Cerelia was turning the pages and studying the finely detailed drawings. “It looks splendid,” she rasped. “And a little scary, too.”
“Well, only a little, I hope,” said Quin. “And it is, of course, written in German. So I am afraid, my dear, that you will have your work cut out for you.”
Viviana was looking over Cerelia’s shoulder at the lovely, fanciful book. “Why, Cerelia is to begin German lessons when we return home in the spring,” she said in mild surprise. Then, realizing what she had said, she flicked a quick, uncertain glance at Quin.
“Yes, I remembered her saying so,” said Quin quietly. “I am sure she will learn quickly, too.” But he did not really look at her, as he was engaged in helping Nicolo with a couple of his pages, which were not cleanly cut. “There,” he said when the pages were free. “Now you may open them.”
“Mamma, look, a dragon!” said Felise, holding up her book. “His mouth is on fire!”
“Heavens, what a fearsome creature,” said Viviana.
She glanced at Cerelia to see that the child had closed the book of fairy tales, but still held it tight to her chest with both arms crossed over it. It was obvious that she was pleased to receive such a fine gift, and just as obvious that she was exhausted by the excitement.
“Va bene,
children,” said Viviana, shooing them from the bed. “Both of you out. Miss Hevner will take you back to the nursery now, so that Cerelia can get some sleep.”
“But she’s been sleeping for days and
days,”
complained Felise.
“Not that long,
bella mia.”
Viviana bent to kiss Felise on the forehead.
“I wonder, Viviana, if I might have a moment alone with Cerelia?” Quin quietly interjected.
Viviana hesitated, the refusal on the tip of her tongue. Cerelia was tired. And this, she knew instinctively, was a moment of no return. But the decision was no longer hers alone. At last, she gave a terse nod. “Of course,” she answered. “Signora Rossi and I will go and admire the new books.”
Quin watched as they urged the children from the room. Signora Rossi did not look at all inclined to go, but Viviana caught her quite determinedly by the arm and propelled her out the door.
Cerelia yawned, and stretched. Quin sat down on the edge of her bed and covered one of her hands with his. “I want to talk to you, mouse, before you drift off again.”
She raised her expectant gaze to meet his. “About the book?”
He smiled and shook his head. “About your magic ring.”
Her face fell. “Is Mamma very angry?”
“No, but she was very worried about you,” he said. “She wants you to have the magic ring, my dear. She gave it to you because…well, because it was from your father. She told you that, did she not?”
Cerelia’s eyes widened, as if she were surprised he knew the truth. “Did Mamma tell you that?”
He shook his head again and squeezed her hand. “No, my dear, she did not need to tell me,” he said quietly. “That is what I wished to speak to you about. You see, well, I
am
your papa, Cerelia. I gave your mamma the ring a long time ago. I…I just wanted you to know that.”
“Are you really my
papà?”
There was a hitch in her breath. “Really, truly?”
“Really, truly,” he said. “And very glad to be so.”
Eyes alight, Cerelia rolled up on one elbow. “I wondered if you mightn’t be,” she responded. “You said you were her friend long ago. I have been wondering who he was ever since we came to England. I thought that if I looked really hard, I might see him.”
“You wished to see him, did you?” He slid one finger beneath her chin. “Well, here he is, Cerelia. In the flesh, and, I hope, better late than never.”
Earnestly, she nodded. “Oh, it
is
better.”
Quin felt something catch a little oddly in his throat. There was so much he wished to say, but for the moment, this would have to suffice. Cerelia was still very ill, and still just a child. So he bent and lightly kissed her cheek. “I have not been much of a father to you, Cerelia,” he said. “Circumstances conspired against your mother and me. But in the future, I will try very hard to do a better job of it.”
“I think you must be a very good father,” she said solemnly. “I am sorry circumstances con…conspired, whatever that means.”
It meant that he and her mother had been fools.
The very worst sort of fools: the prideful and stubborn kind. But it would not do to say that just now. And so he said only what was in his heart, after clearing away the little frog in his throat. “I love you, Cerelia,” he whispered. “Whatever else happens, never, ever again imagine that your father does not love you. You are eight years old now, so—”
“Almost nine,” she interjected.
