"No, of course not." Julia waved off the charge.
"Are you?" Veronica said at exactly the same time.
"Don't be absurd." I stared at my friends and realized they were as much sisters as friends. And realized as well I had no idea why I hadn't told them about Fletcher. Oh certainly, there were all sorts of valid reasons. I didn't want Veronica to hold my indiscretion over my head, and I would have hated for Julia to think less of me, although I was fairly certain she wouldn't.
"Portia," Julia said carefully, "we understand why you might not want to talk about it, but it’s obvious, at least to us, that you are hiding something."
Veronica nodded. "It's not at all uncommon for people who are ill to go to Italy for medicinal purposes. For the waters and fresh air and that sort of thing. And to see specialists."
Certainly there were legitimate reasons for my reticence to confide in them, but ultimately, this was my secret. I'd never had a secret of my own, and I hadn't been ready to share it, as if the telling of it somehow would diminish its significance. Besides, I did think the less I thought about last Christmas, the more likely I was to forget all about it. And him. Admittedly, I had been wrong.
Now, perhaps it was time.
"Portia, we are your dearest friends," Veronica said, "and if you are ill, we—"
"I'm not dying," I said quickly. "Well, not any more than we are all inevitably dying someday." I adopted a casual manner, took a particularly decadent small cake from the platter and braced myself. "I met a gentleman."
Stunned silence hung over the table. For a moment, I thought I'd killed them.
"You what?" Veronica's eyes could not have gotten any bigger.
"You're certain you're not dying?" Julia studied me.
"Positive."
"And where exactly did you meet this gentleman?" Suspicion rang in Veronica's voice.
"In Italy."
"Where in Italy?"
"Goodness, Veronica, if you wish to think I'm making up a story simply to distract you from concern about my impending death, I can assure you I'm not. I have never felt better. But if you choose not to believe me . . ." I shrugged and took a bite of cake.
"It's not that we don't believe you." Julia shook her head as if to clear it. "It's just so, so unexpected."
"And where in Italy did you meet this gentleman?" Veronica could be like a dog with a bone. "Specifically, if you please."
"At the villa. There was a bit of a mix-up as to who had engaged the villa for Christmas. You know how those things happen when you're traveling." I considered another bite of cake. "So we shared."
"You shared a villa with a man you’d just met," Julia said slowly.
"A stranger?" Veronica's voice rose.
"Well, you know what they say. Those least willing to bend . . ." I adopted my most innocent look and took a sip of tea.
Veronica opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out save an odd, sputtering sound. Julia's mouth dropped open as well. I'd never seen anyone so taken aback as my two dearest friends. It was most satisfying.
"I see," Julia said at last.
"I must say, I was prepared for your unfortunate demise, but this revelation of yours has taken me completely by surprise." Indignation sounded in Veronica's voice. "We have been extremely worried—"
"We never would have imagined this." Julia snorted.
"I am sorry, but—"
"The least you can do now is make amends. A few particulars will suffice." A decidedly wicked smile curved Veronica's lips. "We want to hear all about it. Every delicious detail."
"We are assuming it was delicious," Julia added.
Veronica waved away the comment. "It would be pointless otherwise. Was it pointless?"
"My choices are pointless or delicious?"
Veronica nodded.
"Well, then, it was most definitely"—I smiled a wicked smile of my own—"not pointless."
"I knew it!" Veronica's eyes sparked with triumph. "I knew one day all that propriety of yours would snap you like a twig."
"A delicious twig." Julia grinned.
"No one knows any of this." My gaze shifted from one friend to the other. "You must promise to keep this completely confidential." I didn’t need to ask. Of all the people in the world, I knew these two would keep my secrets.
Julia nodded. "You have our word."
"We have always been good at keeping secrets," Veronica said pointedly.
"Very well, then." I drew a deep breath and told them everything. Well, not every detail, but more than enough. It required two more pots of tea and another round of biscuits.
It was a relief, really, to finally talk about my adventure. It is said that confession is good for the soul, and I wasn’t certain that my soul was soothed by the revelation of my scandalous Christmas, but I did feel remarkably like a weight had lifted. When I finished, neither of them seemed to know exactly how to respond.
"And you know nothing more about him than his name?" Julia asked.
"I know he is a civil servant with a position in India. I surmised that he is well educated, but I really know nothing more than that."
Veronica stared in disbelief. "Good Lord, Portia, didn’t you ask?"
"No." I took a sip of tea. "It didn't seem necessary. It was painfully obvious to both of us that we were from different backgrounds, therefore the likelihood of any sort of future was slim."
"Are you going to return this year for Christmas?" Julia asked.
"I doubt it," I said coolly. "My stay at the villa was definitely an adventure, but over and done with. It was a moment out of time, as it were. I'm not sure how else to describe it."
"Magic," Julia murmured.
"That's as good a word as any." And hadn't I already thought the same thing myself? "As for returning for Christmas . . ." I shrugged. "I'm not sure it's wise.
"Oh, my dear, you abandoned wise some time ago." Veronica leaned forward and met my gaze directly. "You absolutely must go."
"I have no idea what might happen between now and Christmas."
