Nora put her face on the little girl’s hair and breathed in the sweet clean scent.
“I want Uncle Jamie,” Isabella wailed. “I want to go home.”
“Soon, darling,” Nora soothed.
“Uncle Jamie will—” Isabella began.
“Uncle Jamie will do what?” a familiar deep voice demanded. At the sound of his voice, Isabella leapt from Nora’s lap and threw herself at Jamie. A flow of dramatic Italian words and gestures enacted the great tragedy of Marietta. The stomp of a tiny foot seemed to indicate a demand.
“Of course you will come home. Didn’t Aunt Nora tell you?” Jamie asked.
At his urging, Nora told her about the visit to Casa Beaumont.
The child bounced, the look on her face swiftly changing from despair to delight as only a child can. “When can I go there?”
Nora felt sick.When indeed. Jamie seemed to read her mind. He shrugged. He offered no help.
“There is much to do,” Nora began. “The house has been empty for so long. We have to clean.”
“Servants do that,” Isabella sniffed. A thought seemed to strike her. “Mother Margarita told me it is good for a lady to know how to clean and to cook as well. Can you clean, Aunt Nora?”
“I clean very well,” Nora said.Isabella,she thought,would be surprised to find out just how hard I can work.There were no servants in her English grandfather’s house.
“Please do then. Quickly,” Isabella insisted.
Nora leaned over and kissed the little girl. “We will,” she said, “and you will come to live with me there. Soon.”
Isabella’s radiant smile tore at her.
Determination filled Nora.If the count wants marriage, he will get it. Whatever it takes, Isabella will come home.
“We haveto go through with it.” Nora attacked as soon as the convent gate swung behind them.
“Go through with what?” Jamie asked even though he knew with sickening certainty what she meant.
“A wedding, of course.” She drew breath to go on, but he held up a hand to forestall her.
“Before you explain what sort of worm is at work in your brain, feed me. I haven’t eaten today.”I think more clearly when well fed. Besides, a walk at least will buy me time to think.
Nora huffed indignantly but set out toward the little café near the bridge to Tiber Island that suited them both, the one they had come to think of as “their” café. Isabella’s missing doll drama turned his little wren into a fierce mother hawk.
He had hoped for time to drag out the farce that was their betrothal until they wore down Castellimonte. Jamie snorted at his own idiocy. They may as well try to wear down a mountain.Castellimonte—Mountain Castle. Mountain indeed.His mind ran its circular track again and again looking for a way out. He found none.
They reached a table in the sun. He watched Nora cup her hand over pink roses stuffed unceremoniously in a milk jug. Their color, delicate but bright, perfectly reflected her smooth English complexion, bringing him a smile and a rush of sadness, as if he already missed her.I will soon enough,he thought.
A smiling waiter brought coffee to Jamie. “Tea for lady comes,” he said. Nora ordered sandwiches.
“Now you must see—” Nora started in as soon as the man left.
“Tell me about Isabella,” he interrupted.
“You know very well. Someone hid her doll. I suspect Sister Cecilia!”
Or one of the girls. Or the laundry maid, Jamie thought. In a group home, belongings are fragile things.A child’s emotions are even more fragile.
“You don’t know that,” he said.
“It doesn’t matter, not by itself. They mean well enough. We have to get her out of there.”
