Beneath an Italian Sky

by Stacy Henrie

  Miriam removed a folded slip of paper from her pocket. “Lord Linwood gave Rushford this note to give to you.” She handed it to Clare. “Would you like to dress before your tea, my lady?”

  Clare eyed Antonina still standing beside the bed. “I think I’ll have my tea first. And what do you say to joining me for breakfast in bed, Nina?” She patted the blanket.

  “Yes!” The child scrambled up onto the bed and settled beside her. Today Antonina’s black eyes shone with a brightness Clare hadn’t seen before. The melancholy had disappeared from her demeanor.

  Miriam smiled at them. “I’ll bring up a tray, my lady.”

  “Thank you, Miriam.” She unfolded her note from Emmett as Antonina began braiding the ends of Clare’s hair. The message wasn’t long, but it succeeded in erasing any lingering doubts that Emmett didn’t want to see her anymore.

  Clare,

  I have an errand to attend to in Palermo, but I hope to be back no later than the day after tomorrow. You’re still sleeping now, and I don’t wish to wake you. Not when I now understand how much you need to rest. Just know that I am thinking of you, my dear.

  In truth, I never stopped thinking of you, though I may have fooled myself and you into believing otherwise. I know there is much more we need to discuss and decide. However, in the meantime, I want you to know that I spoke with Antonina last night. And you were right, Clare. It required a great deal of courage, but she wasn’t upset. If anything, it was a blessing and a relief that she and I were both able to grieve at last.

  I remain yours, now and hopefully always,

  Emmett

  He’d done it! Emmett had finally allowed himself to mourn. Clare clasped his note to her heart. If Antonina’s light countenance was any indication, Emmett must be feeling lighter today too.

  In a rush of joy and gratitude, she put her arm around Antonina and snuggled the child to her side. “What do you say to you and I doing something besides sewing today?”

  “All right.” The girl’s voice held a note of excited interest. “What do we do?”

  Clare shrugged. “Anything you want.”

  “Painting.”

  “Painting?” Clare echoed. “Like the pictures we did the other day?”

  The child wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “No. I want to do happy pictures, Clare.”

  “Me too,” she murmured, once she’d swallowed the lump in her throat. “Lots and lots of happy pictures.” She twisted to face Antonina. “But first, I think we need some laughter.”

  Clare tickled the little girl in the side. Antonina’s first few giggles were brief and faint. However, the child was soon laughing out loud and attempting to tickle Clare in return. When Miriam entered with their breakfast, they quit their game in favor of eating. But the merry sound of Antonina’s laughter seemed to linger in the room for some time, and to Clare, it was the most wonderful thing she’d ever heard.

  *

  Emmett exited another shop in Palermo, discouragement dogging his heels. He’d lost count of the number of shops he and Mr. Sharpe had visited between yesterday and today. Any establishment that looked as if it might carry brooches, stolen or not, they’d entered. But so far, the only good thing that had come from this trip was their visit with Helena and the viscount at a nearby hotel.

  Clare’s friend and her baby were doing well, and the viscount was nearly recovered from his injury. When Helena’s husband felt up to it, the family would return to England, with plans to rebuild their villa in the fall. Mr. Sharpe had been interested in getting their story to add to the others he’d collected. This time, as Emmett listened instead of translating, he saw firsthand how the lingering lines of anxiety faded from their faces as they shared their traumatic experiences during the earthquake. If he hadn’t already witnessed for himself the importance of talking out one’s grief, watching his friends purge their fears and losses aloud would have convinced him that he needed to do the same.

  “How many shops are left?” Mr. Sharpe asked as they started across the nearby square.

  Emmett shrugged. “Probably more than we can visit before we head back to Taormina tomorrow.” He wasn’t entirely sure the brooch was even in Palermo. For all he knew, the thief might have left Messina with it right after the earthquake and taken a boat to Naples or Rome or somewhere else in the world.

  “You aren’t giving up, are you?”

  The young man had stopped walking, forcing Emmett to do the same. “Why? Because finding my wife’s stolen brooch would make a good story?”

