by Liz Carlyle
Signora Rossi came in with another heavy tray. Together, she and Viviana managed to get both broth and tonic down Cerelia. The child looked perhaps a little more aware, but quickly fell into a deep sleep.
The old nurse surveyed her from the foot of the bed. “Addormentato,” she said, hands on her hips. “Now, Contessa, you sleep, too. I get you warm milk.”
Viviana shook her head. “Grazie, Signora Rossi,” she said. “But I cannot sleep.”
Quin extracted his watch and glanced at it. Half past three. It would be dark soon. He wondered how many hours Viviana had been awake. Signora Rossi left the room, only to return ten minutes later with a steaming mug. “You drink it,” she said, passing it to Viviana. “Subito.”
As if to placate the old woman, Viviana took the mug from the tray and slowly sipped it. Quin already knew a cup of warm milk would have no chance at overcoming Viviana’s powerful maternal instincts. She would not sleep until she utterly broke down, of that he was certain.
The old nurse puttered about the room, checking the brown bottles, tucking in the bedcovers, and in general, folding and neatening anything that could be folded or neatened. All the while, however, she kept one eye on Viviana. Perhaps it was the quiet of the room, or perhaps just his overset nerves, but Quin somehow found it soothing to watch the old woman work.
A strange little sound by his elbow soon distracted him. He looked over in some surprise to see that Viviana had indeed drifted off. Her head had fallen to one side, causing her to make a faint, and very sweet, snoring sound on each exhalation.
The old nurse crossed the room and looked her over assessingly. “Buono,” she said in satisfaction. “She sleep now.”
“Good Lord,” said Quin.
The old nurse looked at him, then pulled yet a third brown bottle from the pocket of her apron. “She sleeps long, signore,” she repeated, wiggling the bottle. “You take her to the small bed now, per favore.”
It was not a request. Obediently, Quin jumped to his feet and scooped Viviana up, mindful of her bruises. Gingerly, he carried her to the trundle bed. She did not so much as twitch when he laid her down again. Quin wondered what the old woman had given her. Nothing she had not needed, most likely.
The nurse looked at him guardedly. “You, go home now,” she said.
Quin smiled wanly and shook his head. The nurse shook hers, too, as if thinking him a fool, then they sat back down together. And so they kept their vigil together, he and the old woman, until well into the evening. Signora Rossi was not much of a conversationalist, he soon discovered, but she could darn stockings like a house afire. He watched in amazement as she whip-stitched her way through one basketful and started in on another.
Eventually, the moon rose, and Quin began to light the lamps and build up the fire. Viviana still did not stir. Cerelia, however, seemed more restless, and yet some of the brilliance seemed to have left her cheeks. At one point, he rose and pressed the backs of his fingers to her forehead. Was it cooler? Or was it his imagination?
“Si,” said Signora Rossi, looking up from her darning. “She heals.”
She heals. Lord God, he prayed the old woman was right.
At eight, there was a soft knock at the door, and Miss Hevner came in. Niccolo was balanced on her hip, and Felise was beside her. Both children were dressed for bed. “Oh, I beg your pardon, your lordship,” said the governess when she saw him. “The children wished to say good night to Cerelia and their mother.”
Signora Rossi tilted her head toward the trundle bed. “Stare tranquillo,” cautioned the old woman. “Your Mamma, she needs sleep.”
Dutifully, the children tiptoed across the room and knelt to kiss their mother’s cheek. When that was done, Felise went to the bigger bed, crawled in beside Cerelia, and began to play with a strand of her sister’s hair.
The old nurse glanced up from her sewing. “Careful, carissima.”
The child looked at her earnestly. “Is she getting better, Tata?”
“Oh, si,” said Signora Rossi. “She gets better. By Monday, you will have your Christmas. And by Thursday, she will chase you round the house and pull your hair.”
Felise laughed softly. Nicolo had crawled onto the big bed, too. He curled himself into a ball near Cerelia’s knees and stuck his thumb in his mouth.
“Come, children,” said Miss Hevner quietly. “We should return to our own rooms now.”
Felise looked reluctant. “What if Cerelia has bad dreams?” she asked. “We always sleep together if we have bad dreams.”
