Two Little Lies

Seventeen

In which Wynwood gives the Contessa



yet another Gift.

Q uin rose at dawn the following morning and rang at once for Blevins. He wished to dress in some haste, so that he might return to Hill Court as soon as possible. He had slept very little, and the little sleep he had got was roiled by disquieting dreams of Cerelia and Viviana. He prayed the child was at least a little bit improved. He was afraid to believe Signora Rossi’s prediction of a recovery until he’d seen Cerelia for himself.

As soon as Blevins finished his handiwork, Quin started for the door. At the last instant, however, he remembered the small package he’d carried home from London some four days previous and returned to his desk for it. There was also the satchel of books for the children. Best to call for his gig, then.

Downstairs he informed a footman of his wishes, then hastened into the breakfast parlor in hope of catching Henry. To his surprise, he found instead his mother and his sister. He forced himself to smile.

“Good morning, Mamma,” he said, kissing her swiftly on the cheek. “Alice, you are up awfully early for a bride. Where is Henry?”

She made a small pout with her lips. “Off to Squire Lawton’s already,” she complained. “Your water or your runoff or some such thing is still draining into Lawton’s lower meadow, I collect, and leaving it boggy.”

Quin was pouring coffee. “Henry mentioned it,” he murmured vaguely. “We cleared a hillside of timber, and now a wet autumn has conspired against us. We’ll put in some ditch work, I daresay.”

“Well, I cannot think why it couldn’t have waited another day or two,” said Alice irritably. “We just got married yesterday.”

Lady Wynwood put down her teacup with a clatter. “Your husband is employed, Alice,” she tartly reminded her. “Marrying him was your choice.”

Alice rolled her eyes. “Well, he shan’t be employed much longer, Mamma, shall he?” she asked. “We must go home in another few weeks. Henry will manage Melville Manor until Chris is of age. Lord knows I’ve made a shambles of it.”

Quin pushed away his plate, which held only a slice of dry toast. “Actually, Alice, I have been meaning to talk to you about that,” he said. “I might need you and Henry to stay here for a few months. Could you, were it necessary?”

Alice looked pleasantly surprised. “I daresay,” she answered. “Why?”

Quin shrugged, and got up from the table. “I may have to go away for a while,” he said.

“But must you do so at this very moment, Quinten?” asked his mother tartly. “Surely there is time enough for that little sliver of toast?”

He turned around and looked at it, scarcely remembering he’d carried it to the table. “No, thank you, Mamma,” he said. “I must go.”

But Alice was still looking at him strangely. “Away?” she interjected. “What do you mean, away?”

Quin hesitated for a moment. “I have been thinking of going to Venice for a few months.”

“Venice!” cried his mother. “Oh, good heavens, Quinten! You cannot. You have duties. Responsibilities. Why, you have Arlington Court!”

He shook his head. “Henry can see to Arlington Court, or he can hire someone to do so.”

His mother looked irritated. “This has something to do with the Contessa, does it not?”

Quin nodded tightly. “In part, yes,” he admitted. “I am going over to Hill Court, Mamma, to see about Cerelia and to ask Viviana to marry me.”

Lady Wynwood half rose from her chair, then sat back down again. “Well!” she said with asperity. “Well! And there is nothing I can say, I am sure, to convince you otherwise.”

“Oh, I rather doubt, Mamma, that you’ll have worry about it,” he said grimly. “I don’t think Viviana will be fool enough to have me. But regardless of her answer, I shall likely be going abroad.”

“Well!” said his mother again

“Well!” echoed Alice teasingly. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained, old thing. Perhaps you will wear her down. For my part, I wish you luck.”

“Thank you,” he said. “And what of you, Mamma? Do you wish me luck?”

Lady Wynwood had wadded her napkin into a tight little ball. For an instant, she just sat there and quietly quivered. Then a little squeak, as if she were restraining some sort of outburst, escaped her lips.

