"Not even for a fraction of an instant?"
I laughed. "No."
"Ah well." He sighed. "I shall have to work on that." He tucked my hand back in the crook of his arm, and we proceeded to the next painting, a blur of colors depicting a field of flowers. "Whether you choose to believe me or not, I assure you I am quite sincere."
"Then we can add sincerity to your other sterling qualities of determination and patience." I bit back a grin.
"Don't forget thoughtful. You called me thoughtful just a few minutes ago."
"And how considerate of you to point that out."
"I thought so." He leaned closer in a confidential manner. "I did confess I am considered a catch."
I laughed.
"And you must admit I am amusing." He grinned. "Come now, Portia, I daresay you and I have a great deal of common ground. I think we will get on quite well together. As friends."
I paused, and then plunged ahead. "For now."
His eyes lit with satisfaction, and he nodded. "For now."
***
Thomas did indeed call on me the next day and the day after that. And on very nearly every day, whether he appeared in person or not, there were flowers. Flowers of every variety and hue, until my house had a distinct floral smell to it. I had never been the object of a man's attention before, at least not in such a grand and extravagant manner, and I must admit I was flattered and I liked it. He was certainly making an impression.
Aunt Helena was definitely impressed and more than a little smug. She pointed out to me that she had identified him as an excellent prospective husband even if she had not actually introduced us. She did not hesitate to mention, on more than one occasion, what a perfect match we were. Why, we very rarely even disagreed. Thomas was exactly the kind of man I was always expected to marry, just as David had been. In spite of her regret that she had not played a bigger role, she was decidedly self-satisfied in what she—and everyone else assumed—would be the end result of our friendship.
Except me.
Not that I didn't like Thomas. I did. Quite a bit, actually. But then, everyone seemed to. He was kind and generous and clever. He got on well with Adrian and Hugh and Sebastian. He charmed my female cousins, Miranda and Bianca and Diana. Even Julia and Veronica seemed taken with him. Or at least they never said anything against him.
Thomas was as good as his word. He allowed our relationship to grow as it would, without demands or pressure. It was quite . . . easy, I thought. And very nice. But even though we had made no promises to each other, to all the world we had the appearance of a couple firmly headed toward the altar.
Before I knew it, December was upon us. Neither Veronica nor Julia had brought up Italy, and the question of my returning to the villa. I had hoped they had forgotten about it. Too much to hope for, I know, as I certainly hadn't. But there was Thomas now, and while I wasn't in love with him, I did feel a certain affection for him. And loyalty.
Still, with every day closer to Christmas, I was aware of an increasing restlessness. I ignored it, telling myself it was simply the anticipation inherent in the season. Nothing more significant than that. Why, who didn’t feel a bit restless in the weeks approaching Christmas?
Ten days before Christmas, Thomas escorted me home from a dinner with my family. To my surprise, Julia and Veronica greeted us in my parlor.
"My, this is certainly unexpected." I looked from one friend to the other. Identical expressions of feigned innocence shone on their faces. "Why are you here?"
"To wish you Christmas cheer, of course," Veronica said brightly.
"Lord Lindsey." Julia offered him a genuine smile. "How lovely to see you again."
"Isn't it?" Veronica's smile was just a bit tighter than Julia's. "We had no idea you would be here. And so late in the evening."
"It's not yet ten o'clock." I narrowed my gaze and studied my friends. "Aunt Helena wished to retire early tonight."
"Portia and I were about to indulge in a brandy," Thomas said smoothly, crossing the room to the table where my butler had placed a decanter of brandy and glasses. Thomas and I often shared a brandy when he accompanied me home from one event or another. "Would you care to join us?"
"I think not." Julia cast me an apologetic look.
"Excellent idea, my lord." Veronica smiled. She and Julia were up to something.
My gaze shifted from one woman to the other. "What are you doing here?"
They traded glances. Guilty glances, at least on Julia's part.
