And it had been as if some great foundation stone had been smashed. Two months later Edo and his mother had been in the family mausoleum, and it was his sister, Fia, who had left the castle. He had been left to pick up the pieces. He was still picking them up now.
But there was no need to share any of that with Dulcie. Some of it was beyond her pay grade and the rest she would find out after she had signed the relevant paperwork.
‘It was a good year.’
He moved in the opposite direction to her, still keeping her at the edge of his vision, not crowding her as he had in Cambridge, giving her space. A planet orbiting a sun.
Years of managing his family had taught him better than any business qualification how to negotiate his preferred outcome but seeing Dulcie in Cambridge had made him forget everything he knew. All he had been able to think about was that she was there and that she was no longer his, and he had felt so angry and thwarted, and she had felt his anger and fled.
So now he waited. Made himself wait for her to bat the ball back over the net.
‘So why do you need a wife?’ She stopped abruptly, her eyes locking onto his, the blue of the irises bright and clean-edged like the feathers on a jay’s wing. ‘That is why you want to stay married to me, isn’t it? And it must be something important to drag you all the way to England to come and find me. I mean, you’ve managed to avoid doing that for two years.’
She was smart. Smarter than many people probably gave her credit for, and by people he meant mostly men. Most likely they clocked the hair and the mouth and the curves.
He had, he thought, remembering the moment when she had stumbled into the airport with her suitcase wearing a pale blue cardigan and heeled sandals that had probably looked perfect for a late spring break in Paris but had been woefully inadequate for the unseasonal storm whipping its way through the city.
A storm had whipped its way through his body at the sight of the sodden fabric clinging to her skin. With her hair falling in wet strands over her shoulders and her unsteady gait, she had looked like a mermaid who had swapped her tail for legs.
And she had been holding a cuddly toy and all he’d been able to think was that he was too late. She’d had a baby. Had a partner.
She’d glanced up at the departure board, frowning, and he’d seen her shoulders rise and rise. And then she’d turned and scanned the concourse, her blue eyes narrowing on a distant coffee concession, then back to a passing air steward. Even at that distance he’d known her eyes would be the drowning blue of the ocean. He’d been on his feet and on his way towards her before he’d remembered he didn’t know her.
Marrying her hadn’t changed that fact.
It was only then that he realised that Dulcie was staring at him assessingly, and that he had no idea how much time had passed since she’d asked her question.
‘My father is ill. He’s an old man and his heart is failing. I can’t change that. And he’s had a good life.’ A tumultuous life might be a better description. ‘I think he would say that he has done everything he set out to do.’
‘But he wants to see you married.’
Smart, he thought again.
He nodded.
It was easier to confirm a lie than to be the one to tell it in the first instance. But if he told her that he needed a wife to satisfy some ancient, irrational clause about inheritance it would simply throw up questions with answers that would lead onto more questions.
There was a sudden stiffness to her face.
‘Then you’re doing this for your father?’ There was a bitterness to her voice, and he knew that she must be thinking about the choice he had thrust upon her two years ago.
But this wasn’t just about his family. Letting the castle and the estate pass to his uncle or his cousins would be like setting fire to six hundred years of history. Not to mention the people who worked for him and relied on the estate for their income and, in some cases, their homes.
He had sympathy for Oscar, but Dulcie had instantly prioritised her brother over him, which hurt. It sounded petty, and it was, shamingly and uncharacteristically so. Because he was not a petty man. He had learned to live with his parents’ favouritism for his siblings because you didn’t choose your family. But what man could stand to be sidelined in his marriage?
‘You think I’m a hypocrite.’
She didn’t bother to disagree, just stared at him in silence. Then, after a long pause, she said slowly, ‘I’m sorry. About your father.’ She hesitated. ‘Does he know about us? Was that why you came to find me? Was it his idea?’
Ettore felt his chest tighten. ‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘He doesn’t know.’
And really, what was there to know? He and Dulcie were married for five weeks and six days. And how was he to tell it? He didn’t have the vocabulary to describe a marriage that had imploded without warning. Nor an inclination to share the truth. That his wife had chosen her family over him.
‘It seemed a little indulgent.’
She blinked. ‘Indulgent?’
‘It would have stirred up a lot of questions and emotions for no reason. The marriage was over.’ In truth, it had barely begun. ‘Are you saying you told your family?’ he said after a moment, his throat constricting.
