Two Little Lies

Six

In which Contessa Bergonzi lashes out.

Q uin made his way to the breakfast parlor just after dawn, in desperate hope of finding a cup of coffee and avoiding the rest of the household in the process. The latter was to be denied him. Aunt Charlotte had beaten him there and was flitting about like a frail bird, inspecting each chafing dish as the servants carried it in.

“Good morning, Quin,” she sang from one of the massive sideboards. “The eggs are prepared just as you like them. Will you join me?”

Quin had already gone to the coffeepot. “No, ma’am, I thank you,” he said. “I have work to do in my study. I shall just take a cup of coffee with me.”

Aunt Charlotte’s small, dark eyes twinkled. “Yes, you will wish to spend the day with your Miss Hamilton, will you not?” she responded. “She is a lovely girl, my boy. Your mamma is quite overjoyed. Of course, I have reassured Gwendolyn many times over the years that you would do the right thing, Quin, when the time came.”

Quin set his cup on a saucer and tried to smile. “I am glad I did not disappoint you, ma’am,” he said. “After all, I have been disappointing my mother with appalling regularity for at least two decades. Now, if you will excuse me, duty calls.”

It was a long walk to the oldest wing of the house, where his study was located. Quin pushed the door open on silent hinges, put his coffee on the desk, and went to the French windows, which opened onto the back gardens. The servants had not yet come into this room to build up a fire or open the draperies. They had been told by his mother, he suspected, that everyone would wish to remain abed late into the morning. A pity he had not been able to do so. But he had known from the moment he set eyes on Viviana last night that sleep would elude him. And if he was to suffer, by God, she could suffer. In the past, she had been unaccustomed to rising much before noon, and he rather doubted that had changed.

With a sweep of his arm, he pushed back the pleats of fabric to reveal the dawning day. The gardens were taking shape now; he could see his mother’s prized rose garden, brown and dormant, and beyond it, the Tudor knot garden, which had faded to a dull shade of green. The sky was turning purple, the horizon blushing a bright pink beneath. The half-moon which had been visible upon his arising had vanished, and beyond the gardens the west wood loomed, still steeped in shadows.

He stood at the window, cradling the warm coffee in one palm as the wintry air radiated off the glass, cold and bracing on his face. He drew the air deep into his lungs, hoping it would clear his mind as well. This was a fool’s errand. He knew it now. He half hoped Viviana would not come.

But she would. Not because she feared him, but because she was proud and stubborn and sometimes even foolish. And she would come, he supposed, from the direction of the trees. Someone, surely, would direct her to the shortcut? At this hour, the wood would be gloomy but penetrable. The path was clearly marked. The walk would take less than half an hour. But Chesley kept a good stable. Perhaps Viviana would ride. Did Viviana ride?

It struck him as odd that he did not know. There had been a time when he had believed he knew everything one could know about Viviana. But his had been a young man’s confidence, born of arrogance and na?veté. In truth, he had known nothing of her, save for the beauty of her body and the taste of her mouth beneath his.

Just then, he saw her. She had tied her horse just inside the wood, he guessed. She was sauntering across the grass, a riding crop in her gloved hand, and a square-crowned, almost masculine hat set slightly to one side, as she always preferred. Her riding habit, too, was plain to the point of mannishness; a skirt and jacket, cut snugly to her figure and absent the almost comically full sleeves currently in vogue with English ladies. She did not bother to pick up her skirts in one hand, but instead let them trail across the dry, stubbled grass.

She did not knock, either. Instead, she simply opened the door and stepped inside. “Buon giorno, Quinten,” she said in her rich, throaty voice. “I have come. What do you want of me?”

Suddenly, the anger rushed at him again, propelled by her dark beauty and haughty disdain. “I want to know the truth, Viviana.” His voice was cool. “I want to know why you are here.”

She cocked one slashing black brow, and looked at him as if he were a simpleton. “I am here because you bade me come,” she responded. “I am in England because Lord Chesley wishes it. And I am in this village because I had no notion your estates were adjacent. You may believe that or not, as you please.”

“Why?” he demanded. “What does Chesley want?”

Viviana pursed her lips for a moment. “I do not think, Quinten, that I need tell you more,” she answered. “But for old times’ sake, I tell you that Chesley has commissioned an opera, a very grand bel canto opera, and he has asked my father’s help.”

