There was more than enough time to consider what significance there might be to my making love with Fletcher. Now that there was no volcanic eruption to contend with, we had time. At the moment, I refused to consider how little time there was.
I had reserved the villa for Christmas, and two weeks beyond. My reservation was nearly at an end.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Never had time moved so swiftly. Never had the days flown by so fast. But then, I imagine they always did when one was conscious of every minute, every hour. When one was lost in passion and intimacy and joy, and trying to savor every feeling and commit every moment to memory. I never imagined scandal and decadence would be quite so wonderful.
"Would we like each other had we met in London?" he asked me late one morning, before we had risen for the day.
"I don't know." I thought for a minute, not that the idea hadn't already occurred to me. "I suppose that would depend on whether or not we were trapped together in a large house with no one who spoke English."
He laughed. "That was exactly what I was thinking."
I was at once relieved and uneasy about his admission. It was comforting to know that our thoughts were somewhat aligned in this and yet disconcerting as well. Was our relationship no more than a product of being away from all we knew? Of that unique kind of freedom that came from distance away from friends and family and, yes, expectations? I didn’t know. One more question that I didn’t particularly wish to answer. Not at the moment.
But I was happy, blissful. Eternity in hell was not too high a price to pay, the cost of sin and all. We drifted through the days in a passion-filled haze. It was the epitome of scandalous behavior. We enjoyed the days it rained and we were forced to stay indoors. We reveled in those days when the sun broke through the clouds and we walked to the town square and along the cliffs. We talked endlessly about matters of importance and about nothing of significance at all. We did not see eye to eye on any number of topics, ranging from art and literature to science and invention. We argued nearly as much as we laughed, and we laughed a great deal. Even when fully clothed. And I discovered he was indeed more hedonistic artist than civil servant.
I would read while he painted, and he finally allowed me to see his work. Privately, I thought my Christmas tree the best of it, but I admit I know nothing of art. I didn't dislike his paintings, but I found them a bit too modern for my tastes. I tended to like objects in a painting to be more recognizable and realistic. Not that I admitted this to Fletcher, although he never asked my opinion. I believed that showed a man who either had supreme confidence in what he did or simply didn’t care what anyone else thought. In Fletcher's case, I thought it was a bit of both.
I attempted to pose for him, but it wasn't as productive for his work as it might have been had we both not been so easily distracted. It was, however, delightful.
Margaret was suitably appalled by my shocking behavior, of course. But we had been together too long, and I didn't question her loyalty. I had always expected that she would keep my secrets, although, admittedly, I had never given her anything to gossip about. I had long suspected the social standing of servants among their peers improved when they supplied the juiciest bits of gossip. Perhaps that was why she had been more pleasant since Fletcher and I had begun what even the most discreet among us would not fail to call an affair. I tried to care what she thought, and I was certain I would care when I returned to London, but at the moment, I didn't.
Admittedly, I experienced a certain amount of guilt, as if I were being unfaithful to David. It was absurd. David was extremely practical, and while he might have looked askance at the impropriety of my liaison with Fletcher, he would not have condemned my moving forward with my life. I daresay, had I been the one to have died, David might well have remarried by now.
The man, the villa, the setting, even the volcano, it was all intoxicating. Seductive. Like a dream one never wanted to awaken from. But as much as I tried not to think about it, the clock ticking toward farewell was always there. We were always conscious of it. It was always hanging unsaid in the air. But for Christmas, and two weeks beyond, I did not consider the consequences of my actions. Nor did I care.
It was magic. There was no other word for it, certainly no other reason. And with every passing day, the emotions we shared grew more intense, every moment more bittersweet.
We did not speak of the future. We made no promises. Love was never mentioned, and while I felt a great deal for him, I was not sure it was love. It was certainly passion, and it was wonderful. And the most remarkable Christmastime.
In no more than the blink of an eye, it was over, and we said good-bye at the villa. It was very nearly the same kind of day it had been when I first arrived. I wondered if he would swim after I left. He was to leave tomorrow.
