“Sardinia’s capital. Yes, I know. Tell her I do not wish to go there, even on a visit,” Nora insisted.
“She knows that. She agrees. There is danger. She urges caution, however, before you defy the count. He can force the issue.”
“I know. I know. He can tie up the will in court indefinitely. With no funds, I can’t care for her. It might become difficult to even stay in Rome,” Nora said wearily.
Without Robert’s money she couldn’t even afford a translator much longer.What will I do without him?
“I will take her to Turin if I have to,” Nora said. At the look on Mother Margarita’s face, an ugly thought struck her. “Would it be so dangerous to travel to Sardinia?”
“It most certainly would be.” The major raked his eyes over her until Nora squirmed in her chair. “And you, Mrs. Haley, are just foolish enough to rush in.”
“I wouldn’t put Isabella at risk,” she said.
She felt his eyes bore into hers.Impertinent man.
“Mother says he will stand by his insistence that Isabella visit Sardinia,” he went on. “She also says Isabella must not go. Once there, she could be forced to stay.”
“Stay? Why?”
The major glanced over at the nun and shook his head. For a moment Nora thought he would laugh.Had the man no sense of propriety?
“This woman has an astute grasp of politics,” he said, humor lurking in his voice. He sobered. “Sardinia teeters toward instability. Isabella could be used as some sort of pawn. When the count said he would make a good marriage for her, he meant one that is beneficial to the family.”
Mother Margarita rose from behind her desk and walked around to speak to the major directly in Italian. He shook his head in denial and did not translate. Mother Margarita began to gesticulate and speak forcefully as if attempting to persuade, and he answered her in Italian.
“What is it? What is she saying?” Nora demanded.
Major Bently ran a shaking hand through his hair and squeezed his eyes shut.
“Translate for me! What is she saying?” she repeated, frantic to know.
He let out a long breath and looked at her. “She says that if you concede the point, the will can be processed, and you can take apply for guardianship.”
“Then we will go to Turin.”
The flow of Italian continued. There was more being said. There had to be.
“Major!”
“The situation is unsafe!” He made no pretense of subservience. “You cannot go.”
“I will be under the protection of the Count di Castellimonte. Surely he means Isabella no harm.” She believed it.
“You would be under the protection of a wolf!” he exploded.
“There is nothing for it. If Isabella must go, I must go to protect her.”
“You would march into hell for Isabella, and that may be exactly what you will be doing!” he shouted back.
Major Bently leaned his head back, caught himself, and puffed air out of his cheeks. “Mother Margarita says there is another way,” he admitted, “a way to convince Castellimonte to let go.”
“What is it? I’ll do anything,” she told them.
“Foolish woman. You would, too,” he growled. “She says you need a husband.”
“Husband?” The word hit Nora like a brick, driving the breath from her lungs.
The major continued speaking, “A husband would not only add countenance to your claim of making a home for Isabella, but a husband could also forbid travel to Turin. It’s unfair, but she is right.”