“Ah, yes!” said Quin. “The great composer, Umberto Alessandri, and his Cyprian daughter. You have a lot of nerve coming back to England, Viviana.”

Her backhanded slap caught him squarely across the cheek but Quin did not so much as flinch. “Tell me, Viviana,” he growled. “Does your beloved Papà know about us? Does he know what you were to me?”

Finally, he saw raw anger sketch across her face. “Bastardo!” she rasped. “My Papà knows what he needs to know. And if you take it upon yourself, Quinten, to tell him one word more, I swear to God, I will kill you with my bare hands!”

On that, she turned and yanked open the window as if to leave.


Quin grabbed her and almost dragged her back to the desk. “You still haven’t explained why you are here, Viviana,” he growled. “You are a singer, my dear. Not a composer. Do you think me too stupid to know the difference?”

“I came because my father needs me,” she returned. “Your uncle asked a favor of us, and we were glad to do it. God knows I owe him that much.”

He set both hands roughly on her shoulders and held her eyes. “And my betrothal had nothing to do with it?” he demanded, giving her a little shake. “Tell me the truth, Viviana! I have a right to know.”

She looked at him contemptuously. “Per amor di Dio, Quinten, what did I know of this betrothal?” she snapped. “What can it possibly mean to me? I fear you think too well of yourself if you imagine I have spared you a thought these last many years.”

The derision in her voice was too much. He felt a powder keg of old emotions explode in his head. And then, somehow, his mouth was crushing hers. Viviana tried to shove at his shoulders, but reality had spun away, and there was only his frustration, raw and visceral. He drew in her scent, exotic and still too familiar, and urged her back against the desk.

Viviana moved as if to kick him, but he let his weight bear her down onto the desktop, and caught her wrists. It was as if a driving madness possessed him, compelling him to kiss her, possessively and openmouthed.

Beneath him, she shuddered and it felt, fleetingly, as if she relaxed. Quin plunged inside her mouth again, and felt lust go spiraling through him, stealing his breath and sending blood rushing. He felt as if he were drowning in her. Desperate for her. Every sense came alive, as if too long dormant. But beneath him, Viviana stiffened, and bit down on his lip. Pain snapped him back to reality.

With one last desperate jerk, she tore her face from his. “Fa schifo!” she spit, jerking up her knee as if to do him serious injury. “Sporco! Get off me, you bastard English pig!”

On a quiet curse, Quin shifted his weight away. Too late. Viviana had drawn back her hand and lashed her riding crop hard across his face.

Suddenly, there was a terrible thud. A short, sharp scream. Quin turned to see Aunt Charlotte lying across his threshold, her eyes rolled back in her head. Esmée stood in the corridor, her hand over her mouth. Two housemaids pressed in behind her, eyes agog.

Everything happened in a blur. Viviana shoved him away. She bolted across the carpet to Charlotte, the hems of her habit almost sending her sprawling. Esmée fell to her knees, the blood drained from her face.

He started toward them, but Viviana cried out, forestalling him. “Quin, you fool!” she said, stroking the hair from Charlotte’s face. “Basta! Basta! Now you have killed your aunt!”

Esmée had her fingertips on the old woman’s throat. “Her pulse is fluttering,” she said. “But she is not dead.”

Quin stood, frozen in horror. Good God, what had he done now?

Esmée looked over her shoulder at the gaping housemaids. “Shut the window,” she snapped. “Wynwood, send someone to fetch a doctor. For God’s sake, hurry!”

Quin was halfway to the door when Aunt Charlotte emitted a pitiful groan. “No…no doctor,” she managed.

“Oh, poveretta!” Viviana murmured, rhythmically stroking the old lady’s face. “Oh, non ci credo!”

Viviana looked stricken. Quin plunged into action, pushing his way past the housemaids and bolting for the great hall at a run. Dear God. His life was over. His servants had likely seen everything. Esmée would hate him. Viviana already did. And now he had killed Aunt Charlotte.



Quin lived much of the next half hour in turmoil, pacing the floor in his mother’s private sitting room as he waited for the worst to happen. The footmen had carried his great-aunt to his mother’s suite, the nearest to hand, and the immediate family had slowly gathered there, one by one, their words whispered, their expressions stricken. The aura of death seemed to surround them all, and Quin knew it was his fault.

