Scandalous Brides: In Scandal in Venice\The Spanish Bride (42 page)

Carmen laughed. “I was thinking that very thing!”

“Then, you will wear it?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Excellent! Now, I am very thirsty. Digging about in dusty old trunks is tiring work.”

Carmen carefully folded the gown and laid it aside. “I will go downstairs, then, and see about some tea and cakes.”

As she went down the stairs, brushing dust from her hair, she caught a glimpse of Peter as he went into the conservatory. Tucked beneath his arm was a large, colorful book of children’s fairy tales.

By noon, the morning’s rain had paused, bringing out azure skies and glorious sunshine. So Elizabeth’s luncheon moved out to tables set up on the terrace, where guests could look at the dew-damp gardens and chatter freely about their tableaux and the cards planned for that evening.

Carmen had only just finished the dessert, when a footman came to her and spoke quietly in her ear.

“I beg your pardon, my lady,” he said. “A lady has arrived who is asking for you.”

Carmen looked up at him, startled. A guest, for her? “Are you certain she is not looking for Lady Elizabeth?”

“Oh, no. She said most specifically the Condesa de Santiago. I have placed them in the library.”

“Them?”

“Yes, my lady. She has a child with her.”

Isabella.
It had to be. Carmen quickly excused herself to her table companions, and followed the footman to the library, trying to still the trepidation in her heart.

As she stepped into the dim library, a small bundle of velvet cloak and satin hair ribbons flew across the room and hurled itself at her. Small arms flung about her waist, nearly pulling her off balance.

“Mama!” Isabella cried. “Mama, Mama, I’ve missed you so, so much!”

“Darling Bella!” For a glorious moment the bright joy of reunion overcame any misgivings. Carmen picked Isabella up and twirled her about until the little girl squealed with laughter. She kissed her daughter’s small pink cheeks over and over, and nuzzled her nose into warm golden curls. “Um, you smell of roses and rain!”

“And you smell of Mama,” Isabella giggled. “Are you happy to see us?”

Carmen glanced at Esperanza, who stood by the fire wrapped in her black traveling cloak. “I am happier than happy, dearest. And I know that Elizabeth and Nicholas will be happy to see you again. But I am surprised; you cannot possibly have received my letter, as I posted it only this morning.”

“Letter?” said Esperanza. “No, Carmencita, we received no letter. I just thought it best to come to you, as Isabella has been ill.”

“Ill!” Carmen framed her child’s face in her hands and peered into it closely, searching for any sign of dreaded illness. Isabella’s complexion was all pink and white, her dark eyes clear and bright. She was a bit flushed, but that could be attributed to the excitement of travel. Carmen laid the back of her hand against Isabella’s brow; it was cool. “She looks well. What was amiss?”

“She is well now,” Esperanza replied. “But only two days ago she was quite feverish and calling for you. I thought it best to bring her to you. If only you had been at home, where you belong . . .”

“Yes,” Carmen interrupted firmly. “Just so. But you were right to bring her here.”

“It was only a stomachache,” Isabella said, her six-year-old voice quite as scornful as her father’s. Then she leaned against her mother and whispered, “I wanted
you,
Mama, because you never make me swallow awful medicines when I’m ill, as Esperanza does. You tell better bedside stories, too.”

Carmen laughed. “Well, I am happy my little imp is feeling better. I am also happy that you’ve come to me; I have a grand surprise for you!”

“A surprise? Really? What is it? A pony?”

“Better! But you shall have to wait and see. If I told you what it is, it would not be a surprise any longer.”

Isabella made a moue. “Oh, all right! I can wait.”

“Good girl! Now, you wait here while I go fetch Elizabeth. She can find you the very prettiest room and make sure you are settled while I talk to Esperanza ...”

Elizabeth, as if conjured by the mention of her name, opened the door and poked her dark head inside. “Did I hear James say your maid was here, Carmen?”

“Yes. Esperanza has brought Isabella for a visit.”

“Hello, Lady Elizabeth!” Isabella cried, running forward to give her the same exuberant welcome she had given Carmen. “I have come to see you!”

“So I see!” Elizabeth kissed Isabella’s cheek. “I shall have to tell Nick what a very charming guest has come to grace our house!”

“Can we go see him now?” asked Isabella.

