When they were alone, Dick returned Deirdre’s feet to the floor. “What did Charney say?”
“She said I was not to be too conciliating. We’re not home free yet.”
“Out of the woods is good enough for me.” He folded her in his arms for a fierce kiss. Deirdre forgot her aunt’s injunction in the fever of the moment. She became so conciliating that her mind reeled off to a bright future, which might really come after all.
After a long kiss, Belami released her. “I felt lost without you, darling. You know there was nothing between Carlotta and me. There was never anyone but you, from the moment I met you.”
“I’ll try not to be so jealous from now on.”
“No, be jealous. It’s flattering. I was jealous as Othello when I learned Elvira was a man. But don’t be jealous if you catch me buttering up Charney. I must turn her up sweet—very soon. If my threadbare charms fail to persuade her, we’ll count on Benzoni’s wine and free lodgings to bring her around. Thank God for avarice.”
“That sounds horrid, Dick!”
“It is. I’m a horrid man,” he warned her with a perfectly charming smile, and pulled her into his arms to prove it.
Epilogue
This is me, Pronto Pilgrim, just letting you know how things turned out at the Villa Benzoni. It’s a regular palace of a place, makes that king’s palace we saw in France look like a country cottage.
Well, considering that rack and manger and all sorts of entertainment were provided at no expense to her, Old Charney’s been merry as a grig in May. She and the Marchese get along like a house on fire. You may be sure she keeps her sharp tongue between her teeth in front of him. Praises everything to the skies, especially the wine, which I must admit is pretty good.
Seeing how the duchess was determined to keep him and Deidre apart and to stay at the Villa till the Marchese kicked her out, Belami told her he had to see a man in Naples and was leaving in three days. He convinced her the Marchese wouldn’t expect her, practically a stranger, to hang on after he left.
She tried every trick in the book to get Dick to stay, but he held firm. He let the idea he’d had at the back of his mind all along come from her. If he married Deidre, then she, Charney, would be his in-law, and if he came back to the Villa after doing his business, then she could claim to be too fagged to make the jaunt to Naples, and would just stay put till he came back. The business trip could be their honeymoon. She urged him to stay away as long as he liked.
Dick pretended not to like the plan. The cagey old duchess told Deidre to get to work on him, and before you could say Jack Robinson the thing was done. And she can’t say boo against it once Deidre’s been jauntering around Italy unchaperoned for a month or so with Belami, so she’ll just have to pin a smile on her face and pretend to like it. Mind you, she isn’t overlooking the fact that Belami’s rich as Croesus.
The wedding was a small, quiet affair with a minister from England officiating. I was best man and one of Benzoni’s cousins was the maid of honor. The Duchess promised Deidre a diamond necklace as a wedding present when they get back to England. I’ll believe that when I see it. I gave them a little antique statue Deidre had her heart set on. It looked cracked and crumbling to me, but it seems that’s part of the charm of antiques.
I’m staying on here at the Villa till the newlyweds get back as well, with a dash once to Benzoni’s house in Rome. If I didn’t know better, I’d say the old witch has set her cap at Benzoni. Don’t know if Dick mentioned he’s as old as she is but cut from a different bolt entirely. A jolly, free-spending bachelor, well-liked by everyone. She wouldn’t care if he was a hundred. It’s the money she has in her eye.
Dick plans to take Deidre to London when they get to England so as to see as little of Charney as possible. A couple of Benzoni’s great nieces are coming by this afternoon for a tea party so I’d best go and make myself pretty. If I’d met Virna before we took up with the Jalberts, I doubt my deeper mind would have let me get carried away with Claude. Not a hair on her ankles. Smooth as cream. Well, that’s it. Aurevoirderci.
Copyright © 1987 by Joan Smith
Originally published by Fawcett Crest in January, 1988
Electronically published in 2006 by Belgrave House
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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.