In which Wynwood gives the Contessa
yet another Gift.
Q
uin rose at dawn the following morning and rang at once for Blevins. He wished to dress in some haste, so that he might return to Hill Court as soon as possible. He had slept very little, and the little sleep he had got was roiled by disquieting dreams of Cerelia and Viviana. He prayed the child was at least a little bit improved. He was afraid to believe Signora Rossi’s prediction of a recovery until he’d seen Cerelia for himself.
As soon as Blevins finished his handiwork, Quin started for the door. At the last instant, however, he remembered the small package he’d carried home from London some four days previous and returned to his desk for it. There was also the satchel of books for the children. Best to call for his gig, then.
Downstairs he informed a footman of his wishes, then hastened into the breakfast parlor in hope of catching Henry. To his surprise, he found instead his mother and his sister. He forced himself to smile.
“Good morning, Mamma,” he said, kissing her swiftly on the cheek. “Alice, you are up awfully early for a bride. Where is Henry?”
She made a small pout with her lips. “Off to Squire Lawton’s already,” she complained. “Your water or your runoff or some such thing is still draining into Lawton’s lower meadow, I collect, and leaving it boggy.”
Quin was pouring coffee. “Henry mentioned it,” he murmured vaguely. “We cleared a hillside of timber, and now a wet autumn has conspired against us. We’ll put in some ditch work, I daresay.”
“Well, I cannot think why it couldn’t have waited another day or two,” said Alice irritably. “We just got married yesterday.”
Lady Wynwood put down her teacup with a clatter. “Your husband is
employed,
Alice,” she tartly reminded her. “Marrying him was your choice.”
Alice rolled her eyes. “Well, he shan’t be employed much longer, Mamma, shall he?” she asked. “We must go home in another few weeks. Henry will manage Melville Manor until Chris is of age. Lord knows I’ve made a shambles of it.”
Quin pushed away his plate, which held only a slice of dry toast. “Actually, Alice, I have been meaning to talk to you about that,” he said. “I might need you and Henry to stay here for a few months. Could you, were it necessary?”
Alice looked pleasantly surprised. “I daresay,” she answered. “Why?”
Quin shrugged, and got up from the table. “I may have to go away for a while,” he said.
“But must you do so at this very moment, Quinten?” asked his mother tartly. “Surely there is time enough for that little sliver of toast?”
He turned around and looked at it, scarcely remembering he’d carried it to the table. “No, thank you, Mamma,” he said. “I must go.”
But Alice was still looking at him strangely. “Away?” she interjected. “What do you mean,
away?”
Quin hesitated for a moment. “I have been thinking of going to Venice for a few months.”
“Venice!” cried his mother. “Oh, good heavens, Quinten! You cannot. You have duties. Responsibilities. Why, you have Arlington Court!”
He shook his head. “Henry can see to Arlington Court, or he can hire someone to do so.”
His mother looked irritated. “This has something to do with the Contessa, does it not?”
Quin nodded tightly. “In part, yes,” he admitted. “I am going over to Hill Court, Mamma, to see about Cerelia and to ask Viviana to marry me.”
Lady Wynwood half rose from her chair, then sat back down again. “Well!” she said with asperity. “Well! And there is nothing I can say, I am sure, to convince you otherwise.”
“Oh, I rather doubt, Mamma, that you’ll have worry about it,” he said grimly. “I don’t think Viviana will be fool enough to have me. But regardless of her answer, I shall likely be going abroad.”
“Well!” said his mother again
“Well!” echoed Alice teasingly. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained, old thing. Perhaps you will wear her down. For my part, I wish you luck.”
“Thank you,” he said. “And what of you, Mamma? Do you wish me luck?”
Lady Wynwood had wadded her napkin into a tight little ball. For an instant, she just sat there and quietly quivered. Then a little squeak, as if she were restraining some sort of outburst, escaped her lips.
“Mamma!” said Alice warningly.
Lady Wynwood turned pink. “Oh, very well!” she said at last. “Do as you please. Yes, yes, I wish you luck. I hope that you have found something which will at last make you happy.”
He looked at her very solemnly. “It will make me quite giddy with delight, ma’am,” he informed her. “If Viviana will but say
yes.”
Alice looked at him drolly. “Giddy with delight, hmm?” she said. “Now, that, Quentin, I would very much like to see.”