“Well, I ...” Elizabeth glanced questioningly at Carmen. At her nod she took Isabella’s hand and led her out of the room. “Of course, dear. Then we will find you a chamber that suits so that your mother can talk with Esperanza.”

Carmen closed the library door behind Elizabeth and Isabella, and leaned back against it. “Now, Esperanza,” she said. “I wish to know what really happened.”

“What really happened, Carmencita?” Esperanza sank down onto a chair, her lined features weary in the firelight. “Isabella was ill, she wanted her mother. It was a stomachache, as she sometimes gets, but I thought it best to bring her to you.”

“She was probably eating too many lemon drops again. But why did you not send a messenger? I would have come back to London straight away. There was no need for you to make such a journey.” Carmen went and sat on the arm of Esperanza’s chair, taking her duenna’s wrinkled hand in hers.

“Did something else, of a more alarming nature, occur after I left?”

“Alarming, Carmencita? Such as what?”

“I do not know. A message, perhaps, or an odd visitor. A break-in. Did someone follow you while you were out shopping or walking in the park?”

Esperanza shook her head. “Oh, no,
niña.
Nothing of the sort. I only thought that Isabella would be better off with her mother.”

Carmen was still uneasy. It was really not at all like Esperanza to act on impulse; she had spent almost six years following Carmen’s travels stoically from city to city, but she had never enjoyed it. She had always wanted predictability, such as she had had with Carmen’s mother.

Something
must
have happened in Town. But Esperanza’s head was almost drooping with fatigue, and Carmen did not have the heart to press her. There would be time enough for talk later.

“I am sorry, Esperanza dear,” she said. “You must be so tired from your journey. Let me see you settled, then later you and Isabella and I shall have tea together, and I will tell you all of what I have been doing here. And you must tell me what you and Isabella have been up to!”

“Yes.” Esperanza allowed Carmen to help her to her feet, leaning heavily on her younger arm. “Yes. Yes, I am very tired.”

What the devil was detaining Carmen?

Peter glanced at his watch. She had promised to meet him for a walk in the gardens, now that the rain had ceased.

But there was no sign of her: not in the drawing room, where small groups were preparing their tableaux for Sunday evening, not in the dining room, where an afternoon buffet was set. She was not even with Elizabeth and Georgina Beaumont, who were once again foraging for costumes in the attics.

He finally decided to wait for her in the library, where he was at least assured of quiet and a good fire. He borrowed a bottle of Nicholas’s best claret and a book, and settled down to have a read until Carmen chose to show herself.

He had no sooner begun the first chapter, when he was distracted by a faint but persistent hissing noise.

He glanced up and saw nothing. He wondered what Nicholas was putting in his claret these days, to cause people to hear things.

“Psst! Psst!”

There it was again, assuredly not a figment of the claret bottle. In point of fact, he believed it to be coming from beneath his very chair.

Peter looked down and saw a white lace flounce against the deep green carpet. There was also the tip of a tiny kid slipper.

It was far too small to belong to any of the female guests, even Miss Dixon, who prided herself on her very tiny hands and feet. So he knew he was not interrupting some bizarre tryst under the library furniture. One of the servant’s children, perhaps?

“Oh, my,” he said. “I do believe this library is haunted.”

There was a giggle.

“I sincerely hope they are friendly ghosts.”

“It is not a
ghost,”
a small voice said. “It is I!”

“And who might I be?”

A head popped from beneath the chair. Peter leaned over to peer at the little porcelain face framed by a tangle of golden curls and untied pink hair ribbons.

He nearly fell from his chair.

He drew back from the sight of her. “Who—who are you, child?” he whispered. Though he did not have to ask—he knew. No one else but Carmen could possibly have a daughter with such eyes, chocolate dark and slightly tilted at the corners, full of laughter and mischief.

“I am Isabella.”

Peter felt a pressure against his leg, and opened his eyes to see that she had emerged from beneath the chair and was now leaning against him. Her eyes were wide and curious as she looked up at him.

“Well,” he said. “How do you, Miss Isabella. It is my very great honor to meet you.”

“You did not introduce
yourself
!
”

“Did I not? How very remiss of me. I am Peter Everdean.”

Isabella held out one tiny, dusty hand. “How do you do.”