"There is a matter we need to discuss." Veronica accepted a glass from Thomas. "I agreed not to bring this up until mid-November and—"
"But I thought it best to wait past that," Julia added. "And Veronica agreed"—her gazed slipped to Thomas and back to me—"given you've been . . . busy."
"But it's ten days until Christmas, Portia." Veronica's gaze met mine. "We think you need to make a decision."
"We would hate to see opportunities missed out of inertia or procrastination or avoidance." Julia squared her shoulders. "We fear that's what you're doing."
"I see." They were right, of course, not that I intended to admit it. I turned to Thomas. "Would you give us a moment alone, please?"
He took a sip of his brandy, then shook his head. "I don't think that would be wise."
I cast him a sharp look. There was a distinct note of possession in his voice, as if he had the right to dictate what I could and could not do. As if he were far more than a friend. At once I realized this was not the first time I'd heard that slight edge of ownership in his voice. I had ignored it. It really hadn't seemed important. Until now.
I chose my words carefully. "I do think it would be better if I spoke to my friends alone."
He studied me for a long moment. "As you wish. Ladies." He nodded, turned and strode from the parlor.
Once the doors had closed behind him, I turned to my friends. "Don't you think this discussion can wait until tomorrow?"
"It has already waited too long." Veronica huffed.
"We are not here on a lark. We gave this a great deal of thought and discussion. The time has come for action." Julia glanced at Veronica and continued. "We wouldn’t have said a word if you and Lord Lindsey had come to some sort of understanding. But from what we've seen, and what you've said—"
"And all that you haven't said." Veronica sipped her brandy. "You may not realize it yourself, but we know exactly what you've been doing."
"Oh?" I crossed my arms over my chest and tapped my foot in annoyance. "Perhaps you would care to explain it to me, as I have no idea what you're talking about."
"You have put off making a decision about returning to Italy until it's too late for you to do so." Julia's blunt words hung in the air.
They weren't entirely right. I had realized exactly what I was doing.
"So we have made the decision for you." Veronica smiled with satisfaction.
"What do you mean?" I said slowly, almost afraid of the answer.
"We have booked passage on a ship bound for the Mediterranean that stops in Naples. Barring any unforeseen delays, you will arrive at the villa no later than the day before Christmas." Julia paused. "It sails at midnight."
I stared in disbelief. "Midnight tonight?"
"Well, if one wants to be accurate, that would be tomorrow morning, but yes, in a little over two hours."
"I can't possibly be ready in a little over two hours." I protested. "I haven't packed or made any arrangements—"
"We arranged for your bags to be packed," Veronica said. "Sebastian will inform the rest of your family that you won’t be joining them for Christmas. And Julia and I will take care of any other details as necessary."
"This is absurd." I glared at my friends. "I have no intention of going to Italy tonight."
"Have you decided not to go at all, then?"
"I haven't made any decision yet," I hedged.
"Precisely why we've made it for you." Veronica considered me for a moment. "Unless, of c
ourse, you have decided to marry Lord Lindsey. He seems a decent enough sort."
"He is a decent sort. He's a very nice man, and I like him very much," I said. "However, I haven't decided to marry him, as he has not asked."
"He will." Veronica snorted. "Everyone knows it. The only question is when."
"I would think the question is whether or not I will accept."
"Why wouldn’t you?" Julia asked. "You are well matched. He is all that your aunt and your family want for you. All you've ever wanted, really. In many ways, he's very much like your late husband. The two of you have a great deal in common and seem to get on quite well."
"Indeed, we do," I said staunchly. "Why, we scarcely ever disagree."
"What more could you want?" Veronica shrugged. "I daresay you will probably be quite content together."
I stared at her. "Why did you say that?"
"Because I think you will be content," Veronica said slowly. "Isn’t that what you want?"
"Tell me, Veronica, Julia, are the two of you content?"
"It's not the same for us." Caution edged Julia's voice. "We are both deeply—"
"Madly and passionately," Veronica interrupted.
"—in love with our husbands. We have each found something I don't think we ever expected to find."