  “It would.” Mr. Sharpe had the decency to look a bit chagrined at his admission. “But that isn’t why I expected you to carry on until the last possible moment.”

  Emmett regarded him with curiosity. “And why is that?”

  “Because you aren’t the sort of chap who quits,” the reporter countered as if such a thing were obvious. He pocketed his hands and stared at something across the square. “Neither you nor Lady Linwood has stopped trying to make things work between you since I met you on the boat.”

  Astonishment shot through Emmett. “You mean you . . .”

  “Knew that the two of you were just pretending to be a happy couple?” Mr. Sharpe finished in a slightly smug tone.

  Emmett nodded mutely. The other man had seen through his and Clare’s playacting but hadn’t let on, until now.

  “I’m a reporter, Lord Linwood. Sniffing out the real details of a story is my job.”

  Was Emmett supposed to be impressed or alarmed by that answer? He wasn’t sure. “Will you share those details with the world?”

  “If you mean, will I tell the world about the genuine, enduring, affectionate relationship that exists between Lord and Lady Linwood, then yes.”

  “But . . .” Emmett shook his head, feeling as relieved as he did bewildered. “You just said you knew we were pretending.”

  Mr. Sharpe looked directly at him. “Yes, and it became apparent rather quickly that the only ones the two of you were fooling was yourselves. You thought the show wasn’t based in any reality, but it’s clear how deeply you care for each other.”

  Emmett couldn’t help a surprised chuckle. All this time he and Clare had thought themselves so clever in their interactions around Mr. Sharpe. And yet the reporter was right. Somewhere along the way the playacting hadn’t been about acting anymore. He—and hopefully Clare as well—had eventually fallen to the habit of responding to each other from a place of true caring and unending love.

  “You are quite astute about a great many things besides journalism, Mr. Sharpe. Your father should be proud of you.”

  The reporter lifted his shoulders in a shrug. However, Emmett saw how much the compliment meant when Mr. Sharpe straightened to full height, his gaze shining with happiness. “What do you want to do about the brooch then?”

  “Can’t very well quit after that moving speech, can I?” Emmett said, smiling. “The last store owner suggested trying a shop one street over from here. They don’t specialize in jewelry but have been known to carry unique pieces now and then.”

  Mr. Sharpe waved him forward with a slight bow. “Lead on.”

  Emmett laughed. He was actually going to miss this intrepid reporter when it came time to part ways. The young man had begun as a threat, then turned into an annoyance, and eventually had become a friend.

  The shop they entered held more knickknacks, antiquities, and various odds and ends than Emmett could recall seeing in one place. He squared his shoulders against the seemingly impossible task of finding one brooch among hundreds of items and approached the shop owner. Emmett asked if he had any new pieces of jewelry. The man showed him a bracelet, a locket, and a pair of earrings but no brooch.

  Disappointed, Emmett started to turn away as the owner began pulling items out of a tin box on the counter. The objects were all different, some looking more costly than others. “What do you have there?” he asked the man in Italian.

  “These all came from refugees of Messina.” Th
e man shook his head sadly and remarked on the tragedy of the earthquake. “Some are so desperate for money they’ve sold off their family heirlooms.”

  A ripple of hope wound through Emmett. “May I see what you have?”

  “Yes, of course,” he said, twisting the box around so Emmett could see inside.

  Emmett rifled through the items. There were watches, small clocks, hand mirrors, necklaces. At the bottom of the pile, he saw something round and silver. Emmett’s heart hammered faster as he lifted the object out of the box. It was a silver brooch in the shape of a flower.

  “I found it!” he exclaimed, swiveling to face Mr. Sharpe, who was examining a vase on the other side of the room.

  The reporter set the vase down at once and hurried over. “You’re certain?”

  “Absolutely.” Emmett grinned. “This is Clare’s brooch.” He turned back to the owner and asked if the man had any wedding rings. Perhaps the thief had sold both pieces to the same shop. But none of the rings were Clare’s. Still, Emmett was more than pleased to have found the brooch. Once he’d paid for it, he and Mr. Sharpe exited the shop.

