Beneath an Italian Sky

by Stacy Henrie

  Shifting his chair, Lord Hadwell held out his hand. “I would like that.”

  Emmett poured all of his remorse from the past and his hope for the future into their firm handshake. “I should have been more honest about what I wanted to do with my life and not tried so hard to just be whatever you wanted me to be. And for that, I’m sorry.”

  The marquess set his other hand over Emmett’s. “I suppose I owe an apology to your wife as well,” he grumbled before he climbed to his feet. “However, I believe I’ll put that off for the morning.” His lips twitched with a rare teasing smile. “Something tells me the only person she wishes to speak to tonight is you.”

  *

  Was Clare still waiting for him? Emmett had taken much longer to speak with his father than he’d expected. He moved with quick strides out of the house and into the garden. The light from indoors shone across the stone terrace. Within its illuminating pool, Clare sat on one of the benches scattered among the paths and foliage. Her red-gold hair had been freed of its pins and glowed like copper in the light as it lay around her shoulders.

  She stood when she saw him. “How did it go?”

  “Surprisingly well,” Emmett answered, hardly able to believe it himself. He motioned for her to sit, then joined her on the bench. Scooping up her hand, he threaded his fingers with hers. At once a feeling of rightness, of contentment, settled inside him. “My father actually voiced an apology, and he plans to do the same with you in the morning.”

  Clare’s green eyes widened. “He was so irate. What happened?”

  He shared what his father had confessed about his fears and motives. “It will still take a great deal of time, for both of us, to do and see things differently, but it’s a very welcome start.”

  “I’m so happy for you, Emmett.” Looping her other arm through his, she smiled up at him.

  There had been a time, not so many weeks ago, when he wasn’t sure if he would ever see that beautiful smile directed his way again. “I need to apologize to you too, Clare.” He glanced down and squeezed her hand. “You were right, my dear. I did treat you with what must have looked like indifference when you were grieving. It wasn’t because I didn’t care about you. I never stopped caring. But I recognize now that in my attempt not to hurt or upset you even more, I did exactly that. And I am sorry.”

  He lifted his gaze to hers and saw tears glittering along her lashes. “If you’re willing, I would very much like to hear your feelings, all of them, around this pregnancy and the others.”

  “I would like that too,” she murmured. The gratitude radiating from her told him this was the right step on the path to healing, for both of them.

  She began to speak, not holding back anything in her sharing, and Emmett prized her trust in him as much as he did her words. At one point, he released her hand to hold her close. He wasn’t silent either. As he’d done with Antonina, he finally gave voice to his own feelings of loss and grief—about Clare’s miscarriages, about his grandfather, about how he’d come to believe he was wrong to feel sad.

  Clare asked if he was willing to tell her about Angelo and the details of Antonina’s rescue, and he did. Relating those events didn’t gut him as they had when he’d kept them to himself. Still, there were tears present on both their faces when he’d finished.

  “That must have been so awful,” Clare said as she brushed the moisture from her cheeks. “No wonder you were having nightmares.”

  He rested his cheek against her hair. “I still hate that I wasn’t able to save him, but I’ve made peace with it. Largely because a very intelligent woman told me I needed to talk about it.” She gave a light laugh. “I hope this baby will be all right, Clare. But if not, I promise you . . .” He lifted his head to look at her. “You won’t suffer this one alone. We will grieve together.”

  “Thank you.”

  Slipping his hand into his pocket, Emmett removed the brooch. “I told you that I had something else for you.” He twisted her hand, palm up, and placed the piece of jewelry there.

  “It’s my brooch!” She clasped her fingers around it, her expression one of disbelief and joy. “Where did you find it?”

  He smiled as he nestled her against his side once more. “Inside a box in a shop in Palermo. I searched every shop I could find. I know how much it means to you.”

  Clare kissed his cheek. “I can’t believe you found it.”

  “It was rather a miracle, and in truth, I would have quit trying if it hadn’t been for Mr. Sharpe.”

  “What did he do?” she asked, her surprise evident in her tone.

  Emmett fingered the ends of her hair. “He reminded me that I wasn’t one to quit. And he told me that we haven’t fooled him at all by pretending to be a happy couple.”

  “Oh no. I’m sorry, Emmett. Maybe if we’d tried harder.”

  He shook his head. “Mr. Sharpe recognized before I did that we weren’t actually pretending anymore.”

  “You mean . . .”

  “Somewhere in all the playacting, it became real for me again.”

  The fondness in her gaze was as much a confirmation she felt the same way as was her quiet response. “For me too.”

  He angled his head toward hers, eager to kiss her. But instead of matching his stance, Clare fumbled with his lapel. “Clare? Is something amiss?”

  “I owe you an apology too.”

  “You apologized the other day,” he reminded her.