Veronica smiled. "Magic."
"I could be in love with Thomas," I said, my voice a bit sharper than I had intended. "If I tried."
"One doesn't try to be in love, Portia," Veronica said in a gentle tone. "In fact, one might well try very hard not to be. Love is confusing and bewildering and awkward."
"I loved David, and it wasn't the least bit confusing." Without thinking, I raised my chin. "It was comfortable and quite lovely, and we were . . ."
Content.
The word hit me like a slap across the face. I had acknowledged it long ago, of course, but David was the past, and Thomas was, or could be, the future. And it would be a nice future, safe and secure. And I would be . . . content.
Even Fletcher had admitted there was nothing wrong with content. But I looked at my friends and realized, as selfish as it might be, that I wanted what they had found. I wanted deep and mad and passionate.
I wanted magic.
"Very well." I nodded.
"Very well what?" Julia stared at me.
"Very well." I drew a deep breath. "Apparently, I am going to Italy tonight. Or, rather, tomorrow."
"Excellent." Veronica grinned in what might have been triumph, or possibly relief. "Your maid has traveling clothes ready for you to change into, and she has your things packed."
"My maid?" I shook my head. "You mean Margaret?"
Julia nodded. "She's been extremely helpful and seems quite eager to accompany you."
"My Margaret?" I couldn’t quite believe that.
"Unless there is another Margaret. Now . . ." A brisk note sounded in Veronica's voice. "There is no time to waste if you are going to make the sailing."
"No, but . . ." I winced.
A light dawned in Julia's eyes. "Oh yes, well, we'll leave you to it, then." She caught Veronica's eye and nodded toward the door.
"I'd nearly forgotten about him." Veronica grimaced. "We'll wait in the foyer." She cast me a look of encouragement, then she and Julia took their leave.
I had time to do little more than brace myself before Thomas entered.
"Dare I ask what that was all about?" He eyed me cautiously.
"Well . . ." There didn't seem to be any easy way to say this. "I've decided to go to Italy."
He stared as if I was speaking a language he didn't understand. Italian perhaps. "You've what?"
"I'm going to Italy, Thomas. For Christmas."
"Why?" His brow furrowed in confusion.
"I spent last Christmas in Italy, and it was quite delightful, so I have decided to return." I drew a deep breath. "Tonight."
"Tonight?" Disbelief rang in his voice.
"Midnight, really, so that would actually be tomorrow."
"I don't understand." He shook his head.
Nor did I expect him to. But I wasn't entirely certain I understood it myself, even if it did seem . . . right. "As I said, last Christmas—"
"But last Christmas we were not, you and I were not—"
I arched a brow. "Friends?"
"More than that, I thought." A harsh note colored his words.
Guilt stabbed me. "If I have led you to believe—"
"No," he said sharply and ran a hand through his hair. "No, you have done nothing beyond offer your friendship. It has been obvious to me from the beginning that you have been quite careful about that. I thought it was simply the reluctance of a widow to move forward." He paused. "Very well, then. As your friend . . ." He met my gaze firmly. "If you are going to Italy for Christmas, I shall go with you."
"That's a very generous offer, but . . ." I shook my head. "I'm afraid I am going to have to decline."
"I see." He studied me for a long moment. "There's a man involved, isn’t there?"
"That's really none of your concern, Thomas," I said in as gentle a tone as possible.
"Of course it's my concern." His brow furrowed, and he huffed a short breath. "I want to marry you, Portia. I know I haven't said it—I didn’t think you were ready—but I do think my intentions were clear."
I wasn't sure what to say. Perhaps his intentions were clear, and I had simply ignored them. It struck me that it would be so easy to accept what he offered. To be content. But he deserved more than that, and so did I. "I am sorry."
He considered me thoughtfully, then nodded, his jaw tightening. "I am a patient man, Portia, but I warn you, this decision of yours is irrevocable. If you go to Italy, I will not be here when you come back. Our friendship will be at an end."
My breath caught. "I will . . . regret that, Thomas."
