Sattler, Veronica (61 page)

Yet
she put aside her own inclinations—at least for the moment. Warm and wonderful
he might be, but her son was also still living under a heavy burden. And she
knew the key to unlocking the chains that kept it there lay largely in the
person of his wife. If Brett could be brought to come to terms with
Ashleigh—or, more to the point, Ashleigh's love—then perhaps Maria would be
free to unlock the past where mother and son were concerned. At least that was
how she saw it. She hoped she was right.

"I
suppose you've had a busy time of it," Brett was saying. "Not only do
you live with all these children, now you find yourself hostess to a menagerie
as well."

"It
has not been dull." Maria smiled.

There
it was again!
For
the third or fourth time since he'd met her, Brett was seized with the feeling
that he'd met this woman before... known her... in some distant time, perhaps,
in the past. It was especially apparent when she smiled, as she had just now,
or when she gestured in that particular way she had... those graceful hands
seeming to smooth the very air through which they moved....

"No,"
said Brett, "I don't suppose it has been dull." Suddenly he grew
thoughtful, his expression sober. "It... it's been good to hear that
Ashleigh's stay with you has been a pleasant one. That is, your stories seem to
suggest as much." He paused, as if uncertain whether to continue.
"She... has been happy here, then?"

Seeing
the hint of pain and confusion in his eyes—as if he hoped for his wife's
happiness and at the same time dreaded to hear it came because she was free of
him—Maria was convinced there was a chance for him. If he could show concern
for his wife's happiness even while being aware it could cost him his own, then
Brett had the capacity to love her. It was a start.

"Why
don't you endeavor to find that out for yourself?" she asked softly as she
indicated that luncheon was finished. "I think it's time."

As
they began to leave the dining chamber, Maria paused and looked up at him.
"There is one thing I must tell you, Your Grace, before we go to your
wife."

"Of
course," he smiled, "but only if you promise to call me Brett from
now on."

Maria's
answering smile was radiant. How she had longed to address him by the name she
herself had chosen! It had been her maternal great-grandfather's name, and
she'd succeeded in giving it to her son with great difficulty; Edward and his
father had fought her on it, even though the old man it commemorated had been
an adored favorite of hers as a tiny girl, and she'd vowed, when he died, to
name her firstborn after him.

"Brett,"
she said warmly, "as I was saying, there is one thing you should be
prepared for. Ashleigh is... changed... in at least one very important way—a
way that will be apparent to you the moment you see her."

"Oh?"
he questioned, then added with some concern, "She isn't ill, is she?
Or—"

"Oh,
no. It's nothing to be alarmed about. It's..." Maria examined his face
carefully. "It's something I think you should discover for yourself. But,
Brett?"

"Yes?"

"I...
would like you to give me your word, as a gentleman, that you will be kind to
her. She has been through a great deal, and—"

"Madam,
what do you take me for? Some kind of blackguard?" he questioned, showing
the first trace of annoyance since yesterday. "She is my wife, and I would
not be here if I thought I couldn't approach her as a gentleman."

Again,
Maria searched his face. "Yes..." she said, nodding, "I think
you mean that. But, Brett, if I may, I'd like to suggest you go even a step
further...."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning
that if your hope on this visit is to reconcile with your wife—and I think it
is—I believe you will stand a better chance of doing so if you proceed slowly
and carefully with her... almost as if you were courting her, as if you were
not yet wed. I've come to know Ashleigh quite well in these past months, and I
must tell you, she is a gentle creature, more often given to running and hiding
than facing a battle she's afraid she cannot win." Maria hid a smile at
his grim nod. "Yet I've also found your wife has a certain... quiet
strength, Brett. A wellspring of inner fortitude few suspect because it is
hidden under that delicate exterior. Seek out that strength, if you can. By
traveling a softer path, you may find it."

Brett
looked into the unusual hazel eyes and knew they mirrored a kind of hidden
strength as well... and wisdom. He was briefly taken aback. When, if ever, had
he encountered wisdom in a woman? It was a sobering thought.

"Very
well,
contessa."
He grinned. "Ah, may I call you, Maria?"

"You
may," she smiled.

"Well,
Maria, I find myself liking the sound of your advice, and I intend to take it.
God knows, it's better than anything I've been able to come up with. I only
hope I can see it through."

"You
may surprise yourself, Brett," she said softly; then, placing her hand on
his arm, she added, "Very well, sir, let us find your wife."

The
late February sunshine warmed the bricks of the veranda where Ashleigh stood,
surrounded by a dozen children. They were playing a game of tag, but not the
ordinary version of that game. The little twins, Allegra and Alissa, who were
blind, had come to her several days ago with downcast faces: they had been sad
not to be able to join in a game some of the others were playing, a game barred
to them because they could not see. That was when Ashleigh had gotten the idea
to devise a series of new twists to a variety of children's games with the idea
of making them viable for children whose handicaps might otherwise prevent them
from participating.

On
that first day she'd called the whole group of children to her and suggested
they all pretend to be blind—like Allegra and Alissa—by tying blindfolds over
their eyes and then proceeding to "hide and go seek." It had worked
beautifully. Oh, at first there had been a few bumps and bruises, but soon all
the youngsters, the twins included, were giggling and laughing as they moved
around the garden, using their senses of touch and hearing to locate the one
who had hidden.

Encouraged
by their enthusiasm, Ashleigh had gone on to design a race where all who joined
in had to bind up one leg and use crutches, like the ones who really did need
them. Soon the children themselves were thinking up new versions of old sports,
each with the idea of making the activity accessible to those who'd had to sit
it out in the past. Ashleigh was thrilled, for she began to see how these
experiments imparted a new sense of tolerance and compassion among the
youngsters. They were now eager to view the world through the eyes of those who
were different. They were learning a valuable lesson.