“Mamma!” said Alice warningly.

Lady Wynwood turned pink. “Oh, very well!” she said at last. “Do as you please. Yes, yes, I wish you luck. I hope that you have found something which will at last make you happy.”

He looked at her very solemnly. “It will make me quite giddy with delight, ma’am,” he informed her. “If Viviana will but say yes.”

Alice looked at him drolly. “Giddy with delight, hmm?” she said. “Now, that, Quentin, I would very much like to see.”



Viviana was at the window with her coffee, watching as the morning sun peeked from behind a bank of reddish pink clouds when she saw the Earl of Wynwood’s gig come tearing up the carriage drive. He was unmistakable, even at a distance. Her heart gave a little lurch of some confused emotion. Hope, perhaps. Or perhaps something sillier still.


She had no time in which to consider it, however. In the next instant, she heard the faint stirring of bedcovers behind her.

“Mamma?” came the faint little croak.

On a sharp cry, Viviana turned at once and hastened toward the bed. “Cerelia—!” she exclaimed. “Oh, mia cara bambina! Oh, Cerelia!”

At the commotion, Signora Rossi jerked awake in her chair. “Che cosa? Che cosa?” She sat up so awkwardly, her spectacles tumbled off the tip of her nose.

“Mamma…” The child’s voice was a raspy whisper. “I am so thirsty.”

Viviana slicked a hand over Cerelia’s disheveled locks. “Poor angel!” she said, staring into her eyes. “Tata will send for something. What would you like?”

The girl looked up at her dolefully. “Lemonade?” she whispered. “Have we any?”

The old nurse was on her feet, feeling the child’s forehead. “Sia Gloria a Dio!” she proclaimed. “The fever, it breaks!”

“She feels quite normal,” said Viviana almost tearfully. “She is awake. She wishes lemonade. That is a good sign, is it not?”

The old nurse was smiling. “Si, I fetch it myself!” she declared, giving Cerelia’s cheek a little pinch. “Come now, show Tata your throat. Open!”

Dutifully, the child stuck out her tongue. “It is red,” said the nurse. “Not so bad, I think. But you are for the bed today, cara, and many days after, that is certain.”

“Can you eat something, Cerelia?” asked Viviana. “Are you hungry?”

But Signora Rossi was already shaking her head.

“No,” said the child. “Just a drink, per favore?”

Viviana had settled onto the mattress beside the child. “Oh, Cerelia, carissima, what a fright you have given us!” she said, scooping the child against her. “How do you feel?”

“Tired,” came the pitiful rasp. “Mamma, did I miss Christmas?”

Viviana shook her head. “No, we have saved Christmas, cara,” she said. “We will celebrate it when you are well.”

“I think I feel well enough to open presents,” said the girl hopefully.

Just then, Signora Rossi opened the door to carry out the tray. She jerked at once to a halt. “Buon giorno, signore.”

Viviana looked up to see Quin. His height and broad shoulders filled the door. On the threshold, however, he hesitated almost boyishly. “Good morning, Signora Rossi,” he said. “How is our patient?”

The old woman beamed, and stepped aside so that he might see for himself. “You return, signore, and all is well, as I tell you.”

Viviana felt suddenly awkward. She stood, and smoothed her hands down her skirt. She wondered, fleetingly, what she must look like. A fright, no doubt. “Cerelia is much better, my lord,” she said. “Come, see her for yourself.”

He came into the room, and set down a leather satchel at the foot of the bed. “Well, mouse, you have given us quite a turn,” he said. “How are you?”

“Buon giorno, Lord Wynwood,” she whispered. “I am tired.” Then she paused to cut a quick look in her mother’s direction. “But not, I think, so very tired.”

Quin sat down on the edge of the bed and took her hand in his. “Everyone has been worried about you, my dear,” he said. His relief looked intense, and quite genuine. “Your Mamma and Signora Rossi have been poking you full of vile potions. Do you remember none of it?”

