Sattler, Veronica (63 page)

Ashleigh
withdrew a burgundy velvet cloak from her wardrobe. Slowly, with a dreamy
expression on her face, she moved to the cheval glass in her chamber, the cloak
over her arm. Here she paused, her mind not really on donning it. All she could
think of was Brett.

She
had just left him in the playroom where the two of them had spent time with the
children after dinner. Ashleigh had read them their customary bedtime story
while Brett stood by and quietly watched. But when she'd finished the story and
gone to join Maria in tucking the littlest ones into bed, Brett remained to
talk to a few of the older boys. They'd had some questions for this English
duke who had appeared suddenly on the scene two days ago. A duke who captained
his own ship?
Fantastico!

After
she and Maria had said good-night to the last toddler, Brett suggested she
fetch a wrap and wait for him downstairs, saying he wished to walk with her in
the gardens as soon as he finished talking to Aldo and his companions.

Now,
as she stood before the mirror, her reflection blurred before her eyes while
her thoughts turned inward.

What
was on his mind? When she'd learned, the day before yesterday, that her husband
had arrived in Livorno, she'd been filled with all sorts of apprehensions
regarding his intentions. And it had required a great amount of fortitude to
agree to see him the next day—yesterday.

Was
it only yesterday that they'd met again? Strolled in the gardens like lovers
who had no barriers between them? Held hands and kissed?

He
was being so gentle—and
kind!
Except for that one brief exchange
regarding the divorce that had never materialized, there'd been no harsh words
between them. It was as if the nightmare following their wedding had never
happened.

But
of course it had happened. And that's what worried her. There were still some
major problems between the two of them, and sooner or later, they'd have to be
faced. Was that what he'd had in mind when he invited her for this walk
tonight? Surely he couldn't mean to avoid their differences forever, nor could
she. Perhaps he was waiting for her to broach the subject.

But
with this new, accommodating mood she found him in, how could she? How did she
dare risk upsetting the newfound peace between them?

A
smile turned the corners of her mouth upward as she recalled Brett's appearance
at the villa late this afternoon. He'd been invited for dinner but arrived
early, laden with an armful of toys and other gifts purchased in town that
morning. Oh, the shrieks of delight and bubbling laughter that had erupted as
he'd met with the youngsters and handed out dolls, toy sailboats, tin soldiers
and the like! The children had immediately adored him, not only for his
generosity, but for the special way he seemed to take an interest in each of
them, asking questions about what they liked to do, telling funny stories of
similar activities from his own childhood. It was almost as if—

"Ah,
there you are!" said her husband from the open doorway.

"Oh,"
murmured Ashleigh, stirred from her reverie. "I—I hadn't realized I was
taking so long." Hastily, she shook out the cloak and swirled it about her
shoulders, then draped the full hood over her hair and attempted to secure the
neck closure with fumbling fingers.

"Here,
allow me." Brett smiled as he came behind her and gently turned her to
face him.

As
his fingers closed over the silver braided frog under her chin, Ashleigh
chanced to look up. Intent on his task, Brett didn't realize she was watching
him, and she took the opportunity to study him at close range. She loved the
way his mouth was set in a determined line as he concentrated on the mechanism
of the fastener; she adored the way a lock of his chestnut hair brushed his
forehead as he worked; she noted the way his height made him tower above her in
such an overpowering way. Suddenly she felt nearly undone by the turn her
thoughts were taking and began to squirm and fidget with the realization.

"Hold
still, you moppet," he chastised with an indulgent smile, "or I shall
never have this done. Ah, there we are!" His eyes left the fastening and
moved upward. There was a long moment of silence.

"You're
beautiful," he breathed.

Caught
off-guard, Ashleigh murmured the first thing to come into her head. "S-so
are you."

His
mouth quirked in an odd smile, and she had the feeling he was remembering
something in another time, another place. "I am content to know you find
me so," he murmured. "But come, sweet, there's a beautiful night
awasting in the gardens."

He
led her outside and they began to walk, talking desultorily as moonlight
silvered the branches of the trees and shrubs, turning the garden into an oasis
of soft shadows and lambent quietude. It was a warm night for early March, and
the soft, rich scent of the sun-warmed earth beneath the awakening foliage
hinted at the coming of spring.

"The
children love you, you know," said Brett. "I can see it in their
faces when you look at them or read them a story."

"Oh,
but look who's talking!" Ashleigh exclaimed. "Only two days in their
presence, and they absolutely adore you!"

Brett
chuckled. "I suspect I'm just a novelty right now. Something like the rich
uncle who visits once every few years, bringing gifts from his trips abroad...
that sort of thing. But the feelings they so obviously have for you, and for
Maria, well—" he shook his head "—I've never seen such a
manifestation of love."

"Maria's
really the one responsible for it all," said Ashleigh. "She's an
extraordinary woman, isn't she?"

"Remarkable,"
he agreed. "And I wonder about her. Here she is, with all the wealth and
comfort anyone could want, a life of ease, and yet she selflessly gives of
herself, day after day, in ways that might seem totally alien to others of our
class. Oh, there are those with wealth who do their share with charitable
contributions and the like, but this woman actually rolls up her sleeves and
plunges into the heart of it! I wonder what it was in her background that made
her what she is."

Ashleigh's
response was cautious. "You... suspect something, ah, out of the
ordinary?"

He
nodded. "I'm sure of it. It's in her eyes. I've seen things there
that—" He shook his head. "Yet, every time I've tried to question her
about it, she's steered the conversation deftly in another direction." He
laughed. "In the most charming manner, of course!"