  She nodded, but the remorse on her features didn’t fade. “There’s something else.” She pulled in a breath as if to calm herself. Her reluctance had Emmett concerned, though. “For a long time now, I’ve believed something Lady Melinda told me.”

  “Lady Melinda?” What other havoc had the widow caused with her gossip?

  “During a visit to Hadwell House last year, she mentioned you had only married me for my money.”

  Emmett sat back. “This was last year and you didn’t say anything? Didn’t ask me if it was true?”

  “I should have.” Clare twisted on the bench to face forward. “At first I didn’t give any credence to her remarks, knowing she wasn’t happy that you’d married me. But then, when I sensed you pulling away, I started to fear she’d been right.”

  He wanted to feel hurt or frustrated at her for believing Lady Melinda. Yet hadn’t he done the same thing? Thanks to the resentful widow, he’d come to believe that Clare had married him solely for his title. But none of the widow’s comments had proven to be correct. Instead they’d been weapons of manipulation from an embittered, petulant woman. “I have something to confess as well. After you left for Sicily, I attended a party. Lady Melinda was in attendance too, and I overheard her say that you married me for my title. Unfortunately, I convinced myself that it was also true.”

  “How tragic,” Clare said, peering up at him again. “We both let her resentment-driven gossip feed our fears.” Setting her brooch beside her on the bench, she held Emmett’s hand between hers. “I didn’t marry you for your title, Emmett. I married you because I love you. And I want to be with you, wherever you are.” Her voice wavered with emotion as she continued, “So if you are needed in England to campaign, then that’s where I’ll be too.”

  She would do that for him? “Even if it means living somewhere cold?”

  “Yes.” There was no hesitation from her now. “I want to stay with you.”

  His love for her welled up inside him. “Then you will have to content yourself with remaining in Italy.”

  “Why?” she asked, the hope in her green eyes growing stronger.

  “As I told my father, you need to stay here, which means I need to stay here as well.”

  “What about your campaign?”

  He brushed his finger along her jawline, noting the softness of her skin. “It can wait until all of us return to England. Because while your money is greatly appreciated, Clare, what I need most is you at my side.” Emmett placed a kiss against her temple. “I heard what you said to my father about my
becoming an MP. However, you only told him half the truth.”

  “Did I?” Her gaze glinted with awareness.

  “The truth is I married an extraordinary woman with talents of her own.” He wound his arms around her. “And if I am successful in politics, it will only be to her credit and as a result of her help.”

  Clare raised her chin, bringing her lips temptingly close to his. “Have I met this extraordinary woman?”

  Emmett chuckled. “I believe so. She’s beautiful and kind and wise. Best of all, she apparently loves me.”

  “And do you still love her?” There was teasing but also vulnerability in her question.

  “Yes, Clare. I never stopped loving you.” He nudged her closer. “And I will keep loving you more openly and more deeply every day.”

  Nothing, not even another earthquake, could have dissuaded him from kissing his wife right then. Her fervent response matched his own in love and yearning. And in that perfect moment, Emmett felt the joy and healing of being together again at long last.

  Epilogue

  Barksley Hall, September 1909

  Clare studied her canvas. The painting of the estate house was finished, and once it was framed, Emmett had insisted they hang it in a place of prominence over the drawing room fireplace.

  The sound of girlish laughter drew her attention away from her paints. Antonina and Emmett were taking turns throwing a ball for Bran, who had bonded as quickly with the girl as he had with Clare. Seated nearby in lawn chairs were Emmett’s parents. It had taken time for his family to fully accept Antonina’s place with them, but they had come around eventually. The marquess now enjoyed answering Antonina’s endless questions and was teaching her how to ride. Lady Hadwell held two-month-old Emmett Jr. in her arms, where the baby had been more often than not since her and her husband’s arrival last week.

  “Did you finish?” Emmett asked, approaching her.

  Clare nodded. “I’m still not sure I can paint people.” Standing to one side of the house was a miniature version of herself, holding the baby, alongside Emmett and Antonina.

  “It’s as incredible as I knew it would be.” He settled a kiss just below her jaw on her neck.

  A delighted shiver wound through her. “I believe you are biased, my lord.”

  “True, but that doesn’t mean I can’t recognize a talented artist.” Emmett tugged her from her chair, his fingers touching the new wedding ring he’d given her. “And you, my dear, are a talented artist.”

  She set down her brush. “If that is so, then how do you plan to pay for such valuable work?”

  “I’m hoping,” he teased in a low voice, “that this particular artist may be persuaded to accept ardent kisses as currency.”

  Clare glanced at his parents and blushed. “She may but not here.”

  “Mother? Father? We’re going for a short walk.” When his parents waved them on, he lifted his eyebrows at her in silent question.

  She couldn’t help laughing. “Very discreet.”

  “That is a talent of mine.”