  “Now what?” the reporter asked. He looked nearly as elated as Emmett at recovering the lost item.

  Emmett rubbed the edges of the brooch, then pocketed it for safekeeping. “You and I are going to head back to Taormina right away.” Now that he had what he’d come for, he didn’t want to wait any longer to return it to his wife.

  *

  By dinner time on the second day of Emmett’s trip to Palermo, Clare had uncovered an important truth about herself. She wanted to be with him—not just here in Taormina but in England too.

  Two days without Emmett had felt more like two weeks with how much she’d missed him. She missed seeing him at meals, missed his morning kiss, missed talking with him about their daily tasks. All the ways they’d interacted, especially since Mr. Sharpe’s sudden arrival, no longer felt forced or difficult. In her husband’s absence, Clare realized just how much she’d come to appreciate their interactions—and how much she still loved Emmett. That love had been tried and tested thoroughly over the past year, but it hadn’t disappeared as she had once feared. It was still there and had become even stronger now that she’d finally been more open and honest with him about her feelings.

  She felt as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders—and she wasn’t the only one. Clare relished seeing the changes in Antonina too. The little girl smiled, laughed, and was full of things to say now. Miriam and Rushford, as well as the Russos, had all commented on the difference in the child’s demeanor. Their obvious affection for Antonina and acceptance of her place in the family meant a great deal to Clare.

  They were nearly finished with dinner, and Antonina was telling Clare a story, when someone knocked on the front door of the villa. Clare glanced through the open doorway to the foyer. Was it Emmett, eager to surprise them by coming home early?

  “Maybe it’s Emmett,” she said with a smile as she set down her napkin. “Should we go see?”

  “Yes!” Antonina tumbled out of her chair in her excitement. She still wore an apron over her dress from helping Signora Russo with the baking earlier.

  Standing, Clare followed the girl to the door, her heart beating faster with her own eagerness. Would he be as happy to see her as she was to see him? Would he kiss her again?

  “Come, Clare.” Antonina latched onto her hand and tugged Clare into the foyer.

  She laughed as she allowed the child to drag her forward. Another knock sounded, this one more insistent, before Clare could grab the door handle.

  “Emmett,” she said as she threw open the door. But it wasn’t her husband standing there. Her enthusiasm transformed into instant dread. “Lord and Lady Hadwell?”

  “Good evening, Lady Linwood.” The marquess stepped past her as though Clare had invited him inside instead of watching him in wide-eyed disbelief. “I see my son has still not employed a butler here.”

  His wife gave Clare an almost apologetic smile. “It is good to see you again.”

  “And you . . .” Clare belatedly motioned for Emmett’s mother to come in as well. Out on the drive, the couple’s valet and lady’s maid were unloading luggage from a carriage. “Was Emmett expecting you?”

  To Clare’s relief, Lord Hadwell shook his head. “He should have been, after his cryptic telegram that shared very little, other than neither of you had been harmed by that earthquake. When I didn’t hear from him again, I surmised it was time to see what was impeding his swift return home. Naturally Lady Hadwell wished to see for herself that you were both all right. So here we are.”

  Irritation crowded out Clare’s alarm. Though he hadn’t said as much directly, she knew the man was here to find out why Emmett hadn’t yet been successful in bringing her back to England. “I’m sure Emmett will be pleased to see you.” Even if she wasn’t.

  “Where is he?” The marquess gazed shrewdly around the foyer, almost as if he suspected Clare of hiding his son.

  She managed a partial smile. “He had business in Palermo but should be back tomorrow.”

  Their valet and maid entered with the luggage in tow, and Clare gave them instructions on where to place it upstairs. As she finally shut the door, she pulled in a cleansing breath. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been alone with Emmett’s parents for weeks at a time already. Though having them in this place that had become a sanctuary for her added another level of difficulty to the hours ahead.

  “You there,” Lord Hadwell commanded in an arrogant tone. “Help Lady Hadwell’s maid with the bags.”