She shook her head, her bronze-colored locks rubbing on the pillow. “No, my lord,” she said softly. “I…I do not think so.” Cerelia’s voice was already losing some of its scratchy edge.

Quin brushed the back of his hand over Cerelia’s cheek, an exquisitely tender gesture. Viviana had never seen his eyes look so gentle. “That is good that you do not remember, is it not?” he said quietly. “One should never have to remember unpleasant things.”

Just then, Viviana’s father appeared in the doorway. He went to Cerelia with a cry of joy. Soon, Lord Chesley followed. Then the servants began to drift by, peeking into the room with a smile as they passed. Viviana watched from one corner of her eye as Quin withdrew. He took up a position near the front windows and remained there, silently observing the goings-on about Cerelia’s sickbed. He gave one the impression of standing sentry, as if he might leap forward at any moment and order everyone from the room. He just might do it, too, she inwardly considered. He had a way of stepping in and taking charge.

Signora Rossi returned with fresh nightclothes and bed linens. She was followed by a dutiful kitchen maid, bearing a tray of lemonade and several mugs. The gentlemen bowed themselves out of the room, and Miss Hevner appeared with Nicolo and Felise, who slipped from her governess’s grasp and bounded onto her sister’s bed with unbridled enthusiasm.

“She is awake!” said Felise. “Look, Mamma! Cerelia, you slept for a whole day! Now we can have Christmas. We can open our presents and play and eat panettone!”

“I am not sure that is wise,” said Viviana as she bent over to pick up Nicolo. The child was tugging impatiently at her skirts. “Your sister is still quite unwell, Felise. We must let her rest.”

“I do not think, Mamma, that I am that tired,” said Cerelia.

“Bah!” said Signora Rossi, who was rearranging her pillows so that Cerelia might sit up in bed. “Here, carissima, is your lemonade. If the eyes will still open after that, then…?” She gave one of her mysterious shrugs.

The girls had curled up in bed almost conspiratorially. Cerelia was strong enough, Viviana noticed, to hold on to her mug, which was half-full. Felise had extracted a handful of dominoes from her pocket and was laying them out across the counterpane in some little game known only to the two of them. But within moments, Cerelia’s eyelids were growing heavy.

Viviana felt Quin brush against her elbow. “She is fading fast,” he murmured.

Viviana hated to admit that he was right. “I think Nicolo and Felise must go back to the nursery,” she said reluctantly. “I do not think there can be any question of a Christmas celebration.”

“Perhaps I might offer a compromise?” he murmured.

She lifted her brows and turned to him. “Si? Of what sort?”

Quin was scrubbing his chin thoughtfully. His eyes looked tired, too. Her heart went out to him, then clenched in her chest. How could she have such confused emotions? How could she forget his ugly demands of two days past?

The answer was that she had not forgotten. She could only pray that he had.

Quin picked up the satchel he’d left at the foot of the bed. “I have three books which I brought back from London,” he answered. “Books are quiet entertainments, are they not? Each child will have a little something by way of distraction. Then Cerelia will wish to sleep, I am quite sure.”

“You are very kind,” she said stiffly.

Nicolo was squirming, and saying something in Italian to his mother. She put him down, and he went at once to his sisters on the bed.

Viviana approached the bed, and kissed Felise on the cheek. “Cara, we cannot have Christmas just yet,” she said. “But soon, I promise you. In the meantime, I think Lord Wynwood has a little something which might tide you over.”

“What is tide?” asked Felise. But her eyes were on Quin, who was reaching into his bag.


Quin handed her a book which was mostly pictures, with a few words. “This is a book about mythical creatures, Felise,” he said to her. “Sea serpents and unicorns and all manner of amazing things. I found it in London, and I thought you might like it. We shall call it an early-late—or is it a late-early?—Christmas gift.”

Felise’s eyes brightened as she opened the book’s exquisitely drawn pages. “Grazie, signore,” she said politely. “It is beautiful.”

