate destination, he'd
shown them a letter he'd received from the little seacoast town of Livorno, off
the coast of Tuscany—a place the English referred to as the Leghorn—and told
them the incredible story of the woman who'd sent it, a woman named Maria,
Contessa di Montefiori—the former Mary Westmont and Brett Westmont's mother!

Now,
as she sat in the carriage awaiting word as to whether they would, indeed, find
a welcome at the contessa's villa, as the letter had said, Ashleigh felt a
curious mixture of emotions disturb her calm, though she'd hardly been calm
very often these past weeks. Oh, she'd long since ceased weeping as she had in the
cabin she shared with Megan aboard the
Ashleigh Anne
during those first
depressing days away from London. In fact, if she concentrated very hard, she
could even assume a cheerful mien most days.

But
the nights were a different matter. Even after she reached the point where she
felt she could cry no more, there was a deep and abiding melancholy that would
come to her late at night when everything was still and she would lie in the darkness,
listening to the gentle lapping of the waves against the hull of the ship that
bore her name. It was during those times that she would fight sleep, knowing it
could only bring dreams of a pair of turquoise eyes and visions of warm,
enfolding arms that faded and mocked her when she awoke alone in her narrow
bunk.

And
then there was the mingling joy and pain she'd felt at learning she carried a
child—
his
child! She felt joy just thinking of the tiny life growing
inside her, and joy, too, together with a humble sense of participation in
sharing in the wonderful, mysterious process of bringing a brand-new human into
the world.

But
knowing the child would forever be a link between her and the father she'd
never see again was a joy steeped in pain. And she knew this would always leave
her less than whole in the years to come; a part of her would be forever tied
to Brett—the part that was her heart.

The
wind changed, and a brisk breeze from the water allowed Ashleigh to put aside
her fan. Leaning around the nodding form of the carriage's driver, she peered
down the pebbled road in hopes of spying Megan and Patrick returning.
Now
there,
she thought,
is something else to be joyful about.
No one
could have been more delightfully surprised than she, to learn of the love that
had sprung up between her brother and her closest friend. Megan and Patrick
planned to marry soon, and it was the joy she felt in their happiness that had
made her determined to bury her own sadness, at least when they were about.

Finding
the road ahead still empty, Ashleigh sighed and leaned back on the carriage's
seat while her thoughts returned to Brett.
He must truly hate me now,
she
thought sadly.
But what choice did I have, other than to leave? His mind was
made up on the matter of the divorce, and even if it weren't, there were still
the doubts about his ability to be faithful... or care for me, as I have come
to care for him....

Uneasily,
her thoughts swung to her own feelings for him. She wondered how it was that
she'd grown to love Brett Westmont. After all, they had known each other only
under the most trying of circumstances, and not for all that long a time. And
for a great part of that time he'd made himself known to be arrogant,
ill-tempered, unreasonable, and, when angered, fierce and ruthless as well. But
he'd also shown himself to be generous beyond measure when others in his
position might not have been, and he was honorable, too. Moreover, he wasn't
afraid of admitting he'd made a mistake. Despite her and Megan's doubts at the
time, he'd truly been willing to make amends when he came to Hampton House and
offered her honorable employment and a chance for a better life.

And
he could be gentle and kind. Spontaneously, Ashleigh's lips curled into a
wistful smile as she recalled the day he'd come upon her in the meadow and the
happy hours they'd shared with the animals there. He'd been a different person
then, full of laughter and the capacity to enjoy life without the rancor and
bitterness she knew lurked beneath that suave surface.

Also,
Patrick had told her things about him that verified other characteristics she'd
sensed but hadn't actually observed outright. During the week before the
wedding, her brother had spoken of the time they'd been youths together,
telling her of Brett's limitless capacity for hard work, of his incisive
intelligence and ability to think quickly and act upon it when the situation
called for it, and of his unflinching attention to duty. And he was fiercely
loyal to those he deemed worthy of such loyalty, frequently going out of his
way to support his friends, even if their station in life was far beneath his.
There was the time he'd cut short a potentially profitable trading voyage to
appear before the bench to testify on behalf of a former second mate who'd been
accused of murder, Brett bearing witness to the fact that the man had been with
him in another port when the deed was done. And the time he'd visited the widow
of one of his sailors who'd died at sea and, learning the woman was destitute,
had set up a lifetime trust for the support of her and her three children.

Yes,
despite his faults, Brett was all of these things—generous, honorable, kind,
diligent, loyal—and in his arms she had found a heaven she hadn't dreamed—

Abruptly,
Ashleigh cut her summation short as she felt tears threaten her eyes.
No,
she
told herself firmly.
You're not going to cry again—you're not! It can't help
you, and it won't help the child.... There, focus on that. It's the child who's
important now... you must think of the child....

Finding
some measure of peace with these thoughts, she turned her eyes again toward the
beach and noticed the tall woman was collecting her charges, helping them dry
their well-browned little bodies with some toweling she'd brought along, and
urging them cheerily up the path to the road. A few moments later their small
band was marching happily in the direction from which they'd come while the
woman led them in a brisk, melodic little song.

