Beneath an Italian Sky

by Stacy Henrie

  “Where are the footman and the other valet?” Emmett asked, peering past them to the road. He’d hoped both men would have caught up by now.

  One of the maids burst into tears at the question. After a moment, she managed to speak in between her wails. “H-he was struck down, sir, right behind me. I-I don’t think he’s still . . . alive.”

  “The same thing happened to his lordship’s valet,” another maid added, her face gray. “I don’t know how the rest of us survived.”

  Emmett hung his head as defeat stifled his relief at escaping the city. His efforts hadn’t met with total success. A heavy, smothering silence blanketed the group, broken only by the sound of the maid’s weeping and the viscount’s moans of pain.

  After a time, Emmett lifted his chin and studied the remaining members of their group. Like him, most of them sported cuts on their faces. Several of them, including Clare, had bruises and gashes on their feet too. Their nightclothes were dirty, dusty, and torn, and the baby was sucking desperately on the sash of Clare’s robe as if he might find sustenance there. Every expression reflected the same fatigue and numbness Emmett felt. They still needed food, water, clean clothes, and a doctor . . . and a way to leave Messina.

  Emmett ran a hand over his face as he considered what to do next. The action likely just smeared the grime and dust there rather than wiping it off. Was it best to stay here and watch over all of them? Or should he risk returning to Messina to see if he could find some supplies?

  Antonina leaned her head against his arm, her gaze as haunted as everyone else’s as she stared straight ahead. Emmett had promised to go back and search for her brother. However, keeping his word would mean leaving her and the others to fend for themselves.

  As he struggled with his decision, he remembered what his grandfather had once told him. “When you’re torn over what path to take, ask yourself why you wish to do something. If your motive is out of compassion and honesty, you cannot go wrong, regardless of what anyone else says about your outward actions.”

  Was he thinking more about his grandfather because he was in a place the man had lived and loved? Or was it because Emmett was away from the constant demands and opinions of his father? Whatever the reason, his grandfather’s words brought him a measure of comfort and direction.

  Looking down at the little girl at his side, Emmett knew why he wanted to return to the city. He’d made a promise, and he would keep it. Hopefully in doing so, he could find aid to bring back to the group too. He turned to Antonina and nudged her to sit up. When she did, he looked her in the eye. “We need some help.” He spoke the Italian words quietly, so as not to alarm her or alert the group to his plan just yet. “I also want to go look for Angelo.”

  “Angelo?” she repeated, a bit of animation creeping into her voice.

  Emmett nodded. “I hope to find him—and also some water and food and a doctor.” He looked toward the viscount and Rushford. “I also want to find a way to get to our house in Taormina.”

  “I can come to Taormina too?”

  “Yes, but first I have to go back to the city.” Her brow puckered with her frown, but Emmett forged on with his explanation. “I need you to stay here with Clare.”

  At the mention of her name, his wife looked at them. She could understand and speak a little Italian, though not enough to carry on a full conversation as he and Antonina were doing.

  “But you’ll come back?” the little girl asked him.

  He dipped his head in another nod, praying God would help him honor this promise too.

  “I will wait then.”

  A rush of compassion prompted him to kiss the top of her dark head before he stood. “I’m going back,” he announced to the rest of them. “To see if I can’t find supplies for us.”

  No one but Clare and Rushford reacted. His wife immediately passed the baby to Miriam and got to her feet. Emmett’s valet started to rise too, but Emmett waved him back down. “With the viscount hurt, I need you to stay here.”

  The valet glanced between Emmett and Clare, then sat back down. “If this is where you need me most, my lord, I’ll stay.”

  “Thank you, Rushford.”

  Clare stepped in front of Emmett, almost as if she meant to prevent him from leaving. “You can’t go back there,” she pleaded. “You could be killed.”