But Aunt Charlotte, as it happened, was made of sterner stuff.

“Nothing is broken,” pronounced Dr. Gould when at last he came out of the bedchamber. “But her pulse is still erratic, as it has often been this last decade or better. I wish her to have a day’s bed rest, and her usual heart tonic. Tomorrow she’ll be her old self, I hope.”

Quin sagged with relief. “Oh, thank God!” said his mother, clutching a crumpled handkerchief to her breast. “Oh, I feared the worst!”

Quin’s elderly aunts and uncles commenced a recitation of Charlotte’s many ailments, including her lifelong propensity to faint at the slightest sight of blood—and blood there had been, drawn quickly and viciously by the lash of Viviana’s whip. Reflexively, Quin ran his finger along the wound on his cheek. It was then that he noticed his sister Alice, scowling darkly at him from her corner of the room and twisting her own handkerchief into knots.

“Remember, Helen, how Charlotte fainted and fell out of the dogcart that time we ran over a squirrel?” one of his uncles rattled on.

“Oh, heavens yes!” said Great-aunt Helen. “She needed six stitches for that one!”

Suddenly, Esmée cleared her throat. “This was a terrible accident, too,” she remarked in a clear, carrying voice. “Really, Wynwood, you ought not creep up on people like that. The contessa jerked instinctively, just as anyone would do.”

The room fell deadly silent. Quin’s mother was watching Esmée very oddly over her handkerchief. “Yes, a dreadful accident!” his mother finally echoed. “We are lucky Aunt Charlotte did not break a hip, Quin. Do have a care next time!”

“I’m sorry,” he said for about the tenth time. “I’m just so bloody sorry.”

The doctor scrubbed his hands together. “Well, I’d best be off then,” he said. “I’ll look in on Lady Charlotte tomorrow, just in case. She isn’t getting any younger, you know.”

Quin barely noticed when his family began to trickle from the room. His mother was still watching him warily, an unasked question in her eyes and a wounded expression on her face. The rumors were already out, then. The housemaids had assuredly seen something—and that which they’d not seen, their imaginations had likely supplied. His mother meant to rake him over the coals for it, too.

Well, she could hardly do worse than that which he wished to do to himself.

But he was to be spared his mother’s ire, at least for the moment. Alice, God bless her, propelled her from the room after the others, murmuring something about seeing the children before breakfast.

He turned to stare through the window, looking out across the knot garden toward the trees, the same view he had held so intently this morning as he awaited Viviana’s arrival. Viviana. Good God, what had he done? What had he been thinking? The damned woman still drove him insane!

But she had not come to England to torment him. Indeed, she really could not have cared less, and Quin did not know which notion angered him more.

She had vanished from his study this morning as soon as he had returned with the two footmen, giving Aunt Charlotte one last pitying look over her shoulder as she departed. She had not spared Quin so much as a glance.

Suddenly, a hand touched his shoulder, recalling him to the present. Quin’s head whipped round, and he saw Esmée standing by his side. Good Lord, he had not realized that she had remained behind after the others left. No doubt that was why Alice had dragged his mother away. It was not her sympathy for Quin; it was her sympathy for the woman he had so publicly humiliated. The tittle-tattle was likely halfway to the village by now.


But Esmée looked surprisingly composed. “I fear there will be gossip, my lord,” she said as if reading his thoughts. “But perhaps we can counter it. We must continue to assert that silly accident story.”

He returned his gaze to the window, unable to look her in the eyes. “Esmée, I can explain.”

“No, don’t,” she said hastily. “I would really rather not discuss it.”

“I don’t blame you,” he whispered. “I am such a fool—and worse, I’ve humiliated you. Can you ever forgive me?”

“ ’Tis not a matter of my forgiveness,” she said, her Highland accent soft.

“If you think that, my dear, then you are a fool, too.”

Esmée drew a deep breath. “I ought to explain, Wynwood, that I came looking for you this morning to tell you…to tell you that I cannot marry you,” she went on. “I made a grievous error in accepting your offer. I apologize.”

At that, he laughed bitterly. “I am not surprised you’d wish to cry off now,” he answered. “What an embarrassment this will be! And I believe it is I who owes the apology.”

