Two Little Lies

Four

Sir Alasdair to the Rescue.

L ord Chesley and his houseguests were the first to arrive for his sister’s dinner party the following evening. They were so early, in fact, that Chesley’s sister had not yet come down. They were greeted at the door instead by a beautiful young lady who kissed Chesley with great affection.

She introduced herself to Viviana and Signor Alessandri as Lady Alice Melville, Chesley’s niece. Lady Alice was a trim, tall brunet who appeared to be just past thirty. Her eyes, however, looked far older. Viviana sensed that this was a woman who had known both joy and grief, and felt an immediate affinity for her.

After a few pleasantries, Chesley and Lord Digleby drifted off to visit the cook, Mrs. Prater, to make sure she was serving her famous curried crab.

“How kind of you to come to our little family affair,” Lady Alice said. She took Viviana by the arm as if they were the best of friends, then smiled at Viviana’s father. “Have the two of you been in England long?”

“We arrive just—ah, what is the word?—si, a se’night hence,” said Signor Alessandri.

“Past, Papà,” said Viviana gently.

“Si, a se’night past,” he agreed. “We come, my daughter and I, with her…her bambini, to the porto of Southampton. It is my first time, Lady Alice, to see your beautiful country.”

She had led them into a glittering, elegantly appointed drawing room which had been thrown open to the two small parlors on either side. Everywhere Viviana looked, polished silver and fine crystal gleamed, reflected in the candlelight by the floor-to-ceiling mirrors tucked between each exquisitely draped window. It was all rather grand, she mused, for a simple neighborly gathering.

Apprehensively, she took the glass of wine which Lady Alice pressed into her hand. “I understand you know my uncle well,” Lady Alice was remarking to Viviana’s father. “And I know he admires your work, signore.”

“Ah, Lord Chesley and I go back very long years,” he said in his heavily accented English. “He is a great man, your uncle. All of Europe knows this.”

Lady Alice’s smile deepened. “And what of you, Contessa Bergonzi?” she asked. “Are you enjoying your visit to England?”


Viviana was beginning to feel a little ill. Everything looked so formal, so elegant. She had a sudden premonition of having made a grave misjudgment. Indeed, she had suspected it almost as soon as she accepted the invitation. Chesley’s sister! Was she mad? But Chesley had many sisters, she had consoled herself. Six or seven, it was said. What were the chances that—

“Contessa?” Lady Alice Melville’s voice came as if from far away. “Are you perfectly all right?”

“Scusi?” Viviana’s head whipped around. “Oh, how rude of me! But this fresco around the drawing room, and the gilding on the ceiling—I think it quite the most elegant design I have ever seen.”

Lady Alice beamed with pleasure. “Then you are in luck,” she answered. “The architect who designed it is a friend of my brother’s. Merrick MacLachlan. He will be here tonight, and you may tell him so yourself.”

“A friend?” echoed Viviana. “Of your brother?”

Lady Alice snatched another glass of wine for herself from a passing waiter. “Yes, but Mr. MacLachlan is frightfully moody, as most people in the arts can be, of cour—” Then, as if realizing what she had just said, she flushed. “Oh, I do beg your pardon!”

Viviana managed to smile. “Ah, but a mere architect cannot hold a candle, I do assure you, to a prima donna in a black rage,” she admitted.

Just then, Lord Chesley returned from the rear of the house, followed by four men in dark coats, all of them carrying stringed instruments. “Gwen has hired a quartet!” he said to no one in particular. “Look, Alessandri! We must help them set up.”

Viviana’s father looked relieved to have something to do which did not require a command of the English language. The three gentlemen were well occupied in their task in the back of the room when a small but sprightly old lady entered, hastening toward them. Out in the great hall, Viviana could here more guests arriving, and cheerful voices ringing down the grand staircase. Her anxiety began to ratchet sharply upward.

“Alice, my dear,” said the old lady, regally presenting her cheek for a kiss. “How glad I am to see you out of those dreary blacks and back into a proper gown. You look lovely.”

“Thank you, Aunt Charlotte,” she said. Quickly, the introductions were made. Viviana exchanged a few pleasant words with the old lady, who then espied Lord Chesley and the gentlemen in the rear of the room and went haring off in that direction.

“I beg your pardon, Lady Alice,” said Viviana when her aunt had gone. “May I collect that you are recently widowed?”

Lady Alice looked instantly pained. “I—yes, just over a year ago,” she said. “It was sudden.”