Ashleigh
began to wish she had some of Maria's skill now, for the conversation was
hovering dangerously about a subject she'd sworn not to reveal. "You, ah,
find her mysterious, then?"

"Quite.
It's nothing I can put my finger on, but I have this unshakable feeling Maria's
not all she appears to be... or perhaps that she's something more." He
glanced at Ashleigh. "I don't suppose you'd be able to shed any light on
the subject? I mean, she did say she was an old friend of your family's."

Shifting
her glance from his face, Ashleigh hoped the shadows hid her flush as she
responded. "Oh, I know, but Brett, you must remember that I was such a
tiny girl in those days. There isn't much I can recall."

"Hmm.
Yes, I suppose you're right. Perhaps Patrick's the one I ought to be
asking."

They
walked a while in silence, and then he said, "She doesn't seem to have any
children of her own, natural children, that is, yet she's as nurturing and
maternal as any mother I've ever seen. And then there's this other feeling I
have...."

"Other
feeling?"

He
nodded. "That I've seen her somewhere before... known her. I realize it
doesn't make sense." He shrugged.

Determined
to steer the conversation elsewhere now, Ashleigh dug the toe of her slipper
into a crack in the walk and pretended to stumble.

Instantly,
Brett's arm shot out to steady her, and when the other arm joined in, she found
herself encircled in his embrace.

"Careful,
little one," he murmured. "You carry a precious burden these
days."

Casual
as they sounded, his words reminded her that she did indeed carry a precious
burden—his heir—and suddenly she remembered other words spoken about an heir of
Brett's. She had a swift recollection of Elizabeth's hurting words that
morning, and all at once she felt pain so real it was almost palpable.

"Brett,
why did you marry me?" she whispered.

Brett
paused, his arms still about her as he saw the anguish in her eyes. She'd
caught him off guard with this sudden question, and he wasn't sure he could
give her a ready answer. Slowly, as if he half expected her to vanish if he
mis-stepped, he groped for the right words.

"The
immediate reasons, the awkward circumstances, we are both well acquainted with,
Ashleigh. But beyond that, I think—I believe—there was something more,
something deeper...." His hands moved from about her girth and settled
gently, but firmly, on her shoulders. "You were—
are—
different from
any woman I've ever known, Ashleigh. And if I didn't consciously realize it
when I married you, I've come to realize it more and more during these months
we've been apart. Beyond that, I'm not sure." He sighed, then moved a hand
to touch her cheek gently with his knuckles. "Ashleigh, why did you flee
from me that morning?"

The
blue eyes darkened as she focused again on the scene with Elizabeth the morning
after their wedding. "She said the only reason you—you had for wedding me
was that—that—" Ashleigh bit her lip and glanced down at her belly
"—you wanted me to bear you heirs."

A
sharp frown creased Brett's brow.
"Who
told you that, Ashleigh?
Who?"

A
sob cut him off as Ashleigh dropped her eyes and turned her head away. "It
was Elizabeth! She rowed across the lake after you left to see about the—"

"Elizabeth!"
he
stormed.
"Elizabeth
came to see you that morning?"

"Yes,
and she said you could never be faithful to one woman, that marriage would make
no dif—"

"That
cold bitch!" he snarled. "She's so consumed with jealousy and
self-love, she—" He ran a hand distractedly through his hair, then caught
her chin with the other, forcing her to look at him. "And you
believed
her?"

The
pain in Ashleigh's eyes deepened, then changed to anger. "There were good
reasons! Hadn't I just seen the way you—you cast Pamela Marlowe aside so
casually? Because your appetite required new conquests?"

Tears
were streaming down her cheeks, but Ashleigh dashed them aside with an angry
hand as she plunged onward; it was as if a dam had been opened, and all the
pent-up anger and pain of the past months was suddenly let loose. "And
later, in London after we quarreled, can you deny that you went to other—"

At
that moment, there was a confusion of screaming and shouting at the end of the
garden nearest the house. Ashleigh turned and saw Giovanni moving toward them
as swiftly as his aged legs would allow.

"Duchessa,
Signore Duca,
coma
queek!
Incendio! La villa!
She's-a-burn! The leetle ones! Hurry!"

Behind
him were several of the servants, all waving their arms and shouting, and then
Patrick.

"Brett,
Ashleigh!" Patrick yelled. "It's the children's wing! It's afire!
Come quickly!"

Ashleigh
threw Brett a horrified look. "Oh, my God!" she gasped, then began to
run toward the house.

But
Brett was already far ahead of her, pausing only to shout over his shoulder,
"Be careful, Ashleigh! Mind your steps in the darkness!"

As
she neared the house, Ashleigh could see smoke pouring out of a couple of the
upstairs windows, while, in the courtyard below, a number of people, children
and adults alike, were rushing about, crying and shouting. She saw Patrick dash
into the house, only to emerge helping Megan make her way down the walk as she
clasped two infants in her arms.

Brett
met them first, shouting, "Who else is up there?"

But
Megan just shook her head at him, appearing dazed.

One
of the children's nurses came dashing out, coughing and gasping for air.
Patrick took the blanket-covered toddler she carried while Brett helped the
stricken woman to a seat on a nearby stone wall.

"Water!"
he called to one of the servants he spied carrying a bucket.

Several
of the children standing about in their nightclothes were crying, and Ashleigh
hurried over to them, speaking quietly in reassuring tones. Then she withdrew
her cloak and, gathering them close, wrapped it about them.

The
nurse drank the water Brett had given her from a wooden dipper, then pointed
agitatedly to the upper reaches of the house.
"La contessa,"
she
gasped,
"la contessa!"

"Contessa?
Maria's
in there?" Brett questioned.

"Si!"
The
nurse nodded, then began coughing some more.