“Io voglio!” said Nicolo, trying to wrestle the book from her.

“Nicolo, no!” said his mother, peeling away his hand.

Quickly Quin handed him a book just as large, and more colorful. “Buon Natale, Nicolo,” he said. “Will you tell him, Vivie, that this is a book about a dog? I believe he has delightful adventures. It is primarily a picture book. Unfortunately, the few words are only in English.”

But Nicolo did not seem to object. He snatched the book quite greedily and opened it to one of the middle pages.

Quin turned his attention to Cerelia, who was very still and quiet now. He handed her a book from the bottom of the satchel. It was quite thick, and tooled in find Morocco leather. Viviana crooked her head, and attempted to make out the title. Kinder-und Hausm?rchen der Gebrüder Grimm. How very odd!

“This is a book by Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm,” Quin explained. “Do you know who they are?”

Cerelia shook her head.

“They are professors at the university in G?ttingen,” he explained. “And there is a third brother, Louis, who did the amazing sketches which you see there. The book is a collection of fairy tales which, I am reliably informed, is destined to be a classic. I thought you might like to have it.”

Cerelia was turning the pages and studying the finely detailed drawings. “It looks splendid,” she rasped. “And a little scary, too.”

“Well, only a little, I hope,” said Quin. “And it is, of course, written in German. So I am afraid, my dear, that you will have your work cut out for you.”

Viviana was looking over Cerelia’s shoulder at the lovely, fanciful book. “Why, Cerelia is to begin German lessons when we return home in the spring,” she said in mild surprise. Then, realizing what she had said, she flicked a quick, uncertain glance at Quin.

“Yes, I remembered her saying so,” said Quin quietly. “I am sure she will learn quickly, too.” But he did not really look at her, as he was engaged in helping Nicolo with a couple of his pages, which were not cleanly cut. “There,” he said when the pages were free. “Now you may open them.”

“Mamma, look, a dragon!” said Felise, holding up her book. “His mouth is on fire!”

“Heavens, what a fearsome creature,” said Viviana.

She glanced at Cerelia to see that the child had closed the book of fairy tales, but still held it tight to her chest with both arms crossed over it. It was obvious that she was pleased to receive such a fine gift, and just as obvious that she was exhausted by the excitement.

“Va bene, children,” said Viviana, shooing them from the bed. “Both of you out. Miss Hevner will take you back to the nursery now, so that Cerelia can get some sleep.”

“But she’s been sleeping for days and days,” complained Felise.

“Not that long, bella mia.” Viviana bent to kiss Felise on the forehead.

“I wonder, Viviana, if I might have a moment alone with Cerelia?” Quin quietly interjected.

Viviana hesitated, the refusal on the tip of her tongue. Cerelia was tired. And this, she knew instinctively, was a moment of no return. But the decision was no longer hers alone. At last, she gave a terse nod. “Of course,” she answered. “Signora Rossi and I will go and admire the new books.”

Quin watched as they urged the children from the room. Signora Rossi did not look at all inclined to go, but Viviana caught her quite determinedly by the arm and propelled her out the door.

Cerelia yawned, and stretched. Quin sat down on the edge of her bed and covered one of her hands with his. “I want to talk to you, mouse, before you drift off again.”

She raised her expectant gaze to meet his. “About the book?”

He smiled and shook his head. “About your magic ring.”

Her face fell. “Is Mamma very angry?”

“No, but she was very worried about you,” he said. “She wants you to have the magic ring, my dear. She gave it to you because…well, because it was from your father. She told you that, did she not?”

Cerelia’s eyes widened, as if she were surprised he knew the truth. “Did Mamma tell you that?”

He shook his head again and squeezed her hand. “No, my dear, she did not need to tell me,” he said quietly. “That is what I wished to speak to you about. You see, well, I am your papa, Cerelia. I gave your mamma the ring a long time ago. I…I just wanted you to know that.”

