Sattler, Veronica (59 page)

Suddenly,
from around the corner of the veranda came the sound of a trumpet's fanfare,
and Ashleigh turned her head in anticipation. That would be Antonio, she
thought with a smile. The seven-year-old was the most musically gifted of the
youngsters, already able to play several instruments by ear— not entirely
delighting the music tutor Maria had hired to come weekly from Pisa, for
Maestro Vivianni, as he called himself, adamantly insisted Antonio learn to
read music while the boy, equally adamant, insisted he didn't need to; he could
play without it, couldn't he?

As
Ashleigh watched, a parade of children emerged from the far wall, each of them
dressed in a bright red cape and matching cap—surely stitched by Francesca and
Alessandra, Ashleigh mused, for the two older girls were deft with needle and
thread. Each child now also played a musical instrument of sorts—blocks of wood
banged together, cymbals fashioned out of pot lids, a couple of horseshoes
suspended from string handles and clanged with metal spoons—each grinning at
her as they marched to the tune of Antonio's lively trumpet and Aldo's
flute—still somewhere "offstage."

Ashleigh
grinned and clapped briefly in encouragement before drawing her cloak more
closely about her and preparing to settle back to enjoy the show. She was very
proud of these little pageants the youngsters staged; their first had been
performed at her suggestion when, after taking a group of them into Pisa to see
a performance of the commedia del l'arte in October, she had caught Antonio and
Aldo staring wistfully at the stage on their way out of the theater. That
evening she had gone to the two boys and proposed they make use of their own
talents, as well as those of the other children, to put on performances here at
the villa. Excited by the idea, twelve-year-old Aldo, a natural organizer as
well as a fairly able flutist, had taken it from there and mounted, with
Ashleigh's help, a delightful production of songs and dances to celebrate All
Saint's Day at the beginning of November. This was performed in the villa's
large drawing room, with Maria, Patrick, Megan and all of the staff a delighted
audience. In December, there were no less than three more pageants: one to
celebrate Megan and Patrick's wedding, with Salvatore and Anna costumed to
resemble a miniature bride and groom; another to celebrate the Nativity; and a
third as a surprise Christmas present for Maria, its songs telling the story of
a great queen who became the savior of all the homeless children of the world,
rescuing them from a wicked monster named La Guerra—Madame War— played
indulgently by Giovanni in a superbly ugly costume designed by Alessandra and
Francesca.

Ashleigh
settled back into the wing chair, wondering what had prompted the children to
stage a surprise for her this afternoon—she'd been told very little about it,
and for the past fortnight had been politely asked to keep away from the
playroom, which, she knew, served as a rehearsal hall these days; moreover,
when she'd chanced upon some of the children from time to time lately, there'd
been much buzzing and whispering that fell to silence as she drew near.

Suddenly
Ashleigh leaned forward, her jaw agape as the full ensemble came into view.
There, in a pony cart being drawn, ever so stoically, by a red-harnessed
Finn—who wore an expression that asked: How do I get myself into these
things?—sat Lady Dimples, once again decked out in human finery. On her head
she wore a huge red hat covered with paper roses of the same hue; draped over
her shoulders was a scarlet cape that resembled those the children wore, except
hers was festooned with ropes of more red paper roses; clamped firmly in her
mouth was a real rose, obviously plucked from the small conservatory Maria kept
at the back of the villa. And as the children began to sing a song about
"the beautiful lady of the roses," the pig's jaws spread slightly,
and Ashleigh could have sworn she was grinning! Moreover the song was a highly
lyrical one, with a strong, rhythmical beat, and as the youngsters threw
themselves into the refrain with no small amount of gusto, the porker's
bonneted head began to sway back and forth to the music.

Ashleigh
could stand it no longer; bending over as far as her distended stomach would
allow, she broke into howls of laughter, tears streaming down her cheeks. It
was all too, too much!—the children grinning openly as they sang the laudatory lyrics,
the giant dog standing before the cart in a long-suffering pose, the preening
pig with a rose between her teeth, gazing about with a dignified air as she
moved her head to and fro.