Signora Rossi jerked her head toward the door. “Go, carissima,” she ordered. “I sleep with you if bad dreams come.”
The little girl bubbled with laugher. “Tata, you cannot fit into my bed!”
The old woman shrugged. “Then I break it down,” she answered. “Boom! We sleep on the floor.”
Both children erupted into giggles, but quickly slapped their hands over their mouths. Miss Hevner opened the door and crooked a finger. Nicolo crawled on all fours so that he might kiss his sister’s cheek. Then, with obvious reluctance, they slid from the bed and padded across the room, bottom lips protruding.
They were a family, he realized. Felise and Nicolo possessed an abiding and guileless love for their elder sister. He doubted very much whether they cared how Cerelia had been conceived or who her father was. They were a family, and they loved one another. They were there for one another.
His own childhood would have been a miserable existence indeed without his elder sister. They had been close in age and the best of friends. Perhaps this was what Viviana meant when she said that Cerelia needed a family?
So he was left to ask himself if these were the people from whom he would willing take Cerelia. Even if the law would permit it—which, despite his bold words, he was not at all sure of—it was such a foolish, foolish notion. Family came first. Family was everything.
Quin might have been blood kin, but he was not a part of their family. He was just an outsider looking in, and no matter how hard he tried, no matter what manner of threats he leveled at Viviana, he could not replace this, could he? He could not replace what Cerelia would lose. He would have to be a selfish bastard even to try, and his selfishness had already done harm enough.
He realized in some surprise that he had drifted back to the bed and was stroking Cerelia’s hair. Signora Rossi gave him another chary look. “You go home now, signore,” she said again, her tone more kindly this time. “Come again domattina. Tomorrow morning, si?”
Just then, Viviana made a soft, groaning sound from behind him. He turned to see her languidly stretch one arm. She would be awake soon. Nurse Rossi was clearly here to stay. There really was no need for him to remain.
He wondered again what the old woman thought of his presence in the room. He really did not care. He bent down, and kissed Cerelia lightly on the forehead. His lips came away feeling…not cool. But not hot, either.
“Domattina,” said the old woman again. “She will be awake then.”
Quin looked at her uncertainly. “You…you are quite certain?”
The old woman nodded. “Di sicuro,” she answered. “Weak, signore, like a kitten, eh? But awake to the world.”
Quin prayed to God she was right. He went to the door, stopping long enough to bow to her. “Grazie, then, Signora Rossi,” he said. “I shall bid you buona notte.”
Seventeen
In which Wynwood gives the Contessa
yet another Gift.
Q uin rose at dawn the following morning and rang at once for Blevins. He wished to dress in some haste, so that he might return to Hill Court as soon as possible. He had slept very little, and the little sleep he had got was roiled by disquieting dreams of Cerelia and Viviana. He prayed the child was at least a little bit improved. He was afraid to believe Signora Rossi’s prediction of a recovery until he’d seen Cerelia for himself.
As soon as Blevins finished his handiwork, Quin started for the door. At the last instant, howev
er, he remembered the small package he’d carried home from London some four days previous and returned to his desk for it. There was also the satchel of books for the children. Best to call for his gig, then.
Downstairs he informed a footman of his wishes, then hastened into the breakfast parlor in hope of catching Henry. To his surprise, he found instead his mother and his sister. He forced himself to smile.
“Good morning, Mamma,” he said, kissing her swiftly on the cheek. “Alice, you are up awfully early for a bride. Where is Henry?”
She made a small pout with her lips. “Off to Squire Lawton’s already,” she complained. “Your water or your runoff or some such thing is still draining into Lawton’s lower meadow, I collect, and leaving it boggy.”
Quin was pouring coffee. “Henry mentioned it,” he murmured vaguely. “We cleared a hillside of timber, and now a wet autumn has conspired against us. We’ll put in some ditch work, I daresay.”
“Well, I cannot think why it couldn’t have waited another day or two,” said Alice irritably. “We just got married yesterday.”
Lady Wynwood put down her teacup with a clatter. “Your husband is employed, Alice,” she tartly reminded her. “Marrying him was your choice.”
