“I am not sitting with this man,” Robert snapped.
Charlotte frowned. “Robert, please. You don’t wish to marry me. Admit it.”
“I’m admitting no such thing.” Robert glared over her head at Marco. “This fool and I should step outside and finish this once and for all.”
Marco shrugged, willing to go in whatever direction this young hothead wished.
“Verity’s right,” Mr. Harrington said in a calm tone. “We should repair to the breakfast room and finish this discussion in a calm manner. To be honest, I am starving, too.”
Marco was starving as well, so he nodded.
“No!” Mrs. Harrington snapped. “Jack, I am not sitting down with this man for breakfast, or dinner, or tea, or anything else. He’s compromised our daughter!”
“Really?” Mr. Harrington looked at Marco. “Have you compromised her?”
“She’s going to marry me. If that’s what you mean by ‘compromise,’ then yes.”
Charlotte, who’d sent him a surprised look, blushed, and then slipped her hand back through the crook of his arm. “I would be glad to marry you.”
“I’ll get you a ring today,” he said under his breath, covering her hand with his.
“I’ve seen enough.” Mr. Harrington turned to his wife. “They are getting married, so there’s no more for us to say.”
Robert made a muffled noise. “No! They cannot!”
Marco thought he detected tears in the young man’s voice.
Charlotte must have heard it, too. She released Marco’s arm and bent down to scoop up the diary where it rested by her feet.
The color drained from the man’s face and he staggered to a nearby chair, where he sat, gasping, his gaze locked on the book.
“What’s this?” Mr. Harrington said sharply.
Charlotte kept her gaze on Robert. “It’s Caroline’s diary.”
Mrs. Harrington’s hand stole to her throat and she stared at the small book. “Charlotte, are . . . are you certain?”
“I am. I found it last night.”
“And you read it?” Mr. Harrington asked sharply.
She nodded and then crossed to where Robert sat, his hands shaking as if he were in a blizzard, tears streaming down his face. She dropped down before him and slid the book onto his lap. “I’m so very, very sorry. I didn’t know. She didn’t tell anyone, not even me.”
“Robert?” Mrs. Harrington said, looking as if the world might tilt over. “And Caroline?”
Charlotte never looked away from the weeping man. “They’ve been in love for years. The night she died, she was on her way to meet him. They were going to elope.”
Mr. Harrington slipped his arm about his wife just as her knees gave. He helped her to the settee and placed her on it.
Robert stared at the diary, his tears dampening the cover. “Where did you find it?”
“In the crofter’s cottage where you used to meet.”
“I should have thought to look there.” He ran his hand over the book. “I was to fetch her at midnight, but I suppose she . . . I don’t know what happened.”
“I know,” Charlotte said. “She was so excited that she left early. She took the horse and thought to surprise you on the path. It’s the last entry she made in her diary. She’s loved you for a long, long time. And you, her.”
“Since she was fourteen.” He picked up the book and hugged it, his face pale. “She was so beautiful and—” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he could breathe again, he lowered the book to his knees. “You all knew her, too, so I don’t need to say more. We’d been talking about getting married for so long, but she wanted to wait, and then she wanted a season before—” He gave a bitter laugh. “I was jealous and wrote her some scathing letters, and all for no reason. She was always true to me. I—I just wish I’d been there for her when she needed me.”
Charlotte placed her hand over his. “You did what you could. She was trying to prove herself to you, I think.”
“I don’t understand,” Mrs. Harrington said. “We would have welcomed you to our family. Why didn’t she just tell us?”
“She thought she was being romantic,” Charlotte said. “For once, she was breaking the rules, and she found it very exciting.”
“She’d always wanted to elope, and I didn’t have the heart to argue.” Robert looked at Mrs. Harrington. “May I take the diary with me? As soon as I read it, I’ll bring it back.”
She hesitated, but after a moment, she nodded. “Of course.”
“Thank you.” He turned to Charlotte. “I’m sorry. I asked you to marry me because I thought Caroline would want me to take care of you. And I wanted to do that, not just for her sake, but yours. But I couldn’t stand being here at Nimway. I see her everywhere. In every room of this house, in every corner, in every memory I have.”
Charlotte hugged him, her heart so full that she could barely speak. Robert was her other brother, she realized. And had he married Caroline, he’d have been one in more than mere name. “You’re a dear, good friend, Robert. I’m glad Caroline had you in her life while she was here.”
He closed his eyes and held her tight.
After a moment, Charlotte gently disentangled herself and stood, aware of Marco’s calming presence nearby.
Papa broke the silence. “Well. That was too exciting of a morning for me. Shall we have breakfast now?”
“Not yet.” Mama smoothed her gown over her knees, her color almost back to normal. “We’ve settled everything where Caroline and Robert are concerned, but there is still something that needs discussing.” Mama’s cool blue gaze locked on Charlotte before she turned to Marco. “Mr. di Rossi, I understand you have installed the fireplace surround.”
He nodded, and Charlotte could tell from the tightness of his mouth, that he was preparing for the worst.
Mama continued, “If you will wait, I will pay you the agreed upon amount. More, in fact. But only if you and your assistants will pack your things immediately and—”
“Olivia?” Papa said, his voice oddly soft.