“My sympathies,” said Viviana. “I know the difficulties you must suffer. I, too, am widowed, though not so recently.”

Lady Alice gave a watery smile. “One hates it for one’s children’s sake,” she said. “Mine are so very young. They do not quite understand why their dear papa has been taken from them.”

Viviana could have made the argument that her children were no worse off—certainly, Cerelia was not—but she said nothing of the sort. Instead, she set one hand lightly on Lady Alice’s arm. “But children are very resilient,” she said. “I know this firsthand. I have three, and all are well.”

“I have three also!” said Lady Alice. “How old are your children, Contessa?”

“My daughters are eight and six,” she said. “And my son is four going on ten. Perhaps you know what I mean?”

Lady Alice nodded with alacrity. “They are almost the same ages as mine,” she said. “We really must visit.”

“I should like that,” said Viviana truthfully.

“My children will be pleased to find new playmates so near at hand.”

“Yes, it is but a short drive,” said Viviana. “Will you be staying here long?”

“Six or eight weeks, I daresay,” said Alice. “And it is a short drive, but a far shorter walk if one comes through the wood in between. There is a well-marked bridle path which we all use to go back and forth to Hill Court. I am told my parents wore it to a rut when they were courting.”

The quartet was tuning up, and black-clad footmen were everywhere. Some two dozen guests were drifting through the drawing room now, greeting one another with handshakes, and even kisses. There were no strangers here. Viviana was feeling very much out of place, and even more uneasy when she saw Chesley approach.

“My dear, you really must come with me,” he said, setting a hand on her arm. “The cellist is playing a Guadagnini!”

“Is he indeed?”

“Yes, can you believe it? Here, in a backwater like Buckinghamshire!”

Viviana flashed her new acquaintance a parting smile. “Piacere, Lady Alice!” she said. “You must call on us at Hill Court.”

Alice brightened. “Tomorrow, then?” she suggested. “Would that be too soon?”

Viviana looked at Chesley expectantly.

“My home is yours, Alice,” said her uncle impatiently. “You may move in if you wish.”

Alice laughed. “But you are taking away the most interesting person in the room, uncle!” she protested.

Chesley’s gaze, however, had turned toward the entrance to the withdrawing room. “Oh, I think not tonight, my dear,” he said quietly. “I believe our guest of honor has arrived.”

“The guest of honor?” said Viviana. She had not realized there was one.

Chesley was staring at a young lady in a silver-gray silk gown who had just stepped hesitantly into the room. She was slender, and almost diminutive, but elegant in her simplicity. Her light brown hair was twisted into an artful arrangement, and entwined with a strand of pearls. A second strand encircled her throat. She looked lovely. She looked, in fact, like the perfect English miss.

“Behold Mamma’s long-sought prize,” Alice whispered. “Miss Esmée Hamilton, Quin’s bride-to-be.”

“She is an heiress, too, is she not?” murmured Chesley.

“Yes, Lady Tatton’s niece.”

The words were sinking slowly into Viviana’s brain. Quin. Bride. Heiress. Oh, dear God. Viviana’s knees almost buckled.

“Well, she’s pretty enough, I’ll warrant,” Chesley grumbled. “But she looks nothing at all like his usual type.”

Alice laughed. “Oh, come now, Uncle Ches!” she said. “You are a man of the world, are you not? Men may keep company with one sort of woman, but they wed a different sort altogether.”

Viviana felt herself begin to tremble with inner rage, but it was not Alice with whom she was angry.

“Oh, I daresay,” said Chesley. “By the way, Vivie, you do remember Quin, do you not? My nephew Quin Hewitt? He once had quite a tender for you, as I recall.”

“Quin Hewitt?” Viviana managed. “Why, I…yes, I remember him well.”

Alice shot her a sharp, curious look. “Is it true?” she asked. “Was Quin in love with you?”

Chesley, damn him, barked with laughter. “Oh, he thought so!” said the earl. “For a time, I feared I’d be obliged to pack the puppy up and send him back home to his papa. But Vivie here kept spurning him, and Quin eventually sought an introduction to the many pleasures of Town.”

“Yes, and they became closely acquainted, too!” said Alice dryly.


“Indeed.” Chesley gave a weak grin. “Always a reliable distraction for bored young blades, eh?” He winked at Alice, but she did not spare him a glance. Instead, she was studying Viviana, her expression unreadable.

