by Jane Peart
In Switzerland I had time to think of Pietro and where our closeness might be leading. Should I, when we returned to Italy, break off the relationship? By now the little girls were speaking fluent Italian, chatting freely with Rosalba constantly. There was really no need for Pietro's lessons anymore. I should inform Randall of this, but, for selfish reasons, I was reluctant to do so. If Pietro were no longer in my life, I would be very lonely. But was it fair to continue, seeding hope in Pietro's heart that there could be more between us than friendship?
I did not dream how quickly my whole dilemma would be resolved and in a way I could never have imagined.
In Switzerland we stayed at a chateau with painted shutters and sculptured balconies. The little girls and I slept in high, recessed beds with feather mattresses and downy comforters. We hiked along winding mountain trails, breathed deeply the pristine air, ate heartily of the rich cheeses, creamy goat's milk and freshly baked bread. Nora and Lally grew rosy-cheeked and plump in the healthfully cool Swiss climate.
When Randall went mountain climbing with some English and American gentlemen and their guide, and was gone for three days, I lay awake those nights, wondering what I would do should anything happen to the girls' father. For the first time, I realized the depth of my commitment to my little cousins, how much I loved them. And for the first time, I allowed myself to think what I would do, how that relationship with them would be altered if Randall remarried. More to the point, and I shuddered at the thought, what would I do if Randall married Peggy Elliott?!
The first Thursday we were back at the villa and Pietro came for our lessons, I felt that a momentous declaration was imminent. His eyes were shining suspiciously when he arrived that morning with little silk painted fans for Nora and Lally, a lovely bouquet of flowers for me.
"Welcome back!" he said smiling, his eyes caressing me openly.
Somehow I got through our lesson that day, but all the time there was a nervous anticipation, a premonition perhaps.
After Pietro dismissed the children and they ran into the garden, he gathered up his textbooks. "Walk with me to the gate, Dru." There was a plea in his voice I could not refuse.
I will never forget how beautiful the garden was that day. The sun, sifting through the towering cypresses that lined the road to the gate, cast blue-violet shadows. Oleander bushes in full bloom were bursts of flame against the green foliage.
As we walked, Pietro reached for my hand and captured it in his. "I have missed you desperately, Dru. The days were so long, the nights endless while you were away. I know I have no right to speak. I am, at the present, without means, without anything to offer . . . but my heart. And this I do with my whole soul."
He stopped abruptly and swung me around to face him. Holding my hand in both of his, he pressed it against his chest. I could feel the erratic pounding of his heart, fluttering as wildly as my own.
"Marry me, cara mia. I love you so dearly. We could find such happiness, for what more do two people need?"
He pulled me closer, murmuring endearments in Italian. His questions raced through my mind. Was Pietro right in his gentle insistence that we were destined for each other?
Pietro was looking at me with such tender ardor that I felt my head spin. What would it be like to live always in Italy, this country of enchantment? I had come to love it, to revel in its ancient beauty, its color, its culture, its warm and beautiful people.
This charming young man wanted me to marry him. He was saying loving, persuasive things and I was only half-listening, my own thoughts in excited turmoil. He made it all sound so natural, so possible, so simple. And yet something told me it was not simple. Not simple at all.
There were wide disparities between us—differences of nationality, background, religion, personality. Could all these be bridged by love?
Now Pietro had drawn me into his arms. I looked up into his sensitive face, the aquiline features, the curve of his mouth, then I felt the warmth of his lips on mine. For a moment, I could not think at all.
The sound of the gates opening, followed by the slapping of reins and the scattering of gravel beneath carriage wheels, alerted us to its approach, and we broke apart . . . but not before I had caught a glimpse of Randall Bondurant, his implacable face turned to us as he passed.
"I must go, Pietro," I said breathlessly.
"Cara, please consider all that I have said," he begged before he kissed my hand again in parting.
I have always found when I paint that I can think of nothing else but the colors I choose, the problem of the picture I am trying to portray. That afternoon, with my mind in a frenzy, I decided to take my little easel and paintbox out to the garden and thus free myself of the perplexing anxieties Pietro's proposal had caused.
Nora, too, had shown a definite talent for art, so I thought this might be a good time to instruct her, thus further occupying my thoughts and attention. However, she soon lost patience when her attempts did not suit her, and went off with Lally down to the lily pond to play with her dolls.
Left alone, I concentrated on my project. It should be a picture of the villa, I decided. If it turned out well, I would have it matted and framed for Mama.
The rays of the late afternoon sun shed a lovely golden haze on the house, intensifying the orange of the stucco, accenting the touches of gleaming white marble. The surrounding trees cast dramatic shadows. I became excited at the possibilities. Quickly I mixed a deep blue with red and brushed in purple strokes to indicate the delicate tracery of the leaves against the stucco walls.
I was so completely engrossed in my painting that I didn't hear Rosalba right away. When I glanced up, she was hurrying across the velvet lawn, calling my name.
"Signorina Dru!" She waved her apron like a flag.
