Chapter Thirteen
Her mother ought to have been ecstatic. She had the very thing she’d wanted: her daughter settled for life and her husband’s business able to remain in the family.
Only, the very things her mother had wanted a month ago appeared to be not so pleasing now as evidenced by the woman’s pacing.
Which meant the plan was working at last—something that should fill Ismay with a sense of relief but did not.
She was no more satisfied by this than she was by the knowledge that Alistair would be gone by Christmas, if not sooner.
Both she and her mother were on edge: Ismay quite literally, perched as she was on her mother’s blue velvet chair in the music room, watching Lady Rose search for the right words to start what she thought was a difficult conversation.
Ismay hoped she found the words soon. ‘What is it that you wanted to discuss, Mother?’ They were scheduled to leave for their Vesuvius outing within the hour.
‘Surely there’s not been bad news? Is it something about the engagement party?
’ The party that was only two weeks away. She would be free by then.
Her mother stopped pacing and turned, forcing a smile.
‘Not the party, darling. The engagement itself.’ There were dark circles beneath her mother’s eyes, and Ismay felt a strong prick of guilt at having been the cause of them.
What she and Alistair had been playing at had been perceived as real by her parents, as was their worry.
‘Rumours have reached me about you and Alistair.’ Her usually composed mother wrung her hands.
‘The agent who showed you the house had…unfavourable things to say. He feared that perhaps you were being led astray.’
‘There’s no need to be delicate, Mother. What did the agent say? I thought he’d be pleased. We liked the house very much.’ She had to play her part convincingly.
‘He said you wanted to turn the drawing room into a gaming salon and that Alistair talked the whole time about his love of a good wager. The larger the better, apparently, and then capped it off with a mention of his past mistress. Right in front you!’
‘I’m sure he’s had more than one mistress, Mother,’ Ismay said coolly. She didn’t like thinking about those mistresses these days—other women getting the attention of his blue eyes, his smiles, his consideration.
‘It doesn’t matter if he’s had fifty.’ Her mother’s eyes flashed.
‘A man does not mention such things in front of his fiancée or his wife. How a man treats his betrothed can be an indicator of what she might expect in marriage. I would not want that for you, Ismay—to have your husband flaunt his indiscretions in front of you.’
Her mother crossed the room and knelt before her, taking her hands.
‘I am concerned that Alistair is not all we hoped he’d be.
’ No, he was quite possibly more. Every day Ismay spent with him seemed to affirm that.
He was a man looking for direction, that much was true, but he was not without a moral compass, a good heart or a desire to find direction.
He wanted to start a journal for her, and he’d championed her to Professor Loughty.
Neither of these things were required for the ruse.
Ismay feigned polite ignorance of her mother’s intention. ‘I thought Father was pleased with him at the warehouse. Lord Danton specifically requested doing business with him.’
Her mother’s hands tightened on hers. ‘He is doing well for the business. We are pleased with him in that regard. But we are concerned he is not the right husband for you. He’s a gambler and a rake with a history of mistresses.
There is wildness and then there is debauchery.
One can be tamed, the other is habitual.
His father was a risk-taker. Lord knows he had to be in order to accomplish what he did.
But we fear Alistair has taken it too far. ’
‘What are you saying, Mother?’ An uneasy feeling formed in the pit of her stomach.
She was on the verge of getting what she wanted—freedom from an arranged marriage and with little impact to her.
The ruse had been their plan, hers and Alistair’s together, yet he’d skillfully manoeuvred things so that the brunt of the consequences fell on him.
She’d not asked that of him. She had what she’d sought, and yet her stomach was cold with anxiety, her skin clammy with anticipated loss as her mother said the words.
‘We are considering calling off the engagement. We had hoped that the two of you would smooth the rough edges of the other out, but I think just the opposite has happened. Those edges have been sharpened instead.’ Her mother’s expression softened with concern.
‘But I think some damage may already have been done. You’ve fallen for him, and I do not want to see your heart broken again, not when I know how long it has taken to put Edward Ashford behind you, to revisit the role of marriage in your life.
