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Of course, he’d made no real attempt to free himself of his love for her. Instead, after leaving London he’d thrown himself into the work at Brookwillow, believing each step he took in its restoration brought him closer to the day when he might leave England to search for her.
With the aid of some tenants along with craftsmen hired from the city, the manor’s whole roof and all the rotten wall beams had been replaced so that the structure was now secure against rain and wind. He’d sent the tenants back to their fields with the interior still incomplete, planning to reassemble the working party during the winter while the land lay fallow. Though much still needed to be done, he’d been able to have the furniture moved back into the rooms for which it had been designed and to open up the library for daily use.
The fields, too, had responded to the attention lavished on them. If the weather held fair and the summer rains were plentiful, Brookwillow should produce its first saleable crop since his father’s death.
In fact, everything had been progressing toward realizing his dream for Brookwillow. Its fields would soon be waving with ripening wheat, its rooms repainted and repapered, its marble front hallway gleaming, the coffered ceilings restored to original splendor. He’d smiled as he went about his work, a glow of pride and anticipation warming him as he envisioned finding Allegra, rescuing her from a life of penury and bringing her home to be mistress of Brookwillow.
Except she no longer needed him to search for or rescue her. Brookwillow might be looking better than it had in years, but he could offer Allegra nothing to compare to the wealth, power or position she now enjoyed.
He swallowed hard, staring into his wineglass as he forced himself to face that bitter truth. He should reply to her letter, congratulate her on her good fortune, and finally begin the process he should have started months ago of trying to purge her from his mind and heart.
Except…except. Snatching up her letter, he reread the last part again. “My grandfather’s estate at San Gregillio is so beautiful, Will,” she wrote, “I would love you to see it. If you—and your new bride, for I know you must soon be married—should ever embark on a tour of the Continent, I do hope you’ll stop and visit. I should be so delighted to meet you again and hear all the news of home…” After thanking him for his kindness, she had signed the letter, then added “Please do come if you can.”
It seemed she was quite anxious for him to visit. Amid all the good news and the many and interesting experiences she recounted since leaving England, did he detect a note of homesickness? Might she be lonely, longing as desperately to see him as he was to see her?
Might he still have a chance to win her?
You, Will Tavener, are a hopeless dreamer, he told himself, throwing the letter down in disgust. Reading between the lines of her note not what she’s written but what you hope might be there.
The paper drifted down to settle next to the list of eligible maidens she’d given him before her departure. He kept it propped on his desk in honor of the lady who’d inspired him to seize his life in his own hands and begin the restoration of Brookwillow.
With hard work—and Domcaster’s funds—he’d accomplished more than he would have dreamed possible a year ago. Might he succeed too at the seemingly impossible task of winning her hand?
Was it even fair for him to attempt it, now that persuading her to come back to Brookwillow would mean so enormous a drop in status for her?
Unable to decide, he jumped up and paced the library, his thoughts zigzagging back and forth between the desire to seek her out and the resolution to refrain.
He was still pacing when Barrows entered to join him in a glass of brandy. Another benefit of living far from the censorious eyes of the ton, Will reflected, was being able to freely associate with this man who, like the Phillipses, had since boyhood been as much friend as servant.
Observing Will’s activity and the expression on his face, Barrows raised his eyebrows as he walked over to pour himself a glass. “What catastrophe has befallen us now?” he asked. “Has Domcaster decided to call in his loan?”
“No disaster,” Will replied. “At least, nothing of that sort.”
“Then I must conclude this proclivity to frantic motion has something to do with the letter from Italy that arrived this morning. I hope the young lady hasn’t fallen into difficulties.”
Will laughed shortly. “Quite the opposite. It seems she rediscovered the family of her father—which just happens to possess a dukedom.”
“How fortunate for the young lady,” Barrows replied, studying Will’s face. “You will offer her my congratulations when you send your own, I trust.”