“You and my rakehell brother!” she said musingly. “How romantic and intriguing this sounds, Contessa.”

“It was neither,” Viviana returned. “It was silly. I was an opera singer, Lady Alice. Do you understand what that means?”

“Why, I daresay it means you sing well,” said Alice with a muted smile. Then, casually, she lifted one shoulder. “In any case, Quin is Lord Wynwood now, and Mamma is keen for him to marry. I collect it was she who chose Miss Hamilton.”

“Well, of course she did!” said Chesley impatiently.

“Quin swears she did not.”

“Oh, Quin wouldn’t come within a mile of a parson if he hadn’t a pistol to his back, the title bedamned,” said the earl. “Now, come along, Vivie, do. You really must see this cello. Now, it is by Lorenzo mind. Not the son. But Umberto says he has never heard the like.”

She went, because she had little choice. And because it was better to be in the rear of the room than in the front; better to put as much space between her and Quin’s pale, pretty fiancée as was possible. Viviana was shocked and appalled. Shocked by her own stupidity in coming here, and by her physical, very visceral reaction to the news. And appalled by the awful, ugly feeling of jealousy surging in her chest. She could have yanked the pearls from Miss Hamilton’s mouse brown hair, and cheerfully strangled her with them. It was irrational, and it was unfair. But there it was; petty envy, the ugliest human vice, laid bare. And after nine long years! How mortifying.

Mechanically, she offered her hand to the cellist, who seemed overawed to meet her. They exchanged a few words, which she barely heard, then Chesley intervened with a question about strings or tension or some damned thing. Still quaking inside, Viviana turned to set her wineglass on a small side table, before she dropped it altogether. In that instant, however, from the corner of her eye, she saw him.

Quin. Oh, dio! She should have turned away, but she could not. Her heart had begun to trip. The air in the room seemed to vanish. She felt as though the entire crowd watched her. But she, fool that she was, could watch no one but Quin.

He was no longer the beautiful boy she remembered. Oh, no. He was larger and harder and harsher and every other masculine superlative she could think of, in either English or Italian. His heavy dark hair was just a little too long, and his face was hard and unsmiling.

But he smiled when he joined the young lady—his fiancée—at the entrance to the room. Of course, he towered over the girl. She looked up at him gratefully and took the arm he offered. In response, he laid one hand protectively over hers—a gallant, artless gesture.

He was fond of her. Even a fool could see that. Viviana swallowed hard, and felt something hot and horrifying well up behind her eyes. Men may keep company with one sort of woman, Lady Alice had said. But they wed a different sort altogether.

Oh, this girl was a different sort, to be sure. She and Viviana could not have been more dissimilar.

They were making their way around the crowd. Quin was introducing her to his friends and family, smiling and nodding to each person in turn as he did so. Dear God. It was just a matter of time.

Viviana felt for an instant as if she might faint. Then, on her next breath, she cursed herself for her cowardice. Good God, he was nothing to her now! He was just another arrogant, insufferable Englishman. In the years since her ill-conceived relationship with Quin had ended, she had molded herself into a different person. She was rich, successful, and—so she was told—still very beautiful. She was but thirty-three years old. The best of life might yet lie ahead of her.

Somewhat fortified by those recollections, Viviana steeled her expression and pushed her shoulders very rigidly and very stubbornly backward until her chest was open and her chin was up. She looked every inch a diva now, a pose she reserved for only the hardest of roles. Well, they came no harder than this. She would be damned before she let Quin Hewitt see her falter.

She realized the instant he saw her. His eyes flashed, dark and hard. Oddly, he did not look twice, as one might have expected. Indeed, he barely looked surprised. Her chin still lifted, she shot him a calm, vaguely condescending look.

Quin did not look calm. He hesitated but a moment, then set his hand over his fiancée’s. After speaking a few low words near her ear, he returned her to the attractive, middle-aged woman with whom she had arrived, then turned on his heel and walked out. Viviana exhaled the deep breath she had not realized she was holding.

Viviana spent the next quarter hour going through the motions of meeting Chesley’s friends and neighbors and endeavoring to say something witty and charming to each. It was not difficult. She had become adept at the mundane these last few years and able to veil her true emotions with a practiced ease.

Just then, Chesley touched her lightly on the elbow. She turned, and was introduced to a tall, slender woman of uncertain years. She knew at once it was Quin’s mother. She had the same dark blue eyes, and looked very like Lady Alice in the face.

