The Italian's Rightful Bride

‘Who else? It’s not so much that she betrayed me with another man, bore him a son and made a fool of me. I hate that, but I can bear it. What I can’t forgive is the way she left without a backward glance at Renata, and doesn’t bother to keep in touch. My little girl is breaking her heart, and I can’t help her.’

‘I never much liked Crystal,’ Carlo admitted slowly. ‘I remember meeting her a few years after your wedding. You were totally crazy about her but she always struck me as slightly detached.’

‘Totally crazy,’ he murmured with a wry, reminiscent grin. ‘That’s true. I went on believing in her far too long, but I had to. In order to marry her I behaved very badly to someone else that I should have married, and I suppose I needed to believe that the “prize” I’d won was worth it.’

‘Behaved badly?’ The professor’s eyes gleamed with interest. ‘You mean really badly?’

‘Sorry to disappoint you,’ Gustavo said with a reluctant grin, ‘but there was no grand drama. Neither the lady nor I were in love. It was to be a suitable marriage, virtually an arranged one.’

Carlo wasn’t shocked. Whatever the modern world might imagine, such things were still common among the great aristocratic families of Europe. Money gravitated to titles, and where vast estates and ancient houses were concerned it was a matter of family duty to protect them.

And if there was one thing Gustavo understood it was his duty.

‘So what happened about this arranged marriage?’ Carlo asked now.

‘My father was alive then, and he’d had some bad luck. A friend of my mother’s knew of an English girl who had a great fortune. I met her, and we got on well.’

‘What was she like?’

Gustavo considered for a moment.

‘She was a nice person,’ he said at last. ‘Gentle and understanding, someone I could talk to. We would have had a good marriage, in a sedate kind of way. But then Crystal appeared, and suddenly sedate wasn’t enough.

‘She was—’ he struggled for words ‘—like a comet flaming across the sky. She dazzled me. I couldn’t see the truth, which was that she was ruthless and selfish. I saw it later, but by then we were married.’

‘How did you break it off with your fiancée?’

‘I didn’t. She broke it off with me. She was wonderful. She’d seen what was happening and said that, if I preferred Crystal, there was no problem. After all, what woman wanted a reluctant husband? That was how she put it, and it all sounded so reasonable.’

‘Suppose she’d refused to release you? Would you have gone through with the wedding?’

‘Of course.’ Gustavo sounded slightly shocked. ‘I’d given my word of honour.’

‘What about your family’s reaction?’

‘They weren’t pleased but there was nothing they could do. We presented it to the world as a mutual decision, which in many ways it was, since I think my fiancée was secretly glad to be rid of me.’

He grinned.

‘When I say “we” presented it to the world, I really mean that she did. She did all the talking while I stood there like a dummy and probably looking like one. My father was furious at losing her inheritance.’

‘Crystal was poor, then?’

‘No, she had a fortune, but it was more modest.’

‘So you didn’t put family interests first that time?’ Carlo observed. ‘Crystal must have been quite something.’

Gustavo nodded and fell silent, remembering the impact his wife had made on his younger self. She’d been all laughter and sensuality, reckless and passionately emotional, or so he’d thought. It was only later that he’d understood how limited was her capacity for any honest emotion.

He’d fallen into the trap of thinking that because her feelings were freely expressed, they must be deep. With himself it was the opposite. His feelings were too intense to be spoken of, and so the world mistakenly called him chilly.

But the friend watching him sympathetically at this moment knew better. He did not persist with the subject.

‘The sooner you get this place studied by Fentoni and his team the better,’ he observed.

‘I suppose he’s expensive,’ Gustavo said wryly.

‘The best always is. I guess money’s tight again?’

‘Crystal wants every last penny back. She’s entitled to it, but it’s a strain.’

‘Well, perhaps this discovery will turn out to be a gold-mine.’

‘To be sure,’ Gustavo said without conviction. ‘All right, let’s contact him.’

Carlo snatched up the phone. ‘I’ll do it now.’

While he was getting through Gustavo returned to the window to look out over the lawns to where he could see his daughter in the distance. She was sitting on a tree stump, her knees drawn up, her arms clasped around them.

She looked up and, although she was too far off for him to discern her face, he was sure her expression was hostile. He smiled and waved to her, but she looked away.

He wanted to bang his head against the wall, riven with guilt and despair that he couldn’t make things right for her.

Carlo was chattering urgently into the phone, sounding exasperated.

‘Fentoni, old friend, this is a far more important job—Oh, damn your contract. Tell them you’ve changed your mind and want to do this instead— How much? Oh, I see.’

He looked up at Gustavo with a shrug of resignation.

‘So who else, then?’ he said back into the phone. ‘Yes, I’ve heard of her, but if Mrs Manton is English, do we want her pronouncing on Italian artefacts? All right, I’ll take your word for that. Have you got her number?’

He scribbled something down, and came off the phone to find Gustavo scowling.

‘English?’

‘Specialising in Italy,’ Carlo told him. ‘Fentoni says she was his best pupil. Why don’t you let me deal with this? I’ll contact her, fix a visit, you can see what you think of her, and then agree terms.’

‘Thanks, Carlo. I’ll leave everything in your hands.’

When Joanna Manton received the call on her cellphone, and understood what Carlo wanted, she had only one question.

‘Are you saying that Prince Gustavo actually asked for me?’

‘No, no,’ his voice came down the line. ‘You were recommended by Professor Fentoni. I suggest you come down and look the place over.’

She was silent, torn by temptation. Surely it could do no harm to see Gustavo again after twelve years? She was no longer a girl, buffeted by feelings she couldn’t control.

It would even do her good to see him. Like her, he would be older, different, and the image that had persisted in her heart, defying all attempts to remove it, would be supplanted by reality. And at last she would be free.