Chapter Eleven
THE BOTANICAL GARDENS in Cambridge were always quietest in the early afternoon. There was a distant hum of traffic and the nearer, insistent hum of the various insects and bees that were most active at this time of the day.
As usual the insects outnumbered the people, but that was fine by her, Dulcie thought, straightening up from the bed she’d been weeding.
She was in the Mediterranean section, which was hard. The scent of the plants and trees that were native to that region kept tugging her back to Puglia so that periodically she would unravel a little between the orchids and asphodels. But it was early days. By winter she might be cured.
Leaning forward, she deadheaded a plant that wasn’t dead and was suddenly close to bursting into tears again.
‘Dulcie!’
Breathing in sharply to stem the burning sensation in her eyes, she wiped her hands on her trousers and turned. Alison, the head gardener, was walking towards her, talking animatedly to the man walking beside her. No doubt, it was some random member of the public asking for horticultural advice.
No, it wasn’t, Dulcie thought dully, a moment later.
She was rooted as firmly to the spot as the cedar tree behind her, a drum roll of panic beating against her ribcage because, even at a distance and with the sun in her eyes, she recognised the man.
And there was nothing random about his reappearance in her life.
And she knew with certainty that many winters would pass before she would be cured of the pain he had caused her.
‘There you are.’ Alison beamed at her. She had a slightly dazed look on her face, and there was a flush on her cheeks. ‘I know you’re just finishing up, but this gentleman has a very interesting question about the role of mycorrhizal fungi, and I thought you would be the best person to talk to.’
Keeping her gaze fixed on the other woman, Dulcie smiled stiffly. ‘I’m not sure I can help.’
As Ettore stepped forward, she had to press the soles of her shoes into the soft earth to stop herself from turning and running because being that close to him again, knowing that she would never get closer, was agony.
With a light stubble dusting his perfect jawline and his golden eyes narrowed against the sun’s rays, he looked heartbreakingly beautiful but sombre in dark jeans and a grey T-shirt and for a moment she forgot the past and the pain.
For a moment she just stood there, drinking him in, her body aching for his touch, and she wondered why that ache in her chest was worse now that he was within touching distance.
‘Perhaps it would help if I got into the specifics.’ Ettore’s deep voice cut into her thoughts. ‘What I’m particularly interested in is how they form symbiotic relationships with vine roots to enhance nutrient uptake. I understand you have some experience in that area.’
She felt Alison’s gaze on her face. ‘A little,’ she admitted.
There was a buzzing sound that had nothing to do with the bees, and the head gardener frowned, patting the pockets of her trousers. ‘Sorry, I have to take this.’ She smiled at Ettore. ‘Dulcie will take care of you.’ Still smiling, she retreated and there was nothing to be done.
They were alone. Even the bees seemed to have drifted away, and Dulcie could hear the nearness of him beating in her blood.
She cleared her throat. ‘What are you doing here?’
He met her gaze, and a cold shiver scraped down her spine, and yet it burned. ‘I find being outside calms me.’
Her pulse stumbled. ‘I meant in England. In Cambridge.’ Her face tensed and she covered her mouth with her hands. ‘It is Edoardo. Is he—?’
Ettore took a step forward, his forehead creasing. ‘No, he’s fine. Or he was when I spoke to him an hour ago when I landed.’ His face tightened. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.’
‘I thought something had happened to him.’
Her shock and panic had morphed into an anger that was audible in her voice and for a moment she thought it would spark a similar anger in Ettore.
But he didn’t react. Instead, he stared past her to a clump of pale pink asphodels.
The same asphodels that grew in the gardens of his castle where he had kissed her to the point of helpless oblivion.
‘Something did happen,’ he said finally, and her heart thudded as his eyes found hers, his gaze reaching into her, holding her still.
‘To be more accurate it was someone, not something. You happened to him. You wrote my father a letter and because of that letter he and I had a conversation about the past and Edo and my mother. And it helped. It helped me, a lot.’
She breathed in sharply. ‘I’m glad.’ And she was. Even though it had ended between them, she wanted him to be happy.
‘I’m glad too.’ His eyes were hard and intense, and there was a tension in his spine as if he was fighting to stay in control.
‘But not as glad as I am to see you,’ he said then, and maybe it was the simplicity of his words or the softness in his voice but the tears she had been holding back filled her throat and she stumbled backwards, holding up her hand.
