fifteen
EXHAUSTION WEIGHED VIOLANTE down when she and Keith finally left the Rochefort and sat in the carriage. Maybe pretending to be someone she wasn’t required more from her than she’d expected.
Shadows crossed Keith’s face, and the tension radiating from him was palpable.
She stifled a yawn. “You got what you wanted, but you don’t look happy.”
“Yes, I’ve got what I wanted.” He flexed his fingers. “You were great. The idea of celebrating Saint Joseph’s Day was a stroke of genius.”
“But? I sense a ‘but’ coming.” She removed her hat. It was lovely, but the hat pin bothered her scalp.
“You sounded honest.”
Was there a note of reproach in his voice? She couldn’t tell.
“Because I was. My mother loved to observe Italian celebrations and share them with all the members of the household. Papa pretended to be outraged by the fact we were always celebrating something.” She smiled. “He was right, I guess. There was always a saint to celebrate or a holiday to observe. I loved Saint Joseph’s Day. Toasted breadcrumbs arein every dish. They symbolise the sawdust because Saint Joseph was a carpenter, and the broad beans are—” She laughed. “I’m sorry. I keep chatting about things you don’t probably care about.”
“Quite the opposite. You’ve never told me about your mother’s traditions.”
“After she left, my father and I didn’t talk about her, despite the fact I had very good memories of her.”
“But when you talked to the count, you sounded sad,” he said.
“I miss her, especially since I realised she might’ve known about Papa. I wonder what happened to her.”
He seemed about to say something but remained silent for the rest of the trip. She’d never had problems reading him, but things had changed deeply between them. She couldn’t tell if he was angry or simply thoughtful, if he was happy or bothered.
When he helped her out of the carriage, he didn’t let go of her hand until they were upstairs, and she didn’t mind it.
“My lord.” Murray, the butler, bowed when he opened the door. “Miss.”
“Actually,” Keith said, “Violante is now Lady Ashford. If someone asks, Violante is the viscountess. It’s a long story. Suffice to say as far as anyone is concerned, Violante is my wife.”
Murray cast a sceptical glance at her. His thick grey beard didn’t hide his confusion. “Of course, my lord, my lady.”
“Thank you, Murray,” Violante said.
The butler muttered, “Welcome, my lady.”
“I’ll need a word with you and Mrs. Collins before you leave for the day. Thank you.”
“My lord.” Murray bowed again, but she didn’t miss the displeased twitch of his mouth.
Keith stopped at the door to her bedroom. “Thank you for today. The count would have never invited me without you.”
“We have a deal.” She opened the door and paused.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “If the count learns we tricked him, his wrath will be intense.”
“Then we’ll be careful.” She loitered. “Is something the matter?”
“What do you think happened to your mother?”
The question caught her by surprise. “If she’s alive, I don’t know why she didn’t contact me in all these years. Maybe she’s dead. Maybe she fled somewhere. I have no idea. Why do you ask?”
He shrugged. “We’d better prepare our luggage. We leave by train tomorrow. I have to talk to Murray and Mrs. Collins about the trip.” He kissed her hand with a delicate brush of his lips. “You need to rest. The trip will tire you, and you haven’t fully recovered.” He released her hand slowly, staring at her fingers touching his palm. “Good night, Violante.”
A fierce tingle crawled up her arm, preventing her from saying anything.