“Yes, I daresay you would be,” he murmured. “So you are growing up fast. And so you know that there are things we cannot speak of outside our family, do you not?”
Solemnly, she nodded. “I know,” she confessed. “Mama told me some things are for family only.”
“But it no longer need be a secret between us,” he clarified. “And who knows what the future will hold, mouse? But no matter what life brings you, I will be a certainty in it. You will be seeing a good bit of me from here on out. I will visit you in Venice at the very least. And perhaps you will return here, and visit me, from time to time?”
With surprising energy, she threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, I should like that above
anything,”
she admitted.
“I should like it above anything, too, child.” He held her close for a long moment, then gently set her away so that he might look into her eyes.
Almost shyly, her face broke into a smile. “I…I am very glad,
signore,
that you are the one.”
“Are you?” he said in surprise.
She nodded. “My Mamma, she likes you very much,” she said on another huge yawn. “And you are very handsome. The handsomest father ever, I think.”
He gave her a bemused smile. “Well, enough of that, mouse,” he said. “You are still very ill. When you are better, you will have a great many questions, and your mother and I shall endeavor to answer them all as best we can. But I could not bear another day to pass without your knowing the truth. And without your knowing how very much I care for you.”
Cerelia yawned again and smiled drowsily.
Quin tucked her back into her bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. But before he could stand up again, Cerelia’s eyes had dropped shut.
He did not know how long he remained there, seated on the edge of the bed, simply gazing at his sleeping child and wondering what their future together might bring. He did not even hear the door open when Viviana and the old nurse returned. Signora Rossi stirred him from his reverie by going to the dressing table and shaking the wrinkles from a fresh nightdress for Cerelia.
Viviana did not miss the look of tenderness on Quin’s face when she returned to Cerelia’s bedside. She went to the opposite side of the mattress and quietly watched them. Father and daughter. Together.
Dio,
how life had changed. For the good, she hoped. At least for Cerelia.
“It is too late,” she whispered when Signora Rossi brought the fresh nightdress. “She is asleep.”
With another of her shrugs, the nurse laid the gown aside, then came back to press her hand to the child’s forehead. “It is a good sleep, Contessa,” she said to Viviana. “Not hot.”
Viviana swallowed hard and nodded. Cerelia did indeed seem to be resting comfortably. “Will you be so good as to sit with her awhile,
Tata?”
she asked, reverting to the children’s nickname for her. “I have something which I must do.”
The old woman waved her away. “Go, go,” she said. “You rest. You sleep.”
But Viviana had scarcely slept in two days, and she certainly had no intention of doing so yet. Instead, she stiffened her spine, sucked up her courage, and turned to Quin. “My lord, may I speak with you?”
He did not look surprised. “But of course.”
“You have told her?” she whispered as she pulled the door shut.
“I did,” he said. “But I said only what could not wait.”
Viviana cut a strange glance at him. “How did she take it?”
Inwardly, he smiled. “I think she was pleased,” he said. “But I am not deceived. There will be hard questions later. For both of us.”
Viviana was very much afraid there were hard questions to be answered rather sooner than that. Indeed, she had a few of her own. She led the way to the family parlor and pushed open the door. No fire had been lit today, but the splintered chair, she saw, had been taken away. It seemed a lifetime ago since last they were here. A lifetime since she had endured Quin’s rage and faced up to her near decade of deceit. She drifted deeper into the room, trying to gather her thoughts.
“Viviana, I…” Quin spoke from behind her, but his words fell away.
She went on the offensive and turned to face him. “I thank you, Quin, for your kindness yesterday,” she said. “And again today.”
“It was nothing.”
She set her head to one side. “It was not
nothing,”
she countered. “And I am glad—I think—that you have spoken with Cerelia. But I wish to say, too, Quinten, that I have thought a great deal about…about your demands of two days ago.”
“As have I, Vivie,” he said quietly.
Viviana held up a hand to forestall him. “And I must tell you here and now, Quin, that I cannot do it,” she said. “Indeed, I won’t do it. But you knew that already, did you not? You knew that I would fight you to the death. Indeed, I daresay you are looking forward to the battle.”