"Bloody hell, Portia." He stepped close, grabbed my shoulders and yanked me into his arms, pressing his lips to mine. Shock froze me in place, and he released me.
"My apologies. I don't know . . ." He stared at me for an endless moment, then heaved a frustrated sigh. "I wish you all the best, Portia." He nodded and strode from the room.
I stared after him. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt him, yet I should have realized from the beginning it was inevitable that I would.
Thomas offered me everything in the world I had once had. It was simply no longer enough.
There was every possibility Fletcher would not be at the villa, but my friends were right. If I didn’t go, I would always wonder. And wonder as well if I could indeed be the kind of woman who abandoned all she knew for love.
I would never know if I had the courage for that, if I didn’t have the courage for this.
For this Christmas.
PART THREE
Christmas 1886
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
My heart beat faster the closer I came to the villa, thudding in my chest like a child's rubber ball against a walk. On board the ship, I'd had hours to consider the ramifications of what looked more and more like a reckless, ill-advised and, no doubt, disastrous whim. In my head, Veronica's voice bolstered my courage, pointing out my heretofore unacknowledged desire for adventure and the fact that, for a full year, I had not been able to get Fletcher Jamison out of my thoughts. Her arguments were countered by the voice of my dead mother, reminding me that a proper lady—a perfect lady—did not have illicit liaisons in Italy or any other country. And, God forbid, especially not at Christmas. I scarcely remembered my mother at all, as she and my father had died during a sea voyage when I was barely a year old, but for my entire life, she had always been the voice of propriety. Or perhaps she was my conscience. Regardless, I was an adult, a widow, and capable of making my own decisions regarding my behavior. For good or ill. Even if they were wrong.
The biggest question, of course, was whether or not Fletcher would be there. But there were other considerations as well. I had made no advance arrangements, although Veronica had a
ssured me she would telegraph Silvestro as to my impending arrival. Julia had offered to pay a call on Lady Wickelsworth to determine if the villa had been let to any unknown parties. I would have hated to arrive unexpectedly on a new tenant's doorstep at Christmas. Julia promised to have a telegram waiting for me when I disembarked in Naples, should the villa be occupied by anyone other than Fletcher. In which case, I might well turn around and go home.
Julia didn’t say it aloud, but we both realized an inquiry to Lady Wickelsworth would also reveal if Fletcher intended to return. I would certainly want to know if there were new residents of the Villa Mari Incantati, but I wasn't sure I wanted to know if the villa was unoccupied. If he had not come back. After all, by that point, it would be too late.
I reached the villa late in the afternoon on the day before Christmas. As I approached, I could have sworn the clouds parted and a shaft of sunlight illuminated the villa, the Villa of the Enchanted Seas. It did indeed look enchanted. There might well have been a rendition of Handel’s Hallelujah Chorus somewhere in the distance as well. It was completely absurd, no more than a product of imagination run amok coupled with an unnerving mix of trepidation and eagerness. What on earth was wrong with me? I shook my head to clear it. At once the villa was again as it had always been and unchanged from last year. Across the bay, Vesuvius loomed, as menacing a presence as ever. The celestial choir vanished.
What if . . . I swept the question from my mind. I would know the answers to all my what ifs soon enough. I drew a deep breath and braced myself for whatever might happen next.
Silvestro greeted us at the door.
"Good afternoon," I said in my halting Italian, grateful I had continued my studies, even while denying any intention to return to Italy for Christmas.
Silvestro's eyes lit with delight. "Signora! You speak Italian!" he said in his language, with the same sort of joy one usually reserved for the birth of a child. Unfortunately, obviously swept away by delight, he then launched into a stream of Italian so fast and complex I could do little more than stare at him open-mouthed.
I smiled and nodded—I did so hate to disillusion him as to my fluency. He was so elated. Silvestro directed Margaret to her room and carried my bags to the same rooms I had stayed in last year, chatting all the way. Finally, I could stand it no longer.
Same Time, Next Christmas Page 14
