Scandalous Secret, Defiant Bride, page 13
‘You obviously see things differently to Count Marchesi,’ Christina replied drily. ‘But tell me, how do you know Max and what has your acquaintance with that gentleman to do with your visit?’
Signor Massa was confused by her veiled sneer and politely explained. ‘I have been associated with the Marchesi family for a good many years, and my father and grandfather before that.’
‘Signor Massa is here to arrange the details of the marriage, Christina,’ her father informed her.
‘I see,’ she said. ‘And you have a letter from Count Marchesi?’
‘I have more than that,’ he replied, hastening to produce some documents from his case.
‘And the bridegroom? When is he arriving?’
‘He isn’t, I’m afraid. Count Marchesi has been—inconvenienced—and is unable to make the trip to England, which is why he has sent me. I bear his proxy and together with Father Whitfield—who, I believe, is your parish priest—we will perform the service in Count Marchesi’s absence. It simplifies the matter since you are both of the Catholic faith.’
Christina stared at him through a haze of red. Never had she heard the like. ‘Do you mean to tell me that Max can’t even be bothered to turn up for his own wedding?’
‘I told you, Miss Thornton—he has been—inconvenienced.’
‘Has he, indeed! Well, Signor Massa, I am tempted to send you straight back to your client to tell him to—’
‘Christina,’ her father said sharply, getting to his feet. ‘Signor Massa is here for no other reason than to see that the wedding is carried through efficiently, without delay and any drawbacks. I think we would all appreciate your co-operation in this, since one way or another it has to be done.’
Christina looked at him, longing to argue and shout her resentment, but she held on to her self-control and tried to see the logic of it. She knew from experience that to confront Max now would lead to argument and strife, and it was probably best, for the moment at least, to avoid any confrontation with her errant fiancé. But the disappointment she felt by his absence from what should be the most poignant and important moment of any girl’s life was real and the pain went deep.
‘Very well. But of all the men in all the world, only Max Marchesi could manage to obtain a bride and marry her while she is on one side of it and he on the other—to exchange vows with a woman who has no other choice,’ she exclaimed bitterly. ‘It’s a strange kind of marriage and bodes ill for the future.’
‘I sincerely hope not, Miss Thornton, and I am deeply sorry if Count Marchesi’s absence causes you any distress. The marriage will be legal and binding in any court of law,’ Signor Massa told her, having been warned by the Count himself of the young woman’s stubborn independence and trying to soothe her ire as much as possible.
‘I am sure it will be, Signor Massa. Max will have been sure to block any loophole that might offer me a way of escape.’
And so, in the absence of her bridegroom, Christina uttered her vows before Signor Massa and a priest with that strange sensation of helplessness and fatality which one sometimes has in a dream.
Christina, now Countess Marchesi, and an excited and well-organised Molly—who had jumped at the chance to go with Christina to Italy as her companion, accompanied by Signor Massa, who was to escort them to Tuscany—left Tanglewood for London on the first stage of their journey.
The parting from her parents and Peter was painful and it was difficult tearing herself away, to leave behind her all the happiness she believed she had ever known.
In London the hotel where they spent the night was close to Victoria Station, from where they caught the boat train for the Continent the next day. From Paris they travelled to Italy. Although singularly uneventful, it was a long journey and an exciting one. The train puffed its way through villages and towns and beautiful farmland threaded with rivers. It was early summer and the weather still reasonably pleasant for travelling.
The Alps were an awesome, splendid sight and had a strange, solemn beauty. They were highly picturesque, with effervescing springs rushing down the mountainsides into the valleys below, the lofty peaks reaching up into a cloudless clear blue sky. On reaching Turin the hotel they stayed at was both solid and respectable, the perfect place to enjoy the taste of luxury after the long and tiring train journey south. Leaving Turin, Sienna was their destination, where they arrived a day ahead of schedule. Largely surrounded by its medieval walls, Sienna was considered one of Italy’s most enchanting cities.
