“So what are their other issues?”
“I don’t know Italian. The representatives spoke English most of the meeting. When they got to my language skills, they were positively scathing,” she went on.
“That’s easily rectified. Learn.” Jamie wondered if she wanted to and how she really felt about Italy. He knew she would do whatever it took to keep Isabella. “What else?”
“The count does not want Isabella raised by an unmarried woman, even a widow. He disputes the claims that a childless woman could provide better mothering than the convent school will provide,” she sighed.
Outrage flooded Jamie; he balled his fists in anger. “Stupid man. Anyone who saw you with her would know better.”
She looked up at him, and her gratitude made his knees weak.
“It’s loyal of you to say so, but he hasn’t seen much of me, has he? And he is not alone. The three of them—even Wentworth—seemed to agree on that point,” she explained glumly.
“But the will?” he prodded.
“Yes, the will. My brother’s wishes weigh heavily. Wentworth doesn’t think the count can break the will, but?—”
“But what?”
“He can make it difficult,” she said.
Understatement. He opened the convent gate, holding it so she could pass under his arm. She looked up at him.
“There’s more. There are demands.”
Chapter Thirteen
Nora clenched her jaw as if to fend off words she did not wish to hear.
“A man like the Count di Castellimonte has obligations,” Mother Margarita murmured from behind her rough wooden desk in the Spartan convent office.
“Surely you see that any honorable man would care for the well-being of a family member.” The Reverend Mother tented her hands thoughtfully and waited while the major translated.
“Men again!” Nora sputtered with indignation. “Isabella has more than one family!”
Mother Margarita smiled at that. Nora sank back in her chair. Most of the nun’s advice seemed sound, and Nora forced herself to admit it gracefully.
“You will settle in Rome.” The major’s translation of Mother Margarita’s words did not come out a question.
“Of course I will!” She already planned to live in Robert’s house and send Isabella to the convent as a day student.All that awaits me in Dorset is a cold vicarage and life as Father’s drudge.In Rome, she had Isabella.
Nora’s eyes went unbidden to the major who stood beside her, listening intently to the Reverend Mother. His unruly hair brushed his neck when he leaned over to listen. His strong hands gripped the back of a chair. Nora shook her head to clear it. The major’s hands were not her concern.
“She believes you will learn Italian quickly,” he said. “Isabella makes a good teacher.”
“Of course I will,” she said. The words sounded petulant to her ears. Major Bently raised a warning eyebrow.
“I’m sorry, Mother. It isn’t you. When I met Mr. Wentworth, he, they—” Memory of the man’s arrogant disdain gave her a frisson of resentment.
“Men again?” Mother Margarita smiled.
Nora felt her face heat. “Learning the language is only common sense,” she said. “The Major?—”
“Will not always be near,” he finished for her.
She suddenly realized he only owed her only two more days.Is the sadness under those thick lashes real or am I imagining it?
“The count has demanded that you visit Turin.”
