Beneath an Italian Sky

by Stacy Henrie

  “I’ll put her in bed,” Clare said, “then come back down.”

  Lord Hadwell thankfully stayed silent, but his demeanor conveyed his dissatisfaction. It was a look Clare knew all too well. Ignoring it, she guided Antonina up the stairs. The girl was soon dressed in her nightclothes and in bed.

  “Good night, Clare,” she murmured sleepily. “I love you.”

  Tears of joy pricked Clare’s eyes. “I love you too, Nina.”

  She returned downstairs, feeling peaceful until she heard the marquess’s raised voice coming from the drawing room. “Did you see her dark complexion? She doesn’t belong here. They’re better off employing the girl as a maid. Not pretending she’s the daughter of the future Marquess of Hadwell.”

  Clare’s earlier ire returned in full force as she marched across the foyer. Still, she slowed her steps as she neared the open doorway. Please give me courage, Father, to say what I need to without throwing accusations myself.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting.” She swept into the room. Lord Hadwell merely frowned at her from where he sat near the fireplace, but his wife lowered her gaze in evident embarrassment. At least one of them showed enough decency to be ashamed.

  Turning back to the door, Clare closed it partway to prevent others from overhearing the marquess in the event his volume rose again. “I hope you enjoyed dinner.”

  “We did, thank you,” Lady Hadwell said with a tight smile.

  Clare took a seat on the opposite side of the couch from Emmett’s mother. “I heard it has been a long time since you last visited the villa.”

  “Yes, and apparently it’s gone to ruin in that time.” The marquess’s frown increased to a scowl.

  Maintaining an open countenance was difficult, but Clare managed it. “I’m sorry it doesn’t meet with your expectations, my lord.”

  “What I expect is for you to give up your ridiculous scheme of adopting that girl as your child.” Lord Hadwell pushed out of his chair and moved to stand before the hearth. His stance reminded Clare of Emmett’s the other day. But unlike her husband, she sensed no softening in the marquess.

  “My scheme?” she repeated.

  Emmett’s father nodded curtly. “I doubt my son is behind such foolish notions.”

  “Actually . . .” Clare folded her hands in her lap. “It was Emmett who first thought of taking Antonina in as our own.”

  “Regardless, I won’t have it,” the man countered, whirling to face her. “Emmett needs to build his public image to run for Parliament, not incite curiosity and scrutiny by adopting a Sicilian child of possibly low birth.”

  Clare dug her fingernails into her palms. “I understand you feel differently about this than Emmett and I do, but it is not your decision.”

  “Is this your answer to producing an heir? Because she won’t inherit anything from me.”

  Lady Hadwell flinched as much as Clare did. For a moment, angry words met Clare’s tongue. Before she could say them, though, she had a thought to look at her father-in-law—truly look. His irritated expression remained unchanged, but his gaze held more than frustration. There was pain and sorrow there too, just as Antonina had said.

  “I don’t pretend to know what it must be like to lose a child whom you’ve cared for and loved for years,” Clare said, rising to her feet. “I imagine there will always be reminders of that loss. Always moments of wondering what they would have been like at every age. Mourning those milestones and memories that will never be.” She’d felt those same things with each miscarriage. “What I do know is that little girl upstairs has brought renewed hope and happiness to me and to Emmett. And she may not inherit anything from you, my lord, but she will from me. I will see she is cared for with my own money, if needs be, and that she is given the same love and affection I would give my flesh and blood.”

  The marquess eyed her coolly. “She won’t be welcome at Hadwell House.”

  Clare drew herself up straight as she replied, “Then she and I will remain here.”

  His refusal to listen and understand saddened her, but she wouldn’t leave Antonina behind. They would stay in Sicily, even if Clare ached at the thought of living apart from Emmett again. Knowing her husband wouldn’t give up Antonina either, she reassured herself that somehow, some way, they would make it work.

