Sattler, Veronica (62 page)

He
smiled and took her hand, about to place it on his arm, when suddenly he
paused, a look of concern on his face. "Um, will it tax you overly to do
so? I mean—" he glanced at the rounded form of her belly under the yellow
velvet of her empire-cut walking dress "—perhaps we ought to sit somewhere
instead. We can—"

Her
light laughter intervened. "Walking will be fine, Brett. I am with child,
not ill or doddering!"

He
gave her rounded shape a last, skeptical glance. "Well, if you're
sure..."

"I
am quite sure, Your Grace." She dimpled.

"If
you insist on 'Your Gracing' me, I shall 'Your Grace' you back," he
teased.

Finding
the turquoise eyes meeting hers in open warmth, Ashleigh felt a delicious
shiver run up her spine. At the same time, she realized he had not released her
hand and now held it warmly in his own. Flushing slightly, she smiled, saying,
"Then I am quite sure,
Brett."

He
laughed softly and began walking with her, their clasped hands between them.

As
they wandered through the gardens in the warm sunshine, they talked. He asked
her when she'd arrived in Italy and what she thought of her hostess—to which
she replied with abundant enthusiasm, convincing him that her impressions of
Maria were aligned with his. Then he asked her how she'd been spending her days
at the villa, at which Ashleigh waxed enthusiastically about the children,
telling him in great detail what each one was like until he began to feel he
knew each child as intimately as she.

"Maria's
children," he said as they rounded a bend in the walk, "they mean a
great deal to you, don't they?"

She
paused and looked up at him. "They have given my life a sense of purpose,
Brett. I mean, before I came here, what was I? I was someone who had always
been passive, who allowed myself to act, or
react,
I should say, to
things that happened
to
me." She gazed off into the distance where
a small sailboat could be seen in a wedge of ocean framed by two evergreens.
"There was the tragedy that took my parents lives and took
me
to
London... to Hampton House.... There was the education I received there while I
remained precariously suspended between Madame's threatening grasp and—thank
God!—the benevolent watchfulness of Dorcas and Megan.... And finally—" She
glanced back at him, as if trying to gauge his mood. "Oh, please do not
take this the wrong way! I only mean it as an example. Finally, there was the
strange twist of fate that brought me to—to Ravensford Hall— hardly something
of my own choosing.

"Oh,
I know there are those who might marvel at my transformation from serving
menial to duchess and ask what I have to be dissatisfied about, but don't you
see? It was nothing I had actually achieved by myself."

Brett
frowned. "Are you trying to tell me it was living the life of a member of
the upper classes that made you—"

"Oh,
no!" she cried. "No, that is not what I meant...." She gave him
a little smile. "You must remember I was born into that class to begin
with, and had been quite happy in it as a little girl. But, on the other hand,
I've found myself thinking more and more about your friend, Mr. Shelley, and
his egalitarian views lately. There is something almost... parasitic about the
lives some of those in our class lead.

"But
I was speaking more of my own lack of choices, rather than the nature of the
non-choices forced on me."

Brett
nodded. "Yes, I think I understand. There are in most lives, I believe,
choices that are not of one's own making." It was Brett's turn to gaze off
into the distance; he continued. "I loved my grandfather extremely, but I
am well aware, as I stand here now, that the life I live has been almost
totally shaped by him." He gazed back at her. "It is not a notion I
am entirely comfortable having."

Ashleigh
nodded, then smiled. "Then you do understand!"

"I
think so. When you landed in Italy—another circumstance that came of fate
acting
upon
you—you could have chosen to lie about here, in this
gracious home owned by its even more gracious mistress, doing nothing more
than—" another glance at her belly "—waiting for yet something else to
happen. Instead, you
chose
to become actively involved in helping
others." He smiled at her. "Unselfishly involved, I might add."

"Oh,"
murmured Ashleigh, blushing, "I don't know about that. The pleasure I
receive from working with those little ones—it's difficult to conceive of it as
selfless. And there are those who do far more than I... the
contessa,
for
instance, and Father Umberto."

"Do
not take yourself lightly. From what I have seen and heard, you can be proud of
what you've chosen to do."

Looking
into his eyes, she saw that he'd meant what he said, and suddenly she felt
lighter than air. There was a welling buoyancy inside her that belied the extra
stone or so she carried these days and the smile she threw him was dazzling.

Seeing
the smile that had haunted his days and kept him awake nights, it was all Brett
could do not to crush her to him, extra girth and all, but Maria's advice fixed
in his mind, and he cautioned,
Patience, old boy, patience.

Looking
down, he saw her hand had become disengaged from his while they were talking,
and he took it up again before they resumed their walk.

They
had gone but a little way when Ashleigh cried out, "Oh, Brett, look!"
She pointed at a brightly colored object high in an old oleander tree.
"It's the kite Antonio lost yesterday. He thought it had blown away after
its string snapped."

Gazing
at the kite, Brett told her, "Strings on kites don't snap, Ashleigh. They
become hopelessly entangled, yes, but take it from an old kite-flier, they
never snap."

She
grinned at him. "They do when one of the babies has used your ball of
string as a teething toy."

He
quirked an eyebrow at her. "I see what you mean."

Ashleigh's
attention was back on the kite. "It looks of a piece. Do you think we can
rescue it?"

"We?"
The eyebrow again.

She
looked at him with bright expectancy. "Why, yes—you and I! The tree isn't
very high, and—"

"You,
madam,
are hardly in any condition to be climbing trees!" He tapped her lightly
on the nose. "You will remain here.
I
shall fetch the ruddy
kite."

She
took the jacket he'd removed and watched him roll up his sleeves. "I hope
Antonio appreciates this," he grumbled.