“Are you really my papà?” There was a hitch in her breath. “Really, truly?”

“Really, truly,” he said. “And very glad to be so.”

Eyes alight, Cerelia rolled up on one elbow. “I wondered if you mightn’t be,” she responded. “You said you were her friend long ago. I have been wondering who he was ever since we came to England. I thought that if I looked really hard, I might see him.”

“You wished to see him, did you?” He slid one finger beneath her chin. “Well, here he is, Cerelia. In the flesh, and, I hope, better late than never.”

Earnestly, she nodded. “Oh, it is better.”

Quin felt something catch a little oddly in his throat. There was so much he wished to say, but for the moment, this would have to suffice. Cerelia was still very ill, and still just a child. So he bent and lightly kissed her cheek. “I have not been much of a father to you, Cerelia,” he said. “Circumstances conspired against your mother and me. But in the future, I will try very hard to do a better job of it.”

“I think you must be a very good father,” she said solemnly. “I am sorry circumstances con…conspired, whatever that means.”

It meant that he and her mother had been fools. The very worst sort of fools: the prideful and stubborn kind. But it would not do to say that just now. And so he said only what was in his heart, after clearing away the little frog in his throat. “I love you, Cerelia,” he whispered. “Whatever else happens, never, ever again imagine that your father does not love you. You are eight years old now, so—”

“Almost nine,” she interjected.

“Yes, I daresay you would be,” he murmured. “So you are growing up fast. And so you know that there are things we cannot speak of outside our family, do you not?”

Solemnly, she nodded. “I know,” she confessed. “Mama told me some things are for family only.”

“But it no longer need be a secret between us,” he clarified. “And who knows what the future will hold, mouse? But no matter what life brings you, I will be a certainty in it. You will be seeing a good bit of me from here on out. I will visit you in Venice at the very least. And perhaps you will return here, and visit me, from time to time?”

With surprising energy, she threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, I should like that above anything,” she admitted.

“I should like it above anything, too, child.” He held her close for a long moment, then gently set her away so that he might look into her eyes.


Almost shyly, her face broke into a smile. “I…I am very glad, signore, that you are the one.”

“Are you?” he said in surprise.

She nodded. “My Mamma, she likes you very much,” she said on another huge yawn. “And you are very handsome. The handsomest father ever, I think.”

He gave her a bemused smile. “Well, enough of that, mouse,” he said. “You are still very ill. When you are better, you will have a great many questions, and your mother and I shall endeavor to answer them all as best we can. But I could not bear another day to pass without your knowing the truth. And without your knowing how very much I care for you.”

Cerelia yawned again and smiled drowsily.

Quin tucked her back into her bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. But before he could stand up again, Cerelia’s eyes had dropped shut.

He did not know how long he remained there, seated on the edge of the bed, simply gazing at his sleeping child and wondering what their future together might bring. He did not even hear the door open when Viviana and the old nurse returned. Signora Rossi stirred him from his reverie by going to the dressing table and shaking the wrinkles from a fresh nightdress for Cerelia.

Viviana did not miss the look of tenderness on Quin’s face when she returned to Cerelia’s bedside. She went to the opposite side of the mattress and quietly watched them. Father and daughter. Together. Dio, how life had changed. For the good, she hoped. At least for Cerelia.

“It is too late,” she whispered when Signora Rossi brought the fresh nightdress. “She is asleep.”

With another of her shrugs, the nurse laid the gown aside, then came back to press her hand to the child’s forehead. “It is a good sleep, Contessa,” she said to Viviana. “Not hot.”

Viviana swallowed hard and nodded. Cerelia did indeed seem to be resting comfortably. “Will you be so good as to sit with her awhile, Tata?” she asked, reverting to the children’s nickname for her. “I have something which I must do.”

The old woman waved her away. “Go, go,” she said. “You rest. You sleep.”

