The Italian’s Rightful Bride

Or, at least, for him. “Forgive me,” Gustavo said gently. “I just wish I could turn the clock back to before tonight, but I can't decide how far back to go.”

“To the last moment of happiness?” Joanna said. “Or the last moment before a terrible mistake? Or perhaps it doesn't matter, and we'd make the same mistake again.”

“Joanna, you're talking mysteries. What mistake could you ever have made?”

She shook her head. “I cannot tell you. You must let me have my secrets.”

But he too shook his head. “No, I want to know your secrets. Every one of them. I want to know what you're thinking and feeling. I want—I want
you.
”

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

“‘S
OLID
gold vases, mouth-watering jewels, wealth beyond the dreams of avarice.”'

Joanna, stretched out on the beach, turned her head to where her ten-year-old son was sitting on the sand beside her, his head in a newspaper.

‘What are you on about, darling?'

‘Big find,' he said, peering at her over the top. ‘Palace, fabulous treasure.' He saw her regarding him with amused disbelief and said, ‘Well, they found a few old bricks, anyway.'

‘That sounds more like it.' She laughed. ‘I'm used to the way you embellish things. Where did they find these “old bricks”?'

‘Rome,' he said, giving her the paper.

Following his pointing finger, she saw a small item with a few basic details.

“‘Fascinating and unique foundations—vast palace—fifteen hundred years old—”'

‘It sounds right up your street, Mum,' Billy observed. ‘Ruins, crumbling with age—'

‘If that's meant to be a comment on my appearance, you can save it,' she told him. ‘I may look merely ancient but I feel prehistoric.'

‘That's what I thought,' he said cheekily.

‘I'll send you to bed without any supper.'

‘You and what army?' he challenged her.

His face was wicked and gleeful. She adored him.

Because her job took her away from home, and she
was sharing Billy with her ex-husband, they saw too little of each other. This summer they were treating themselves to a holiday at Cervia, on the Adriatic coast of Italy.

It had been glorious to have nothing to do but stretch out on the beach and talk to Billy, who was mature for his years. But for both of them inactivity had soon begun to pall, and the newspaper item stirred all her professional instincts.

She had a glittering reputation as an archaeologist, or a ‘rubble and bone merchant' as Billy irreverently put it, and this was, as he'd said, right up her street. As she read she hummed softly under her breath.

Foundations of huge building found in the grounds of the Palazzo Montegiano, ancestral home of the hereditary princes of Montegiano, and the residence of the present Prince Gustavo.

The humming stopped.

‘Have you ever been to Rome, Mum?' Billy asked. ‘Mum?
Mum?
'

Receiving no reply, he leaned closer and waved his hands. ‘Earth to Mum. Come in, please.'

‘Sorry,' she said hastily. ‘What did you say?'

‘Have you ever been to Rome?'

‘Er—yes—yes—'

‘You sound half-witted,' he said kindly.

‘Do I, darling? Sorry, it's just—he always said there was a great lost palace.'

‘He? You know this Prince Thingy?'

‘I met him once, years ago,' she said vaguely. ‘How about an ice cream?'

Steering him away from the subject was an act of desperation. Because there was no way she could say to her darling son, ‘Gustavo Montegiano is the man I once
loved more than I ever loved your father, the man I could have married if I'd been sufficiently selfish.'

And she might have added, ‘He's the man who broke my heart without even knowing that he possessed it.'

‘R
ING
,
damn you, ring!'

Prince Gustavo fixed his gaze on the phone, which stayed obstinately dead.

‘You were supposed to call every week, without fail,' he growled. ‘And it's been two weeks.'

Silence.

He got up from his desk and went impatiently over to the tall windows through which he could see the stone terrace. On the last of the broad steps that led down to the lawn sat a nine-year-old girl, her shoulders hunched in childish misery.

The sight increased Gustavo's anger. He strode back, snatched up the telephone and dialled with sharp, stabbing movements.

He knew nobody had ever forced his ex-wife to do what didn't suit her. But this time he was going to insist, not for himself, but for the little girl who pined for some sign that her mother remembered her.

‘Crystal?' he snapped at last. ‘You were supposed to call.'

‘Caro,'
came the soft purr that had once sent shivers up his spine. ‘If you only knew how busy I am—'

‘Too busy for your daughter?'

‘My poor little Renata? How is she?'

‘Pining for her mother,' he said furiously. ‘And now I've got you on the line you're going to talk to her.'

‘But, sweetie, I've no time. You caught me on my way out, and please don't call again—'

‘Never mind going out,' he said. ‘Renata's just outside and she can be here in a moment.' He could hear the little girl's footsteps running along the terrace.

‘I have to go,' came Crystal's voice. ‘Tell her I love her.'

‘I'm damned if I will. Tell her yourself. Crystal—
Crystal?
'

But she had gone, hanging up at the exact moment the child came running into the room.