"Oh,
he will!" she assured him. "He made it himself."

"An
admirable occupation. I once did the same—when I could be sure Grandfather
wasn't about." He found a toehold in the tree and began to climb.

The
tree was large for an oleander, about twenty feet high, and the kite rested
against some of its leathery, evergreen leaves, near the top. It took a few
moments for Brett to reach it.

As
he climbed, Ashleigh watched him and thought of the small boy he had been—a boy
who'd found precious little time in his arduous schedule for flying kites or
climbing trees, and had probably grown up too early and too fast. And she
realized they were kindred spirits in a way, each of them surviving, over the
years, through circumstances that were not of their own choosing.

"Here
you are, m'lady." He executed a lavish bow and held out the brightly
colored kite to her.

"Thank
you, kind sir," she said, accepting it. Then, "You are an expert climber
of trees, you know." There was a twinkle in her eyes. "I couldn't
have done it better myself, and believe me, I was once quite adept at it."

"Cheeky
wench!" he chided playfully as he captured her free hand and resumed
walking. "Not only does she rate me on an ability I acquired from the time
I was out of the cradle—she presumes to be an expert herself!"

Ashleigh
grinned. "Just you wait a few months—" she tapped her belly with the
kite "—until I'm myself again. I'll show you a few things I know about the
so-called boys' sports!"

"I
don't doubt it. I still recall your abilities at horse training—
and pig
training!"

They
shared a laugh, but privately Brett was thinking of what she'd said about
waiting a few months. It was the first allusion she'd made to sharing a future
together, and he was keenly aware of the flush of pleasure this gave him. So far,
things seemed to be going uncommonly well; perhaps, just perhaps, there was a
chance for this marriage after all.

Walking
a little farther, they came to a low stone wall, and before she knew what was
happening, he bent to lift her up in his arms and carried her over it.

Managing
to hold on to the kite, Ashleigh's arms went around his neck as she cried,
"Oh, Brett, don't! I'm entirely too heavy these days!"

"Hah!
You're still as light as a feather!" He gave her a grin when they'd
cleared the wall, but continued to hold her in his arms.

"Well?"
she demanded. "Aren't you going to put me down?"

But
Brett was thinking how he'd like to hold her like this for a long, long time.
It had been months since he'd had a woman. In those dark winter days in London
he'd quickly given up his frenzied pursuit of other females; they'd all paled
in comparison to Ashleigh, and after a while he'd found he preferred celibacy
to anything less than the perfection she'd brought to his bed.

But
another glance at the rounded protrusion of her belly reminded him this was
hardly the time to be thinking of how much he wanted her. And besides, other
things were at stake... much more important and enduring things. With a sigh,
he summoned his patience and lowered her slowly to the ground.

But
as he did so, Ashleigh was pressed against the front of him, her belly in
contact with his middle, and suddenly he felt a sharp thrust against his
abdomen.

"What
the—?"

She
laughed—a clear, musical sound in the still garden. "Don't look so
surprised," she told him. "It's the babe. She kicks mightily these
days."

Brett
gave her belly a suspicious glance.
"She...?"

Ashleigh
nodded. "I fully intend to have a daughter." Suddenly her smile
faded. Perhaps she oughtn't to have said that. After all, how could she tell
him about her hopes for a female child so that she would be able to be a better
single parent? Now that he was here, it didn't seem to be the thing to say.

Carefully,
she formed her next words. "Brett... would— would you be terribly upset
if—if it were a girl?"

He
warmed at the thought that she would consider his feelings in the matter,
reminding himself that this was the second time in less than an hour that she
had alluded to a shared future between them.

"No,"
he answered, the turquoise eyes brilliant as they fastened on hers, "not
if she's the image of her mother." Then, "You're even more beautiful
than before, Ashleigh, if that's possible. I find it difficult to take my eyes
off you."

He
was standing very close to her now, his tall frame looming over hers as his
eyes traveled over her face, at last fixing on her lips, which were softly
parted... and faintly trembling.

Slowly,
as if she were in a dream, she saw his hands come up to rest lightly on her
shoulders, and then she felt them slide higher, under her heavy curls, which
she wore loose, until they cupped her wondering face.

Then,
again slowly—ever so slowly—his dark chestnut head lowered until his lips
brushed hers in a kiss as light as down.

Ashleigh
closed her eyes as she felt their touch. She felt herself floating, far away,
to another time and place, when she had felt their touch before, and all at
once she was consumed by a longing so great, she could scarce contain it.
Oh,
Brett!
her heart cried out,
Brett, my love... my only love!

Brett
closed his eyes, gripped by an ache so fierce, he had to suck in his breath to
withstand its force. Merciful God, how he'd missed her! He opened his eyes to
find her looking at him with an unreadable expression on her face. Then his
arms lowered and he drew her to him, and his mouth closed over hers in a kiss
that was warm, sensual and fraught with longing.

Suddenly
a sharp bark rent the air, forcing them apart abruptly, as Finn came bounding
into sight. Behind him ran Lady Dimples, a red rose clamped firmly in her jaws.

"I
don't
believe it," Brett groaned.

"Fourth
rose this week," said Ashleigh as she bent to retrieve the bud the pig had
just deposited at her feet. "Thank you, Lady Dimples—" she glanced at
her scowling husband "—I think."

Finn
was busy tugging, gently but firmly, on Brett's sleeve. "What does
he
want?"
he growled.

"I
believe we're being summoned for tea, Your Grace," said Ashleigh.

Mentally
pocketing his inclinations, Brett gave her a good-natured laugh. "Yes,
Your Grace, by all means. Let us have some tea!"