“You are not listening, my lord,” she said firmly. “I was coming to tell you I wished to cry off the betrothal. I am sorry I interrupted you in…in whatever it was you were doing—”

“Ruining my life,” he interjected. “That’s what I was doing.”

Esmée shrugged. “In any case, it had nothing to do with my decision. I mean to tell your mother so as well. I would not have her think you responsible for my choice.”

It seemed Esmée had indeed noticed his inattentiveness last night. Damn it, Alasdair had not been wrong, had he? He had not meant to wound the girl so. “I will send a notice to the Times this afternoon,” he said, dragging a hand through his hair. “No one will be surprised. My dear, I am sorry this has ended so badly.”

“Don’t be so sorry,” she whispered. “Trust me, I never should have said yes. Something…something happened last night to convince me of that.”

Yes, he had ignored her. That was what had happened. The sight of Viviana had disordered his mind. Quin was barely aware that he had begun to pace the room again.

“I thought it a good match, Esmée,” he said, his tone almost mystified. “I persuaded myself we could make a go of it, you and I. I was a fool to imagine I could—or would ever—oh, damn it, why didn’t I just listen to Alasdair?”

“To Alasdair—?”

“He told me from the very first I was not good enough for you,” Quin admitted. “And I knew, even then, that he was right. I thought perhaps you might make a better man of me. But it isn’t working, is it? Even Alasdair can see it. Last night, he read me the riot act, then threatened to thrash me into a bloody pulp.”

“Alasdair? But…but why?”

“He thought I wasn’t paying enough attention to you,” Quin admitted. “He thought you looked unhappy. He wanted me to call off our wedding, but I refused, of course. How could I? A gentleman may not do such a thing.” He flashed her a crooked, bittersweet smile. “But now you have done it for me.”

Esmée refused to look at him. “Aye, and I think it best,” she said. “We do not perfectly suit after all.”

For a time, he simply watched her without speaking. “Are you a secret romantic at heart, Esmée?” he found himself asking. “Do you believe there is but one perfect partner for all of us?”

“I—yes, I begin to believe that might be so,” Esmée admitted.

He turned again to the window and braced his hands wide on its frame. He stared into the distance, wondering how to make his point without further hurting her. “I do not know, Esmée, what there is between you and Alasdair,” he finally said. “Certainly it is none of my business now.”

She began to interrupt, but turned, and threw up a staying hand. “Please, just let me speak.”

Esmée nodded. “Yes. Of course.”

He lowered his hand and looked her in the eyes. “All I am saying is that if there is even a scrap of sincere regard between the two of you, I urge you not to let it go,” he whispered. “Not until you are sure nothing more can be made of it. For once you let it go of that tiny scrap—by accident or by design—it is sometimes gone forever.”

Esmée was staring at the floor again. “That is good advice, I am sure,” she answered. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must go and tell my aunt what we have decided.”

“I shouldn’t wish her to be angry with you,” he said hastily. “Tell her the truth, by all means.”

“The truth is that we do not suit,” she repeated. “We never did. We are meant for other things, you and I. We were fools ever to think otherwise.”

He looked at her wistfully and wished to God he wanted her. It would have been so easy. But he didn’t want her, not really. His actions this morning, and the embarrassment he had caused her, could not have made the truth more plain. She was wise, very wise, to be rid of him now, before he got her to the altar and doomed them both to a life of bitter dissatisfaction.

“Little Esmée,” he murmured. “Always the wise one. Why is it that we cannot love one another? It would make life so much easier, would it not?”

She returned the smile ruefully. “Aye, but I begin to think we do not get to choose whom we love,” she answered. “And that life was not meant to be easy.” Then she stood on her tiptoes and lightly kissed his cheek.



Her father was already at the piano in the parlor with Lord Digleby when Viviana returned in a headlong rush from the stables. The men were bent over a piece of music scrawled across a scrap of paper, experimentally plinking out notes.

“Buon giorno, Papà. Lord Digleby.” She kissed her father on the cheek and hastened out again, barely noticed. The great Alessandri was once again absorbed in his work, and for that Viviana was grateful.

She was not grateful—at least, not initially—when she ran straight into Lord Chesley exiting his library. “Vivie, my dear!” he said, catching her by both shoulders. “You are about to bowl me over—and not with your charm and beauty.”