We stood together in front of the carriage hired to take me to Castellammare. From there, Margaret and I would take the short train ride to Naples. And tomorrow morning, we would be on board a ship heading toward Southampton.
"Very well, then." I gestured at the carriage. Margaret was already waiting inside. "I should be off."
"Yes, of course." He offered me a hand.
I stepped onto the first step.
"Although I have been thinking." His gaze met mine, my hand still in his.
I stopped and held my breath. "Yes?"
"Perhaps . . . I don't know." He shook his head. "Perhaps, if I have the opportunity, that is, I shall return next year for Christmas."
My heart sped up. "Do you think so?"
"It's certainly a possibility. Although I'm sure you will wish to stay with your family for Christmas." He released my hand.
"No doubt." I forced a smile and stepped up into the carriage. I settled into my seat then, without thinking, twisted and leaned out the window. "But it is a lovely place to be at Christmas," I said quickly. "I might well return myself, although a great deal can change from one Christmas to the next."
He nodded. "Without question."
"You could be sent somewhere even more remote than India."
"And your aunt could find you the perfect match."
"Indeed," I agreed. "Any number of things could happen."
He shrugged. "Well, I did say perhaps."
"I would certainly make no promises," I said.
"Nor would I."
My gaze meshed with his, and oh Lord, my heart ached in my chest. "But it is a possibility."
"A definite possibility."
I wanted nothing more than to fling myself out of the carriage and into his arms. I'm not sure why I didn’t, except for a lifetime of following expectations and behaving properly.
"Until next Christmas, then. Possibly." He smiled up at me. "Safe travels, Lady Smithson."
"Take care, Mr. Jamison," I said, fighting the oddest catch in my throat, struggling to keep my smile firmly in place.
Fletcher nodded at the driver, and we started off. Margaret didn’t say a word. We were barely out of sight of the villa when she silently handed me a handkerchief. I noted it was a souvenir printed with scenes of Sorrento, and my eyes blurred.
Every day of my travels, in a carriage, on board a train or a ship, I told myself that Fletcher and I were not to be. We were from different worlds. He had been an adventure, after all. Beyond that, we hadn't been completely honest with each other. We had admitted that. I had remained guarded with him, and I think he with me. If he had asked me to stay, and part of me had ached for him to do so, I would have said no. But he didn't ask. And I didn't offer.
I certainly had no intention of returning to Villa Mari Incantati next Christmas. Nor, I suspect, did he. It was the sort of thing one said when one was reluctant to say farewell knowing that it might well be forever. Why, I could be married by this time next year. His circumstances could change. Any number of things could be different next year. Next Christmas.
This Christmas was no more than a moment. To remember and cherish and keep close to me always. But my
life had nothing to do with this place and this man. And I was ready to return to my life as I knew it. A life that had always been pleasant and, yes, content. Even Fletcher had admitted there was nothing wrong with content.
Nothing at all.
And the closer I came to home, the easier it was to ignore the nagging thought in the back of my mind and totally disregard the distinct, melancholy feeling that I was indeed climbing back into a box.
PART TWO
ENGLAND 1886
CHAPTER TWELVE
My life resumed its normal state almost immediately after my return, as if I had never left. My aunt continued to herd one man after another in my direction. My unmarried cousins lent whatever assistance Aunt Helena might need in her efforts so as not to distract her and thereby turn her matchmaking attention toward them. Any concerns I might have had regarding the possibility of a child vanished within days of leaving Italy. There was little to indicate I had ever been away. Everything in my life was exactly as it had always been. Nothing had changed.
Except me.
After the exuberant color of southern Italy, London was shades of black and gray, which suited me. Veronica wed my cousin Sebastian a scant week after my return. It was a joyous event, and I couldn’t have been happier for my dear friend. Of course, Sebastian's marriage left only myself and my cousins Miranda and Hugh as yet unwed. Miranda had been a widow for only two years, and it did seem she was not quite ready to move on with her life, although she was always the quietest of the family and one never quite knew what she was about. As Hugh was a man, Aunt Helena didn’t seem to think his need to wed quite as urgent as mine, and she renewed her efforts toward finding me a match, although it did seem her only requirement in a suitable prospect was little more than he be unmarried. And breathing.