As
they passed, not too far from where the carriage stood, the woman waved at
Ashleigh and gave her a warm, sunny smile, while continuing her song. Several
of the children followed suit, and Ashleigh smiled happily as she waved back at
them.

When
they had gone, she found herself humming to herself the gay little tune they'd
sung, and she suddenly realized she hadn't felt this lighthearted in weeks.
Then, a short time later, when Megan and Patrick returned to tell her they'd
spoken with the contessa's steward—for the lady was out for the afternoon—and
Maria had left word she was anxious, after receiving the note they'd sent
ahead, to welcome them to her home, Ashleigh began to truly relax for the first
time since she'd left London, or perhaps even before that. Italy, with its blue
skies and sunny coastline, even this late in the year, might not prove such a
bad place in which to spend some time... time in which to set her life aright
and gain a foothold in the future, whatever that might bring.

* * * * *

Ashleigh's
first impression of the cool white stucco Villa Montefiori was that it seemed
to exist chiefly as a backdrop for a profusion of flowers. There were colorful
blossoms everywhere she looked—along the drive of crushed, sun-bleached
seashells, in a riot of color among the terraced gardens, dripping lavishly
over low stone walls, nestled against the open verandas attached to the lower
levels of the house. Her eye was filled with a palette of lush florals, and the
air was heavy with their scent. The house itself was a testament to airiness
and simplicity despite its large size. In addition to the open verandas, there
were galleries—or loggia, as she later learned to call them—on the second
level, roofed with flat, bracketed eaves and partly enclosed. The asymmetrical
arrangement of numerous large, rounded windows and doorways seemed designed to
let in the maximum of sunlight and air. Flat-roofed, except for a soaring,
off-center tower, the structure appeared to nestle snugly into the hillside on
which it was built, and the overall effect was one of inviting coziness, light,
grace and charm.

The
steward met them at the double-arched doors that faced a large,
flower-surrounded courtyard; he quickly ascertained from Patrick when he might
be expecting the arrival of their baggage from the ship, and led them inside.
The cool marble-floored entry hall was richly decorated in the Italian
Renaissance style, from its ornate blue and gilt ceiling to its beautifully
muraled walls. Several doorways led off either side of it, and they were shown
through the first on their right.

"Signore
Santa Clara,"
the
staid, white-haired steward announced,
"e Signorina Santa Clara, e
Signorina O'Briani."

A
warm, throaty chuckle emanated from across the large drawing room as a tall,
slender, and beautifully gowned woman stepped toward them. "Enrico and I
must really work on his English one of these days," she said, laughing,
then held out her arms in welcome. "Patrick, my dear, how wonderful!"

Patrick
rushed forward and without so much as a second's hesitation, swept the
immaculately groomed woman into a smothering bear hug. "Maria!" he
shouted. "My God, but you're a sight to make these sore eyes smile!"

Ashleigh
and Megan exchanged horrified glances at this obvious breach of protocol on
Patrick's part; after all, the woman
was
a
contessa!
But Maria's
response of delighted laughter—muffled as it was by the smothering embrace—
quickly wiped the alarm from their faces.

"But,
here, let me look at you," said Maria, at last freed from the hug and
holding Patrick at arm's length. "Merciful Heavens! You've grown even
bigger than you were!" she laughed.

"And
you've changed not a bit—" Patrick grinned "—except, perhaps, you've
grown more beautiful than I remember."

"Adulatore!"
the
contessa
chastised playfully. She lightly touched gracefully slender,
beringed fingers to a wing of silver hair that swept away from her temple.
"Here alone is a change to remind us of how much time has passed in this
woman's life."

"Still,
I'm not the flatterer you called me," returned Patrick as he turned and
led her toward where Ashleigh and Megan waited. "Some women simply age
well, improving with it, like a fine wine. But come, I want you to meet my
ladies before I'm accused of lacking manners as well as honesty." He
winked down at his hostess as he said this.

But,
as they drew nearer, the
contessa
paused as her turquoise-flecked hazel
eyes found Ashleigh's. She was silent for a long moment, then smiled and said
softly, "Ashleigh, my dear, welcome. I would know you by those wonderful
eyes, if nothing else. Had I been close enough to see them out there this
afternoon, I'd have recognized you then, you know."

Ashleigh's
lips parted silently with belated recognition. The woman on the beach! The
contessa
was the woman with those children on the beach this afternoon! Why, she'd
scarcely have believed the transformation! In place of the barefoot, casually
dressed country woman was this elegantly coiffured and begowned lady looking
every inch the noblewoman she was.

Blushing
with her astonishment, Ashleigh made a brief curtsy, murmuring, "How kind
of you to welcome us into your home,
contessa.
Thank you."

"Nonsense,
my dear," said Maria. "It is I who should be thanking you for coming
at last, to visit your old friend after all these years. And please don't be
embarrassed because you failed to place me. I've more than once been taken for
one of the peasant women when I've gone on an outing with my children."

"Your
children?"
questioned Ashleigh.

"In
a way, yes," said Maria, her voice grown a shade more serious, "but
more about that later. For now, I wish to meet this stunning redhead my steward
called Signorina O'Briani. Judging by your breathtaking coloring, my
dear," she said, looking up at Megan, "I'll wager the name's really
O'Brien, is it not?"