Peter took her hand and raised it to his lips.

She giggled, then completely shocked him by clambering up into his lap. She was tall for her age, but as thin and delicate as a bird as she settled against his chest. Quite as if she had been sitting there all her life.

Peter was startled and, for one of the very rare times in his life, uncertain. He had never been around children, not since he himself had been a child, and had no idea of what the proper thing to do was in such a situation.

“Well, Miss Isabella,” he said, “do you always greet strangers by climbing into their laps?”

“Oh, no,” she answered blithely. “Never. That awful old Comte de Molyneux in Paris wanted me to hug him when he came to take Mama to a ball, but I wouldn’t let him. He smelled vile, like onions. But you smell nice.” She cuddled closer. “You must be a very nice man, not like the comte.”

“No. Not like the comte,” he said with a laugh. Then he carefully, tentatively, put his arm around her.

That was probably proper. After all, she was his daughter.

“Yes,” she announced. “I do like you, Mr. Everdean.”

What a quick judge she was. “Thank you, Miss Isabella. I quite like you, as well.”

“Good. Then, you will not tell anyone I am here, will you?”

Peter could feel the twist as she turned her little finger. Yes, he was well and truly caught. “Are you meant to be someplace else?”

“Oh, yes. I am meant to be napping where Lady Elizabeth put me, so Mama and Esperanza can talk. But I am not tired! I wanted to see who was at the party.”

“Well,” he said consideringly. “I suppose we needn’t tell your mama where you are, just yet. But won’t she worry?”

“Oh, no. She and Esperanza are still talking. I know because I listened at the door.” Her golden head drooped against his shoulder. “And you see, I am not at all sleepy ...”

Chapter Seventeen

C
armen had settled Esperanza in the small dressing room adjoining her own bedchamber, and had stayed with her for over an hour. Esperanza had seemed quite exhausted, pale and drawn; Carmen wondered if perhaps it was
she
who had been ill and not Isabella. She at last managed to persuade Esperanza to take some tea and lie down for a rest.

Then she went off in search of Isabella. But the little girl was not in the bedroom where Elizabeth had left her, ostensibly napping. Nor was she in the long gallery looking at Elizabeth’s paintings or in the drawing room or conservatory. Carmen even ventured into the kitchen, much to the shock of the chef and kitchen maids, hoping Isabella might have gone in search of sweets. But no sign of her was found.

Then Carmen went into the library, the last place she had to look before the attics. The large woodpaneled room was absolutely quiet, dim in the very late afternoon light. The fire had burned low, and no one had been in to light the candles yet.

She was backing out of the room when she saw the hint of golden hair above the top of an armchair drawn up before the fire. She tiptoed in closer.

And almost choked on a half sob, half laughter at the sight that greeted her. Her husband was asleep in the chair, with their daughter, also sleeping, leaning against his shoulder. Isabella’s tiny mouth was open against the fine blue wool of his coat, and one little hand was curled in his cravat, hopelessly mangling the once pristine folds.

Carmen pinched her own arm to be certain she was not having one of the dreams that had so plagued her over the years. Dreams where she had seen the three of them together, sitting close beside their own fire. She had always awoke to a cold loneliness, an empty bed.

A small sound must have escaped her, for Peter’s eyes opened and he looked up at her. He smiled slowly.

“Am I dreaming, Carmen?” he murmured.

“I thought the same thing,” she whispered. “I see you have made Isabella’s acquaintance.”

“Oh, yes. The imp was hiding beneath my chair, trying to avoid a nap.” Peter shifted in his chair. Isabella’s head lolled a bit, but she did not wake. “She is rather more weighty than she appears.”

“She gets heavier when she is asleep. But that is the only time she is quiet.” Carmen sat down in the chair next to his. “Shall I take her?”

“No, no. I have six years to make up for. She is so very beautiful, Carmen.” He looked down at his daughter’s sleeping face. “So very beautiful.”

“The most beautiful girl in the world.”

“She looks very much like you.”

“Not at all! She looks like you.”

They sat quietly together while the shadows lengthened on the floor, the only sounds the soft breaths Isabella drew in her sleep. It grew a bit chilled as the fire died away, but Carmen did not feel cold even in the thin muslin of her gown. Indeed, she had never felt warmer in all her life.