He gave a rueful smile. “At first, Vivie, I was thinking only of Cerelia,” he said. “Or at least that is what I told myself.”
Out of sheer emotional and physical exhaustion, Viviana fell onto the sofa. “I—I cannot leave my daughter, Quin,” she said, dragging her hands through her hair, which had more or less fallen completely from its haphazard arrangement. “I cannot leave Cerelia…but I do not think that there is any way I can bring myself to stay here. The pain of what we once had—or almost had—it is too raw. But never have I denied Cerelia her English heritage, Quinten. I have given her the best English governesses, taught her the language, and done all that I could within the confines surrounding me. But I am sorry. I can do no more.”
Quin joined her on the sofa. “I am sorry, too,” he said. “And I am sorry, Viviana, that you could not trust me to do the right thing all those years ago. I am sorry I caused you pain.”
She started to protest, but he laid a finger to her lips. “I wish, Vivie, that I could convince you that I would have done what was proper for the child you carried,” he said. “But you had doubts, and I understand why. But know this, Vivie. I have always loved you. And I came within an inch of telling you so that awful day. Within an inch, Vivie, of asking
you
to marry
me.”
She shook her head. “Oh, Quin. Please do not.”
His hands were fisted now, as if he grappled for control. “No, it is time I spoke the truth.” His voice was rough with emotion. “I have always loved you, Viviana, and that has never changed. But all those years ago, I could not believe that you loved me. Certainly you never said so. And when I finally dredged up the courage to ask, you admitted that you did not, and God help me, it…it just crushed me. And that did not take much doing, to be honest. I had no real confidence—or nothing beyond the cocky façade of a young man’s swagger.”
“You did have a very fine swagger,” she whispered, with a watery smile. “And an exceedingly cocky façade.”
His dark blue eyes went soft with pain. “It was my downfall.”
Unable to bear it, Viviana leaned into him and set one hand on his shoulder. “And I did love you, Quin,” she whispered. “I did. But my pride would not let me admit it.”
“But why, Vivie?” he said. “Why not?”
She tore her gaze away. “I felt, Quinten, as though I had been bought and paid for,” she whispered. “And I knew, even then, that English gentlemen do not marry their mistresses. Instead, they tire of them, and they move on. So all one can hope to do is to hold on to one’s pride and stand stalwart when the end comes.”
“I would never have tired of you, Viviana,” he answered. “There would have been no end.”
She shook her head slowly. “I do not believe that,” she said.
“And you do not believe that I love you, either,” he said. “So I will prove it. I will make you the greatest gift of all. I will—”
“I do not want a gift,” she interjected.
He set the finger to her lips again. “I will give you our child, Vivie,” he said quietly. “And the right to go on as you have in the past, the right to raise her as you see fit.”
Viviana looked at him plaintively. “Oh, Quin…”
He surprised her then by picking up her hand, and carrying it to his lips. “But please, Vivie,” he went on. “Let me see her without our fighting. She needs her father—her
real
father. A father who loves her and wants to be with her. Someday, Vivie, Cerelia will wish to marry and have a family of her own. It will help her to remember that she was the child of two people who loved one another very much. I would like…Viviana, I would like my daughter to have faith in love.”
Viviana felt as if the room had just shifted unsteadily about her. She had come here prepared to fight for her child. And now, just like that, the fight was over. Yet the rage and fatigue and worry still churned in her heart and in her stomach. “You…you give me leave to do as I wish?”
He still held her hand in his. “I give you leave, Vivie, to what you think best,” he answered. “Just as I have faith in love, I have faith also in your good judgment.”
She gave a bark of bitter laughter.
“Dio mio!”
she said. “I cannot think why! It was my good judgment which saddled Cerelia with Gianpiero.”
He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “You did what you thought was best,” he said. “And in your own way, Vivie, you were as naive and inexperienced as I was. You just hid it better, I have belatedly learnt.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, I knew nothing!” she agreed. “I played with fire, Quin, when I became your lover, and I did not even know it.”