Viviana felt her cheeks heat. “Scusi, my lord,” she murmured, moving as if to pass. “I was not attending.”

Chesley was looking at her in concern. “No, my girl, you were not,” he agreed. “Come into the library, won’t you? Basham has just brought coffee.”

Viviana pulled the pin from her riding hat, and lifted it off. “Grazie, Chesley, but I should change first.”

Chesley waved his hand in obviation. “Nonsense! Now come in, sit down, and tell me what is wrong. Did you not enjoy your grand adventure this morning?”

Grand adventure was not quite the word for it. For an instant, she weighed not telling him, but that would not have done. Better Chesley should hear it from her lips. “I—I rode over to Arlington Park,” she answered, unable to hold his gaze. “I went to see Lord Wynwood.”

Chesley’s brows went up, and he pushed open the library door, motioning her in with a tilt of his head. “To see Quin, eh?” he said when she was seated and he had poured her a cup of strong black brew. “Was he expecting you, Vivie?”


She nodded, and took a fortifying sip of the coffee. “He—he asked me to come,” she said. “Well, ordered me, really. I thought merely to humor him, you see. But…but there was an accident.”

“An accident?” the earl echoed. “Of what sort?”

Viviana shook her head, not entirely sure she could explain. “We quarreled,” she began. “And he—he took certain liberties which I did not appreciate. I was very angry, Chesley, and I struck him. With my crop.”

“Gad!” the earl interjected.

“Indeed,” said Viviana witheringly. “We did not realize Lady Charlotte had come into the room with Miss Hamilton. Oh, Chesley! It was an ugly scene. I drew his blood.”

“As well you should have done, devil take him!”

“Oh, no, I should not have!” Viviana cried, leaping from her chair. “Lady Charlotte swooned, and Miss Hamilton—well, I think she saw everything. I am not perfectly sure. And there were servants.”

Chesley groaned and shook his head. Viviana was roaming restlessly about the room now, sliding her hands up and down her arms. She was cold, she realized, despite the fact she still wore a wool habit. It was her nerves, she supposed. She really had suffered something of a shock. She had gone to spar a bit with Quin, and to put him in his place. And now innocent people were left to suffer the consequences of her temper. Would she never learn?

“Damn Quin for a fool!” Chesley finally muttered. “Gwendolyn will likely give herself an apoplexy over this. I’d best get over there and find out which way the wind blows.”

“Oh, it blows very ill,” said Viviana. “Lady Charlotte looked most unwell. The doctor was being sent for when I left.”

“Hmph,” said the earl. “Never mind Charlotte; she’s tough as an old hide. What, precisely, did the servants see?”

Viviana sat down again, careless of her skirts. “I cannot say,” she admitted. “I was in one of my diva rages.”

“Yes, yes!” said Chesley. “One can only guess.”

“Still, I think they cannot quite have seen everything,” Viviana continued. “But I am not at all sure they needed to. Dio, I feel so sorry for that poor girl. And I can only imagine what she thinks of me.”

“Miss Hamilton?” asked the earl. “Yes, there will be gossip. Ah, well! The child did not look resolute enough to keep Quin on a leash anyway. Still, we must endeavor to keep the servants quiet.”

Viviana set down her cup, and pushed it a little away. “I am sorry, Chesley,” she whispered, dropping her face into her hands. “I am your guest here. This reflects very badly on you, I fear.”

“The deuce!” said the earl again. “It reflects badly on my rogue of a nephew, and that is all. He has come to believe every fetching female under the age of forty is his for the taking. I should like to take my crop to the handsome devil.”

“Miss Hamilton may beat you to it,” said Viviana mordantly. “I do not believe she is as meek, Chesley, as you seem to believe. And afterward, I expect she will jilt him.”

“And so she ought,” said the earl, rising. “You must pardon me, my girl. I shouldn’t waste any more time. Let me go over to Arlington and unruffle Gwen’s feathers and see how Charlotte goes on. Then I’ll call upon Mrs. Prater, and discover what tittle-tattle the housemaids are passing and what can be done to stop it.”

“Oh, Chesley!” said Viviana, coming swiftly to her feet. Impulsively, she kissed him on the cheek.

He looked at her with a hint chagrin in his eyes. “I only wonder,” he finally said, “what Quin was thinking, Vivie. You did discourage him quite thoroughly all those years ago, didn’t you, my girl?”