She seemed agitated, her big, black eyes wide, her olive skin rosy with exertion. "Oh, Signorina, you must go at once. Signor Bondurant wishes you to come to his study. I will stay with the bambinas. You go!" She stopped for breath, flattening one hand against her breast.
I started to clean my brushes, wipe my hands on my paint rag when Rosalba said, "I think you better go at once, Signorina. The Signor seems in a temper!"
I looked at her, frowning. It was unusual for the cheerful Rosalba to be upset. Something about Randall's order had bothered her.
The thought struck me that Randall might have come to some snap assumption earlier when he had seen me and Pietro together. Was it possible that, even before the carriage had rolled through the gates, he had seen our embrace? Perhaps I was being called in for a reprimand, or even worse, for dismissal!
I felt a cold finger of fear rippling down my spine. Leaving my things where they were, I started across the lawn toward the house.
chapter
14
ONCE INSIDE the villa, I paused briefly in front of the baroque mirror to remove the wide-brimmed straw hat I'd worn to shade my eyes while I painted.
I frowned at my reflection. I had grown careless about protecting my complexion from the Italian sun, and I noted the apricot glow of my skin, flushed with hurrying. Oh, well, there was nothing to be done about that, I sighed, smoothing back my hair. If the Signor was as impatient as Rosalba had indicated, there was no time.
I skimmed up the marble stairway to the second floor and along the corridor to Randall's study. Outside the tall, carved double doors, I lifted my hand to knock, then hesitated, bracing myself for the encounter to come. Then I rapped firmly.
"Come," came a resonant summons.
Randall was standing at the floor-length windows that opened out onto the terrace, his back to me as I entered.
"You wanted to see me, sir?"
"Yes, Miss Montrose." Randall turned slowly to face me. I was struck again by the sculptured strength of his features and saw in them a decided likeness to the statues of ancient Romans I had studied—the same high-bridged nose, the same bold jawline. "Please, sit down. I have something of great importance to discuss with you." He gestured
to one of the chairs.
I took a seat and waited for him to speak.
He clasped his hands behind his back and began pacing. "First, I want to say that in the year and a half you have been engaged as my daughters' governess, I have been most pleased with their progress and development. Not only in their lessons, in which there has been marked improvement, but also in their spirits and health. From this I can only surmise that your care and supervision is responsible. They are becoming the happy, healthy children I longed for them to be."
"Thank you," I murmured, surprised by his unexpected compliment.
Abruptly he stopped striding back and forth and stood surveying me for what seemed a full moment before going on. "Furthermore, they seem to be acquiring the graceful manners I always admired in Southern ladies. I can assume this is also due to their exposure to one of your . . . gentle breeding." I could feel the heat mounting once more to my face. I was accustomed to lavish compliments only from Pietro. "It has ever been my desire for them to grow up confident of their position, able to take their place in society—that society to which their heritage entitles them."
He paused, still riveting me with his penetrating eyes, and I waited, my breath caught in my throat. "It is my concern that my daughters should be prepared for the life they will live as young ladies. Consequently, they must acquire the social skills expected of their station. This kind of training requires a special person . . . so in the future there shall be no need of a governess."
At his words I felt a tight, clutching sensation in my stomach. So, this was not to be the reprimand I feared. It was going to be worse—a dismissal—and for an instant, I recalled the downfall of the dour-faced Miss Ogilvie and empathized with her humiliation.
Because of the sudden roaring in my ears, I missed Mr. Bondurant's next words. My mind raced headlong into my immediate future. What was I to do? Wealthy Italians paid well for English or American governesses, I had heard, but treated them shabbily. Perhaps it would not be too late to reapply for a position at Thornycroft, though the idea galled.
The sound of Randall's voice broke into my rambling thoughts. "So . . . as their father, I have been giving some thoughtful consideration as to what is the best for my daughters' future and have decided quite definitely that they must be in their own country. I have seen enough of impoverished noblemen seeking rich American heiresses. Well . . . never mind about that . . . I won't have it for my daughters." He had resumed his pacing by this time and was intent on communicating something very important to me . . . but where was it leading?
"No, what they need is a real home where they can meet and entertain a variety of suitors from among the finest families of Virginia. For this, they need two parents—especially a mother skilled in the social graces. She must be a lady of cultured taste, of refinement, and impeccable family. In other words, I have decided to remarry and provide my daughters with an acceptable stepmother."
His statement did not come as much of a shock. I knew, of course, that Randall Bondurant had an active social life. His remarriage someday was almost a foregone conclusion from the beginning.
What shocked me was my reaction to this announcement. An immediate indefinable sense of loss rushed over me, and I felt quite faint.
"Perhaps I am putting this badly—" he said, no doubt noting my stricken look.
"Oh, no, sir. I understand perfectly. When would you like me to leave? Or do you plan for me to accompany the girls back to England or even to the States?"
He whirled around, eyes flashing, color mounting into the lean handsome face. "Leave? Did I say anything about your leaving?"
"But, sir, I thought—"
"I said there was no further need for a governess, that now there was need for a mother—a wife! Druscilla, I am asking you to be that person—to assume the position, in fact, that you have been in essence since you became the girls' governess. You are ideally qualified. What's more, they love you and would be devastated to lose you." His voice modulated, and he turned an inquiring gaze on me. "Miss Montrose—Druscilla—I want you to marry me, become my wife—and stepmother to the children."
