Sattler, Veronica (56 page)

Megan
grinned and nodded while Patrick completed the introductions. At Ashleigh's
request, he'd made no mention in his brief note to their hostess of her
marriage or relationship to Brett, agreeing that the proper time for imparting
that information must be carefully thought out and done only in person;
therefore she was for now, as the steward's announcement had indicated, merely
Ashleigh Sinclair. He did at this time, however, include the information that
Megan was his fiancée, and when she heard this, Maria reached up to give the
young Irishwoman a delighted hug.

"Oh,
what wonderful news!" she cried. "I cannot wait to hear all the
details." Then she turned again to Ashleigh, her expression more serious.
"And the specifics of your situation, too,
cara.
I realize
Patrick's note had to be brief, but if you think I shall last much longer
wondering what has been happening in your life all these years, think again!

"But
come, you must all be quite travel weary by now. I'll have Enrico show you to
your chambers where you can rest and freshen up. We'll meet before dinner on
the west veranda, and I warn you," she added, brandishing a wagging finger
good-naturedly at them, "I shan't be content until I've heard every
detail."

* * * * *

A
few hours later the
contessa
and her three guests were sitting in
comfortable chairs on a spacious veranda that gave them a breathtaking view of
the darkening sea. They sipped a light, refreshing wine from heavy,
jewel-encrusted silver goblets that, Maria had just finished explaining, were
part of a wealth of Montefiori family heirlooms she'd inherited, along with
three villas and hundreds of acres of vineyards, from her husband, who had died
five years earlier.

Patrick
nodded thoughtfully. "That explains it, then. I was wondering why the
villagers we spoke to made reference only to
la villa della contessa.
My
Italian may be poor, but I knew I'd caught no mention of
il conte.
I'm
so sorry, Maria. How did it happen?"

Maria
shrugged, but there was a sad, faraway look in her eyes as she replied.
"The war. Gregorio was not a young man, but, as you know, Napoleon's rape
of Europe included an obsession to populate the thrones of the Italian
peninsula with his relatives. My husband's family owned extensive properties
all over Italy, not just here in the north, and when he tried to come to the
aid of one of his mother's cousins who was about to lose his lands to the
French..." She shrugged again, as if unwilling to go into details that
were painful to her.

"But
we had a number of good years together, Gregorio and I. Our only regret was
that they were childless." All at once a sparkle heightened the turquoise
flecks in her eyes. "Of course, in the years since Gregorio passed on,
I've done something to fill that emptiness... but look," she added more
briskly, "enough talk about me for now. It is you I wish to hear about.
Start from the beginning, my children, and tell me, won't you?"

And
so, with Patrick initially doing most of the talking, they told her of the odd
quirks of fate that had kept brother and sister separated for so many years,
beginning with the events following the fire and proceeding through his years in
America and his recent arrival in England.

Maria
made appropriate murmurs of regret and surprise as she listened attentively,
but when the tale wound down to include the account of Patrick and Ashleigh's
incredible reunion, her astonishment rendered her speechless for several long
moments.

When
at last she could speak, Maria's face was white with shock.
"Brett
did
such a thing?" Her eyes closed, and the slender white hand that held her
wine goblet began to tremble so violently, she had to set it down.

The
three across from her exchanged serious glances before Ashleigh reached across
the little tea table separating them and took Maria's hand.

"Please,
contessa,"
she said softly, "you must not judge him too
harshly. You see—" Ashleigh paused, searching for the right words
"—Brett has been living under a great burden these many years. It—it has
to do, I think, with the old duke... with the way his grandfather raised
him...."

Not
really intending to do so, but somehow feeling she must, Ashleigh proceeded to
open up completely to this warm woman before her, for she knew that the former
Mary Westmont and she shared a great burden of their own, a burden that came of
loving the man they spoke of while he shunned that love because of things
Ashleigh could only guess at, but which she knew might come to clearer light
now that the two of them could talk.

Slowly,
reluctant to omit a nuance of detail that might help to explain how it came to
be, she told her of her first meeting with Brett, then of the strange
arrangement she and Megan had entered into with him, of her months at
Ravensford Hall, and finally, their bizarre marriage and its bitter aftermath.
Through it all, Maria's eyes never left her face, and at times, Ashleigh could
swear the emotions she read there were her own.

And
when Ashleigh at last finished, with a hesitant explanation of her discovery
that she was with child, tears ran freely down Maria's cheeks. "Oh, my
dear child," she whispered hoarsely, "to think that the poisoning
that began to infect us all so long ago has now come to touch you, too! And my
beloved Brett..." Wearily, she shook her head, then accepted the linen
handkerchief Patrick handed her with a sad, grateful little smile. When she had
blotted her wet cheeks, her eyes again found Ashleigh's.

"You
love him, don't you, child?"

Choking
back a sob, Ashleigh merely nodded, but Patrick's incredulous voice broke the
silence.

"Then,
Ashleigh, why, in the name of Heaven, if you love him, wouldn't you let
me—"

"Caro,
dear
Patrick," Maria interrupted gently, "do you really need to ask?
Certainly you never questioned me as to why I left without trying harder to
reach Brett's father."

"But
that was different!"

"No,
my dear, it was not," Maria said softly. "Oh, I may not have been
carrying my husband's child, but the one I was forced to leave behind was every
bit as great a tie."

Ashleigh's
heart twisted with pain at the brief, haunted look she caught in Maria's eyes.

"But,"
Maria continued, "we were both unable to remain with a husband we loved in
the face of the irrational anger, and perhaps, even hatred, that each felt as a
result of—" here the
contessa's
eyes hardened, and her lips became
a grim line that reminded Ashleigh of Brett in a similar emotional state
"—of an evil poison that insinuated itself into the lives of the occupants
of Ravensford Hall."