Viviana swallowed hard, and hesitated. “Perhaps, Chesley, I ought not answer that,” she finally answered. “I have the right to avoid self-incrimination, have I not? That is the English law, I believe?”

“Hmph,” said the earl for the third time. “It is the letter of the law, yes, if not the spirit. Keep your secrets, my dear, if you must. But I sometimes begin to wonder if you haven’t kept just one or two too many.”



By the early afternoon, Lord Chesley still had not returned to Hill Court. Mrs. Douglass sent plates of cold meat and cheese to the parlor in some hope, Viviana supposed, that her father and Lord Digleby would actually stop working long enough to eat. It had fallen to Viviana to smooth the housekeeper’s feathers when they did not.

Viviana dined in the schoolroom with Miss Hevner and the children. The governess, who was looking rather frazzled, expressed a need to do some shopping in the village. Nurse Rossi could no longer handle all three at once. Viviana offered to take the children to play in the gardens for the rest of the afternoon. Better that, she decided, than simply sitting and stewing whilst she awaited Chesley’s return.

But it was not Lord Chesley who eventually appeared on the path which led from Hill Court to Arlington. The children were playing hide-and-seek in Chesley’s maze when Viviana heard distant laughter. She lifted her hand to shield the low, slanting sun from her eyes. Below the stables, she could see a lady and three children emerging from the trees.

Lady Alice. Viviana was sure of it. The smallest child Lady Alice carried on her hip. Behind her, the two older children appeared to be wrestling good-naturedly over something. Lady Alice turned around and whacked the smaller of the two soundly across the bottom. Swathed in coats and cloaks as they all were, Viviana doubted the swat had much effect, nor had it been meant to.

Suddenly, something struck her. Allie. Alice was Allie—Quin’s elder sister. She had recalled vaguely that Quin had had a sister. But she could not recall his ever having called her Alice. There was yet another small mystery resolved, she supposed. A pity she had not tried to solve them all a little sooner.

When the three saw Viviana by the maze, they hastened toward her, giving every impression of being well-mannered children on their best behavior. “I hoped to find you here,” said Lady Alice brightly as she set her smallest child down. “The day has turned quite clear, has it not?”

“Yes, it is lovely,” agreed Viviana.

“I thought the children might play together,” Lady Alice suggested. “Do your children like battledore?”

By then, Nicolo was tugging at Viviana’s skirts, and the girls were peeping from the maze. “I do not think we know this game,” Viviana admitted, lifting Nicolo to her hip. “My Felise does not speak English perfectly—and this little one, not at all.”

Lady Alice’s children were carrying several wooden paddles, rather like small tennis rackets, but solid and stringless. “This is the battledore,” said the boy, thrusting one of his paddles toward the maze to Cerelia.

“And this is the shuttlecock,” said the girl, balancing a befeathered object in the palm of her hand. Viviana recognized it as the object the children had been squabbling over. “We hit it back and forth with the battledore and try to keep it in the air.”

Lady Alice laughed, and plucked the feathered object from the girl’s hand. “Do not be deceived, Contessa,” she said. “This is really just an old cork stuck full of feathers. Mr. Herndon, Arlington’s steward, made it for my children.” Hastily, she introduced them.

The eldest was Charlotte, so named for her great-great-aunt, a fact which made Viviana inwardly cringe. “But we call her Lottie to avoid the confusion,” Lady Alice went on. “And this is Christopher, who is seven, and Diana, who is four.”


Cerelia had taken the wooden paddle from Christopher’s outstretched hand and was studying it. Hastily, Viviana translated the introductions and presented her own children in turn.

Lady Alice did not appear to need further encouragement. She drew a long piece of red yard from her pocket, went out onto a square patch of lawn, and stretched it out across the grass. Nicolo squirmed his way down and dashed off to investigate it.

“This is the boundary line,” said Lady Alice, pointing authoritatively. “Cerelia, you shall play with Christopher on that side of the line. And Felise, you will play with Lottie. You must not let the cork touch the ground, or the other side will score a point. Does everyone follow me?”

“Si, Signora,” said Cerelia, nodding.

“Yes, my lady,” prompted Viviana from the sidelines.

Cerelia laughed. “Yes, my lady,” she agreed. “We will be sure to send your feathers flying.”