  “I know.” He was aware of Antonina’s gaze on his back. “I wasn’t able to save her brother . . .” Remorse nearly choked him until he swallowed. “I knew I needed to get to you and make sure you were safe, but I gave her my word that I would go back and look for him. Not to mention, we’re in desperate need of food and water and medical supplies. Securing a way for us to get to Taormina is necessary too. That is, if it hasn’t been destroyed.” Emmett hated to think of anything happening to the Russos or his grandfather’s villa.

  His wife folded her arms tightly against her ragged robe, but her panicked expression had softened. “We could use some blankets and extra clothes too.”

  “I’ll see if there’s anything to be salvaged from Helena’s villa.”

  Clare dropped her voice to almost a whisper. “What about Antonina? She can’t follow you, Emmett.”

  “I spoke with her,” he said, matching her low volume. “She understands she needs to stay here. I promise I’ll be careful, Clare, and return as soon as I am able.”

  Her lips trembled. “That doesn’t mean you won’t be in danger.”

  The distress she seemed to feel on his behalf made him wonder if perhaps she did still care for him, at least a little. Of their own accord, Emmett’s fingers reached out toward the line of her pale face. But instead of touching her, his hand fell away when Clare suddenly spun around and rushed away from the group. A moment later he heard the sound of her retching into the grass.

  *

  Brushing her lips clean with the back of her hand, Clare straightened. Her head and heart pounded, and her stomach desperately needed something to assuage her growing sickness. She had no food or tea, though, or even water to wash the taste of bile from her mouth.

  Had Emmett seen her heaving into the grass? She mentally shook her head. Of course he’d seen her. She heard footsteps approaching her from behind and knew it was her husband.

  “Are you sick, Clare?”

  “It’s been an awful morning,” she answered. It wasn’t a direct response, but it was still the truth.

  She waited for Emmett’s reply, but the quiet at her back stretched wider. In its wake, she thought back to what had happened before she’d raced away to avoid vomiting on Emmett’s shoes. Had he really been about to touch her face? She wanted to believe it. Such a caress would surely have felt as wonderful and comforting as being held by him earlier.

  Clare allowed herself to hope for a moment, but it was short-lived. After all, Emmett had been the first to break away from their embrace outside the ruined villa. His reaching out just now was likely about offering simple human kindness, and nothing more.

  Something warm and firm rested on her shoulder. Clare turned her head to see it was Emmett’s hand. Her heartbeat leapt in response, as it had yesterday when he’d helped her into the carriage. No amount of chiding or rationalizing would calm it.

  “Everything I’ve seen so far feels like something out of a child’s worst nightmare,” he admitted quietly. “It doesn’t seem like any of it could possibly be real.”

  She twisted to face him, stunned at this rare glimpse of emotional honesty from him. “That is exactly what it’s been like.”

  Emmett lowered his arm to his side, but he didn’t retreat. He didn’t try to disguise the haggardness of his expression or the conquered look in his light-blue eyes either. The raw pain Clare had seen earlier when he’d told her he couldn’t save Antonina’s brother was still there too. Someday, would he share with Clare the tragedy behind finding this little girl? She very much hoped so.

  He glanced at the group, then back at Clare, his gaze full of concern. “I can stay a little longer if yo
u need me here.”

  How many times during her miscarriages had she longed to hear him say those exact words? To have him really look at her in this way? But she couldn’t ask him to stay now. All of them desperately needed supplies, and if she hoped to keep this baby, Clare couldn’t remain long outdoors with no shelter and nothing to eat. Of all of them, he was the best equipped to brave Messina’s shattered streets. She might hate the idea of her husband facing the danger all over again, but she could choose to be strong by letting him go.

  “No,” she said with conviction. “I’ll be all right.”

  He hesitated a moment longer, then determination filled his features. She’d seen this same look many times before, though typically it came in regards to something his father had asked of him. It was refreshing to see Emmett’s resolve at doing something he’d decided for himself that he needed to do.

  “I’ll look for Angelo,” Emmett explained as he walked back toward the group. Clare matched his footsteps. “Then I’ll see if I can find some food and blankets. Wait for me here.”