Viviana was at the window with her coffee, watching as the morning sun peeked from behind a bank of reddish pink clouds when she saw the Earl of Wynwood’s gig come tearing up the carriage drive. He was unmistakable, even at a distance. Her heart gave a little lurch of some confused emotion. Hope, perhaps. Or perhaps something sillier still.
She had no time in which to consider it, however. In the next instant, she heard the faint stirring of bedcovers behind her.
“Mamma?” came the faint little croak.
On a sharp cry, Viviana turned at once and hastened toward the bed. “Cerelia—!” she exclaimed.
“Oh, mia cara bambina!
Oh, Cerelia!”
At the commotion, Signora Rossi jerked awake in her chair.
“Che cosa? Che cosa?”
She sat up so awkwardly, her spectacles tumbled off the tip of her nose.
“Mamma…” The child’s voice was a raspy whisper. “I am so thirsty.”
Viviana slicked a hand over Cerelia’s disheveled locks. “Poor angel!” she said, staring into her eyes.
“Tata
will send for something. What would you like?”
The girl looked up at her dolefully. “Lemonade?” she whispered. “Have we any?”
The old nurse was on her feet, feeling the child’s forehead.
“Sia Gloria a Dio!”
she proclaimed. “The fever, it breaks!”
“She feels quite normal,” said Viviana almost tearfully. “She is awake. She wishes lemonade. That is a good sign, is it not?”
The old nurse was smiling.
“Si,
I fetch it myself!” she declared, giving Cerelia’s cheek a little pinch. “Come now, show
Tata
your throat. Open!”
Dutifully, the child stuck out her tongue. “It is red,” said the nurse. “Not so bad, I think. But you are for the bed today,
cara,
and many days after, that is certain.”
“Can you eat something, Cerelia?” asked Viviana. “Are you hungry?”
But Signora Rossi was already shaking her head.
“No,” said the child. “Just a drink,
per favore?”
Viviana had settled onto the mattress beside the child. “Oh, Cerelia,
carissima,
what a fright you have given us!” she said, scooping the child against her. “How do you feel?”
“Tired,” came the pitiful rasp. “Mamma, did I miss Christmas?”
Viviana shook her head. “No, we have saved Christmas,
cara,”
she said. “We will celebrate it when you are well.”
“I think I feel well enough to open presents,” said the girl hopefully.
Just then, Signora Rossi opened the door to carry out the tray. She jerked at once to a halt.
“Buon giorno, signore.”
Viviana looked up to see Quin. His height and broad shoulders filled the door. On the threshold, however, he hesitated almost boyishly. “Good morning, Signora Rossi,” he said. “How is our patient?”
The old woman beamed, and stepped aside so that he might see for himself. “You return,
signore,
and all is well, as I tell you.”
Viviana felt suddenly awkward. She stood, and smoothed her hands down her skirt. She wondered, fleetingly, what she must look like. A fright, no doubt. “Cerelia is much better, my lord,” she said. “Come, see her for yourself.”
He came into the room, and set down a leather satchel at the foot of the bed. “Well, mouse, you have given us quite a turn,” he said. “How are you?”
“Buon giorno,
Lord Wynwood,” she whispered. “I am tired.” Then she paused to cut a quick look in her mother’s direction. “But not, I think, so very tired.”
Quin sat down on the edge of the bed and took her hand in his. “Everyone has been worried about you, my dear,” he said. His relief looked intense, and quite genuine. “Your Mamma and Signora Rossi have been poking you full of vile potions. Do you remember none of it?”
She shook her head, her bronze-colored locks rubbing on the pillow. “No, my lord,” she said softly. “I…I do not think so.” Cerelia’s voice was already losing some of its scratchy edge.
Quin brushed the back of his hand over Cerelia’s cheek, an exquisitely tender gesture. Viviana had never seen his eyes look so gentle. “That is good that you do not remember, is it not?” he said quietly. “One should never have to remember unpleasant things.”
Just then, Viviana’s father appeared in the doorway. He went to Cerelia with a cry of joy. Soon, Lord Chesley followed. Then the servants began to drift by, peeking into the room with a smile as they passed. Viviana watched from one corner of her eye as Quin withdrew. He took up a position near the front windows and remained there, silently observing the goings-on about Cerelia’s sickbed. He gave one the impression of standing sentry, as if he might leap forward at any moment and order everyone from the room. He just might do it, too, she inwardly considered. He had a way of stepping in and taking charge.