Alice rolled her eyes. “Well, he shan’t be employed much longer, Mamma, shall he?” she asked. “We must go home in another few weeks. Henry will manage Melville Manor until Chris is of age. Lord knows I’ve made a shambles of it.”
Quin pushed away his plate, which held only a slice of dry toast. “Actually, Alice, I have been meaning to talk to you about that,” he said. “I might need you and Henry to stay here for a few months. Could you, were it necessary?”
Alice looked pleasantly surprised. “I daresay,” she answered. “Why?”
Quin shrugged, and got up from the table. “I may have to go away for a while,” he said.
“But must you do so at this very moment, Quinten?” asked his mother tartly. “Surely there is time enough for that little sliver of toast?”
He turned around and looked at it, scarcely remembering he’d carried it to the table. “No, thank you, Mamma,” he said. “I must go.”
But Alice was still looking at him strangely. “Away?” she interjected. “What do you mean, away?”
Quin hesitated for a moment. “I have been thinking of going to Venice for a few months.”
“Venice!” cried his mother. “Oh, good heavens, Quinten! You cannot. You have duties. Responsibilities. Why, you have Arlington Court!”
He shook his head. “Henry can see to Arlington Court, or he can hire someone to do so.”
His mother looked irritated. “This has something to do with the Contessa, does it not?”
Quin nodded tightly. “In part, yes,” he admitted. “I am going over to Hill Court, Mamma, to see about Cerelia and to ask Viviana to marry me.”
Lady Wynwood half rose from her chair, then sat back down again. “Well!” she said with asperity. “Well! And there is nothing I can say, I am sure, to convince you otherwise.”
“Oh, I rather doubt, Mamma, that you’ll have worry about it,” he said grimly. “I don’t think Viviana will be fool enough to have me. But regardless of her answer, I shall likely be going abroad.”
“Well!” said his mother again
“Well!” echoed Alice teasingly. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained, old thing. Perhaps you will wear her down. For my part, I wish you luck.”
“Thank you,” he said. “And what of you, Mamma? Do you wish me luck?”
Lady Wynwood had wadded her napkin into a tight little ball. For an instant, she just sat there and quietly quivered. Then a little squeak, as if she were restraining some sort of outburst, escaped her lips.
“Mamma!” said Alice warningly.
Lady Wynwood turned pink. “Oh, very well!” she said at last. “Do as you please. Yes, yes, I wish you luck. I hope that you have found something which will at last make you happy.”
He looked at her very solemnly. “It will make me quite giddy with delight, ma’am,” he informed her. “If Viviana will but say yes.”
Alice looked at him drolly. “Giddy with delight, hmm?” she said. “Now, that, Quentin, I would very much like to see.”
Viviana was at the window with her coffee, watching as the morning sun peeked from behind a bank of reddish pink clouds when she saw the Earl of Wynwood’s gig come tearing up the carriage drive. He was unmistakable, even at a distance. Her heart gave a little lurch of some confused emotion. Hope, perhaps. Or perhaps something sillier still.
She had no time in which to consider it, however. In the next instant, she heard the faint stirring of bedcovers behind her.
“Mamma?” came the faint little croak.
On a sharp cry, Viviana turned at once and hastened toward the bed. “Cerelia—!” she exclaimed. “Oh, mia cara bambina! Oh, Cerelia!”
At the commotion, Signora Rossi jerked awake in her chair. “Che cosa? Che cosa?” She sat up so awkwardly, her spectacles tumbled off the tip of her nose.
“Mamma…” The child’s voice was a raspy whisper. “I am so thirsty.”
Viviana slicked a hand over Cerelia’s disheveled locks. “Poor angel!” she said, staring into her eyes. “Tata will send for something. What would you like?”
The girl looked up at her dolefully. “Lemonade?” she whispered. “Have we any?”
The old nurse was on her feet, feeling the child’s forehead. “Sia Gloria a Dio!” she proclaimed. “The fever, it breaks!”
“She feels quite normal,” said Viviana almost tearfully. “She is awake. She wishes lemonade. That is a good sign, is it not?”
The old nurse was smiling. “Si, I fetch it myself!” she declared, giving Cerelia’s cheek a little pinch. “Come now, show Tata your throat. Open!”