  None of the other servants were present, so who was the man ordering about? Clare turned and felt something bump into her leg. She glanced down to find Antonina clinging to her skirt, a look of worry and bewilderment on the child’s face.

  “Did you not hear me, girl?” The marquess frowned at Antonina. “Your help is required.”

  Clare stiffened in anger and placed a protective arm about the child’s shoulders. “This is Antonina. She is not a servant. In this house, she is a member of the family.”

  “A what?”

  Clare might have laughed at the spluttering, red-faced Lord Hadwell if she hadn’t been so irate at his condescending attitude and erroneous assumption. “She lost her family in the earthquake, and Emmett and I have taken her into our home.” Clare noted the surprised expressions of Lady Hadwell and the two servants before she continued. “I’m sure you’re both quite weary from traveling. Why don’t you freshen up in your rooms? I’ll have Signora Russo set two more places at the table for when you’re ready.”

  Emmett’s parents appeared nearly as astonished at her polite dismissal as they did at the news that Antonina was here to stay. But Clare felt invigorated. She’d avoided speaking up around her in-laws for too long, too overawed to assert herself while she was living in their house. But the villa was Emmett’s by inheritance, which made Clare the rightful hostess—and as such, she would confidently direct the activities and conversation in her own home. She wouldn’t be cowed by the marquess’s disapproval.

  “Let’s finish eating, Nina,” she said as the others headed upstairs. The girl still held tightly to Clare’s skirt, but her grasp relaxed when they entered the dining room again.

  Clare returned to her seat. “Are you all right, sweetheart?”

  “Who are they?” Antonina asked.

  “Emmett’s parents.”

  The child picked up her fork and frowned. “That man is . . .” She seemed to be searching for the right word. “He is sad.”

  “Sad?” Clare repeated. She could think of lots of words for Lord Hadwell, but that one hadn’t occurred to her. “What do you mean?”

  Antonina’s brow scrunched. “His face is angry, but his eyes are sad.”

  Could that be true? Clare was embarrassed that she’d never noticed the marquess’s eyes before. She’d spent more time looking at her lap or her plate or at something across the room when he spoke to her. And
yet Antonina had noticed this detail right off.

  Memories of what Emmett had told her about his older brother flitted through her mind. Was Lord Hadwell still grieving the death of his oldest son? Clare understood loss—the need to share it and the awful consequences of trying to carry that burden alone. Maybe Emmett had learned from his father to bury his feelings of grief and sorrow. The likelihood engendered compassion in her for both her husband and the marquess.

  When she and Antonina were finished with their meal, Clare had the girl come downstairs with her to inform Signora Russo that all of their new guests, servants included, would need dinner. The woman looked as stunned as Clare had been at hearing the marquess was visiting. Apparently the last time Lord and Lady Hadwell had come to the villa together was when Emmett was still a boy.

  “Shall we read a book?” Clare asked when she and Antonina returned from downstairs. She didn’t wish to subject the child to Lord Hadwell’s displeasure by joining the couple at dinner. Instead they would read until Emmett’s parents were finished and came into the drawing room.

  With a nod, Antonina rushed across the foyer in her eagerness to find the book they’d started last night. At the same time, Lord and Lady Hadwell descended the stairs. The marquess threw a glare at the child’s back. Clare fisted her hands in irritation before she attempted to greet them cordially. “Since Nina and I have already eaten, we’ll be reading in the drawing room. You’re more than welcome to join us after you’ve finished dinner.”

  Rather than waiting for their response, she headed into the drawing room. Antonina was already seated on the couch, the chosen book on her lap. Clare sat beside her and picked up the book. The little girl snuggled into her side. A feeling of contentment wrapped itself around Clare as she began to read. The only thing that would have improved the blissful moment was Emmett’s presence.

  His parents still hadn’t yet joined them by the time Antonina had fallen asleep, her head on Clare’s shoulder. She gently shook the girl awake and led her into the foyer. Lord and Lady Hadwell were just exiting the dining room.