"Regardless," Veronica continued, "the story is not over yet. Perhaps this was just some sort of coincidence, ships that pass and all that, but what if this was fate?"
Julia stared at Veronica. "I have never heard you put any credence in fate before."
"Nor will you hear me do so in the future. But the one person I never truly imagined would plummet from her lofty perch of propriety has never fallen before. It puts everything in an entirely different perspective. For two people from different ends of the earth to have no choice but to spend Christmas together, at a villa called Mari Incantati, it does seem that some greater power has had a hand in it." Veronica turned to me. "You do know what that means, don't you? In Italian?"
"My lessons in Italian have not progressed quite that far."
"It means Enchanted Seas." Veronica considered me thoughtfully. "Portia, whether he is right for you or not, this man has obviously occupied your thoughts for the last six months. Regardless of the fact that he's not titled or wealthy, or part of our social world, it's obvious this was something quite special. The wise thing to do is return to Italy to find out what it all means."
"He did not promise to be there."
"What if she goes"—Julia glanced at Veronica—"and he does not?"
"Well, that's the end of it, then, isn't it?" Veronica nodded firmly. "She'll know they are not supposed to be together and know as well he is not the man she thinks he is. And is certainly not worth mooning over."
"I have not been mooning," I said mildly.
Veronica cast me a skeptical look.
"I haven't." Although, now that it was mentioned, perhaps I had. Still, there was nothing I could do until Christmas.
"I know I for one"—Julia chose her words with care, her gaze meeting mine—"would be quite disappointed in you if you decided not to go."
I stared in surprise. "I expected that from Veronica, but not from you."
"Thank you."
Veronica smirked.
"Given all you have said, and perhaps all you haven't, I agree with her." Julia paused, obviously to choose her words. "I am usually the first to urge caution, but you cannot continue with your heart in some sort of limbo."
I rolled my gaze toward the ceiling. "My heart is not in limbo. What an absurd idea."
Julia and Veronica exchanged knowing glances. Were they right? Was my heart truly involved? Did my friends recognize something I hadn't? Or wouldn't?
"Admittedly, there is a certain amount of risk." Julia thought for a moment. "It's entirely possible he won’t come, or that he will, but it won't be—"
"Delicious." Veronica nodded.
"I wasn't going to say delicious, but I suppose the meaning is the same. And, Portia, you said this was an adventure. Isn't risk part and parcel of adventure?"
"Risk goes hand in hand with love as well," Veronica added.
"It seems to me," Julia said, "the risk would be well worth it."
"Besides, now that you have snapped"—Veronica grinned—"it would be a pity if you were to completely return to your unbending ways."
"And we wouldn’t want that." I studied my friends and realized my mistake. From now until Christmas, Veronica would be unrelenting in her efforts to convince me to return to Italy. And Julia would be right by her side. Still, perhaps encouragement was what I needed, although I would prefer it in less enthusiastic doses.
"Very well, then, I shall make you a bargain. If the two of you refrain from bringing up this question until, oh, say, December, I will then listen to your arguments and give them due consideration." I shook my head. "I have no desire to be the subject of an unending campaign of persuasion."
"Agreed." Julia nodded.
"The middle of November is the best I can promise," Veronica warned. "Goodness, Portia, if I were to see you heading blindly over a cliff, I would never stand by silently and let you fall. Although I suppose, in this case, you are more refusing to peek over the edge of the cliff for fear of falling. It's my duty, as your friend, to nudge you a bit."
"This man might not be your fate or the love of your life," Julia said, "but what if he is?"
Veronica nodded. "Don't you owe it to yourself to find out?"
"I said I will think about it." I adopted a firm note and promptly changed the subject, my friends reluctantly following my lead.
I had already thought about it a great deal. Indeed, the question of next Christmas was always in the back of my mind. But I saw no need to make any sort of decision now. I had time. Now that I was home, it was obvious to me that in spite of one Christmas, and two weeks beyond, one adventure does not an adventuress make. I might have changed enough to have thrown caution aside and fallen into an adventure with a man who remained very much a stranger, but I hadn't changed enough to commit the rest of my life to a man society—as well as my family—would see as an inappropriate match. I would not be one of those women who blithely threw away a lifetime of expectations. I did not have that kind of courage. And I'd never been the sort of woman who embraced adventures.
Even ones colored by passion and touched by magic.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
"It's not to my liking," a vaguely familiar male voice said from behind me.
I stood considering the still life by an artist I had never heard of and probably would not hear of in the future. The exhibit at the Rossier Gallery of new and allegedly promising artists had opened a few days ago to the cautious approval of critics.
"I would much rather an apple look like an apple rather than a smear of red paint," the man continued. "I find random blobs of paint unappealing."
"Do you?" I continued to study the work but glanced at him out of the corner of my eye to confirm his identity. "Then you are not fond of the impressionist school?"
"I much prefer the old masters," Lord Lindsey said firmly. "I suppose you like this sort of thing."
"I admit, I didn't until recently. I too have always preferred an apple to look like an apple. However, now I find the more I see of it, especially this exaggeration of impressionism, if you will, the more I am starting to appreciate the nuances and emotions caught by the artists." I moved to the next work, and he followed me.