Will looked away. “I…I am considering delivering those congratulations in person. She’s invited me to visit, you see,” he said, striding over to his desk and holding up the letter. “To tour her grandfather’s estate. With the work on the house on hold until winter and the crops already planted, I’ve half a mind to go. ’Twould be a marvelous opportunity to visit the Continent—and see how she is faring, of course.”
Barrows uttered a long-suffering sigh. “I best begin packing our bags, then. No, not a word about leaving me to supervise the estate while you go loping off to Italy. You forced me to remain in London when you brought Miss Antinori to Brookwillow the first time, and see what a botch you made of that.”
“It isn’t as if I’ll need your expert assistance to try to persuade her to come back with me,” Will said irritably. “She’s a bloody duchessa now, for heaven’s sake. Besides, you’ve never before interfered in my affairs of the heart.”
“I’ve never before had to serve you while you prowled around like a bear with a sore paw, snapping at everything. Oh, you’ve been better since we returned to Brookwillow, but if I were to let you go alone and you failed to win Miss Antinori this time, I daresay you’d be so intolerable upon your return to England that I might have to let the razor slip the first time I shaved you.”
For a bleak moment, Will considered what his life would be, stripped of any hope of winning Allegra. “If I came back without her, I’d probably want you to.”
Barrows tipped back the rest of the brandy. “Exactly,” he said, setting down the glass. “So how soon do we leave?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
NEAR NOON TWO WEEKS LATER, Allegra strolled a graveled allée in the formal garden, relishing the shade provided by the sculpted yews and the wind-drifted moisture from the fountains. Already the afternoon promised to be scorching.
A reluctant Signora Bertrude sat on a nearby bench beside a wilted maid, both fanning themselves, having failed to persuade Allegra that ’twas already too hot to venture into the garden. But after being confined to the house all morning by visitors and feeling too restless to remain shuttered within until the evening cool made walking outside pleasant again, Allegra had insisted on coming now.
She was about to take pity on her attendants when a footman trotted up. “There’s a gentleman come to see you, Duchessa,” he said.
Allegra suppressed a groan. “Offer him refreshment, Federico, but tell him ’tis too sultry for me to receive any more visitors this morning. I shall see him tonight.”
“So I already told him, Duchessa, but he was most insistent that I at least bring you his card.” The footman held it out to her, shaking his head in disapproval. “A foreign gentleman, English, I think, who speaks our language not very well.”
One special English gentleman came immediately to mind—but that was impossible. Still, a tremor of anticipation fluttered in her stomach as she seized the card—then uttered a cry of pure joy.
Will! Unbelievable as it seemed, it really was Will. Of course, she had invited him, so it wasn’t totally beyond credibility that he’d come, but it had only been a few weeks since she’d written…
She took a deep breath and pulled her wits together. “Please escort him here immediately, Federico.”
About to walk off, the footman stopped short. “Bring him here? Now? Are you sure, Duchessa?”
“Yes. At once.”
Looking mystified, the footman bowed and went off.
Her heart commenced to pound and she could feel her cheeks flush. Suddenly nervous, Allegra smoothed her dress and patted her hair to make sure the chignon was still in place. If only this yellow morning gown wasn’t already rumpled and she perspiring from the heat!
“You mean to receive the foreigner here?” Signora Bertrude walked to Allegra’s side, disapproval on her face. “Please, Duchessa, not in the seclusion of the garden! Let us go into the house, where I may summon a footman—”
“Nonsense, signora,” Allegra interrupted impatiently. “’Tis beautiful here and cool enough beside the fountains. Lord Tavener is not going to ravish me. Not on this hot a morning,” she added, to the scandalized gasp of the duenna.
She could still scarcely believe Will was here. As she could scarcely prevent herself from running in to meet him, so eager was she to verify it really was him. Her nerves in knots, she made herself resume strolling.
What could have brought him here, almost as if the invitation in her letter had summoned him? Perhaps he was on his wedding trip…but no, he hadn’t sent in his wife’s card, which he surely would have done if he were married. He must have come alone.