Lady Wynwood. Yes, Wynwood was the name of the title Quin was to inherit. She remembered it now. Viviana gave a slight curtsy, though by rights and by rank, she need not have done so. Lady Wynwood was warm, if a little distant. She quickly turned her full attention to Chesley, fussing over him if she were his mother instead of his elder sister.

To Viviana’s horror, however, she had no sooner departed than Alice’s elderly aunt, Lady Charlotte, approached with Quin’s fiancée in tow. After speaking a few teasing words to the young woman, Chesley slid a hand beneath her elbow and steered her in Viviana’s direction. Viviana held her breath again.

“My dear, may I introduce my nephew’s intended bride, Miss Hamilton?” he said. “Miss Hamilton, the Contessa Viviana Bergonzi di Vicenza.”

The young woman curtsied very prettily. “It is an honor, ma’am.”

Viviana refused to let herself falter. “My felicitations on your betrothal, Miss Hamilton,” she said. “I wish you many years of happiness in your marriage.”

The young woman looked at a spot somewhere near Viviana’s hems. “Thank you, my lady.”

“You must forgive us for intruding on what was obviously meant to be a family celebration,” Viviana continued. “Chesley did not perfectly explain the occasion.”

Miss Hamilton lifted her gaze, eyes widening. “Oh, don’t rake me over the coals, Vivie,” said the earl. “I can’t keep up. What difference does it make?”

Viviana looked at Chesley. “Why, none at all, I’m sure,” she said coolly. “Miss Hamilton seems all that is amiable.”

Just then, they were called to dinner.

“Thank God!” said Aunt Charlotte. “I’m famished. Come along, girl. You can acquaint yourself with the others after dinner. Oh, I do hope Mrs. Prater has made her curried crab tonight.”

Knees still wobbly, Viviana brought up the rear, following Chesley and the other guests into the corridor. Everyone was chattering gaily as they made their way toward the dining room. Suddenly, from the shadows, a hand grabbed her arm. Viviana found herself jerked into an unlit alcove. She looked up into Quin’s angry eyes and lifted her chin.


“Madam, you have a great deal of nerve,” he said icily. “How dare you try to ruin this?”

Viviana tried to jerk her arm from his grasp. “Don’t be a fool, Quinten,” she said coolly. “Release my arm this instant.”

Instead, he pulled her closer, his nostrils flaring with rage.

“Quin, basta!” She tore from his grasp. “The others are leaving us.”

“I know how to find the goddamned dining room, Viviana,” he rasped. “It’s my bloody house.”

“Si, caro mio, and I suspect you never let anyone forget it.”

He set his hand on the opposite wall and leaned into her. “I shan’t let you forget it, that’s bloody certain.”

“Oh, trust me, Quinten,” she whispered darkly. “That is one thing I have never forgotten. Your rank. Your wealth. Your unassailable British privilege. I did, however, make the mistake of forgetting your title, and now I see I’m to pay for it.”

His face contorted unpleasantly. “You liar! You never forgot a damned thing you thought you could use to your advantage.”

Suddenly, his meaning dawned on her. “Oh, Dio! You aren’t simply mad!” she said. “You are disgusting, and you are delusional. I could buy and sell you twice over, Quin Hewitt. Trust me, you have nothing I want.”

True anger flared in his eyes then. “What I want, my lady, is to see you in private,” he growled. “Tomorrow morning. In my study.”

Viviana lifted both brows, and stared at him in haughty disdain. “Veramente, Quin?” Her voice was coolly disdainful. “I think you forget I am no longer yours to command.”

“Eight o’clock,” he growled. “Or I shall come to you, Viviana. Will your precious Papá wonder why?”

Viviana’s eyes flared wide. “You bastard,” she whispered. “Are you threatening me?”

“My study is on the ground floor,” he said, moving as if to leave her. “In the back, sixth window from the left. Use it, Viviana. Else I shall be knocking on the door of Hill Court and rousing every bloody one of you dilettantes from your beds, the venerable Alessandri included.”

Just then, a shadow fell across the corridor. “Quin, old chap,” said a dry, masculine voice. “Have you forgotten that your dinner guests are being seated?”

Viviana looked up into the eyes of an extraordinarily handsome blond-haired gentleman. He tilted his head in her direction. “Contessa Bergonzi, I believe?” he said quietly. “Sir Alasdair MacLachlan at your service. I think you’d best take my arm, don’t you?”