  Emmett led her toward their favorite path, the one that wound through the forest and eventually ended at the sea cliffs. Once they were surrounded by trees, he stopped and pulled her toward him. Clare went willingly.

  His kiss was thoroughly long and wonderful, and it set her heart racing with happiness. “I love you, Clare.”

  “I love you too.” With her arms around his neck, she gazed up at him. “Are you nervous to start campaigning soon?”

  “A little,” he admitted. True to his word, her husband had been more open and honest—they both had. “I’m hoping Mr. Sharpe’s article will help.”

  Mr. Sharpe’s story about them as a couple had recently been published in the newspaper in preparation for Emmett’s campaign. The reporter had also written a book, which would release in another few months. It was a compilation of the refugees’ stories Emmett had translated for him.

  Clare smiled up at him. “You mean the article in which he called me as gracious a hostess as I am a wife and mother? And that if women like Lady Linwood were given the right to vote we could very well change the world?”

  “Did he also mention how cheeky you can be?”

  She laughed. “I loved what he said about you too. That you are a man for our day and one who isn’t afraid to use his hands in honest work.”

  “I hope I’ll have the chance to prove his praise accurate.” Emmett rested his forehead against hers. “But whether I am elected or not, I’m grateful we’ll be side by side for whatever the future holds.”

  “Now and always,” she murmured.

  Then she offered him her own thoroughly long and wonderful kiss before they returned to the house, breathless and happy and together.

  Author’s Note

  The Messina, Italy earthquake, which occurred at 5:20 a.m. on December 28, 1908, was one of the worst natural disasters in modern history. It’s estimated that between eighty thousand and one hundred thousand people perished. Such massive loss of life has been attributed to the time the earthquake struck, while most people were still sleeping, and the stone construction of the buildings in the affected areas.

  The details surrounding the earthquake—including what people experienced when it struck, the escape from a hotel using a mattress, the danger of being crushed to death by toppling masonry, the tidal wave, the happenings in Taormina, thieves stealing valuables, the widespread lack of food and water, and the soldiers from Palermo baking bread—are based on actual accounts. Most of the real-life stories from the earthquake are of loss and heartrending tragedy. There are others, though, of miraculous rescues, including people who were rescued alive after being trapped beneath the rubble eight to twelve days after the earthquake.

  The Sicilian capital of Palermo, 125 miles away from Messina, hardly felt the earthquake at all. And while the people in Taormina heard and felt the quake, the town was largely untouched.

  The relief given to the refugees passing through the city of Giardini, near Taormina, is also factual. I based the organizing of a work gang to repair the roads, the group to sew clothes for the refugees, and the paying of a cobbler to make shoes on the actual relief work of Katharine Bement Davis, who organized such efforts to aid the refugees in the city of Syracuse, Sicily.

  Indispensable to my research about the Messina earthquake were two books: The Great Earthquake: America Comes to Messina’s Rescue by Salvatore J. LaGumina and The Complete Story of the Italian Earthquake Horror by J. Martin Miller. Both share vivid accounts of the earthquake, its affects, and the relief work.

  From the 1870s through the end of the Edwardian Era, more than a hundred American heiresses traveled to England in search of husbands. These “dollar princesses” were searching for the two things they hadn’t been able to claim back home—a title and superior social status. Many of the land-rich members of the English peerage were more than happy to accommodate these heiresses and their determined mothers. After all, large country estates took a great deal of money to maintain.

  I based Clare’s experiences as an American heiress married to a titled Englishman on those described in To Marry an English Lord by Gail MacColl and Carol McD. Wallace. This fascinating book gives insight into the often lonely lives these American young ladies found themselves living after the wedding, in old country houses that were always freezing and had fallen into disrepair. There were rules and protocols they didn’t understand and the ever-present expectations, too, of producing an heir.

  The enthusiastic reception of the young lord and his bride in his home village, the giving of speeches and receiving of bouquets, and the men hauling their carriage to the estate house are also all factual. And while these transatlantic marriages weren’t without difficulty and adjustment, there were those who seemed to make it work and appeared to be genuinely happy.

  Of interesting note, Winston Churchill’s mother was an American heiress as well as Princess Diana’s great-grandmother—so was the first woman to sit
in the House of Commons. When her MP husband inherited his father’s title and had to go to the House of Lords, Nancy Astor won his seat, and in 1918, became the first woman to ever sit in Parliament.

  Click on the covers to visit Stacy’s website:

  A USA Today bestselling author, Stacy Henrie graduated from Brigham Young University with a degree in public relations. Not long after, she switched from writing press releases and newsletters to writing inspirational historical romances. Born and raised in the West, where she currently resides with her family, she enjoys reading, road trips, interior decorating, chocolate, and most of all, laughing with her husband and kids. Her books include Hope at Dawn, a 2015 RITA Award finalist for excellence in romance. You can learn more about Stacy and her books by visiting her website, stacyhenrie.com.