‘No. You can’t do this again. I can’t do this again. I’ve changed, and besides we said everything there was to say in Paris.’
He held up his hands like a soldier signalling his desire not to fight.
‘I know we talked in Paris, and everything you said then was true. I lied to you. I let you think that my only reason for wanting to stay married to you was to comfort my father.’
His face stiffened, and he breathed out shakily.
‘But I also lied to myself. Because I wasn’t there for my father. I wasn’t there for the castle or the title or the money. I was there for you.’
Gazing down into Dulcie’s small, still face, Ettore felt breathless with the utter relief of seeing her again, and finally telling her the truth, and nothing but the truth.
He was still wearing the same clothes he’d worn as he walked into Edoardo’s bedroom, because after speaking to his father, he had got back in the SUV and been driven straight back to the private airfield and flown to a different private airfield near Cambridge.
And then another car had driven him to the botanical gardens, and he had collared the first person he saw who appeared to be working there.
It had all been so easy up until that point.
This was proving harder. But he was here to fight for Dulcie. To fight for their future.
‘I could have got my lawyers to contact you. But I came to England, to Cambridge, because it was always about you,’ he repeated slowly.
‘The chance to see you, to be with you again. And that’s why I’m here now.
Everything else I can live without, but I can’t live without you. I didn’t make that clear in Paris.’
Dulcie was staring at him, her blue eyes wide.
‘What are you saying? That you’re going to give up your job and your castle and your jet and your aristocratic lifestyle to move to England?’
He nodded. ‘Yes.’
She took a step towards him and even though her face was flushed and there was a smudge of pollen on her cheek, he thought she had never looked more beautiful.
‘You can’t do that. You need to run the estate.’
‘I can do it, and I will. I’ve spoken to my father. Gianni is a very capable manager.’
‘But he’s not you. You understand the finances. You have vision and imagination. And you care about the estate in a different way because it belongs to your family, and it’s your home.’
‘Not without you. It’s just a building and some fields.’
He shifted slightly to give her space, not crowding her, not pushing her to make a choice, because she wasn’t the only one who had changed.
‘You hurt me.’
‘I know.’ His voice shook slightly as he met her eyes. ‘And I wish I could turn back time and be the man you deserved, the man you needed…’
‘You are the man I need. You always were. There’s never been anyone for me except you. Even when I hated you, I loved you.’
His heart twisted with hope.
‘I couldn’t forget you because I never stopped loving you,’ he admitted. ‘That’s why I couldn’t let go. Only I couldn’t admit that to you. Not then. I was too proud. Too stupid. Too cowardly.’
‘You’re not any of those things.’
‘Do you believe that? Is that why you wrote to my father?’
As she nodded, her hand found his. ‘I couldn’t let go either.’
His fingers tightened in hers and Ettore pulled her against him, breathing through the tears clogging his throat.
Dulcie buried her face against his neck, breathing his scent, her heart beating steadily now.
‘Are you staying in London?’
‘I’m not staying anywhere.’
‘Then where’s your luggage?’
Ettore frowned. ‘I don’t have any.’
Dulcie laughed. ‘Are you joking?’
‘No, I didn’t pack anything. After I talked to Papà, I got on the jet and flew here. It’s okay, I lent this beautiful blonde some money and she paid me back today. She puts money aside for emergencies and I guess getting rid of me was an emergency.’
His eyes found hers. ‘I know losing her felt like one.’
‘I sold the house. I’m renting a room from one of the college professors.’ She leaned into him. ‘I can’t believe you came all this way to talk to me.’
‘Not to talk to you. To fight for you. To fight for us.’
Dulcie stared into his beautiful light eyes, seeing the softness there and the heat. Her hands gripped his T-shirt, squeezing the fabric in her fists.
‘I want that too. But we can’t fight here. The gardens shut soon. But maybe you could come home with me.’
‘Is there room?’
‘There’s plenty of room. It’s a castle.’
Ettore stared down at her in confusion, his eyes searching hers, and she loved him then for his openness and his need and his courage and because he was hers.
‘You said it wasn’t a home without me. But what if I was there?’
They stared at one another steadily, each allowing the possibility that after so many missteps they were finally in the right place to make their marriage work.
‘Then I would be the happiest man alive.’
‘Then we match. Because I’m the happiest woman alive,’ Dulcie said huskily and Ettore lifted his hands and cupped her face and kissed her, his arms tightening around her as the bees started to hum again.