Now that you have, it gives me no pleasure to take it away from you.
But Alistair may not be the man for that particular journey. ’
‘What about Father’s business?’ She could not accede too quickly, nor could she protest too much without rousing her mother’s suspicions.
‘We’ll have to find another way. It could never be yours, Ismay, if you and Alistair did not marry. In that light, it makes no sense to keep him on. But that’s not a reason to marry him, dear. We will not ask you to enter a marriage where you will inevitably be left heartbroken.’
Ismay looked down at her hands, gathering the right tone.
A girl in love would beg for her beloved.
‘Do you not think he is changed? Those wagers and women are in the past, a past we were not even present to witness. He is here, after all. Surely, making such a journey indicates his desire to change.’
‘He did not know what he was journeying to. He had no idea of the contents of the letter he carried.’ Her mother shook her head. ‘I can see that you are intent on seeing this through.’
‘I am intent on being fair to him. There is still time before the engagement party for him to prove himself. Either way.’ She smiled and squeezed her mother’s hands.
‘Let us give him that and then decide.’ If she was honest, it was herself she was buying the time for.
Two more weeks with Alistair. And perhaps, her conscience whispered, two weeks to decide what she wanted and if it was possible.
‘You are right, Ismay. We will give him a chance. The party can always be called off.’ Her mother rose. ‘While you are gone these next few days, think about what I’ve said.’
She would. Perhaps it wouldn’t matter what she thought in the end.
Perhaps Alistair would view the news with relief and nothing else, although she did not think that would be the case.
He liked Naples. He liked working with her father.
And, maybe, he didn’t despise her. Maybe she was part of what he liked in Naples, too, even if he didn’t want to marry her.
Still, he would be free to go back to his cousin, Hayes, and she would be free to carry on here.
They would both get over their feelings in time once they realised they’d gotten what they wanted.
* * *
They carried nothing with them on the ascent of Vesuvius, relying instead on the hospitality of the Hermitage of San Salvatore, halfway up the western slope on the Canteroni Ridge, for rest and refreshment.
A rest, Alistair was surprised to find, he appreciated.
Monticelli had hired a guide for their group, and the first half of the climb had been difficult if not strenuous, due to the shifting nature of the rocks and dirt on the pathways.
‘It gets worse,’ Ismay assured him with a smug toss of her head. She sat down beside him on a rough wooden bench outside the inn and handed him a tin cup of wine. ‘I won’t promise it’s good wine, but it’s something to drink.’
‘You’ve done this before.’ Alistair took a tentative sip of the wine and grimaced. ‘Hard to believe these are the same grapes as the ones in your father’s wine. Lacryma Christi? Is that right?’
‘Tear of Christ grapes.’ She took her own small sip. ‘Hermitage wine is definitely an acquired taste. What do you think of the mountain so far?’
‘It’s busy. One does not think of mountains as busy. I supposed I imagined it would be a granite sanctuary of solitude, that we’d have the mountain and the stars to ourselves. But here it is, nearly midnight, and this inn in the middle of nowhere is bustling as if it was midday in the city.’
‘It is the height of climbing season,’ Ismay confessed. ‘No one climbs in the summer, it’s too hot. It’s also tourist season. All of you Englishmen time your Grand Tour arrivals for the winter months so you can enjoy the best of our weather.’
Alistair laughed. ‘Steady on! You’re English, too.
But yes, the climb is more social than I thought it would be.
I like it, though.’ To prove the point, a young Swiss soldier who’d climbed with them stopped to shake his hand.
‘Are you ready, Monsieur Burke-Price? I think the guides are starting to rope our parties up.’ The soldier’s gaze went apprehensively to the shadow of the mountain looming above them.
Alistair’s gaze went with him. Vesuvius was in fine form tonight, sparks and flame spouting from time to time against the dark sky.
The soldier was grimly determined. ‘Together, we will we take on the mountain, yes? Tonight we shall be brothers in arms. Both of you, come sign the Livre d’or with me before we go.
I’ve not climbed the mountain with a woman in trousers before. ’