Soon
shrieks of laughter joined Ashleigh's as Maria emerged from the end of the
veranda, her tall frame bent nearly double with mirth. Behind her came old
Giovanni, trying hard to appear serious, but failing as his white mustache
twitched with half-contained amusement, then curved above lips that gave way to
hoots of delight.

The
song ended, but the laughter continued to reverberate from the rafters as
giggling youngsters joined the adults. Three or four house servants came
running to discover the cause of all this commotion, and when they saw the
little tableau with the costumed pet in its center, their laughter drowned out
that of the others until all, adults and children alike, were propping
themselves up on one another's shoulders, howling with merriment.

When
at last the laughter died down, Ashleigh ran forward and bestowed a hug on each
child, murmuring,
"Grazie, grazie!
Oh, you were wonderful—just
wonderful!" She gave Finn a hug, too, after that, and for the first time
the big dog looked as if he were enjoying himself. Finally she approached the
cart, reaching out to give Lady Dimples an approving pat, but when she did
this, the pig forestalled the action by dropping the rose at her feet with a
happy grunt. Then, as everyone cheered, Lady Dimples turned and accepted a
sweetmeat from Aldo before the entire troop of children broke into a chorus of
"God Save the Queen" and led the cart away.

"Oh,"
said Ashleigh to Maria as they watched the others depart, "I don't know
when I've laughed so hard!"

"You!"
Maria
chuckled. "I was invited to a dress rehearsal the other day and nearly
fell out of my chair! It's a good thing we sent you into town to select those
hair ribbons for the girls, or you'd have heard me shrieking and the whole
surprise would have been ruined."

"How
did they ever succeed in getting Lady D. to hold that rose and then drop it at
the right moment?"

"Oh,
that part was easy!" laughed Maria. "The pork chop is a natural-born
thespian, or so Giovanni claims. The hard part was getting your dog to pull the
cart. He kept looking at Aldo as if he'd been sentenced to a fate worse than
death."

"Poor
Finn." Ashleigh smiled. "He's put up with an awful lot because of
me." Her mind flew back to an image of the hound squeezed onto the floor
of a carriage as it made its escape from a house on King Street.

"I
hardly think he minds,
cara,"
said Maria, sobering. "From what
Megan told me, you saved his life, and from the way he adores you, I'd guess
he's never forgotten it." She paused for a moment, her hazel eyes meeting
Ashleigh's quietly. "You have a way with those who are weaker than the
rest of us, Ashleigh. Helpless animals, the children—who have taken to you like
a duck to water, I might add."

Ashleigh
shrugged, picking up the muff she'd left on her chair before joining Maria, who
began to walk toward the door leading into the house. "I don't do anything
special, really. I— I've always had a fondness for animals, and now, I realize,
for children as well."

"But
you are wrong,
cara
—you do a great deal that is special, beginning with
showing an open and sincere heart that pours itself out to these little ones,
and they can see it, so they blossom under its care."

Again
Ashleigh shrugged. "I... I just love them, I guess."

Pausing
at the door to the villa, Maria gave her a long, compassionate look. "So
much love to give, and my insufferable son sits in London and—ah, forgive me,
cara.
Sometimes I talk too much." There was another pause, then Maria
reached out to give Ashleigh an embrace. "You are going to make a
wonderful mother, my darling."

Ashleigh
hugged her back. "That's mainly because I'm taking daily lessons—from
you."

Maria's
warm laughter spilled about their shoulders.
"Adulatrice!"
she
scolded. "But come, if there is any decent mothering instinct in me, I'd
best get you inside, out of the cold. We must think of your health—and that of
your
bambino!"

Arm
in arm, the two women entered the house.

Maria's
steward knocked on the door to her study, entering when the
contessa
called
out for him to do so.

"Yes,
Enrico?"