The elder girl had given one of her paddles to Felise and was showing her how to use it. Lady Alice gave the last two paddles to the youngest, and moved them into place behind the elder children. Little Diana was hopping up and down excitedly, but she looked just as confused as Nicolo.

“I shall keep score,” cried Lady Alice over her shoulder as she left them. “Contessa, I fear my feet hurt and I wish to sit on that bench just there. Will you indulge me?”

She left Viviana little choice, other than to appear inhospitable. “Yes, of course,” she said, falling into step. “But the little ones, they cannot play this batting game, can they?”

“Oh, heavens, no!” Lady Alice agreed. “In two minutes’ time, they will have thrown down their battledores and wandered off to chase one of Uncle Ches’s cats or poke about in the shrubbery. But if we do not give them any, they will whine and cry until we wish we had.”

Viviana could not argue with her strategy. “You are very kind to visit,” she said quietly. “My children were growing bored with hide-and-seek in the maze.”

“It isn’t even much of a maze, is it?” Lady Alice admitted, her gaze running over it. “More like hide-and-peek, I should say. The thing looks on the verge of death.”

Viviana found herself laughing. “Your uncle says there was a blight last year,” she answered. “Much of it had to be cut back.”

“One all!” cried Lady Alice suddenly. “Lottie, watch Felise’s toes!”

In her next breath, she returned to their discussion of the shrubs. Then she turned the topic to the coming holidays, and after that, to the unseasonable temperatures. But all the while, Viviana knew Lady Alice had had another purpose in coming to Hill Court.

Finally, Viviana had had enough of the suspense. “Lady Alice,” she said quietly. “Why have you come here? Not, I think, to talk of the weather?”

Smiling benignly, Alice turned on the bench to face her. “To let the children play,” she repeated. “And also to invite you to join Mamma and me for luncheon tomorrow at Arlington Park.”

“Ah, to luncheon!” said Viviana. “But I think you must know, Lady Alice, of the incident which occurred this morning in your brother’s study.”

Lady Alice clasped her hands in her lap for a moment. “I apologize, Contessa, on my brother’s behalf.”

“Do you indeed?” said Viviana a little mordantly. “Are you quite sure?”

Alice’s brows knotted. “Quite sure that I apologize?”

“On your brother’s behalf.”

The smile did not fade. “By the time Mamma has had done with him, yes, I am sure he will be quite penitent indeed.”

“Oh, dear.” Viviana bit her lip. “She must be frightfully angry.”

Alice shrugged. “Three-two, Chris!” she called across the lawn. “Do not elbow your sister!” At once, she returned her attention to Viviana. “Mamma has been reduced to mere mortification now, I think. Her bosom bow, Lady Tatton, has gone haring back to London with her oh-so-eligible niece in tow, whilst Quin has already penned the announcement ending their betrothal, and sent it on a fast horse ahead of them. By tomorrow, it will be in the London papers.”

“Oh, Dio!” whispered Viviana, pinching hard at the bridge of her nose.

“Contessa?” Alice asked. “Are you quite all right?”

No, she was not all right. She had a terrible headache coming on. And what she utterly could not fathom was the sense of relief which was surging through her just now. Quin’s betrothal was ended. An innocent young woman had been humiliated, perhaps even devastated. It was hardly a thing to feel good about.

“Miss Hamilton has jilted him, then?” she managed to whisper.

“Oh, yes!” said Alice. “Though she insisted to Mamma that she had meant to do it anyway. Indeed, she claims that was her very reason for asking Aunt Charlotte to show her the way to his study.”

“I cannot believe that.”

Lady Alice smiled tightly. “Well, in any case, Quin seems almost relieved, though he will never admit it. Of course, this is all for the best, if you ask me.”

“Oh, Lady Alice, you cannot mean it!” said Viviana. “Consider the embarrassment to your family, and to that poor girl!”

Again, the shrug. “Miss Hamilton would have been incapable of making Quin toe the mark,” she said. “And that is what he needs; someone whom he cannot bully or wheedle. A man cannot be cowed by a woman he does not love. Besides, what of the embarrassment to you, Contessa Bergonzi?”

