Page 65 of Forgotten Mistress, Secret Love-Child
Surreptitiously she rubbed her palm over her stomach, wonder growing at the possibility.
Eventually she pushed her chair back and made for the foyer, only to falter as she saw a group of well-dressed older women in a group ahead of her.
A familiar voice spoke; a familiar elegantly tall figure blocked her path.
‘Of course, I expected it. Poor Alessandro, what choice did he have? The girl was the mother of his child. But now he’s stuck with the consequences.’ A shrug of bony shoulders emphasised the point.
Carys put her hand to the door jamb, clinging tight as nausea hit again, stronger this time, preventing her from turning and walking away. Besides, her feet were welded to the spot by the scalding venom in Livia’s voice.
‘She has no breeding, no class, no idea of how to go on. How she’s going to fill her responsibilities as contessa I can’t imagine. Thank goodness I’m in the country for the day of the gala charity luncheon.’ She shook her head. ‘He asked me to step in and host it. Begged me. I couldn’t let him down. We both know his wife would make a hash of it, and the Mattani name is too important to be made a laughing stock.’
Carys didn’t hear any more vitriol. She’d finally unlocked her feet and prised her hand from the wall.
‘Since the family name is so important to you, I’m surprised to hear you doing your best to taint it.’
Despite the bile rising in her throat, Carys somehow managed to sound cool and in control. Each word emerged with a crystal-clear diction that would have made her language tutor proud.
Amazing what shock and fury could produce. Especially since Carys wanted only to retreat and give in to the nausea.
Instead she stood straighter in her heels and smoke-blue suit of finest local silk. She told herself she looked elegant, even chic, like the countess she now was.
Livia spun round, hectic colour rimming her artfully madeup cheeks.
Carys looked up at the woman who’d tried to destroy what Alessandro and she had shared. For the first time she saw beyond the careful grooming and exquisite sophistication to the ugly greed and discontent beneath.
‘Anyone would think you had an axe to grind,’ Carys said softly and heard a collective intake of breath from the women watching so avidly. ‘That you had your nose put out of joint because you’d been supplanted by Alessandro’s wife.’ She let a pause lengthen. ‘Supplanted by a younger woman.’
The widening of Livia’s eyes and a single muffled laugh from the group told Carys she was right.
She was tempted to confront Livia with her lies and machinations. But she refused to play her game and feed gossip to the curious. Instead she summoned a stiff-lipped smile. ‘But we know that’s nonsense, don’t we?’
Livia opened her mouth then shut it, nodding abruptly.
‘As for my charity lunch,’ Carys continued, ‘no doubt there was some misunderstanding about the arrangements. I’ll ensure it’s sorted and send you an invitation, Livia. I hope your friends will all attend too.’
Dimly she was aware of nods and agreement, but her focus was on the woman before her, who suddenly looked smaller and less assured. Carys didn’t feel satisfaction or triumph, just a cold lump of distress in the pit of her belly.
‘I must go, but I’ll talk to Alessandro about having you to the villa for a meal soon. Ciao, Livia.’ She pressed obligatory kisses to the other woman’s cheeks, heard her automatic responses, then turned and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other all the way to the entrance.
By the time she was alone in the back of the limo, her rigid control had cracked. She was shaking, her skin clammy, and her stomach heaved anew.
She tried to concentrate on the shock and defeat in Livia’s eyes but instead remembered only her words.
What choice did he have? His wife would make a hash of it…he begged me…
No, Carys didn’t believe it. Alessandro wouldn’t do that to her. Livia had lied again. Carys wouldn’t trust her as far as she could lift Alessandro’s favourite Lamborghini. As soon as the shaking passed, she’d ring him and he’d confirm it.
He’d told her he trusted her.
He’d looked so sincere she’d believed him without hesitation.
But now that old doubting voice whispered again in her head. Had he said it just to woo her into compliance? To make things easier between them? Pain lanced her chest.
No! He’d meant every word.
Yet maybe trust came in different forms. He might trust her word but not think she was fit for the role of wife to a megawealthy industrialist.
Who could blame him?
She hadn’t grown up in his world. Didn’t know all the rules. And maybe—the thought sneaked up out of nowhere—he secretly believed, as others had, that her reading problems reflected on her capacity in other things.