Having read about it on the train, Christina was keen to see some of the places of interest the city had to offer, in particular the Duomo, Sienna’s great black-and-white cathedral, and stroll through the Piazza del Campo, which was reputed to be one of the loveliest public spaces in the world, but Signor Massa was keen to travel on to Castello Marchesi where he could relinquish his charge. After one night at the hotel, the morning found them seated in a hired carriage, their luggage strapped to the back, riding out of the ancient Italian town. The driver headed in a westerly direction across a beautiful and constantly changing landscape.
‘Is Castello Marchesi very far?’ Christina asked, while Molly sat demurely beside her, observing the scenery in wide-eyed silence.
‘Some considerable distance—approximately ten miles,’ Signor Massa told her, his leather satchel containing the precious marriage documents on the seat beside him. ‘We should arrive before dusk.’
‘What is it like?’
‘Very grand and very big. You will be impressed, I promise you. It also produces some of the best wine in the area.’
Christina settled back to enjoy the ride. The afternoon was peaceful, the air heavy with the perfume of blossoms and the drone of bees. The track they were following reached a junction marked by a shrine—a beautiful little statue of the Madonna in a niche with fresh flowers at her feet.
Taking the right-hand track, they continued up a hill with hawthorn hedges dripping with blossom on either side. Multicoloured butterflies flitted in the warm sunshine, and the birdsong was most pleasant. The hills offered wonderful vistas of the countryside—of vine and pasture, a lush forest in between, crags and terraced stone-walled hillsides, cypress groves and lofty castles and Romanesque churches and farms, of which there seemed to be hundreds devoted to the grape and the olive.
Signor Massa talked intermittently, telling her the names of the villages that clung to the hillsides, places of interest and the people of character who lived in the places they passed.
As they neared Castello Marchesi, Christina wondered what to expect. For the last few miles her trepidation about meeting Max again increased. Seated with his back to the driver, Signor Massa turned and stared straight ahead at something in the distance. When he turned back to his companions there was a faint smile playing about his lips. Christina looked ahead to see what he had been looking at, and her eyes widened with awe at the incredible beauty spread out before her.
Directly in front of them, decked out in golden splendour, lay a valley dotted with farms and neatly tended fields and olive groves and a picturesque village. And on a wide plateau stood a castle, with soaring turrets and glass windows glinting in the sun like so many jewels.
‘What is that, Signor Massa?’
‘That, Countess, is Castello Marchesi.’
Christina was awestruck. The structure was arrogant and strong—just like its owner—menacing in a way, but utterly beautiful and imposing. She found it difficult to withdraw her gaze from it.
‘But—I never imagined it would be quite so grand.’
The closer they got, Christina continued to admire the splendour and symmetry of Castello Marchesi. Dark cypress trees marked the skyline, along with chestnut and oak. Terraces, walkways and bowers where wisteria thrived lay on either side of the drive. Several smart carriages were lined up in front of the house. Christina was nervous about entering this immense establishment unexpectedly. She looked to her escort for help.
‘Max has guests. I can’t possibly go in when there are other people.’
‘Yes, you can.’ He smiled kindly, having become inordinately fond of this young woman the more he had got to know her. ‘You are his wife and mistress of all this. If you can’t enter, then who can?’
‘I know, but how can I?’ Her voice pleaded with him. ‘I’m hot and dusty and my dress is creased and dishevelled from the journey.’
Signor Massa laughed at her. ‘Don’t worry. Take it from me, Countess, there is nothing wrong with the way you look. If you walk in with enough assurance, you will convince everyone that you have a right to be there—which indeed you have—and no one will see the defects.’
Christina hesitated. She did have a perfect right to be there, but it didn’t stop her from being nervous. ‘How I wish I had your confidence.’ Looking at the impressive closed double doors at the top of a short flight of stone steps, she took a deep, determined breath. ‘Well, here goes. Wish me luck.’
Signor Massa paused to have a word with the driver, and Molly hung back to help supervise the unloading of the luggage.
