Did he really think that of her? If so, no one had ever paid her a finer compliment. Yet it made clear that he still did not really see, did not understand. Not entirely. ‘You have only known me in highly unusual circumstances, Marco. At home, in my real life, I am as predictable as the moon.’
Marco laughed. ‘Yet another falsehood, I suspect. Perhaps one day I will see you in this “real life”, and judge the true Thalia Chase for myself.’
Thalia smiled at him wistfully. If only that could be so! If only they could meet again, and she could show him that Clio could never be the one for him. Show him how she really felt, and what knowing him had meant to her.
Yet that was just one more hopeless dream. When she left Sicily, when she set sail for England and he went back to his home in Florence, they would surely never meet again.
And she would live on her memories of him for years to come.
Chapter One
Bath
Is it possible that only months ago I was in Sicily? Thalia wrote in her journal, balancing the leatherbound book carefully on her lap desk as the carriage jolted along. It must have been a dream indeed, for when I look out of the window now I know I have truly woken up.
The gently rolling lane, surrounded on all sides by the lush, fresh green of hedgerows, the expanse of fields and villages, could not have been more different than the sun-blasted Sicilian plains. Thalia closed her eyes, and for an instant she could swear she smelled the hot scent of lemons on the air. Could feel the warm breeze brush her sleeve against her arm, like the most fleeting caress.
But then the carriage bounced over another rut in the English road, pushing her out of her memories.
She opened her eyes, and smiled at her sister Calliope de Vere, Lady Westwood, who sat across from her. Calliope smiled back, but Thalia could see that it was an effort. Despite the cushions and blankets piled around her, despite the quantities of tea and calves’ foot jelly Thalia kept pressing on her, Calliope was still pale. Her brown eyes seemed enormous in her white face.
That pallor was one of the reasons for this journey to Bath. Calliope had not yet recovered from baby Psyche’s long and difficult birth, had indeed just become thinner and more tired as the days went on. Her appetite was not good, and she had no energy for her usual organising and taking care of everyone.
Thalia knew it was time to worry when her eldest sister had no interest in ordering her around. She hoped that her brother-in-law Cameron’s idea, that Calliope should take the waters and rest for a few weeks, would do the trick. He had gone ahead to find a suitable house, and Thalia had organised the journey.
In the flurry of engaging nurses and maids, packing and closing up the London house, she had almost forgotten Sicily and Marco. Almost.
‘What are you writing?’ Calliope asked, checking the basket where Psyche slept amid satin blankets. The baby had blessedly fallen asleep after miles spent wailing. ‘A new play?’
‘Just a few notes in my journal,’ Thalia answered. She tucked the little volume away. ‘I haven’t yet begun a new play.’
Calliope sighed. ‘I fear that is my fault. I have kept you so very busy you’ve scarcely had time to breathe since you returned from Italy!’
‘I don’t mind in the least. What are sisters for, if not to help in times of need?’
‘Then we are fortunate indeed to be so peculiarly rich in sisters!’ Calliope said with a laugh. ‘And now nieces and stepmothers.’
‘We are a family of females to be sure.’ Thalia peered down at Psyche, so deceptively angelic in her pink satin and lace, black hair like her mother’s curling softly on her pretty head. Her little nose wrinkled as Thalia smoothed back a strand. ‘Psyche has proved herself to be a Chase through and through already.’
Calliope gave her sleeping daughter a soft smile. ‘She does have a will of iron.’
‘And lungs to match.’
‘She will never refrain from expressing herself, I fear.’
‘Will she turn out like her Aunt Clio?’
‘A duchess? She just might.’ Calliope eased the coverlets around Psyche’s shoulders, and settled herself carefully back on her seat. ‘I do confess I was utterly astonished to hear of Clio’s marriage. She and Averton despised each other! After what happened in Yorkshire…’
Thalia remembered Clio’s wedding in the Protestant chapel in Santa Lucia, how very radiant she was as she had taken her Duke’s hand and repeated her vows. How he had raised the veil on her bonnet and kissed her, the two of them seemingly bound in their own little sunlit world. ‘Magical things can happen in Italy.’
‘So I understand.’ Calliope peered closely at Thalia from beneath the narrow brim of her hat, making Thalia squirm just a bit. When they were children, Calliope always knew when Thalia had done something naughty, and she could elicit guilty confessions in no time. It was no different now.
‘What of you, then, Thalia dear?’ Calliope said. ‘Did magical things happen to you there?’
Thalia shook her head, memories of Clio’s wedding shifting into a starlit night. A masked ball, a dance. ‘Not at all, I’m afraid. I’m exactly the same as I was before I went.’
Thalia could see that Calliope did not believe her, but she seemed too tired to pry. Yet. ‘Poor Thalia. You must play nurse to me after such a grand holiday! And now I am dragging you off to fusty old Bath. I fear the Upper Rooms can hold no charms like ancient ruins. Or Italian men and their dark eyes!’
Thalia glanced sharply at Calliope, trying to see if there was anything behind that ‘dark eyes’remark. If she knew, and was teasing about it. Calliope just gave her an innocent smile.
‘Oh, I have hopes of Bath, never fear,’ Thalia said lightly. ‘The theatre, the parks, the old Roman sites. The wealthy men seeking cures for their gout and young wives to wheel their chairs about. Perhaps there will be some overfed German prince there, and I will outrank even Clio! Princess Thalia. Sounds nice, don’t you think, Cal?’
Calliope laughed, her pale cheeks taking on a hint of pink at last. ‘It will sound nice until you find yourself in some drafty Hessian castle! I suspect that would not suit you at all.’
‘I dare say you are right. I haven’t the temperament for cold winters or draughty castles.’
‘Not after Italy?’
‘Exactly so. But Bath will have its charms, not the least of which will be seeing you well and strong again. The waters will do you good.’
‘I hope so. I am so tired of being tired,’ Calliope said wearily, the first hint of any complaint Thalia had heard from her.
Thalia leaned forwards in concern, tucking a blanket closer around Calliope’s knees. ‘Are you in pain, Cal? Should we stop for a rest? This infernal jostling…’
‘No, no.’ Calliope caught Thalia’s hand, stilling her fussing. ‘Bath is not far, I’m sure. I want to try to make it before nightfall. I long to see Cameron.’
‘As I’m sure he longs to see you.’ Calliope and her husband had hardly been parted since their marriage. Thalia didn’t know how they could stand it, they were so very devoted.
‘He says he has found a fine house right on the Royal Crescent, where we can be near everything,’ Calliope said. ‘I do want you to have some fun while we’re there, not spend all your time at my sickbed.’
Thalia laughed, even more worried now and trying to hide it. ‘What sickbed? You will be too busy promenading around the Pump