But Viviana had scarcely slept in two days, and she certainly had no intention of doing so yet. Instead, she stiffened her spine, sucked up her courage, and turned to Quin. “My lord, may I speak with you?”

He did not look surprised. “But of course.”

“You have told her?” she whispered as she pulled the door shut.

“I did,” he said. “But I said only what could not wait.”

Viviana cut a strange glance at him. “How did she take it?”

Inwardly, he smiled. “I think she was pleased,” he said. “But I am not deceived. There will be hard questions later. For both of us.”

Viviana was very much afraid there were hard questions to be answered rather sooner than that. Indeed, she had a few of her own. She led the way to the family parlor and pushed open the door. No fire had been lit today, but the splintered chair, she saw, had been taken away. It seemed a lifetime ago since last they were here. A lifetime since she had endured Quin’s rage and faced up to her near decade of deceit. She drifted deeper into the room, trying to gather her thoughts.

“Viviana, I…” Quin spoke from behind her, but his words fell away.

She went on the offensive and turned to face him. “I thank you, Quin, for your kindness yesterday,” she said. “And again today.”

“It was nothing.”

She set her head to one side. “It was not nothing,” she countered. “And I am glad—I think—that you have spoken with Cerelia. But I wish to say, too, Quinten, that I have thought a great deal about…about your demands of two days ago.”

“As have I, Vivie,” he said quietly.

Viviana held up a hand to forestall him. “And I must tell you here and now, Quin, that I cannot do it,” she said. “Indeed, I won’t do it. But you knew that already, did you not? You knew that I would fight you to the death. Indeed, I daresay you are looking forward to the battle.”

He gave a rueful smile. “At first, Vivie, I was thinking only of Cerelia,” he said. “Or at least that is what I told myself.”

Out of sheer emotional and physical exhaustion, Viviana fell onto the sofa. “I—I cannot leave my daughter, Quin,” she said, dragging her hands through her hair, which had more or less fallen completely from its haphazard arrangement. “I cannot leave Cerelia…but I do not think that there is any way I can bring myself to stay here. The pain of what we once had—or almost had—it is too raw. But never have I denied Cerelia her English heritage, Quinten. I have given her the best English governesses, taught her the language, and done all that I could within the confines surrounding me. But I am sorry. I can do no more.”

Quin joined her on the sofa. “I am sorry, too,” he said. “And I am sorry, Viviana, that you could not trust me to do the right thing all those years ago. I am sorry I caused you pain.”

She started to protest, but he laid a finger to her lips. “I wish, Vivie, that I could convince you that I would have done what was proper for the child you carried,” he said. “But you had doubts, and I understand why. But know this, Vivie. I have always loved you. And I came within an inch of telling you so that awful day. Within an inch, Vivie, of asking you to marry me.”

She shook her head. “Oh, Quin. Please do not.”

His hands were fisted now, as if he grappled for control. “No, it is time I spoke the truth.” His voice was rough with emotion. “I have always loved you, Viviana, and that has never changed. But all those years ago, I could not believe that you loved me. Certainly you never said so. And when I finally dredged up the courage to ask, you admitted that you did not, and God help me, it…it just crushed me. And that did not take much doing, to be honest. I had no real confidence—or nothing beyond the cocky fa?ade of a young man’s swagger.”

“You did have a very fine swagger,” she whispered, with a watery smile. “And an exceedingly cocky fa?ade.”

His dark blue eyes went soft with pain. “It was my downfall.”

Unable to bear it, Viviana leaned into him and set one hand on his shoulder. “And I did love you, Quin,” she whispered. “I did. But my pride would not let me admit it.”

“But why, Vivie?” he said. “Why not?”

She tore her gaze away. “I felt, Quinten, as though I had been bought and paid for,” she whispered. “And I knew, even then, that English gentlemen do not marry their mistresses. Instead, they tire of them, and they move on. So all one can hope to do is to hold on to one’s pride and stand stalwart when the end comes.”