Reaching the doors, Christina hesitated for a moment before tugging at the bell pull. In that brief time the door was opened by the imposing figure of a rather sombre footman dressed in black. She asked to see Count Marchesi and was surprised when he also replied in near-perfect English. Nervous and forgetful of her title, she gave her name as Miss Thornton.
Feeling very much the foreigner, Christina was overawed by the interior of Castello Marchesi. After leaving the temporary haven of the carriage, she stepped into a hall filled with flowers and light, her feet sliding silently on a floor of black-and-white marble mosaic. Corinthian pillars, tall white marble statues and magnificent furniture were displayed under massive glittering chandeliers dripping with crystal. A wide staircase carpeted in deep-blue rose from the centre to the upper floor, where it split to form a graceful gallery on either side. Through an open door she could see into a room with a large table surrounded by people sharing a meal, the hum of laughter rising and mingling with the conversation.
One particular dark-haired woman, exquisitely dressed in an ice-blue gown with diamond earrings flashing against her cheeks, said something to the dark-haired gentleman sitting next to her, and then she laughed, her laughter as light as a balloon sailing up into the sky. The man was unmistakably Max. He looked so poised, so debonair. A half-slow smile curved his lips. The two were easy with each other—familiar.
Christina’s breath suddenly caught between her teeth and she was unprepared for the painful thrust to her heart—and also something else that was decidedly unpleasant, and if she were to analyse it she would discover it was something akin to jealousy. When the servant bent and spoke quietly to Max, he raised his fine, dark eyebrows and finally looked in the direction of the door. Excusing himself, he quickly left the table.
Christina carefully refrained from gazing at the masterpieces displayed on the walls, for suddenly there he was, Max, striding quickly towards her to receive his bride, his heels clicking on the marble floor. He was achingly familiar and just as she remembered: keen features, fine-boned face, taut, bronzed skin and deep blue eyes, his thick black hair brushed smoothly from his forehead. Suddenly and inexplicably Christina’s heart gave a joyful beat.
The vision awaiting Max made him pause in his stride. In her white dress and with her back to the open doorway, Christina looked like a heavenly apparition, a radiant silhouette with the sun behind her. A world of feelings flashed across his face—disbelief, surprise, happiness, but only fleetingly. As he came closer his expression cooled.
‘Christina, what is this?’ He was unable to conceal his surprise. ‘I expected to be greeting my countess, not Miss Thornton.’ His voice was soft, though his smile was knowingly chiding.
‘You are. I forgot. I haven’t had time to get used to it.’
‘Where the devil have you sprung from? I was not expecting you until tomorrow.’
As Christina stepped forwards with a quaking reluctance, clutching her bonnet in her hands, her lips curved in an uncertain smile. Drop by precious drop she felt her confidence draining away, especially when those thoroughly blue eyes locked on her and slowly appraised her. In some strange way they seemed capable of seeing right inside her. It was all she could do to face his unspoken challenge and not turn and flee.
‘We arrived ahead of schedule, I’m afraid. Signor Massa was impatient to get here.’
The silky smoothness of her voice sent a tingle down Max’s spine as he remembered that same voice in England, raised in anger, when they had parted all those months ago, and now he found the green eyes smiling at him with warmth. He couldn’t describe how he felt for her because he didn’t have any words. All he knew was that he felt strange, different from anything he had expected to feel or would ever feel again when he’d left her. Seeing her in Castello Marchesi, he felt as if she had always been there, or as if he’d spent his entire life waiting for her to be there.
‘I—I hope you don’t mind.’
‘Mind? It’s high time you were here. Welcome to Castello Marchesi—your home. Allow me to compliment you. You look very well.’
The formal tone and stiff manner of this polite, uninterested and incredibly handsome stranger threw Christina off balance. She had in the very least expected a light kiss on the cheek by way of greeting—which was not unusual when a man met his wife for the first time, but he made no move to approach her. Stiffened by pride, with a tremendous effort she managed to dominate her disappointment.