  “If I don’t lose this baby too,” Clare said, resting her hand against her stomach. From the corner of her eye, she saw her mother-in-law’s gaze widen. “I will raise this child and Antonina here in Sicily.”

  “You wish to ruin my son’s career before it’s even started by living apart?”

  Clare breathed in and out before responding. “On the contrary, Emmett doesn’t need me with him to win an election. He may need my money but only as a way to fund his campaign.” Her words grew louder to match her earnestness. “The truth is he doesn’t need you either or your management of his life. Emmett will do a marvelous job in Parliament solely based on his own merits. Because that is the type of man he is. He’s intelligent and kind and hard-working. And the earthquake has only enhanced those fine qualities.

  “Did you know he has played a large role in the relief efforts for the earthquake victims living here in Taormina?” She leveled a look at her father-in-law. “Emmett organized a group of refugees to repair the roads and is giving them wages to help put their lives back together. Their efforts will make travel easier again and restore some sense of normalcy for the people of this town. He also asked a local cobbler to make shoes for those who have none, and he’s paying for the shoes. That is the kind of man who will succeed as an MP. The kind of man who doesn’t need to be pushed into doing things. You raised an amazing son, my lord. But you won’t see that if you never step back and look.”

  Her fervent speech over, Clare felt suddenly vulnerable. Especially when Lord Hadwell remained silent as he turned toward the fireplace again. Had she said too much? Maybe, but she didn’t regret sharing any of it. She only wished she’d been able to help the marquess see things differently.

  “I’ll bid you both good night, Lord and Lady Hadwell.”

  Emmett’s mother stood and patted Clare’s hand, her eyes brimming with tears. “You truly love my son, don’t you?”

  “I do,” Clare said quietly but with conviction.

  Lady Hadwell glanced at something over Clare’s shoulder and smiled. “It’s easy to see how he feels about you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s written all over his face.”

  Her mother-in-law spun Clare around to face the door. And there, watching her with more adoration than she’d ever seen in his light-blue eyes, was Emmett.

  Chapter 14

  There was no longer any question in Emmett’s mind how his wife felt about him. Not after overhearing her impassioned words to his father and her sweet declaration to his mother just now.

  He’d been so eager to see her again, especially after finding her brooch. But the train had been delayed, causing him and Mr. Sharpe to return to Taormina well after dinner. When they’d entered the house, Emmett had heard voices through the partially open door of the drawing room. To his complete astonishment, one of them sounded very much like his father.

  Mr. Sharpe had excused himself, leaving Emmett alone outside the drawing room. It was then he overheard his wife mention a decision that wasn’t his father’s to make. Lord Hadwell had countered with a harsh question about this being Clare’s answer to producing an heir.

  Realizing they must be talking about Antonina, Emmett nearly burst into the room at that point on a tide of anger, but something whispered at him to pause. Thankfully he’d listened. If he hadn’t, he would have missed Clare’s kind but firm reply about Antonina’s place in their family and about Emmett’s own strengths. Listening to her moving speech about him, he knew he needed no other proof that Clare had married him for love and not his title.

  “You’re home.” Clare hurried toward him, her expression full of relief and happiness. She embraced him ti
ghtly, and he relished the feel of her in his arms.

  He longed to kiss her thoroughly right then. She had bravely confronted his father, and she’d done it with grace, kindness, and confidence. “I wanted to surprise you,” he whispered in her ear. “I have something else for you too, but first there are a few things I need to share with my father.” Emmett eased back to rest his forehead against hers. “Wait for me in the garden?”

  “I will.” She surprised him with a quick kiss to his jaw before she left the room.

  Emmett’s mother offered him an embrace as well. “I’m so glad you are both all right.” She cast a glance over her shoulder to where the marquess stood by the fireplace. “I believe I’ll retire and let you two speak alone. Good night, Emmett.”

  He squeezed her hand. “Good night, Mother.” As she left, he squared his shoulders and faced the man across the room. “Hello, Father.”

  “That wife of yours . . .” Lord Hadwell waved impatiently at the door.