“What?” Mama snapped.
He pointed to a table by the window.
Everyone turned. There, sitting beside a vase of flowers, was the moonstone.
Mama stood, as white as a sheet. “The orb!”
“Orb?” Charlotte frowned. “I thought it was a mace head.”
Mama’s gaze locked on Charlotte. “You’ve seen it before?”
“Many times. Marco says it’s a mace head, while Simmons seems to think it’s a decorative piece, but he can’t seem to figure out where to display it.”
“Oh dear.” Mama turned to Marco. “And you? You’ve seen it, too?”
“It came to my workshop where it spilled ink and got in the way.”
“That solves that,” Papa said, looking amused. “Doesn’t it, Olivia?”
For a moment, Mama stared at him as if he had three heads. And then, to everyone astonishment, her lips quirked. “You want me to admit I was wrong.”
“That would be a nice beginning,” he said, his eyes agleam.
Mama flushed, her smile blossoming for real. “It will never happen.”
“We’ll see about that,” Papa murmured, giving Mama such a loving look that Charlotte blushed.
Aunt Verity sighed. “Jack, please stop. She’s had a shock. You’re being a brute to expect anything from poor Olivia now. Perhaps, after breakfast and some tea, she might—”
“He’s right.” Mama smoothed her skirts. “Charlotte?”
“Yes?”
“You may marry your sculptor.”
Charlotte exchanged a shocked look with Marco. She turned back to Mama and said in a tentative voice, “Really? I can marry him, and you won’t disown me?”
Mama looked shocked. “Disown? Charlotte! I would never do that!”
Papa’s brows had lowered. “Surely you already knew that.”
“I wasn’t sure. Things have been so different since Caroline??
?s death and—”
“Oh Charlotte!” Mama crossed to Charlotte and enveloped her in a hug. “I can’t believe you thought such a horrible thing for even one moment, although . . .” She pulled back, tears in her eyes. “I suppose I can see why you might have. We haven’t dealt as well with Caroline’s death and that’s my fault. I became very strict with you, because I was afraid something might happen to you, too. I’m sorry.”
“It’s been difficult for all of us.” She smiled at her mother. “Although I’m still curious about this orb.”
“Thank God!” Aunt Verity exclaimed. “I want to know about it, too.”
Mama smiled at her sister-in-law. “It’s a part of Charlotte’s heritage. The orb is . . . I don’t know how else to say this, but it’s magic.”
“Really?” Aunt Verity sent an impressed glance toward the moonstone. “What do you do? Rub it?”
“No! The orb is a part of Nimway, and it appears to the guardian when it’s needed.”
“Caroline was the guardian,” Robert said, his mouth tight as if the words pained him.
“She was. Now, apparently, it’s Charlotte.” Mama’s gaze turned back to Charlotte. “I should have realized that after Caroline’s death the Hall might look to you, but I was too busy mourning. Where did you find the orb?”
“It was on the old mantel, the one Marco replaced. I’d never seen it before then.”
“The orb only appears to a guardian when the time comes for her to meet her true love. Sometimes, if it’s necessary, it even helps a bit.”
Marco’s warm smile found Charlotte and she smiled. “I suppose you could say it helped.” She turned back to her mother. “You’ve never told me about this.”
“I should have. I see that now. But I had my reasons. When I met your father, the orb kept leading him to me, over and over. I knew what it wanted of course, but I hated the thought that the orb was making your father fall in love with me. I wanted him to fall in love with me on his own.”
Aunt Verity looked impressed. “The orb can do that? Make someone fall in love with you?”
“I don’t know what it can and can’t do. But it caused me to doubt my feelings and I didn’t want that to happen to either Caroline or Charlotte.”
Charlotte nodded. “So you didn’t tell us.”
“No. There are many stories about the orb. I’ll share some of them over breakfast.”
“Breakfast,” Papa said with a note of relief. “Please.”
He held out his arm, but instead of taking it, Mama merely patted his cuff, and then turned to Marco. “Mr. di Rossi, if you don’t mind escorting me, I believe Charlotte would like to sit with her Papa, especially as she’s to be leaving soon. Aunt Verity, if Robert wouldn’t mind escorting you?”
“My pleasure,” Robert said, as he hurried to slip the diary into his pocket. He arose and took Aunt Verity’s ready arm.
Papa came to Charlotte’s side and, together, they watched as Marco bowed and then offered his arm to Mama, his manner as grand as any prince.
“Madame,” he said gravely, “it would be my pleasure.”
She placed her hand along his arm and allowed him to escort her out of the sitting room, Robert and Aunt Verity falling in behind.
Alone in the sitting room, Charlotte slipped her hand into her father’s.
“Don’t look so worried,” he said, smiling down at her. “He will charm her, and she will start thinking of how children you’ll have, and all will be well.”
“I hope so,” Charlotte said fervently. “For I mean to have him, with or without her permission.”