Ashleigh
laughed as she saw Francesca, who was deaf, signal to Antonio that his
"baby" was slipping. The "baby" was a bulky pillow,
additionally weighted with some large stones, that was tied about each child's
middle, for today was "
Il
giorno della duchessa piccola,"
or
"the little duchess's day": everyone pretended to be heavily
pregnant—like Ashleigh.

A
girlish giggle erupted behind her and, turning, Ashleigh saw Alessandra point
to Antonio, who was trying furiously to adjust his overly large pillow while
running from Aldo. "Poor Antonio," said the girl, "I think he
has given himself twins!"

Ashleigh
laughed as she returned her gaze to the seven-year-old, and then froze. There,
in the arched doorway behind Antonio, stood Maria, and at her side was Brett.

As
Maria called to the children, promising them some lemonade if they came with
her, Ashleigh kept her gaze focused on her husband. Tall and erect in the
sunlight, he was the essence of male beauty in all the ways she'd fought to
forget, and which had haunted her nightly in her dreams. He wore a formal coat
of deep blue, its expert cut emphasizing the breadth of his shoulders. Against
it, the white of his stock was dazzling in the sunlight and played dramatic
counterpoint to his handsome, chiseled face, which was deeply tanned. Dove-gray
breeches hugged his long, muscular thighs before they met high boots of shiny
black, and there was an aura of power in his stance that did not pass Ashleigh
by.

Children
rushed past her in the sunlight, calling out their goodbyes, but Ashleigh
remained, unmoving, where she stood. Just seeing him again brought back a flood
of memories, and she was helpless to fend them off... memories of Brett bending
over her hand in his drawing room, saying, "You're lovelier each time I
see you," of Brett towering over her in a small Norman church, speaking
holy vows, of Brett telling her on their wedding night, "Oh sweet,
merciful God, I cannot think for wanting you!" and, again, of Brett,
saying, "Just stay with me... be with me...."

Oh,
she loved him so much! She had never stopped loving him, but now that he had
come, that love became a searing ache that threatened to shut out all else but
the fact that he was here, and he was real, and maybe, just maybe...

Brett,
too, was unable to move as his head spun with the implications of what he saw.
She
was with child!
And not too far from her time by the looks of her. Stunned,
he heard Maria's voice coming as if from a great distance.

"Your
heir will be born in the spring, Brett. Late April or the beginning of May, my
physician thinks, although Ashleigh appears as if she may deliver sooner. It is
because she is so tiny. Well, I shall leave you now. I wish you well."

Nodding
as he felt the touch of her hand leave his arm, Brett could only stare at his
wife, unable to speak.

A
child.
She was carrying a child... his child—no...
their
child!

His
eyes traveled over her small form, still fragile looking despite the burden she
carried, and he was aware of how heart-stoppingly, achingly lovely she was.
Like
a Madonna,
he thought as his eyes devoured the contours of her face,
a
delicate, fragile Madonna.

The
last echoes of children's footsteps faded, and they were alone. A gull cried
overhead, and in the distance Ashleigh could hear the faint crashing of the
surf against Livorno's rocks.

"Hello,
Ashleigh."

"Hello...
Brett."

He
took several of those long, graceful strides she remembered so well, until he
stood a few feet in front of her. She looked up to meet the intense gaze of his
turquoise eyes.

"I
had no idea you were... with child." His voice was low, careful, while his
eyes searched hers.

"I
am well aware of that," she said, a bit more abruptly than she had
intended. "How could you have known when I did not know it myself? Until I
was well away from... London."

Put
off by her tone and annoyed to be reminded of her flight, he fired back,
"But you could have sent word, once you found out!"

She
glanced away. "To what end, Your Grace? To force you to abandon your
pursuit of a divorce merely because I carried your heir?" The words, as
they came out, were bitter, for she was remembering Margaret's face when she
had told Ashleigh she'd come to help him implement the divorce, and before
that, Elizabeth's, when
she'd
mocked Ashleigh for being so naive as to
think he wanted anything out of marriage but an heir.

Her
tone fired his anger. "Dammit, Ashleigh, I've sought no divorce! Not once,
not in all these months!"

She
paused, confused. Patrick had told her he'd questioned Brett on the status of
their marriage, and if Patrick believed him, it must be true, yet... Nervously,
she twisted the fingers of her hands together. "Then... then why did you
bring Lady Margaret to London? She said you required her help in— in effecting
your di—"

"Lady
Margaret!" he thundered. "You accepted the word of that bitter old
crone?
Knowing
how she felt about our marriage?" He ran a hand
distractedly through his hair, wondering if he were going mad. Here he was,
defending himself of charges that he'd sought a divorce, when he'd intended to
question
her
along the same lines!

Then
he looked down at her face and saw her confusion and chagrin. Dammit, he hadn't
meant
to lose his temper! Maria had been right. If he were to make any
progress here at all, it had to be through gentleness and a sensitivity to
Ashleigh's feelings.

But
it was so blasted hard! He'd never had to deal with a woman in such a manner
before.

Slowly,
tentatively, as if testing his ability to do so, he formed an apology.
"Ashleigh, I... Forgive me. I... hadn't meant to storm at you over
this." His eyes lifted to the gardens beyond the veranda, still bare of
their foliage, but showing hints of spring in red-budded expectancy. "It
is a warm day. Will you walk with me in the gardens awhile?"

The
corners of Ashleigh's mouth quirked in a half smile. She'd seen the difficulty
he had in apologizing but was surprised and warmed by it.

"I
think spring will be early this year—or perhaps it's just that we're this far
south. The gardens are full of... promise. Yes, Brett, I'd like to walk with
you."