  She gave him a brave nod. “We will. I’ll watch over Antonina.”

  The suggestion of a smile pulled at his mouth. “I know you will.”

  His praise warmed her, even though she shouldn’t let it. Emmett wouldn’t be praising her if he knew she was pregnant and didn’t plan to tell him for some time still—maybe not at all if she miscarried a third time.

  “I’ll keep praying for you, Emmett.” That was something she could do.

  “Thank you.”

  She wished she understood the lingering look he sent her way. Before she could make sense of it, though, he turned, gave a reassuring wave to Antonina, then hurried across the field toward the road.

  A confusing mixture of relief and disappointment wound through Clare as she watched him go. Eventually Emmett disappeared beyond her sight. She fingered the cherished brooch in her pocket, thinking of her father. Such thoughts brought her a measure of much-needed courage. She turned away from the empty road and faced the beleaguered group. It was time for her to think of what she could do to help all of them.

  London, October 1907: Fourteen months earlier

  “Are you nervous, old chap?” Avery Winfield asked from his spot beside Emmett at the front of the church.

  Emmett shook his head, his gaze fixed on the cathedral doors. Any minute now his bride-to-be would enter, and he couldn’t wait to see her. Today he and Clare would start their life together.

  “The unusual way you’re bouncing about,” Winfield drawled, “and seem unsure whether to cross your arms or not would suggest otherwise.”

  Chuckling, Emmett finally turned to look at his best friend. “Fine. I’m a bit nervous. Are you happy now?”

  “Indubitably.” Winfield’s mocking look became a sincere smile as he clapped Emmett on the shoulder. “I’m happy for you and Clare. I believe the two of you will suit each other marvelously.”

  “Thank you.” Emmett gave Winfield a firm handshake to show he meant the words.

  He was grateful for his friend’s support—especially the way it hadn’t waned from the moment Emmett had shared the news that he wished to marry Clare. Winfield was likely the only other person besides Clare who understood the true reasons why Emmett had chosen her. She was so much more to him than an heiress with plenty of money to secure the future of his family’s estate. Did his own family understand that yet? He wasn’t sure, and not knowing accounted for the small knot of tension in his gut as he waited for his wedding to begin.

  Emmett glanced to where his parents, sisters, and brothers-in-law were seated, near Mrs. Herschel at the front of the assembled crowd. His father looked smug, as though the marquess himself had arranged the marriage. And though his sisters weren’t frowning like Lady Melinda, they hadn’t yet seemed overly interested in coming to know Clare either. To them, his American bride was still something of a curiosity. His mother, at least, had expressed her happiness at seeing him happy.

  Perhaps his family simply needed more time to adjust to the idea of him being married. After all, as heir to the Marquess of Hadwell, Emmett’s marriage marked an important event for all of them. He hoped some distance, while he and Clare were on their honeymoon in Sicily, would do them all some good. If not, then maybe living with his parents at Hadwell House before the start of the season would help bridge the distance.

  The sudden swell of music drew his attention back to the doors. Clare was moving slowly up the aisle, her arm tucked into her father’s. Emmett smiled broadly, his worrisome thoughts forgotten. Clare looked exquisite in a cream silk dress and flowing train. A long veil covered her hair and face. But as she came closer, he saw her green eyes shining beneath the thin material. The same love and anticipation stirring inside Emmett and making his heart thump faster shone in Clare’s gaze.

  For a moment, his vision blurred with tears of happiness. Emmett quickly pressed his thumb into the corner of each eye and straightened as Mr. Herschel and Clare stopped beside him. After lifting his daughter’s veil, Mr. Herschel placed a tender kiss on her forehead.

  “I love you,” the older man whispered, looking near tears himself.

  Clare squeezed her father’s hand. The tenderness between them prompted a twinge of envy inside Emmett. If only his own father would express the same unconditional love and approval for Emmett that he’d seen Mr. Herschel openly give his daughter again and again since the man’s arrival in England.