"Contessa,
he
is here," the steward told her, "the gentleman who sent the letter
this morning. Shall I show him in?"

Maria
froze for an instant, then forced herself to appear at ease as she nodded.
"Give me a few minutes, Enrico. Then admit him to the small drawing room.
I shall be there."

Maria
watched the steward withdraw, then rose slowly from her desk. So it had finally
come. The moment she had dreamed of, all these years. She would see her son
again.

But
the meeting would not be as she had imagined it countless times in the past;
far from it. For one thing, she was certain Brett had no idea who she was.
"Dear Contessa di Montefiori," the formal letter had read, "I
have reason to believe you entertain as a guest in your home someone I have
been searching for, for some time. I should like your leave to call upon you
this afternoon to discuss the matter. If this will not cause you any undue
inconvenience, please send word to my ship...."

Of
course, it was not as if she hadn't been expecting it. She had as much as
warned Ashleigh to be prepared in case Brett showed up. But that was months
ago, when the possibility seemed to loom only in the distant future; now here
it was, nearly the end of February; the situation was at hand, and she was not
at all sure she was prepared for it herself.

After
the letter—which was signed, "Your servant, Brett Westmont, Duke of
Ravensford"—arrived this morning, delivered by a seaman from Brett's
vessel, which was docked in the harbor, she had taken immediate steps to
protect Ashleigh's privacy by sending her on an outing with the children; it
being a lovely, warm day, this had posed no problem, and then she had alerted
Megan and Patrick, who accompanied her.

So
she was free to face him alone; she could gauge his mood and weigh his reasons,
even test his intentions before deciding whether a confrontation between him
and his wife might take place. And, she had to be honest, it would also allow
her a few precious moments to view her son in terms of her own emotional
attachment.

Looking
down at her hand as it rested on her desk, she saw that it was trembling.
Summoning her will, she thrust it into the folds of her amber silk skirt and
moved toward the door. As she left the study and walked toward the drawing
room, Maria only hoped she had sufficient strength—and the wisdom—to carry it
all off.

He
came through the door Enrico held open for him and paused for a moment as Maria
turned from the window where she'd been standing, nodded to dismiss her steward
and then met his gaze.

Oh,
how much like Edward he looks!
she thought.
Despite the chestnut
hair he has from me, and, of course, those wonderful turquoise eyes! But his
mouth, too, is more like mine than Edward's, which was weak and never bore such
a determined line.
Oh, Brett, my son! How beautiful and manly you have
grown!
And how I long to run to you and—

Maria
schooled her features to reflect none of these thoughts, firmly clamping down
the emotions that, just for a second, threatened to rage; she smiled, saying,
"Your Grace, do come in. I have been expecting you."

During
the pause before she spoke, Brett had time to assess the beautiful woman before
him. She was younger than he'd assumed her to be, this wealthy widow of a
highly placed Italian nobleman, although, as he looked more closely, he
realized she appeared of an indeterminate age. Her face, with its excellent
bone structure, was the sort that would age well; unlined and with a beautiful
complexion, it could have been the visage of a woman close to his own age, and
only the dramatic wings of silver in her otherwise dark chestnut hair indicated
she was probably somewhat older.

And
then, as she moved forward to greet him, he noticed her eyes. Of a most unusual
hazel hue, flecked with gold and turquoise, they were eyes that had seen a
great deal, he knew. These were the eyes of a woman who had experienced a gamut
of human emotions; their serene depths reflected a familiarity with pain, and
the kind of wisdom the more enlightened of the human race are able to draw from
it; but they reflected a knowledge of joy, too, and of their owner's ability to
store its bounty, and Brett found himself strangely heartened by this
discovery, although he wondered why this should be; he'd hardly met the woman.

Meeting
her halfway across the warm, richly furnished room, Brett took her outstretched
hand and raised it to his lips. "My pleasure,
contessa,"
he
murmured. "Thank you for agreeing to see me, especially on such short
notice."