“Viviana,” she said without looking at Alice. “Please, call me Viviana. And yes, I was embarrassed. Both by your brother’s behavior, and by my reaction. It was…excessive. I lost my temper. And those servants! I fear they saw everything.”

“Oh, they saw enough to encourage some idle speculation,” Alice agreed. “Without a doubt they saw Aunt Charlotte on the floor. But can they say with utter confidence what had caused her to swoon? No, that they did not see.”

“Grazie a Dio!” whispered Viviana. “But that won’t stop the rumors.”

“No, it won’t,” agreed Lady Alice. “Which is why you must come to luncheon tomorrow.”

“I—I don’t understand.”

Alice reached for her hand and gave it a swift, reassuring squeeze. “Viviana, tomorrow the announcement of Quin’s ended betrothal will be in the papers,” she said again. “It will not do for it to be put about that the fault was yours. And it was not. I believe that.”

Viviana studied her for a moment. “You seem to place a vast deal of faith in one whom you do not know well.”

“Oh, but I know my brother.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

Alice’s face colored faintly. “My brother has been unhappy, Contessa, for a very long time,” she answered. “He has lived a hedonistic, careless life, and this notion of marriage has perhaps made matters worse. I wonder if he isn’t regretting…oh, something! I know not what—but I know he is not thinking clearly. I tried to warn him, but he ignored me. He said…he said he just wished for a marriage like mine.”

Viviana lifted one brow. “And what sort was that, pray?”

Alice lifted one shoulder lamely, and looked away. “A marriage made for family and duty,” she said. “A more or less emotionless marriage.”

“I see,” said Viviana. It sounded little better than her own marriage.

Alice turned on the bench to fully face her. “Oh, do say that you will come tomorrow, Viviana!” she implored. “Do give us Hewitts a chance to prove we are not all jaded boors. And I do think that your coming will ensure that there will be less gossip about this morning’s little altercation.”

Viviana shrugged. “I cannot think it matters,” she said. “No one in England knows me now.”

Alice’s brows shot up. “Oh, you are a fool if you believe that,” she responded. “The greatest soprano of our time? London’s own fair Konstanze? Yes, my dear, even here in this backwater of Buckinghamshire, we keep up with the world of opera.”

Viviana considered it. It was despicable of Quin to have put her in such a position. But Alice was right. Her name was not unknown. And in a few months, if all went as planned, her father’s name, along with Lord Digleby’s, would be on everyone’s tongue. And there were always her children to consider.

“We must all appear on good terms, Viviana,” Quin’s sister continued. “From now on, my brother will be on his most gentlemanly behavior, or he will be on his way back to London. Because he will take Mamma’s tongue-lashing only so long before he stalks out.”

“I see,” said Viviana quietly. “But your mother…these circumstances cannot but pain her. And I cannot imagine she wishes to befriend me.”

Alice was silent a moment. A stiff breeze sent leaves skirling around their skirt hems, and across the makeshift battledore court. The shuttlecock lifted, and went spinning off-course, making the children shriek with laughter.

Alice watched it all with a muted smile. “I won’t deny that Mamma can be a high stickler,” she answered. “But I’ve already told her that at this point, she’d be better served by accounting you a dear friend.”

Viviana stiffened her spine. “I did nothing to invite your brother’s attentions, Lady Alice,” she said. “And I shan’t be foisted upon anyone socially. I have my own pride. And much as it may surprise you, in my country, we, too, have high standards of deportment.”

Swiftly, Alice laid a hand on Viviane’s arm. “I am sorry,” she said at once. “I did not mean to insult you. Please, can you not at least consider being my friend? I think it perfectly natural, myself. We are going to be living very near one another for a few weeks, and we have a great deal in common.”

Tightly, Viviana nodded. “Yes, all right,” she finally said. “I thank you, Alice, for your offer of friendship. Yes, I shall join you and Lady Wynwood tomorrow. May I ride over? Or is that thought dreadfully unfashionable?”

“Not at all.” Lady Alice leaned nearer, her eyes dancing. “Now, as your new friend, I claim the right to ask you a prying question.”

Viviana turned to face her. “You may ask, by all means.”

A slow, lazy smile curved her mouth. “How well did you know my brother, Viviana, when last you were in London?”

Viviana held her gaze quite steadily for a moment, and considered her question. “I think, Lady Alice,” she finally said, “that perhaps I did not know him at all.”