Dutifully, the child stuck out her tongue. “It is red,” said the nurse. “Not so bad, I think. But you are for the bed today, cara, and many days after, that is certain.”
“Can you eat something, Cerelia?” asked Viviana. “Are you hungry?”
But Signora Rossi was already shaking her head.
“No,” said the child. “Just a drink, per favore?”
Viviana had settled onto the mattress beside the child. “Oh, Cerelia, carissima, what a fright you have given us!” she said, scooping the child against her. “How do you feel?”
“Tired,” came the pitiful rasp. “Mamma, did I miss Christmas?”
Viviana shook her head. “No, we have saved Christmas, cara,” she said. “We will celebrate it when you are well.”
“I think I feel well enough to open presents,” said the girl hopefully.
Just then, Signora Rossi opened the door to carry out the tray. She jerked at once to a halt. “Buon giorno, signore.”
Viviana looked up to see Quin. His height and broad shoulders filled the door. On the threshold, however, he hesitated almost boyishly. “Good morning, Signora Rossi,” he said. “How is our patient?”
The old woman beamed, and stepped aside so that he might see for himself. “You return, signore, and all is well, as I tell you.”
Viviana felt suddenly awkward. She stood, and smoothed her hands down her skirt. She wondered, fleetingly, what she must look like. A fright, no doubt. “Cerelia is much better, my lord,” she said. “Come, see her for yourself.”
He came into the room, and set down a leather satchel at the foot of the bed. “Well, mouse, you have given us quite a turn,” he said. “How are you?”
“Buon giorno, Lord Wynwood,” she whispered. “I am tired.” Then she paused to cut a quick look in her mother’s direction. “But not, I think, so very tired.”
Quin sat down on the edge of the bed and took her hand in his. “Everyone has been worried about you, my dear,” he said. His relief looked intense, and quite genuine. “Your Mamma and Signora Rossi have been poking you full of vile potions. Do you remember none of it?”
She shook her head, her bronze-colored locks rubbing o
n the pillow. “No, my lord,” she said softly. “I…I do not think so.” Cerelia’s voice was already losing some of its scratchy edge.
Quin brushed the back of his hand over Cerelia’s cheek, an exquisitely tender gesture. Viviana had never seen his eyes look so gentle. “That is good that you do not remember, is it not?” he said quietly. “One should never have to remember unpleasant things.”
Just then, Viviana’s father appeared in the doorway. He went to Cerelia with a cry of joy. Soon, Lord Chesley followed. Then the servants began to drift by, peeking into the room with a smile as they passed. Viviana watched from one corner of her eye as Quin withdrew. He took up a position near the front windows and remained there, silently observing the goings-on about Cerelia’s sickbed. He gave one the impression of standing sentry, as if he might leap forward at any moment and order everyone from the room. He just might do it, too, she inwardly considered. He had a way of stepping in and taking charge.
Signora Rossi returned with fresh nightclothes and bed linens. She was followed by a dutiful kitchen maid, bearing a tray of lemonade and several mugs. The gentlemen bowed themselves out of the room, and Miss Hevner appeared with Nicolo and Felise, who slipped from her governess’s grasp and bounded onto her sister’s bed with unbridled enthusiasm.
“She is awake!” said Felise. “Look, Mamma! Cerelia, you slept for a whole day! Now we can have Christmas. We can open our presents and play and eat panettone!”
“I am not sure that is wise,” said Viviana as she bent over to pick up Nicolo. The child was tugging impatiently at her skirts. “Your sister is still quite unwell, Felise. We must let her rest.”
“I do not think, Mamma, that I am that tired,” said Cerelia.
“Bah!” said Signora Rossi, who was rearranging her pillows so that Cerelia might sit up in bed. “Here, carissima, is your lemonade. If the eyes will still open after that, then…?” She gave one of her mysterious shrugs.
The girls had curled up in bed almost conspiratorially. Cerelia was strong enough, Viviana noticed, to hold on to her mug, which was half-full. Felise had extracted a handful of dominoes from her pocket and was laying them out across the counterpane in some little game known only to the two of them. But within moments, Cerelia’s eyelids were growing heavy.
