didn’t recognise, but that seemed to grow with abandon up the high walls. They passed through a grand archway and she realised the house was not a solid block, but more a villa built around a huge torchlit courtyard filled with a fountain, classical-looking statues and a profusion of shrubs in enormous terracotta pots.
They were greeted by their hostess, a petite, smiling woman who was not at all as Lilian had imagined her. She had expected to meet someone more formidable rather than this dark-haired, elfin creature who preferred to kiss Lilian noisily on both cheeks rather than incline her head or shake hands like strangers did when introduced at home.
‘Darlings, you must be exhausted! I shall have baths drawn for you both immediately so that you can refresh yourselves and relax before dinner. Apart from the torturous drive from Civitavecchia, which seems to get worse with each passing year, I trust the rest of your long journey was pleasant?’
‘It was indeed, Contessa.’
‘Contessa! We do not need to adhere to formality. Alexandra has told me so much about you in her letters I feel we are friends already. You must call me Carlotta—I insist. And I shall call you Lilian and by tomorrow we shall know all of each other’s secrets like the very best friends always do. We have much in common. I hear your daughters are recently married, exactly like mine, although I have been blessed with bambini already. Two grandsons. Twins. From my eldest daughter and another surprise on the way from my youngest.’
‘I had twins! A boy and a girl. Silas and Millie. Both very recently married alongside my youngest daughter Lottie. But only in the last few months. My daughter-in-law is already expecting, but no sign of…’ What was the lovely word Carlotta had used? ‘bambini yet for the girls. Although I hope it won’t be long.’
‘They married for amore, did they not? That always speeds things along.’ She wiggled her dark eyebrows suggestively. ‘Ah…to be young and in love. So much passione, yes? I miss it. My Gennaro was a vigorous man.’
That she said such things out loud was both shocking and refreshing. Lilian was no prude. She had fallen head over heels in love with her husband and had enjoyed the physical aspect of their marriage immensely, but working at the Foundation, surrounded by so many unfortunate women who had not been afforded the luxury of virtue or tenderness, she knew both sides of passion. Knew it, but had never discussed it openly with anyone.
‘Don’t frighten her yet, Carlotta. Poor Lilian is fresh off the boat and still shackled by her Englishness.’
‘A good point, my friend. I forget how buttoned up you all are. We will feed her and fill her with wine and in a few days some of those buttons will come undone.’ Her hostess grinned wickedly. ‘And if she is lucky, we will find this pretty English rose a hot-blooded Italian lover to rip off the rest.’
‘Oh, I am not here for that!’ Lilian could feel her cheeks heating with a blush, when she never blushed any more and hadn’t for a good fifteen years.
‘Nobody ever is, darling…but it wouldn’t hurt now, would it?’
‘No, really. I have no interest in men any more.’
Of course she didn’t. She was forty-five, for goodness sake. Much too old for flirting. Let alone courting.
‘Why ever not? You are a long way off dead.’
‘Er…’ Although she did have a point. One Lilian had not really considered until the Duca della Torizia had reawakened it and she had begun to think about it again. Something about him had made her body hum.
‘And it is not as if we are talking marriage.’ Carlotta shrugged. ‘Who wants to give up their independence for that again? One of the great benefits of our age and situation is we can indulge our own passions without such enduring complications. Although if the right man came along to tempt me, I might consider it…but he would have to be exceptional.’ She sighed wistfully. ‘In case you haven’t already guessed, I am a hopeless romantic at heart.’ Something else they apparently had in common. ‘But I am scaring you as Alexandra says.’ Carlotta smiled and took her arm. ‘Forgive my earthy Italian nature. I have a tendency to say whatever comes into my head before I consider if it is appropriate.’
‘It is why I love you,’ said Alexandra, linking her arm through her friend’s, too. ‘And why I keep coming back here. It is good to be less English for a while, Lilian. Liberating, in fact. I am rejuvenated each time I come to Rome. Or at least I will be once I have soaked these old bones in that bath you promised, Carlotta. And you are right, the road from Civitavecchia. It is atrocious…’
It took almost an hour for the old friends to catch up and for Lilian to finally see her bedchamber. Except it wasn’t a simple bedchamber. The beautiful suite of rooms was situated on a long landing just around the corner from Lady Alexandra’s and was comprised of a small sitting room, bedroom and separate dressing area complete with an exquisite copper claw-footed bathtub filled with steaming water. She dismissed the maid, using mostly hand gestures as the girl knew no English and her own Italian was non-existent, and unpinned her hair. Sighing, she massaged her aching scalp with her fingers before kicking off her boots and undoing the back of her travelling gown.
She was about to strip it off when she remembered the decadent bar of fine-milled French soap she had treated herself to during their overnight stop in Bordeaux. Such a fine bath deserved fine soap and so did she. This trip was her time to be selfish and self-indulgent after all. She had faithfully promised her children she would enjoy the whole experience the way she wanted to and put any guilt aside for its duration. That meant she would bathe with her fancy soap and revel in every minute of it. She turned and headed to her still-unpacked trunk to fetch it when she realised the trunk was not hers, but Alexandra’s. The footmen must have mixed them up. She could hardly have a bath and have nothing clean to put on afterwards either.
She poked her head out into the hallway to call back her maid, but the girl was gone. She knew Alexandra—her maid would still be there even if her mistress was already soaking in her bath and Lilian selfishly wanted her soap. Rather than retying her dress, she wrapped her shawl tightly around the loose and gaping bodice and decided to make a dash for it before the water got cold. With one hand on the shawl and the other holding the full skirts and petticoats of her uncharacteristically fashionable new dress, she scurried down the hall, staying close to the wall. As she pivoted around the sharp corner, she hit him, her face connecting with the broad expanse of his chest.
‘I am so sorry…’ She had to crane her neck to look at his face and the apology died on her lips a split second before her face heated crimson.
Pietro had been having a bad day. Or rather it was not so much that the day was any worse than any other, but that he had awoken feeling restless and that restlessness refused to go away no matter how much he tried to divert it with purpose.
The restlessness, as he called the odd mood which crept up on him without warning, had always plagued him since he was a young man. A sense of something not quite right, something missing, a peculiar feeling of dissatisfaction with his life. It predated his marriage and had bothered him throughout its short and turbulent duration. In his youth, he put it down to ambition and over-exuberance and had always assumed it would disappear with age. Except with each passing year, and despite his success and his significantly increased fortune, it seemed to