I had fallen back into my old ways of doing what was expected of me. Life was much easier that way. I had hung Fletcher’s Christmas painting in my bedroom, which seemed like an excellent idea, as I would not have to explain it to anyone, and I put Fletcher Jamison completely out of my mind. Or, rather, I tried. Admittedly, he would reappear in the most unexpected ways, the most inconvenient moments. The first time I danced with a man after my return, I realized Fletcher and I had never danced together. It was most distracting, and while I was usually quite an accomplished dancer, I feared my partner was grateful when the dance ended. Fletcher frequently made an appearance in my dreams as well. Along with Vesuvius.
I had been home for nearly a month when, at my aunt's urging, I accepted an invitation to a ball given by Lord and Lady Dunwell. While I had not enjoyed solitude at all in Italy, now that I was home, I relished my privacy. And yet, I was exceedingly restless, and a ball did sound enjoyable. I should have known better.
I was scarcely in the door when Aunt Helena introduced me to a gentleman I had briefly met on another occasion, and then she conveniently abandoned me to greet an acquaintance, although I suspect she simply wanted to leave me alone with the man. No sooner had I managed to evade his attentions than Aunt Helena appeared with another prospect in tow. And again, she disappeared. Fortunately, I spotted my eldest cousin, Adrian, and his wife, Evelyn, and made my escape, promising another dance later in the evening. A promise I had no intention of keeping.
"Good evening, Adrian. Evelyn, how wonderful to see you." I kissed Evelyn's cheek and spoke low into her ear. "Save me."
Evelyn’s eyes widened. "From what?"
A waiter handed us each a glass of champagne, and I downed mine with an unbecoming sense of desperation. "Aunt Helena, of course." I turned to Adrian. "Your mother is in rare form tonight, cousin. Every time I turn around, she is introducing me to yet another candidate for my hand. All of whom seem to think the way to my heart is by stepping on my feet and clutching me entirely too tightly in the guise of dancing." I lowered my voice. "One more dance and I daresay I shall be crippled for life. As my favorite cousin, I beg of you to rescue me."
"Your favorite, you say?" Adrian raised a skeptical brow. "I thought Sebastian was your favorite."
I huffed. "Sebastian is my favorite youngest male cousin. You are my favorite oldest male cousin."
He bit back a smile. "And Hugh?"
"Hugh is my favorite . . ." I scrambled for the right word. "Barrister cousin. Yes, that's it." I needed Adrian's assistance, and if he would help me, he would indeed be my favorite. I tried and failed to keep a note of panic from my voice. "Now will you help me?"
"What do you want me to do?" he asked cautiously. Goodness, one would have thought I needed him to help me rob the Bank of England, not merely escape his mother and too-eager suitors.
"Would you be so good as to drive me home?" I peered around him, trying to find any of the less than noteworthy matches my aunt had tried to foist me on tonight. "Now, if you please. Before Aunt Helena returns with yet another victim in tow." I shuddered. "I have had quite enough."
"I am sorry, Portia." Evelyn cast me a look of sympathy. "But we have scarcely been here any time at all. Leaving now would be considered most impolite."
"Nonsense." She was right, of course, but I didn’t care. "You don't even like Lady Dunwell. Not that I blame you." Lady Dunwell's amorous escapades were very nearly legendary. But then, so were her husband's. In that way, at least, they were a perfect match.
"If you could manage to survive for, oh, say, another hour or so." Adrian glanced at his wife.
Evelyn nodded. "That would be sufficient, I think. Another hour wouldn't make it appear as though we were eager to leave."
"Not that we are," Adrian muttered, then smiled apologetically at me. "And then we would be delighted to see you home."
I groaned. "In another hour or so, your mother will have me married with a dozen children."