In spite of his cool welcome, she was suddenly overwhelmed by a warm rush of tenderness. She was suddenly so sharply conscious of her deep attraction for him that she had to make an effort not to throw her arms about his neck. But Max was not a man like any other. The impulses that would have been so natural to an ordinary mortal must be mastered until it suited his pleasure. It began to dawn on her that this was a man different to the one she had known in England. He had been an intrusion into her life. Now his manner bore an odd touch of threatening boldness.
‘I know my arrival has taken you by surprise, Max, but you might at least look pleased to see me,’ she said tersely.
He gave a short laugh. ‘I am delighted to see you, Christina—and you have your maid with you, I see.’ He cast a glance at Molly, who was hovering in the doorway with a bag in each hand. He gestured with a flash of his eyes to a servant to relieve her of her burden. ‘I hope you didn’t find the journey too arduous.’
‘Oh, you know me, Max,’ she said airily, ‘I was never one to be afraid to meet new challenges. And Molly is my companion, not my maid. The journey from Sienna took us longer than expected. There was so much to see we had to keep stopping on the way, and Castello Marchesi is very beautiful. Why didn’t you tell me it would be like this—and so big? Why, it’s like a palace.’
Max smiled easily for the first time. ‘Why should I spoil this moment of pleasure at seeing the sheer amazement on your face?’ he countered.
When a burst of laughter disturbed the quietness of the hall, Christina looked uneasily towards the door where he was entertaining his guests. ‘I’m sorry. I’m intruding. You have guests.’
‘It makes no difference. Come now. It will give me great pleasure to introduce my wife to everyone.’ He held out his hand to her. ‘Then you can eat with us, although perhaps you would like to freshen up first. Rooms have made ready for you and your companion, and then you can come and join us. They’re a nice enough bunch—business associates, neighbours.’
Christina hung back. ‘Business associates?’ She swallowed as though she had something stuck in her throat. ‘I know nothing about business—and my dress is soiled and crumpled from the journey and I don’t speak Italian.’
Hearing the panic that sharpened her voice, Max smiled in an attempt to reassure her. ‘Christina, relax. My friends will adore you. You look wonderful.’
‘Rubbish. I feel as tattered and unkempt as a street urchin.’
‘Then you must have some fascinating street urchins where you come from. Not all my guests are Italian, and they speak English—at least some of us do. I know they would like to meet you.’
‘I’m sure they would, but I would appreciate a little time to adjust before meeting everyone.’ Christina could hear the rustle of taffeta as someone came up behind him, but all she was aware of was his eyes scrutinising every detail of her face.
‘Max,’ a husky female voice said from behind him, continuing to speak in English though heavily accented with Italian. ‘I didn’t know you were expecting more visitors. We would have waited to begin eating had we known. Please introduce me.’
Max turned, and, holding out his hand, drew a woman out of the shadows towards him, a woman whose presence Christina hadn’t been aware of until then. It was the dark-haired woman she had seen seated next to Max at the table. Tall and supremely confident, she was about twenty-five with a mature figure. She was not beautiful, or even pretty, but alarmingly arresting. Christina suddenly felt extremely gauche. Oh, why did Max have to look so devilishly handsome—and why did this woman have to be so alluring and provocative? In comparison she felt immature, girlish and completely unsophisticated.
Christina absorbed the stranger into her conscious thought. Whatever she had expected, nothing had prepared her for the remarkable presence of another woman. As though out of a fog she heard Max speaking to the woman in Italian and then, taking Christina’s hand and drawing her closer to his side, in English, he said, ‘If you will permit me, Francesca, it gives me great pleasure to present to you my wife, Christina.’
The woman, Francesca, turned her gaze on Christina for a moment and her eyes changed from the warm devotion they had bestowed on the man beside her, to the implacable frost of one who knows she is looking at a rival. Openly hostile, she studied Christina, as if she were the enemy she had heard about and needed to devise a strategy fast. Then she smiled.
‘Of course—if she is indeed your wife. Max has told us of his marriage. I am considering the frenzy you will create when he presents you to everyone else.’