Papa chuckled. “Ever a Harrington, aren’t you? I’m sure there will be no objections, not now. Perhaps, to seal the deal, after breakfast we’ll all visit the dining hall to see your sculptor’s work. If it’s as impressive as I expect, that will go a long way toward soothing your Mama’s acceptance of your chosen one.”
Charlotte had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. “Maybe not. I think we should wait on that.” She smiled up at her father. “She’s had enough excitement for one day, don’t you think?”
Epilogue
“Do not move.”
“I’m not moving!” Charlotte protested.
“You’re talking,” Marco pointed out, amusement in his dark brown eyes. “That’s moving.”
“I only spoke because you said something.”
“I said ‘Your parents are late as usual.’ There’s no need to respond to that.”
It took every scrap of control she could muster not to answer him, and she was reduced to expressing herself by rolling her eyes.
He chuckled and returned to his drawing.
It was a warm summer day and they were in Marco’s workshop, a large square room with huge windows thrown open to let in the warm, Italian sunshine. White silk drapes fluttered in the slow breeze, bringing with it the scent of olive trees and red clay. The house was abuzz as the servants readied for their guests.
She smiled, thinking of her parents. It would be good to see them.
“You’re smiling. You’re not to smile.”
“I was thinking of my mother’s reaction to the pillars you carved for Nimway.”
A wolfish grin warmed his face. “She never told me I couldn’t use her daughter as a model.”
“She didn’t say you could, either.”
He shrugged, obviously pleased with himself. “Many people compliment that piece. It will be there for centuries.”
Charlotte didn’t doubt it. Marco was becoming famous, his work in great demand. She and her family were proud of him.
Mama’s only disappointment was that Charlotte had decided to live in Italy with Marco instead remaining near Nimway Hall. But Mama had the mark of the guardian, too, and loved the Hall. It was well taken care of, and Charlotte felt the house knew it.
Outside, near the stables where Diavolo and Angelica held court, children laughed, the sound catching Charlotte’s attention. She wished she could lift up just a bit to see if she could spot Isabel playing with her many cousins.
“What is it, carissima? A shadow passed over your face.”
“I was just thinking of Isabel. I hope she doesn’t suffer from the same things I did. So far, her back seems fine, but so was mine when I was her age and I—”
“Charlotte, don’t worry. She is fine.” His gaze locked with hers. “And if she’s not, then we will address it together. To be honest, there are far worse things that could happen to her. Personally, I love your curves. All of them.”
She had to smile at that, and when he protested, she tried to wipe it from her mouth, and failed.
Complaining, he continued to draw, and she knew from the direction of his glances that he was now sketching her legs. She watched him from under her lashes, this handsome, successful husband of hers, who continued to surprise her each and every day. He was charming, handsome, a loving father, and an ardent lover. He’d taught her much, this one.
She wished she could move, but knew he wasn’t yet ready. To while away the time, she amused herself with all of the ways she was going to seduce him once she was freed from her pose.
“Now you’re day dreaming,” he announced with a sigh. “Your expression has grown softer.”
She sniffed. “I’m trying not to think about how cold it is.”
His gaze moved to her exposed breasts. He tsked. “You are cold, aren’t you? That will never do.” He put down his charcoal, and came to where she reclined upon the chaise, a scarf of the thinnest silk draped over her legs.
“Here. Let me warm you.” He placed his knee on the edge of the chaise and gently covered her body with his. “Ah. It is as I feared. You suffer from colpo di fulmine, the same as I.”
“Is that a disease?”
“It is love.”
“Ah. Well, then . . .” She slipped her arms around his neck and held him close. As they always did, they fit together perfectly. “I hope we never recover.”
“We never will.” Smilin
g, he nuzzled her neck. “Warmer, my love?”
She sighed happily. “Oh yes. Much.”
A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
Dear Reader,
A very dear member of my family suffers from scoliosis, much like the heroine here, the effervescent Charlotte Harrington. Scoliosis is the curving of the spine and usually happens to children and young adults during periods of rapid growth, but can occur at other times, as well.
It’s a difficult condition and while there’s no set ‘cure’ for it, many people with this condition can function perfectly well without assistance. There are several treatments for scoliosis, none of which are easy. Patients suffer years of wearing cumbersome braces or body casts. If the curvature is severe enough, an invasive surgery can be done to meld metal rods along the spine, which leaves the patient in a body cast for up to six months, and sometimes longer. This would be difficult for anyone, but can be especially trying for someone going through their defining teen years.
Scoliosis is not a new condition. Hippocrates mentions it, and even recommends prolonged time in traction as a method for the correction for spinal curvatures. The first supportive bracing was developed in the 1500s by Ambrose Pare’. His patients were placed into padded iron corsets made with holes to reduce the weight. There are many other pioneers in medicine who addressed this condition, most using various forms of bracing, traction, or surgery.
I’ve witnessed firsthand the struggle a young person faces when they have a condition that sets them apart from others, and I’m delighted to tell you that Marco di Rossi, the hero of this story, is right when he says that we are all different from one another, and it is those differences which make us beautiful. I know this is true for my beloved family member, too. I wouldn’t change her for the world.
If you would like to know more about scoliosis, please visit http://www.scoliosis.org/.
* * *
All best,
Karen
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