Page 97 of More or Less a Countess
“Yes, I think that’s wise, my dear. Shall I come up in a few hours, to see how you do?”
“Yes, please.”
Violet offered Lady Westcott a wan smile, then set her napkin aside and wandered out into the entryway, intending to retire to her bedchamber and let sleep eat up the long hours until Nick’s return, but instead of mounting the staircase she found herself roaming the hallway toward Nick’s study. She slipped inside, closed the door behind her, and drifted over to his desk, sighing as she sank into his deep leather chair.
It smelled lovely in here, like Nick, but with a rich, faintly smoky undertone of whiskey and fine port. Violet inhaled deeply, letting the scent fill her head and spill around her until she could almost imagine Nick himself was here.
Her eyelids felt weighted, and she let her eyes drop closed. Perhaps she’d rest in here for a bit, instead of retiring to her bedchamber…
“Oh. Lady Dare. I beg your pardon. I didn’t realize anyone was in here.”
Violet blinked open her eyes to find Gibbs standing at the doorway of the study. “It’s all right, Gibbs. Do you need something?”
“Yes, my lady. The land steward Mr. Quarles is here, asking for the bill of sale for some farm equipment Lord Dare recently purchased. Apparently there’s a dispute about a missing plough.”
“Yes, I know the one you mean.” Violet glanced over the papers scattered across the polished surface of the mahogany desk, but she didn’t see it, so she rummaged about for the key, unlocked the desk, and slid open a deep drawer on the right where they kept the papers related to the farm and tenants. “Ah, I think this is what you need.”
She held out the paper to Gibbs, who accepted it with a bow of thanks and left to deliver it to Mr. Quarles.
Violet slid the drawer closed, locked it, then tossed the key into the shallow top drawer, but when she tried to push it closed, it jammed halfway, as if something were blocking it. She pulled the drawer back out and squirmed her hand into the small space behind it, patting around until her fingers closed on a few crumpled papers wedged between the drawer and the back of the desk. After a struggle, she managed to pull them loose.
She smoothed the pages flat on the desk, her brow furrowing with confusion. She was as involved in the management of the estate as Nick was, and she’d seen every paper that crossed this desk, but she didn’t recognize these.
She skimmed over the first document. Odd. It looked like a lease agreement. As far as she knew they didn’t lease anything, but Nick’s signature was scrawled across the bottom of the page, so there must be—
Casa di Bella Mare, a San Felice Circeo.
House by the Beautiful Sea.
Violet blinked down at the name, then blinked again, but the words continued to swim in front of her eyes. Nick had never told her the name of the house, but she knew at once there was only one thing this could be.
The lease to his villa on the Italian coast.
Violet’s breath stuttered in her chest as her gaze darted down to the bottom of the page. She must have known what she’d find, in the same way one knew a dream was about to disintegrate into a nightmare, because her breath had already frozen on her lips before she even read the words.
But knowing didn’t keep her heart from breaking.
The paper drifted from her nerveless fingers and fluttered to the desk.
He’d renewed the lease on his villa.
The agreement was dated weeks ago, in November, on the day after their wedding—the day they’d arrived at Ashdown Park. He’d sat at this desk in this study and signed that agreement, and then that night he’d crept into her bedchamber and touched her, made her cry out for him—
Made her weep for him.
All this time—all those nights he’d held her, stroked her hair as he whispered in her ear—all along this paper had been sitting in his desk, waiting for the moment when he’d done his duty to his aunt and his title and could be free of her at last.
Had he sent a copy of the agreement back to Italy weeks ago, when he’d begun to suspect she was with child? Or had he taken it to London with him today? His mysterious trip to London—the trip that had materialized only after she’d confirmed she was carrying his child.
But it didn’t much matter when, did it?
What mattered was he’d never intended to stay in England, and once he was gone, he never intended to return. There was only one date on the lease—the signing date. In the place where the lease’s end date should have been written, Nick had scrawled the word “indefinitely.”
Violet was shaking so badly now the pages felt slippery in her hands, but there’d been another sheet of paper wedged at the back of the desk. She didn’t want to look—God, she didn’t want to know, but even as her heart pleaded with her to leave the single, crumpled sheet unread, she was sliding it out from under the lease…
A name was scrawled at the top left corner of the page. A woman’s name.
Catalina di Foscari.
