“Of course not,” he had responded, gazing at the impossibly tall, hatchet-faced nun who swept in to loom over Nora.
The woman spoke in clipped tones and tight-lipped severity. The major spoke back harshly. When the woman stepped out, anger marred her face.
That’s when Nora snapped. “What are you doing? We have to work with these women!”
“That woman is not the superior. If Hatchet Face had the power to deny you, she would have. She didn’t.”
Before Nora could respond, the major had led her to a sunny garden, fragrant with jasmine and humming with bees. Within moments, Robert’s daughter appeared. She had immediately batted long black lashes at the shabby major, prattled adoringly in Italian, and ignored Nora completely. Nora’s rumpled employee appeared to encourage the girl.
Nora took in a deep breath and let it out slowly to tamp down her growing irritation. The smell of jasmine mingled with something sweet and cloying. She riveted her eyes on the sight in front of her.
The little imp is a natural flirt, and he has no shame. Blast the man! What have I gotten myself into?
Nora made out one word. “Papa.” That word and the sadness that darkened Isabella’s eyes kept Nora from interfering with his nonsense and demanding the child’s attention.
Major Bently turned to Nora at last and said, “She asks after her father. He is, she has been told, very, very ill.”
Nora nodded. She looked down at the little girl who scrutinized Nora for the first time.
“She says you look like her papa. His hair is also the color of grass,” he told her.
“Grass! Green?”
“Not in Italy in August,” he explained. “It is light brown and gold. Come, let’s try to talk to this little person.”
The major sat next to her, reached down, and pulled Isabella up into his lap. The little one went without question, leaned her head against him, and sucked her thumb, as if a man’s shoulder was the most natural place for her to rest. Nora resisted the temptation to like him better for it.Men can be charming when they choose,she remembered.
“I am your father’s sister,” Nora said and waited while the major translated. She looked directly into blue eyes that were exactly likeRobert’s but utterly out of place with black hair and an olive complexion. The incongruity stunned her.
The little girl tipped her chin sideways to look skeptically at the man and spoke. He answered her briefly in Italian and then translated. “She said she didn’t know adults had sisters. I assured her that they do.”
“Ask her if she is doing well. Ask her if she is happy here.”Robert trusts these sisters. Should I?
More words Nora didn’t understand. She clamped her jaw shut to avoid voicing her impatience.
“Sister Cecilia told her she was naughty this morning for picking the green tomatoes from the vine,” he said at last, “but usually she is better behaved.”
Nora smiled at that, and the little one smiled back. Nora felt the warmth of it down to her toes while the major spoke to the girl softly in Italian and the little one responded once again.
“I asked her if Sister Cecilia was very tall and prone to frowning like our grim vision in the parlor. She said yes.”
Nora crinkled her nose in distaste. “How—that is, where does she sleep?”
“In the dormitory with the bigger girls. She informs me she is no longer a baby, but she does still have herbambola. Doll, I think,” he said.
The little girl put a hand to the major’s face and spoke to him again.
“Thebambola’sname is Marietta,” he told Nora. “She came with Isabella from her father’s house where she has many dolls. They have their own little bed. She says they learned to be very quiet because her mama was sick.”
“She remembers?”
“Apparently.”
“Ask her about her mama,” Nora demanded.
He looked reluctant but didn’t argue. He conversed gently with the little girl before translating.
“She is an angel,” he said at last. “Isabella has been told she went to heaven, and this makes her sad. Her papa is going to see her mother, but he doesn’t want—no, he ‘refuses’ to take Isabella.” More swift Italian words. “Isabella is not pleased with Papa for refusing.”
