The Italian's Bought Bride

‘Trust me,’ Isabel returned coldly.

Allegra was compelled to ask, her voice turning ragged, ‘Have you ever been happy?’

Isabel shrugged again, closed her eyes for a moment. ‘When the bambinos come…’

Yet her mother had never seemed to enjoy motherhood; Allegra was an only child and she’d been tended by nannies and governesses her whole life, until she’d gone to the convent school.

Would children—the hope of children—be enough to sustain her through a cold, loveless marriage? A marriage she had, only moments ago, believed to be the culmination of all her young hopes. Now she realized she had no idea what those hopes had truly been. They had been the thinnest vapour, as insubstantial as smoke. Gone now. Gone with the wind.

She thought of how she’d compared Stefano to Rhett Butler and she choked on a terrible, incredulous laugh.

‘I can’t do it.’

A crack reverberated through the air as her mother slapped her face. Allegra reeled in shock. She’d never been hit before.

‘Allegra, you are getting married tomorrow.’

Allegra thought of the church, the guests, the food, the flowers. The expense.

She thought of Stefano.

‘Mama, please,’ she whispered, one hand pressed to her face, using an endearment she’d only spoken as a child. ‘Don’t make me.’

‘You do not know what you’re saying,’ Isabel snapped. ‘What can you do, Allegra? What have you been prepared to do besides marry and have children, plan menus and dress nicely? Hmm? Tell me!’ Her mother’s voice rose with fury. ‘Tell me! What?’

Allegra stared at her mother, pale-faced and wild eyed. ‘I don’t have to be like you,’ she whispered.

‘Hah!’ Isabel turned away, one shoulder hunched in disdain.

Allegra thought of Stefano’s smooth words, the little gifts, and wondered if they’d all been calculated, all condescensions. Not too bad a price. He’d bought her. Like a cow, or a car. An object. An object to be used.

He hadn’t cared what she thought, hadn’t even cared to tell her the truth of their marriage, of his courtship, of anything.

Something hardened then, crystallised into cold comprehension inside her.

Now she knew what it was like to be a woman.

‘I can’t do it,’ she said quietly, this time without trembling or fear. ‘I won’t.’

Her mother was silent for a long moment. Outside, a peal of womanly laughter, husky with promise, echoed through the night.

Allegra waited, held her breath, hoped…

Hoped for what? How could her mother, who barely cared for her or even noticed her at all, help her out of this predicament?

Yet still she waited. There was nothing else she could do, knew to do.

Finally Isabel turned around. ‘It would destroy your father if this marriage fell through,’ she said. There was a strange note of speculative satisfaction in her voice. Allegra chose to ignore it. ‘Absolutely destroy him,’ she added, and now the relish was obvious.

Allegra let her breath out slowly. ‘I don’t care,’ she said in a low voice. ‘He destroyed me by manipulating me—by giving me away!’

‘And what of Stefano?’ Isabel raised her eyebrows. ‘He would be humiliated.’

Allegra bit her lip. She’d loved him. At least, she’d thought she did. Or had she simply been caught up in the fairy tale, just as her mother said?

Life wasn’t like that. She knew that now.

‘I don’t want to create a spectacle,’ she whispered. ‘I want to go quietly.’ She nibbled her lip, tried not to imagine the future ahead of her, looming large and unknowable. ‘I could write him a letter, explaining. If you tell him tomorrow—tell Papa—’

‘Yes,’ Isabel agreed after a short, telling pause, her face a blank mask, ‘I could do that.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Allegra, can you give this up? Your home, your friends, the life you’ve been groomed to lead? You won’t be allowed back. I won’t risk my own position for you.’

Allegra blinked at her mother’s obvious and cold-hearted warning. She looked around her room. Suddenly everything seemed so beautiful, so precious. So fleeting. She sat hunched on her bed, hugging her old patched, pink teddy bear to her chest. In her mind she heard Stefano’s voice, warm and confident.

Tomorrow is…a new beginning, for both of us.

Maybe she was wrong. Maybe she was overreacting. If she talked to Stefano, asked him…

Asked him what? The answer she’d been hoping for, desperate for, but he’d failed to give. He hadn’t told her he loved her; he’d reprimanded her for asking the question in the first place.

There could be no future with him.

And yet what future was there for her without Stefano?

‘I don’t know what to do,’ she whispered, her voice cracking. ‘Mama, I don’t know.’ She looked up at her mother with wide, tear-filled eyes, expecting even now for Isabel to touch her, comfort her. Yet there was no comfort from her mother, just as there never had been. Her face looked as if it were carved from the coldest, whitest marble. Isabel gave a little impatient shrug. Allegra took a deep breath. ‘What would you have done? If you’d had a choice back then? Would you still have married Papa?’

Her mother’s eyes were hard, her mouth a grim line. ‘No.’

Allegra jerked in surprise. ‘Then it wasn’t worth it, in the end? Even with children…me…’

‘Nothing is worth more than your happiness,’ Isabel stated, and Allegra shook her head in instinctive denial. She’d never heard her mother speak about happiness before. It had always been about duty. Family. Obedience.

‘Do you really care about my happiness?’ she asked, hearing the naked hope in her voice.

Her mother gazed at her steadily, coldly. ‘Of course I do.’

‘And you think…I’ll be happier…’

‘If you want love—’ Isabel cut her off ‘—then yes. Stefano doesn’t love you.’

Allegra recoiled at her mother’s blunt words. Yet it was the truth, she knew, and she needed to hear it. ‘But what will I do?’ she whispered. ‘Where will I go?’

‘Leave that to me.’ Her mother strode to her, took her by the shoulders. ‘It will be difficult,’ she said sternly, her eyes boring into hers, and Allegra, feeling as limp and lifeless as a doll, merely nodded. ‘You would not be welcome in our house any longer. I could send you a little money, that is all.’

Allegra bit her lip, tasted blood, and nodded. Determination to act like a woman—to choose for herself—drove her to reckless agreement.

‘I don’t care.’

‘My driver could take you to Milan,’ Isabel continued, thinking fast. ‘He would do that for me. From there a train to England. My brother George would help you at first, though not for long. After that…’ Isabel spread her hands. Her eyes met Allegra’s with mocking challenge. ‘Can you do it?’