Patrick
leaned forward to speak, but Megan's voice came more quickly. "Ye've
spoken o' this poison more than once, now, m'lady. Would it be the
grandfather's doin's ye're meanin'?"

Maria's
look was still grim. "Him, of course I can blame, the poor, twisted fool,
but I must tell you that I have always felt there was something more pernicious
at work... or some...
one
." She glanced at Patrick. "I recall
you met the old man a couple of times. Whatever you may have thought of him,
did he ever strike you as one who was underhanded or would operate by stealth
and deceit?"

Patrick
shook his head, his answer a flat "No."

Maria
nodded. "For all his narrow-mindedness and other failings, John Westmont
was open and direct in his dealings. He may have been intolerant of my foreign
heritage and liberated ideas that he termed 'bluestocking nonsense,' but the
duke would never have stooped to planting those letters among my possessions,
letters that couldn't fail to be discovered by his son—
letters pointing to
my nonexistent infidelities!"

Megan
lowered the wine goblet she'd raised to her lips, her eyes narrowed. "Then
who—?"

"A
good question," Maria replied. "I've gone over it a thousand times in
my mind. Who would stand to benefit if—"

At
that moment there was a clattering noise, followed by the sounds of several
pairs of light, running feet coming from the chamber that opened onto the
veranda, and as the four turned to look, several small figures appeared near
the arched doorway.

"Scusa,
Signora Contessa,"
said a small boy whose face was framed by a wealth
of glossy black curls. Then the child's huge brown eyes fell on the guests; he
turned silent with a look of shy embarrassment.

"Antonio."
Maria smiled; then, glancing beyond the boy, who looked to be about five or
six, she grinned, saying, "Very well, Anna, Vittorio, the rest of you... I
see you, and you may come forth. My guests won't bite, but I warn you, to avoid
seeming rude, you must speak to us in English."

Slowly,
the boy Antonio edged forward onto the veranda, followed carefully by five
other children of similar age or younger, until all six were standing in a neat
row in front of Maria and her guests.

Out
of the corner of her eye Ashleigh noted the faint looks of curiosity on Megan's
and Patrick's faces as they beheld the crutches and limping movements of a few
of the youngsters, but she, of course, was not surprised at what they saw;
these were some of the children she had already seen on the beach. She did
glance at her hostess with a look of anticipation, however, for she was eager
for an explanation as to the identities of the children and how they fit into
Maria's life.

"Your
Grace," said Maria, turning to Ashleigh as she rose from her seat; then,
to Megan and Patrick, "Sir Patrick, Miss O'Brien, allow me to present to
you some of my children: Antonio, Anna, Salvatore, Gina, Vittorio and
Palmina."

The
three adults rose and smiled at the children when their own titled names were
mentioned, and as Maria pronounced each child's name, the youngster bowed or
curtsied formally with solemn eyes fixed on the
contessa's
guests.

"Children,"
Maria continued in slow, carefully articulated English, "This is Her
Grace, the duchess of Westmont—" Maria gestured at Ashleigh "—her good
friend, Miss Megan O'Brien—" she smiled at Megan "—and Her Grace's
brother, Sir Patrick St. Clare." She gave Patrick a smile.

Ashleigh
and Megan continued smiling at the children, utterly charmed by their serious
little faces and wondering eyes, but when he was formally introduced by name,
Patrick stepped forward and graciously shook the hand of each boy while
bestowing a courtly kiss on the shyly offered hands of the three young girls.
The last, an auburn-haired waif of about six, blushed furiously when her turn
came, and this produced muffled giggles from her two female companions.

"So,"
said Maria with a twinkle in her eye, "the six of you couldn't wait to
meet our guests, unlike your more patient brothers and sisters, eh? Very well,
my darlings, I forgive you. To be very honest, I must admit, had I been in your
place, I should have found it difficult to wait also."

At
this, all six youngsters grinned at Maria with unabashed relief, if not
delight.

"But
now," Maria continued, "I must ask you to go upstairs with the
others, to dine and prepare for bed. Then, when our guests and I have finished
our dinner, you may come down, along with the others, to say good-night in the
drawing room.
Capite?"

Nodding
and still grinning, the children turned, and with Vittorio and Gina grasping
their crutches, began to file out.

When
they had gone, Maria turned to her guests. "I can tell by your faces you
are anxious to learn about my children. It should make for a good beginning to
our dinner conversation, I think, and since dinner is about to be
served..." She glanced at the doorway where a white-jacketed Enrico had
silently appeared. "I suggest we proceed."

With
a warm smile, she took Ashleigh's arm, leaving Patrick to escort Megan, as she
followed her steward into the house.

* * * * *

In
the large and sumptuous dining room with its rich, Renaissance furnishings that
fed the eye as well as the appetite, Maria told them about "my
children," as she called them. But the youngsters were neither naturally
nor legally hers; they were orphans, largely foundlings who had been in the
care of a local orphanage run by sisters of the church. But the nuns had
encountered difficulties in caring for the increasing numbers of homeless
children created by the war in Europe in recent years—something Maria and the
conte
had been aware of even before he died, owing to their philanthropic support
of various charitable institutions across the Italian boot.

When
Gregorio died, Maria went to the Convent of the Little Flower's orphanage,
thinking to offer her time as well as her money to help care for the children.
But when she arrived, her shock at the crowded conditions and paucity of
helping hands was matched only by the pity she felt for the children there,
especially those who were handicapped because of the war's atrocities, or who
had been born handicapped—and frequently dumped on the sisters' doorstep
because, as such, they were unwanted. These were the little ones, she was told,
who would never appeal to the rare couple seeking to adopt a child; these were
the ones destined, for certain, to spend the rest of their childhood days in an
institution—the ones nobody wanted.