Adrian choked back a laugh.
I narrowed my eyes. "It's not the least bit amusing."
"Of course not, dear." Evelyn patted my arm.
Adrian cleared his throat. "My apologies." He studied me curiously. "I thought you wanted to marry again."
"Indeed, I do," I said with a sigh. "But I wish to marry someone who is not thrust at me. As if he were a canary, and I was a . . . a . . . a hungry cat!" Indignation swept through me. "I am perfectly capable of finding a husband on my own."
"Not thus far," Adrian said under his breath. In another setting, I would have been hard-pressed not to have smacked him for that.
Instead, I ignored him. "However, this is an exceptionally large and pretentious house. Perhaps I can find a peaceful place to, well, hide until you are ready to depart."
Evelyn nodded. "And the least I can do is help you find a suitable spot."
I had always liked Evelyn, but no more so than at this moment. "A parlor perhaps?" I thought for a moment. I had been in this house once before, but that was some time ago. "Surely they have a music room? I know there's a conservatory. Or a library?"
"No," Evelyn said quickly, although it did seem a library would be perfect. "You never know who might show up in a library. But a parlor is an excellent idea."
"It's rather cowardly, though, don't you think?" Adrian said mildly. "Hiding from Mother, that is."
"Yes. And I don’t care." I glared at him. "Thus far this evening I have been presented to one gentleman who was not looking so much for a wife as a mother for his herd of children and another who, well, let us simply say he was not to my liking."
"Judging on appearances, Portia?" Adrian shook his head in a chastising manner. "I never imagined you were that shallow."
"Stop teasing her, dear." Evelyn frowned.
"I simply want someone who stands taller than my chin," I said in a sharper tone than I had intended, but I was wearying of playing fox and hounds with my aunt's potential matches. Being the fox grows tiresome quickly, and I no longer seemed to have the patience I once had. "I do not think I am asking for the moon."
"Perhaps not." Amusement gleamed in Adrian's eyes. I was so glad one of us was enjoying this.
"As for my shallo
w nature, I am more than willing to debate that with you at another time." I cast Evelyn a pleading look. "Now, I think we should—"
"Too late, I fear." Adrian gazed over my head.
I groaned. Once again, I was trapped. Aunt Helena was approaching with yet another gentleman. This one was at least taller than I and not unattractive. Still, I would reserve my opinion until he opened his mouth.
"Adrian!" Aunt Helena beamed at her son. "And Evelyn. So lovely to see you both. I had no idea you would be here tonight."
"Nor did we, Mother." Adrian kissed her cheek.
"Nonetheless, I am most gratified to see you here." My aunt lowered her voice. "It's a most influential gathering."
"Helena." Evelyn cast a pointed glance at the gentleman waiting to be introduced.
"Oh dear, where are my manners?" Helena sighed. "The bane of growing older, I suppose." She turned to her latest offering. "May I present my son and daughter-in-law, Lord and Lady Waterston. And this"—a flourish sounded in my aunt's voice, and I resisted the absurd urge to drop a regal curtsey—"is my niece, Lady Redwell. Portia, this is Mr. Sayers."
"Ah yes." Mr. Sayers took my hand and raised it to his lips, his gaze never leaving mine. He was entirely too practiced and well-rehearsed, an assessment that was not at all fair of me. Why, he could be my perfect match. But I doubted it. Amusement quirked his lips. "The widow."
There was little more humiliating than being presented as a desperate widow. I pulled my hand free and summoned a weak smile. "I see my aunt has been talking to you."
"Oh my, yes." A satisfied note sounded in Aunt Helena's voice. "It seems I went to school with Mr. Sayers's mother. Unfortunately, I can't seem to remember her, but then, it was a very long time ago. Once again, you have my apologies, Mr. Sayers."
"None are necessary, Lady Waterston," he said smoothly. Too smoothly, I thought. There was something about him that was entirely too polished. "As you said, it was a very long time ago."
Same Time, Next Christmas Page 11