I don't think I gasped aloud, although my true reaction warranted such surprise. His words left me totally incapable of speech.
Randall, on the other hand, had not seemed to notice my stunned silence. He went on pacing, talking as he did so, oblivious to my bewilderment.
"Of course, I realize you may want some time to think this over, although, I cannot really imagine what objections you could possibly have to such an arrangement. It is ideal for everyone concerned." He paused and directed his next words as if expecting me to argue.
"Am I right in assuming that you have no other source of income except the salary I pay you? And that you send half of that home to help support your mother? You have no other marriage prospects at present, no romantic attachments?"
Wildly I thought of Pietro. I almost started to name him, since Randall was so confident, almost arrogantly so, that I would accept his offer gratefully. But he wasn't through with his monologue.
"I perceive you to be an intelligent, practical young woman. With this marriage you will be comfortably settled for life. I can assure you that everything will be drawn up legally. It is a European custom to sign a marriage contract in which everything is clearly defined beforehand. Each party knows exactly what is expected and what to expect in return."
I felt the blood drain from my cheeks, and I thought surely I would faint, though I had never done such a thing in my life.
"Your life with the girls will go on unchanged in the main, except that you will have more authority to make decisions for them without consulting me—if I should be away.
"Besides that, you will have a generous allowance for clothes and other expenses, befitting your position as my wife. This will be completely yours to use at your discretion, and will be separate from any inheritance coming to my daughters at my death. You will, as my wife, be beneficiary to my estate as is usual in any marriage."
I still could not find words to speak. He gave me a sharp glance. Then, as if to meet any possible objection I might have, he hurried on. "To put your mind at ease, in case you had any misgivings otherwise, I intend to include in the document that I will make no demands of any kind on your person, your privacy. I waive any conjugal rights. You will be my wife in name only, but with all the privileges of the position in the eyes of the law. If such an agreement seems equitable and fair to you, I can offer you a life of affluence, interesting travel, even luxury, if you will—something I realize your family has not known in their reduced circumstances."
Slowly the full impact of what he was suggesting began to penetrate my stunned consciousness. Marriage to Randall Bondurant would be a business contract with rules, benefits, and obligations to be mutually upheld and officially documented. What a clever and calculated plan, I thought, to provide Bondurant's children with the best of care—a kind of security bond.
Not a shred of emotion was visible in Bondurant's voice or expression. He might be arguing the merits of any other business transaction. He seemed assured I should find the arrangement completely satisfactory.
For a moment, I let myself think of Pietro—his soft voice, his warm, dark eyes, his love of music and art and poetry and me! How differently he would have spoken to me of marriage.
I could almost hear Pietro saying, "We are destined for each other, Dru. Why else would God have brought us to this time and place in all eternity if not that we were meant for each other?"
"Well?" Bondurant's voice roughened with impatience.
I came back to the demanding present with a little start. Clasping my hands tightly together to stop their trembling, I gathered my composure enough to reply, "Sir, I must confess this comes as—as a somewhat surprising—proposal. And indeed, I would like—that is—I need time, to consider, to—"
"Yes, yes, of course. Take some time!" he interrupted.
Thus dismissed, I started for the door. M
y hand was poised above the doorknob when his voice followed me sharply.
"I trust you will not take . . . too long . . . to give me your answer."
Outside the study door I drew a long shaky breath. My heart was beating so hard and so fast that I put my hand on my breast as if to still its pounding.
I almost ran up the next flight of steps to my own room, and once behind the relative safety of the closed door gave way to uncontrollable shaking.
Had I understood him correctly? Was Randall Bondurant really asking me to become his wife?
chapter
15
I WENT TO THE DRESSING TABLE and, with trembling hands, lifted the bottle of eau de cologne, soaked my handkerchief with it, and pressed the damp cloth to my burning face and temples.
I had been completely unprepared for the scenario that had just taken place. Randall must have been considering this proposition for some time, or he would not have had all the details so thoroughly outlined. Had such an arrangement been in his mind weeks ago, even a month ago?
I recalled an incident in Switzerland. We had taken the children to a playground in the center of town and were sitting on a bench nearby as Lally and Nora rode the carousel. Each time they sailed by on their wooden horses, they would wave and call, "Look, Drucie!"
Over and over, round and round. Each time, I responded, "Yes, darling, I see!" After at least a dozen turns, I realized Randall was observing me.
When I glanced at him, he remarked, "You really love the children, don't you?"
Surprised, I had replied, "Why of course I love them! They're my own flesh and blood."
Now I wondered if Randall had been testing me, making some kind of comparison with the other females of his acquaintance.
I walked over to the tall windows, opened them, and stepped out onto the balcony. The sky was a hyacinth blue as early evening descended into the garden. From the next room I could hear the voices of the children as Rosalba helped them with their baths. My heart contracted, and I knew more surely than ever what Nora and Lally meant to me, how impossible it would be for me ever to give them up.