‘Let me talk to Mamma,' she cried, seizing the phone from him.
‘Mamma, Mamma.'

He saw the joy drain out of her face as she heard the dead tone. And, as he'd feared, the face she then turned on him was full of accusation.

‘Why didn't you let me talk to her?' she cried.

‘Darling, she was in a rush—it was a bad time for her—'

‘No, it was your fault. I heard you shouting at her. You don't want her to talk to me.'

‘That isn't true—'

He tried to take his daughter into his arms but she resisted him, not by struggling but by standing stiff, her face blank and unrevealing.

Just like me, he thought sadly, remembering the times in his life when he had concealed his innermost self in the same way. There was no doubt that this was truly his child, unlike Crystal's second offspring, whose birth had precipitated the divorce.

‘Darling…' he tried again, but gave up in the face of her silent hostility.

She blamed him for her mother's desertion and the fact that she'd been left behind, because she couldn't bear to believe anything else. And was it kinder to force the truth on her, or go along with her fantasy of a mother who
yearned for her and a cruel father who kept them apart? He only wished he knew.

Reluctantly he released her and she ran out at once. Gustavo sat down heavily at his desk and buried his head in his hands.

‘Have I come at a bad time?'

Gustavo looked up to see an elderly man in shabby, earth-stained clothes who stood in the tall window, mopping his brow.

‘No, come in,' Gustavo said with relief, opening an ornate eighteenth-century cupboard and revealing a small fridge concealed inside.

‘How is it going?' he asked, pouring two beers.

‘I've gone about as far as I can,' Professor Carlo Francese said, puffing from his recent exertions. ‘But my expertise is limited.'

‘Not in my experience,' Gustavo said loyally.

They had been friends for eight years, ever since Gustavo had allowed his
palazzo
to be used for an archaeological convention. Carlo was an archaeologist with a major reputation, and when ancient foundations had recently been discovered on Gustavo's estate he had called Carlo first.

‘Gustavo, this is potentially the biggest find for a century, and you need serious professionals. Fentoni is the best. He'll jump at it.'

He gave Gustavo a shrewd look. ‘You're not listening.'

‘Of course I am, it was just—
hell and damnation!
'

‘Crystal?'

‘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 per
sisted in her heart, defying all attempts to remove it, would be supplanted by reality. And at last she would be free.

‘I was planning to spend the summer knocking about with my ten-year-old son,' she said.

‘Bring him with you. His Excellency has a daughter of the same age. When shall I expect you?'

‘I don't know…' she wavered.

Billy, who had been shamelessly eavesdropping her end of the conversation, mouthed, ‘Montegiano?'

She nodded.

‘Tell him you'll go.'

‘Billy!'

‘Mum, you want this job so much you can taste it. You know you do.' He grabbed the phone and spoke into it. ‘She's on her way.' Catching her indignant look, he said innocently, ‘I'm just trying to stop you wasting a lot of time. Why do women always dither?'

Secretly she was glad he'd taken the decision out of her hands. She told Carlo that she would be there in a few days, and hung up.

‘Billy, I thought you wanted us to enjoy ourselves.'

He gave her a hilarious grin. ‘But, Mum, we hate enjoying ourselves. It's so boring.'

She shared his laughter. He was a kindred spirit.

The next morning they piled everything into the car and set off to travel the five hundred miles across Italy, to the outskirts of Rome. As she neared their destination she found herself slowing down, making excuses for the delay.

‘We'll stay here tonight,' she said when they reached the edge of the little town of Tivoli.

‘But it's only another fifteen miles to Rome,' he protested.

‘I'm tired,' she said quickly, ‘and I'd rather arrive early tomorrow, after a good night's sleep.'

Later that night, when Billy had gone to bed, she sat by her window, looking in the direction that led to Rome, and called herself a coward.

Whyever had she agreed to do this? Some things were best left in the past. Yet the truth was that part of her was still the eighteen-year-old Lady Joanna who'd agreed to meet Prince Gustavo as a prospective husband, but in a mood of amused indulgence because Aunt Lilian, who'd planned everything, was such a dear.

‘I'm not really interested,' she'd told her on the night before Gustavo arrived. ‘Fancy linking us up because he needs my money and you want me to be a princess.'

Aunt Lilian had winced. ‘That's a very vulgar way of putting it. In our world the right people must meet the right people.'

By ‘our world' she'd meant wealth and titles. Joanna had an earl among her relatives and a huge fortune, so she was included in the charmed circle, which, even in a modern, supposedly democratic age, remained mostly closed to outsiders.

Joanna had thought all this was hilarious. How young she had been, how full of modern ideas! How sure that she knew it all! How stupidly, cruelly, fatally ignorant!

 

Sometimes fairy tales came true. Sometimes the sun shone, the birds sang and moon rhymed with June.