‘I am sure she will be pleased to see you,’ Andrew said. ‘How are you enjoying your visit? I know this is not the first time you have visited Italy—but have you been to the lakes before?’
‘Winston brought me here on our honeymoon,’ Mariah said, her throat catching. ‘We spent most of our time visiting the lakes and then Venice. It was after we left Venice to return to Milan that Winston’s illness worsened. That was the first time I realised that my husband would not live long.’
Mariah’s voice was husky with remembered grief. The knowledge that her kind and loving husband would soon die had almost broken her. It was only then that she understood how much she truly loved her husband. She had wed him out of pique—after Justin Avonlea had proposed to her from a sense of duty—and the desire to be spoiled, to be rich and indulged, admired and envied wherever she went. However, his care of her and his generous spirit had made her love him and she had been devastated by the thought of losing him.
‘My husband did not wish to return to England to die. He loved the sunshine and it made him happy to spend his last days here.’
‘I did not realise that,’ Andrew said, his gaze narrowed.
‘I do not normally speak of that time because it upsets me.’
Mariah turned away, blinking back the foolish tears that had unaccountably come to her eyes. Surely she was over her husband’s death by now, so what had brought this mood on? Was it seeing Andrew again after having given up all hope of him?
Her silence had caused a moment of awkwardness, swiftly covered by Sylvia. ‘It is so pleasant to see acquaintances from home,’ she said. ‘I do hope you will dine with us this evening, Lord Lanchester. I am giving a little dinner party for friends and would be delighted if you could join us.’
‘I should be honoured to make one of your party,’ Andrew said. ‘Mariah, I have some messages from Lucinda. She was quite close to her confinement when I left England. Would you give me a few minutes of your time—perhaps a walk in the gardens?’
‘Yes, why not?’ Mariah took the arm he offered, smiling as she bid her heart to behave. ‘I should like to hear how she goes on. Had she not been in a delicate situation when we left, I think she would have liked to accompany us to Italy.’
‘I am perfectly certain she would,’ Andrew replied, drawing her out into the garden. ‘She spoke of visiting you if you were still here next spring. The babe will be old enough to travel with her nurse by then.’
‘Poor Andrew,’ Mariah said softly. ‘I think you like Lucinda very well, do you not?’
‘I am fond of them both. Justin is a good friend,’ Andrew said and hesitated, then, ‘But tell me, Mariah, are you truly over that unpleasant business of last year?’
‘It does not keep me awake at night,’ she replied. ‘I must accept that my fortune attracts the wrong sort of suitor, Andrew. I had hoped that I might receive an offer from a gentleman I could trust, but unfortunately I have not met anyone I think would make me a comfortable husband.’
‘You will not want a gambler, of course,’ Andrew said and looked thoughtful. ‘What are your requirements?’
‘Oh, someone with good manners, a man I can respect and rely on to care for me and any children we may have.’
‘That is a very modest list.’ Andrew arched his right brow. ‘I would have expected more—a sense of humour at the very least, good looks and a fortune to match your own.’
‘I think it would be foolish to set my standards too high. I might have sought love once, but now I think I would settle for liking and respect. What I do not want is a man who thinks only of my fortune.’
‘I see …’ He was silent, thoughtful, then, ‘Would you like me to investigate some of your suitors—discover whether or not they are desperate for money or perhaps more respectable than you might imagine?’
‘Would you?’ Mariah avoided his eyes. If she revealed too much, she might give herself away and that might lead to humiliation. ‘If you were to escort me while you stay here, Andrew, it might scare the fortune hunters away.’ She braced herself, turning to smile at him. ‘Now tell me what Lucinda had to say that she did not write in her letters …’
After the visitors had gone, Mariah draped a stole over her arms and went for a walk to the top of the hill. Sylvia had chattered on about the visitors until she was driven by the need to be alone for a short time.
Her emotions were at breaking point, and she was torn by a mixture of despair and anger.
How could Andrew be so blind? To offer to vet her suitors for her was so frustrating that it had taken all Mariah’s strength of will not to scream at him.
As a young girl living at Avonlea, Mariah had had a crush on their handsome neighbour, but Andrew hadn’t noticed her. His manner had been that of a brother and he had treated her either with indifference or with a lofty scorn that had often driven her to tears in those years of growing into a young woman. He’d gone to London on a visit and come back a different man; then, all of a sudden, she’d learned that he’d joined the army. His leaving had broken her heart, but Mariah had forgotten him as the years passed and she grew into a beautiful young woman with a string of admirers and friends—but somehow she hadn’t fallen in love with anyone.
‘Oh, damn it,’ Mariah said aloud. ‘Winston, why did you have to leave me?’ She was so alone and at times felt desperate. Must she live like this for the rest of her life, relying on friends for company, never having someone special of her own?
She turned away from the edge of the cliff and began to walk blindly through the woods, holding back her tears. She was angry with life and with herself for not having more sense and saw nothing until she heard an exclamation of alarm and then a pair of strong hands reached out and grabbed her arm.
‘Forgive me,’ an English voice said. ‘If you continue to walk in that direction, you may fall over the edge. There is a steep trail just beyond those trees and at one place there has been a recent fall of rock. It ought to be fenced off to save the unwary from accident.’
‘Oh … thank you,’ Mariah said and looked into the face of a man she could only describe as handsome in a dark, rather forbidding way. ‘Forgive me. I almost walked into you. My mind was wandering.’
‘I am glad to have been of service,’ he said and inclined his head to her. ‘My name is Peter Grainger—Lieutenant Grainger—and I have recently arrived in the district. My aunt and uncle have rented a villa at the other side of the lake and I was out on a walk when I discovered the fall. Are you staying near by, ma’am? Forgive me, I do not know your name.’
‘Mariah Fanshawe,’ she replied, a faint blush in her cheeks as she saw how intently he was staring at her. ‘I am staying with Lord and Lady Hubert—we are farther down the hill, nearer the lake. I walked up here to enjoy the view, but I am a little out of my way. Your warning was timely, sir.’
The man tipped his hat to her. ‘It was nothing really. So, do you stay long, Miss Fanshawe?’
‘I am Lady Fanshawe and a widow,’ Mariah replied. Something in his manner made her slightly uncomfortable, though she couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was about him that aroused her suspicions. ‘We have not yet decided how long we shall stay.’
‘Forgive me, I did not realise.’ His eyes went over her, seeming to note that she was wearing a gown of white muslin trimmed with pink, her shoes white leather and her gloves white cotton, edged at the wrists with the same pink that trimmed her gown and was repeated in her stole. Regrettably she wore no hat, having ignored Sylvia’s advice to put one on before she left. ‘Perhaps we shall meet again, Lady Fanshawe.’ He tipped his hat and turned away.
Mariah stared after him for a moment, biting her lip. She was so foolish. He had been perfectly respectable