  “Is brilliant,” Emmett finished, “and articulate and would likely make a better politician than me? I heartily agree with you.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “I only wish I’d seen that more fully ages ago.”

  His father sized him up. “I see you are in one piece.”

  “I am, but you already knew that from my telegram.”

  Lord Hadwell shrugged. “Your mother wasn’t convinced.” Oddly enough, he didn’t look at Emmett as he said this, almost as if he was afraid to let his real emotion show through.

  Much like I have done, Emmett thought sadly.

  He studied his father, who was now intently observing the painting of Taormina that hung on the wall. In that instant, Emmett saw something in Lord Hadwell’s eyes he had never seen or noticed before. It was brief, hardly more than a flicker. And yet for just a moment, there was genuine concern in the marquess’s gaze.

  “You were worried too.”

  His father sniffed, and the telltale emotion disappeared. “Of course I was. We’d only just mapped out your political career, and I wasn’t certain if events here had disrupted that. And I was right to be concerned. Take that Sicilian child, for instance.”

  “She has a name, Father. It’s Antonina.”

  “As I am well aware. Your wife has already informed me of her intentions to keep the child as her own.”

  Emmett forced his jaw to relax. “Our own. I also want to raise Nina as our daughter, as much as Clare does.”

  “That wasn’t part of our plan,” his father barked before stalking to the window.

  Running his hand down his face, Emmett pushed out a long breath. What he was about to say would likely seal his father’s disapproval forever. Yet he wasn’t the same person he’d been back in England. He had greater confidence in himself now and in his own plans for the future. It was time to stop trying to make his father proud, to stop chasing after Alder’s shadow.

  “I understand that my choice to adopt a child from here was not your plan.” Emmett took a step toward him. “It wasn’t mine either until the earthquake. However, that event changed a great many things. It changed me, Father.”

  Lord Hadwell glowered at him. “So what are you saying? You no longer wish to be an MP?”

  “On the contrary, I want to be an MP now more than ever. Working with the refugees and helping with the relief efforts has given me a much different perspective. I hope to implement the things I’ve learned here if I’m elected.”

  The first semblance of a smile lifted his father’s mouth. “Excellent. Then I’m sure we can work out an arrangement for that girl.”

  Emmett fought back a growl of annoyance at the marquess’s dismissive outlook. “I have an arrangement. Antonina is to remain in Taormina with Clare . . . and with me.”

  “What?” Lord Hadwell wasn’t smiling anymore. “You need to begin your campaign, Emmett.”

  “I need to be here,” he countered in an unyielding tone. His place was with Clare and Antonina, whether his father agreed or not. “My wife needs to remain in Sicily, at least until it’s warmer back home. A doctor recommended Clare stay somewhere more temperate during this pregnancy. Once we are back in Britain, I can begin campaigning.”

  The marquess’s eyebrows lowered in aggravation. “That may be too late.”

  “It may, but if I go now, it will be permanently too late for me and Clare. And she matters more to me than any political acclaim.” He narrowed the distance between him and his father. “I hope you’ll respect my choice in this and as it relates to the daughter we are to adopt. If not, then I’d ask that you not visit us at Barksley Hall or in London when we return. I shall come to you, but I won’t have you disparaging any member of my family in our own home.”

  Rather than throwing an angered remark at him, his father lowered his head. “Alder would have done it differently, I imagine.”

  The words smarted, but Emmett found they weren’t so hard to move past either. “I’m sure he would, and I’m sorry you didn’t get the chance to see what he would have done in my place as eldest son and heir.”

  To Emmett’s shock, Lord Hadwell’s shoulders drooped, then began to quiver with noiseless sobs. “Father?” He put his hand on the man’s back in alarm. “Is something wrong?”

  “Your wife was correct,” the marquess said in a shuddering voice. “I am reminded of Alder often, and I miss him still.” The hand he lifted to swipe at his eyes trembled. “When he died, I pleaded with God to give us another son.”