Signora Rossi returned with fresh nightclothes and bed linens. She was followed by a dutiful kitchen maid, bearing a tray of lemonade and several mugs. The gentlemen bowed themselves out of the room, and Miss Hevner appeared with Nicolo and Felise, who slipped from her governess’s grasp and bounded onto her sister’s bed with unbridled enthusiasm.
“She is awake!” said Felise. “Look, Mamma! Cerelia, you slept for a whole day! Now we can have Christmas. We can open our presents and play and eat
panettone!”
“I am not sure that is wise,” said Viviana as she bent over to pick up Nicolo. The child was tugging impatiently at her skirts. “Your sister is still quite unwell, Felise. We must let her rest.”
“I do not think, Mamma, that I am that tired,” said Cerelia.
“Bah!” said Signora Rossi, who was rearranging her pillows so that Cerelia might sit up in bed. “Here,
carissima,
is your lemonade. If the eyes will still open after that, then…?” She gave one of her mysterious shrugs.
The girls had curled up in bed almost conspiratorially. Cerelia was strong enough, Viviana noticed, to hold on to her mug, which was half-full. Felise had extracted a handful of dominoes from her pocket and was laying them out across the counterpane in some little game known only to the two of them. But within moments, Cerelia’s eyelids were growing heavy.
Viviana felt Quin brush against her elbow. “She is fading fast,” he murmured.
Viviana hated to admit that he was right. “I think Nicolo and Felise must go back to the nursery,” she said reluctantly. “I do not think there can be any question of a Christmas celebration.”
“Perhaps I might offer a compromise?” he murmured.
She lifted her brows and turned to him.
“Si?
Of what sort?”
Quin was scrubbing his chin thoughtfully. His eyes looked tired, too. Her heart went out to him, then clenched in her chest. How could she have such confused emotions? How could she forget his ugly demands of two days past?
The answer was that she had not forgotten. She could only pray that he had.
Quin picked up the satchel he’d left at the foot of the bed. “I have three books which I brought back from London,” he answered. “Books are quiet entertainments, are they not? Each child will have a little something by way of distraction. Then Cerelia will wish to sleep, I am quite sure.”
“You are very kind,” she said stiffly.
Nicolo was squirming, and saying something in Italian to his mother. She put him down, and he went at once to his sisters on the bed.
Viviana approached the bed, and kissed Felise on the cheek.
“Cara,
we cannot have Christmas just yet,” she said. “But soon, I promise you. In the meantime, I think Lord Wynwood has a little something which might tide you over.”
“What is
tide?”
asked Felise. But her eyes were on Quin, who was reaching into his bag.
Quin handed her a book which was mostly pictures, with a few words. “This is a book about mythical creatures, Felise,” he said to her. “Sea serpents and unicorns and all manner of amazing things. I found it in London, and I thought you might like it. We shall call it an early-late—or is it a late-early?—Christmas gift.”
Felise’s eyes brightened as she opened the book’s exquisitely drawn pages.
“Grazie,
signore,” she said politely. “It is beautiful.”
“Io voglio!”
said Nicolo, trying to wrestle the book from her.
“Nicolo, no!” said his mother, peeling away his hand.
Quickly Quin handed him a book just as large, and more colorful.
“Buon Natale,
Nicolo,” he said. “Will you tell him, Vivie, that this is a book about a dog? I believe he has delightful adventures. It is primarily a picture book. Unfortunately, the few words are only in English.”
But Nicolo did not seem to object. He snatched the book quite greedily and opened it to one of the middle pages.
Quin turned his attention to Cerelia, who was very still and quiet now. He handed her a book from the bottom of the satchel. It was quite thick, and tooled in find Morocco leather. Viviana crooked her head, and attempted to make out the title.
Kinder-und Hausmärchen der Gebrüder Grimm.
How very odd!
“This is a book by Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm,” Quin explained. “Do you know who they are?”
Cerelia shook her head.
“They are professors at the university in Göttingen,” he explained. “And there is a third brother, Louis, who did the amazing sketches which you see there. The book is a collection of fairy tales which, I am reliably informed, is destined to be a classic. I thought you might like to have it.”