“I would never have tired of you, Viviana,” he answered. “There would have been no end.”

She shook her head slowly. “I do not believe that,” she said.

“And you do not believe that I love you, either,” he said. “So I will prove it. I will make you the greatest gift of all. I will—”

“I do not want a gift,” she interjected.

He set the finger to her lips again. “I will give you our child, Vivie,” he said quietly. “And the right to go on as you have in the past, the right to raise her as you see fit.”

Viviana looked at him plaintively. “Oh, Quin…”


He surprised her then by picking up her hand, and carrying it to his lips. “But please, Vivie,” he went on. “Let me see her without our fighting. She needs her father—her real father. A father who loves her and wants to be with her. Someday, Vivie, Cerelia will wish to marry and have a family of her own. It will help her to remember that she was the child of two people who loved one another very much. I would like…Viviana, I would like my daughter to have faith in love.”

Viviana felt as if the room had just shifted unsteadily about her. She had come here prepared to fight for her child. And now, just like that, the fight was over. Yet the rage and fatigue and worry still churned in her heart and in her stomach. “You…you give me leave to do as I wish?”

He still held her hand in his. “I give you leave, Vivie, to what you think best,” he answered. “Just as I have faith in love, I have faith also in your good judgment.”

She gave a bark of bitter laughter. “Dio mio!” she said. “I cannot think why! It was my good judgment which saddled Cerelia with Gianpiero.”

He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “You did what you thought was best,” he said. “And in your own way, Vivie, you were as naive and inexperienced as I was. You just hid it better, I have belatedly learnt.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, I knew nothing!” she agreed. “I played with fire, Quin, when I became your lover, and I did not even know it.”

His face fell a little. “Ah, I am sorry for that, too,” he said. “Sorry for thinking you were experienced when you were not. And sorry for pushing you into something which you did not want.”

Her hand flew to his face, caressing his cheek instinctively. “I was not that I did not want you, Quin,” she whispered. “And it was not because I did not love you that I left you, caro. Never think that.”

“When you left me, I did not know what to think,” he confessed. “As a young man, I tortured myself over you. Wooing you, winning you; Vivie, it was like an obsession with me. I actually believed I knew how the world worked and what sophisticated women like you expected. It has taken me all these years to realize that I had understood nothing at all.”

“Ah, caro!” she whispered. “Too young. We were too young.”

Slowly, he shook his head. “I believed you experienced and worldly, Viviana, because I was not,” he admitted. “I spent all our months together half in fear, half-believing that at any moment, you might leave me for someone older, or richer, or better placed in society. And worst of all, I believed you were embarrassed to be my mistress—which, as it turns out, was perfectly true. But not for the reasons I had imagined.”

Fleetingly, Viviana closed her eyes. “How we have hurt one another,” she answered. “So foolishly, we have hurt one another—and I, well, I have done worse, perhaps. I have hurt Cerelia. And now I would do anything—anything, Quinten—to give her a happy life.”

He turned his face into her palm and kissed it in that old, familiar way. “Then I have two other questions, Vivie,” he said softly. “The first is a favor I mean to ask of you.”

She nodded her head, and blinked back a tear. “Certamente,” she managed. “I will do what is in my power.”

“I wish to return to Venice with you, if you must go,” he said.

She could not believe him serious. “To—to Venice?” she whispered. “Oh, caro. That is—oh, that is so very…lontanissimi. So very far from England.”

His eyes danced with good humor. “I remember at least a little of my schoolroom geography, Vivie,” he said. “I think I know where Venice is.”

She felt her face flush with heat. “Forgive me,” she said. “Of course you do.”

He leaned back against the arm of the sofa and studied her. “And there I will take a house—a villa? But not a mansion. Just something small. What do you call that?”

She laughed nervously. “A casa,” she said. “Or an appartamento.”