  Emmett was too stunned by the emotional display to respond. That, and he sensed his father needed to speak without interruption.

  “I nearly gave up believing it would ever happen again, and then you were born.” Lord Hadwell’s tone softened for a moment. “However, I was unaware of how close we came to losing you too until I read Sharpe’s article about the earthquake. Your telegram didn’t indicate you and Clare were even in Messina that morning.” He leveled a pointed look at Emmett.

  Pocketing his hands, Emmett stared out the window. He’d lived through those experiences Mr. Sharpe had described in his article, and yet he still had difficulty believing at times that it wasn’t all a dream. To read about them in print must have been equally as shocking for his parents.

  “I didn’t wish to worry Mother . . . or you, especially since we were blessed to make it out alive and uninjured.”

  Emmett’s candidness seemed to drain what was left of his father’s energy. The marquess stumbled to the nearest chair and dropped onto the seat. “If something had happened . . .” He didn’t finish but merely shook his head. “That girl, Antonina,” he said after a long moment, “she’s the child you rescued, the one mentioned in the article?”

  “Yes.” Emmett sat down as well. “Rushford and I were able to save her but not her brother.”

  Lord Hadwell dipped his head in a slow nod. “I suppose I can relate to that in a way.” Resting his elbow on the chair arm, he massaged his forehead. “I’m not simply here to see what you’ve been doing, Emmett. Nor to assure myself and your mother that you were indeed safe. I came because I feared losing you, not to death but to your own life.”

  Emmett frowned. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “Your refusal to have a journalist accompanying you to Sicily angered me. But more than that, it frightened me.” He twisted in his seat to look at Emmett. “Why do you think I’ve always wanted you to follow my plans?”

  Did he really wish for an answer? Emmett lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “Because you wanted and expected me to be more like Alder.”

  “No,” the marquess said, his voice full of sadness. “It was because I’ve always feared that someday I would lose you too. It wasn’t only death or illness that I feared. What if you decided you wanted to make your own way in this world without my help? Or chose to live far away? Barksley Hall is already a greater distance from Hadwell House than I would have wished.”

  Understanding flooded Emmett, along with his own fair share of regret and sorrow. “T
hat’s why you wished for me to go into politics now. It was a way to keep me nearby and not solely focused on the work at Barksley Hall.”

  “You are partly right,” his father admitted. “It would also mean being in London together as we’ve always been. We hardly saw you and Clare this season. However, my motives weren’t entirely selfish. I also saw what an asset you would be to Britain and its people.”

  It was the nearest thing to a compliment Emmett had heard from him in a very long time. “I appreciate that, Father. But if that is true, why did you send Mr. Sharpe on the next boat after mine, especially when I asked you not to do so?”

  “I wanted someone to be my eyes here, to ensure our plans were proceeding as they should.” A rare look of chagrin crossed the man’s face. “That was wrong of me, and I’m sorry I didn’t respect your wishes.”

  Emmett fought to keep from gaping at his father. He couldn’t recall the marquess ever apologizing before.

  “When you didn’t send word save for that one telegram,” his father continued, “I began to believe my fears were being realized. That something had happened while you here to make you change your mind about becoming an MP. Then we arrived and learned from your wife that you had made changes to so many of the plans I had for you.”

  “And you believe those changes mean you’re losing me?”

  Lord Hadwell lowered his gaze to his empty hands. “Don’t they?”

  “Father?” Emmett reached out and grasped his arm. “You are not losing me. Even if I weren’t to become an MP, which I very much still hope to do, or if I choose to live farther away than Barksley Hall, I am still your son. That will never change.”

  The deep lines around the marquess’s mouth and eyes eased. “You’re right. So what do we do now?”

  “You’re asking me?” Emmett swallowed back an incredulous laugh. The conversation had brought one astonishment and revelation after another. At his father’s nod, he considered the question. “We can’t go back and change the past.” He’d learned that with Clare. “But we can own our past mistakes—and I have certainly made plenty of my own—and begin again from where we are right now.”