“How did he know to come here?”
“He came to me when he found you gone from Casa Beaumont,” the nun said.
“How will I ever thank you?” Nora wondered.
“Don’t be foolish,” the older woman said tartly. “You love Isabella, and so do I. We do what we can.” She rose in a graceful movement and took both of Nora’s hands in hers.
“Now, be strong. Sometimes waiting takes the most courage.”
“Must you leave?”
A wry smile twisted the little nun’s face. “If I haven’t broken the order’s rules, I’ve certainly bent them today. It is better if I go about my duties. You will be strong, and someone here loves you.” She gave Nora’s hand a little squeeze and left. Her two companion sisters fell into step behind her as silently as they had come.
Someone here loves you. She wondered if it were possible that her husband actually loved her, or if perhaps Mother meant Campbell.Surely not. That thought made her nauseous.
Nora rose and began to pace, but the polished marble floors and her unsteady knees made it difficult. She leaned on the deep sill of a tall window to see Piazza San Giovanni in Laterano’s sun-dappled stones surrounding their ancient obelisk. She wondered if San Giovanni could move the minds of the men deciding her fate. A sudden vision of her father’s reaction to her praying to a Catholic saint made her laugh.
Down the corridor, the door, the cruel door, stayed firmly shut.
Jamie, what are youdoing in there?
The old men would ask about her marriage. She could only hope Jamie could reassure them.Did he want to? He must. He came.
She had walked halfway back when the door swung open. She hurried forward, expecting Campbell, hoping for Jamie.
Filiberto stormed past the guards, the Furies in his eyes. He barged past Nora, threw her a hateful look, and charged down the corridor. His bodyguard trotted behind, and the two monsignors who argued his case struggled to keep up.
Standing outside the open doors, Nora watched Signor Salvia and Jamie at a table with the auditors signing papers. While she hovered in the doorway, Wentworth and Campbell approached her.
“The will,” Wentworth intoned, “has been settled, not without complications.”
“Complications?” Nora’s heart reached her throat.
“The count questioned the baron’s ability to support you.” Campbell sneered.
“Why does that matter?” Nora asked. “Isabella is well provided for.”
“Quite,” Wentworth said, “But Castellimonte demanded that the estate not provide support for the baron.”
“He is penniless, Nora, did you know that? His estate is bankrupt.” Campbell’s polite mask slipped. His face twisted with spite.
“I was not aware he had an estate,” she responded.
Campbell made an ill-bred snort. “He lied to you.”
“He didn’t tell the entire truth, no,” she replied, focusing her eyes on Wentworth, “but that is irrelevant now. I don’t care about any estate.”
Wentworth returned her look shrewdly. “Listen carefully. Your husband has agreed to accept no funds from Isabella’s trust. None. Not for the clothes on his back or paper to write on.”
“But how?” she began.
Wentworth waved her words away impatiently. “Signor Salvia, as guardian of the trust, made written surety that you and the baron may live in Isabella’s house and receive benefit of food andshelter. You, as her guardian, will of course receive a stipend for your lifetime. Your husband receives nothing.”
That sounded reasonable. Nora felt her face relax. “That’s it then?”
“He’ll live off his wife’s stipend,” Campbell sneered.
“You must cohabit,” Wentworth began at the same time, cutting off the younger man. “The court insists on it. The case depended entirely on Baron Ross’s testimony that you have a whole, normal, valid marriage and that all accusations that you have been, in fact, separated are false. I must say his firmness impressed the court.”