“A casa it is, then,” he said, smiling. “And then I would like to spend a little time getting to know Cerelia. Felise and Nicolo, too. Let them view me as a fond uncle or a godparent, or—well, choose any polite euphemism you like—I wish only to spend time with them. But I do not wish to interfere in your life, Vivie, if you do not wish me in it.”

Her blush deepened. “I did not say that, Quinten,” she whispered. “I did not say you were not wanted.”

Quin smiled again, and this time, the smile reached his dark blue eyes. “Then I have something for you, Vivie.” He released her hand, dug into his coat pocket, and handed her a jeweler’s box.

Viviana pushed it away. “Grazie,” she said. “But no present. And per amore di Dio, no more jewelry. Ever.”

“It isn’t jewelry,” he said, giving it a little shake. “Though you may like it even less well.”

Viviana drew back skeptically and studied it. Then feminine curiosity got the better of her. She took it from him, and lifted the lid. The box held nothing but a folded sheet of foolscap, tucked into the velvet where a bracelet or necklace should have lain. She looked at him and saw his blue eyes dance. “Quinten, I do not understand.”

“Read it,” he said.

She unfolded it, and did so. “I…Quinten, I still do not…” But a feeling of hope was coming over Viviana, an emotion so swift and so intense, her hand began to shake. “It has my name on it,” she whispered. “Yours, too.”

He smiled almost wistfully. “That is the reason Herndon and I were a day late back from London,” he explained.

“What…what are you saying, Quinten?” she asked unsteadily. “What does this—this documento mean?”

“Herndon needed a special license to marry Alice,” said Quin. “And one has to do quite a bit of work to obtain such a thing. But we succeeded. And then—well, I cannot explain it, Viviana. You had given me no hope. Indeed, you still have not. But I could not leave London without my own little piece of paper. Just in case, you see. Just because I have been in love with you for a full third of my life, and I know now that that will never change. So I went back the next day to get one for myself. For us, Vivie.”

Viviana set her fingertips to her forehead in some vain attempt to clear her dizzying thoughts. “Quinten, I am confused.”

“I am not,” he said. “For the first time in my life, Vivie, I am thinking with perfect clarity.”

“But—but Quin, I have done a terrible thing to you, and to Cerelia,” she protested. “And I am too old for you. And too Catholic. And a mother of three very lively children. And then there is Papà, who needs—”

He cut her off with a kiss that was swift and firm. “Enough,” he said. “None of that matters. So far as I am concerned, those are not obstacles. They are just details, and details can always be sorted out, if it is what we both wish. This license gives us six months, Vivie, to do just that. To sort it out. But you, Vivie—will you give us six months? Can you ever learn to love me again?”

She lowered her gaze to the floor. “I have never stopped,” she finally said. “You must know, Quin, that I never have.”

He shocked her then by taking her empty hand in his, and going down on one knee before her. “So, Viviana Alessandri, love of my life, woman whom I utterly do not deserve, will you have me anyway? Will you marry me, and make a family with me? And be warned, my love, that whilst this little piece of paper will eventually expire, my persistence will not. I will just wait a year or a month or a fortnight—or perhaps even another decade—and ask again.”


Viviana laid the paper aside. “Do you forgive me, then, Quinten?” she whispered. “For what I have done to Cerelia? For what I have done to us?”

He shook his head. “We must both forgive ourselves, Vivie,” he whispered. “We must think only of the future, and of the children—and even, perhaps, of the children to come. And we must tell Cerelia that we love her, that she is wanted, and that from this day forward, we will care for her. Either together. Or apart. I will take what I can get. Which, Vivie, would you rather it be?”

“Together,” she softly whispered. She dived into his arms, and somehow ended up on her knees on the floor with him. “Yes, yes, Quinten, my beautiful English boy, I will marry you. Caro, I will marry you a thousand times over.”

Quinten’s face lit with a happiness which at last seemed true. “Just once, Vivie,” he said. “If I can get you to the altar just once, it will be enough for a thousand lifetimes.”