  Finally Clare turned to face him, her lips curved into a radiant smile. It was the same smile Emmett had seen six months ago at their first meeting. Would anything ever be more beautiful to him?

  At the instructions from the priest to hold hands, Clare passed her bouquet to the younger sister of her friend Helena. Then she slipped her hands into Emmett’s. Immediate calm replaced the last of his nerves. Everything would be all right. He’d made his choice of a wife, and in doing so, he had never felt happier. Looking into her lovely gaze, he saw a bright future stretching before them.

  Chapter 5

  Clare studied the landscape surrounding the field where their group had sought refuge. Could she find a source of water or something for them to eat among the trees and hills? She clamped her teeth against another wave of nausea and breathed as evenly as she could until the surge lessened in intensity. Even a little bit of food would surely help her and the baby she carried—not to mention the rest of their weary assembly.

  Crouching down by Miriam, Clare placed a hand on the girl’s arm. The maid lifted her chin, revealing red-rimmed eyes and dusty cheeks. “May I help you, my lady?”

  “No, Miriam,” she said gently. “I just wanted you to know I’m going to search for some food. I’ll take Antonina with me.”

  The maid seemed to collect herself. “I ought to come too.”

  “I’ll be all right. If you want to help, you can see if there’s a way to bandage Lord Vickley’s head.” Clare glanced at the man, who still looked ghastly pale. “You could help with the baby too when he wakes.” The poor boy had fallen into an exhausted slumber, but he kept stirring and whimpering in his sleep.

  Clare stood and went to tell Rushford her plan to search for food. Like Miriam, the valet felt it his place to accompany her. But she wouldn’t allow it. From the expression on his face, she could tell his broken arm was hurting. Hopefully Emmett would find something to help. To spare the valet’s pride, Clare reminded him that the group still needed someone to look after them, especially in Emmett’s absence. Rushford finally conceded to staying put.

  “Antonina?” Clare approached the little girl, who sat with her arms wrapped around her legs, her chin on her knees. “Will you come with me? To find food?”

  The girl looked puzzled by some of the English words. Would Clare’s limited Italian be enough to communicate with Antonina while Emmett was gone?

  She pantomimed eating. “Food. We need to find some food.”

  “Ah, cibo,” the child said, her black eyes lit with un
derstanding.

  Clare held out her hand to Antonina. After studying her a moment, the girl rose to her feet and placed her hand inside Clare’s. The simple act of trust inspired tears in Clare’s eyes.

  As she and Antonina started toward the opposite side of the field, Clare heard Helena cry out, “Clare! Where are you going?” Her friend had seemed to be in a sort of shocked stupor ever since witnessing the destruction of her house and her husband’s injury. Clare didn’t blame her. The horrors they’d passed through would have been all the more frightening with a baby in tow. But now, it seemed, the haze had cleared enough for her to be aware of her surroundings again.

  Clare turned back to answer her friend. “We’re going to see if we can find some food. Just wait here.” She motioned to Helena’s husband. “Miriam can help you figure out how to bandage that gash of his.”

  “I can do that.” Helena straightened her shoulders. “Here, Mary. Take the baby.” She passed her child to one of the maids and moved to kneel before the viscount. “Let’s find a bandage for you, Leo.”

  Her friend’s determination was proof Helena was going to be fine. Relieved, Clare led Antonina through the field. Her feet ached from rushing through the debris-filled streets earlier, but at least here, the ground wasn’t covered in wreckage.

  She cast a glance at the silent child walking at her side. From the little Emmett had said, she gathered that Antonina had lost her parents today and likely her brother too. A swell of sorrow and compassion nearly overwhelmed Clare. What must this little girl be thinking and feeling after what she’d experienced? Clare wished she knew enough Italian to find out. She did manage to learn Antonina’s age. At eight years old, she wasn’t much younger than Clare had been when her family’s situation had changed. But where Clare’s change in circumstances had brought wealth and opportunity, Antonina’s changes were full of loss and tragedy.