"I fear I am dreadfully mired in the past and tradition, especially when it comes to questions of art," he said. "There is nothing I appreciate more than a well-done hunt painting, or a portrait that is a reasonable likeness of the subject."
"I daresay most of us would prefer that portrait not be quite as reasonable but rather better than we actually look."
"You do have a point."
"I have any number of points." I adopted a casual tone. "It is September, my lord. I thought you intended to call on me. Unless, of course, you have at last fallen prey to the machinations of one of my aunt's cohorts and have finally been caught."
He chuckled. "No, I am as yet uncaught."
"Then your failure to call on me can only be attributed to a change of heart."
"Or, the fact that my travels out of the country took far longer than I anticipated. I did not complete my business in a satisfactory manner until recently, and I did not return to London until last week."
"I see. All is well, then?"
"It is."
At last I turned to him and smiled pleasantly. "Well, then, you should have called on me last week." I nodded and turned to leave.
"Tomorrow," he said quickly.
I turned back to him. "Tomorrow?"
"I shall call on you tomorrow, if you are amenable to that," he added.
"I suppose you won’t know until tomorrow." I flashed him a brilliant smile.
"Unless I can determine it now." He offered his arm. "May I accompany you on your stroll around the gallery?"
"To view art you don't especially like?"
"I am willing to make sacrifices." He sighed in an overly dramatic manner and dropped his arm. "One would think a catch such as myself would not have to make such sacrifices."
"We all have to make sacrifices, Lord Lindsey."
"Thomas," he said. "I know it has been some time, but you did agree to call me Thomas."
"Did I?" Certainly I remembered, but a man who expressed interest in you then failed to so much as drop you a note in more than half a year did not deserve to know that you recalled him at all. Nor was it necessary to tell him the months had flown by and I'd barely given his absence a second thought. That would have been rude.
"You did, indeed. The very last dance we had, I asked you to call me by my given name. You said that wouldn’t be at all appropriate, given that we had just met and scarcely knew one another."
I nodded. "It does seem awfully forward."
"But, I assured you, I intended for us to know each other much, much better."
"Intentions, my lord . . ." I shook my head in a chastising manner. "The road to hell, you know."
He winced. "I promise to do better in the future." Again, he offered his arm. "I do hope you can overlook my failings."
"I shall try." I took his arm. "But I will make no guarantees." We moved on to the next painting. "Not even a note, Thomas? In nearly seven months?"
"I am the worst sort of inconsiderate fiend," he said contritely. "But I do believe I can be trained, and I am willing to learn."
"Exactly what every woman wants to hear."
He chuckled. "According to my mother, that is indeed exactly what every woman wants." The amused note remained in his voice, but there was a new edge of candor. "I implore you, Portia, to take pity on me. I have no sisters, and I have never been married, so the nuances of female expectations tend to escape me. I will make mistakes as we go on, and I do hope we will go on."
"I see no reason why we can't be friends."
"I will accept friendship." He paused. "For now."
I glanced at him, and at once I realized he was subtly declaring his intentions. He was a very nice man, and I did like him, but I wasn't sure I wanted him to set his sights on me.
> And why not, my mother's voice whispered in the back of my head. Fletcher made no promises to you nor you to him. You don't really know anything about him. He's not at all the kind of man you should marry, not that he seemed interested in marriage. You owe Fletcher nothing, let alone fidelity and loyalty.
Still, even if I owed nothing to Fletcher, I did owe honesty to Thomas. "Might I be perfectly honest?"
"Please do."
"I'm not certain I wish to be more than friends."
"But we will be friends?" he asked hopefully.
"I see no reason why not."
"Then that's all I'm asking." A note of satisfaction sounded in his voice. "For now."
"For now?" I raised a brow. "And just how long is for now?"
"As long as necessary, Portia. I am in no great hurry, and the last thing I wish is to hurry you into something you are not ready for." He paused. "I realize, regardless of how much time has passed, it cannot be easy to move on after losing a spouse."
I started. David was the last thing on my mind. "That's very thoughtful of you."
"I have always believed that all things come to those who wait." We moved to the next painting. "I warn you, I am a patient man."
"As well as determined?"
He grinned. "It is a combination I intend for you to find irresistible."
"That's flattering, Thomas, but . . ."
"But we scarcely know each other. I understand that, Portia." He stopped and met my gaze firmly. Sincerity shone in his blue eyes. "I am not asking for more than you are willing to give. At the moment, your friendship is enough and, given my failure to pursue a relationship with you after our first meeting, far more than I deserve. But understand that I do intend, or at least I hope, that friendship between us is only the beginning."
"The beginning," I said cautiously.
"Yes." He nodded. "At least for me. I am hopeful that it will be for you as well. But while I am fairly certain I know what I want, it is obvious that you do not. As much as it grieves me deeply to admit it, I suspect you have not spent the last seven months thinking of me, whereas I have thought of nothing but you."
I stared at him for a shocked moment, then scoffed. "I don't believe that for an instant."
Same Time, Next Christmas Page 13
