Wife in the Shadows (9 page)

E
LLIE STOOD,
her arms wrapped almost protectively across her body, in the middle of the room she would now have to learn to call hers. Which made it, she thought, swallowing, no less imposing. Or daunting.

Besides being the only place in the house where she still felt like a stranger—an interloper.

That great canopied monolith was so obviously a marriage bed that she found herself wondering how many Manzini wives had lain there in the past waiting to perform their marital duties—something which, at least, she would be spared.

At the same time, her fingers strayed momentarily to her mouth, still tender and slightly swollen from the ravishment of his kiss.

She recognised, of course, that it had been foolish to provoke him, but his high-handed manner was enough to try the patience of a saint.

But, to her relief, he had not so much as glanced in her direction again until their arrival at the house, when he’d escorted her between the two rows of happily applauding staff to the door, lifted her into his arms and carried her across the threshold to more cheers and laughter.

And she’d forced herself to smile as if she was a real bride, and that this traditional ritual, ensuring she did not inadvertently trip or stumble on entering her new home, would actually bring her marriage good luck.

Good fortune, however, was the last thing on her mind. The
previous few days had been a strain, and now that it had all stopped, she felt tired and almost on the verge of tears.

She had been served coffee and delicious lemon-flavoured biscuits in the
salotto,
after which Angelo had excused himself with cool politeness and gone off to his study to read his emails.

Ellie, in her turn, was whisked upstairs by Assunta. She found, to her astonishment, that her cases had already been unpacked and their contents put away in the dressing room by someone called Donata, who was, it seemed, her personal maid, and who would return later to help her bathe and change for the evening ahead.

‘But I don’t want a maid,’ Ellie protested. ‘I wouldn’t know what to do with one.’

‘She will know,’ Assunta said firmly. ‘Besides for the wife of Count Manzini, it is most necessary. You will see.’ She paused. ‘And now, Contessa, you should rest before dinner.’ However, her discreet twinkle as she departed suggested that it was the hours following dinner for which her young mistress should principally be refreshed and ready.

I’m such a fraud, Ellie thought wearily as the door closed behind the good woman. But, all the same, she had to admit the idea of a rest was appealing, although not on that enormous bed with all its implications which she would deal with when she had to.

However, there was a couch shaped like a particularly luxurious
chaise longue
by the shuttered window which would answer her requirements perfectly.

Ellie removed her shoes, her tights and, carefully, her dress, revealing the exquisite lingerie—bra, briefs and half-slip—also in soft blue silk, that she wore beneath it, just part of the
corredo da sposa
that the Principessa had firmly insisted on providing.

All of it far more glamorous than anything I’d have chosen for myself, she thought with a sigh, as she stretched out on the cushions, and, under the circumstances, a total waste of money.

As were the wages of this maid who’d been hired for her, of course, but she realised that this was an issue where it might be wiser to give way, as a nod in the direction of some kind of marital harmony.

After all I can’t fight him about everything, she acknowledged dispiritedly. So I should save my ammunition for the battles that really matter. Whatever they turn out to be.

And found herself sighing again.

Angelo surveyed the information on his computer screen with tight-lipped satisfaction, and a certain relief. It seemed as if the finance deal with Credito Europa was going through without the last-minute hitches and prevarication that he had half-expected.

Apparently the Crocodile is a man of his word, after all, he thought cynically. And I, may God help me, am now married.

He pushed back his chair and stood up. He would have to return to Rome at some point to sign the necessary documentation, but that would not be a problem.

After all, his new bride was hardly likely to regret his absence, he thought coldly.
Al contrario,
having turned a once charming room into an efficient and characterless workspace as he’d recently observed, she would probably welcome his departure. See it as an opportunity to further the career that meant so much to her.

He wondered why the idea of her continuing to work for Avortino was irritating him so much. Surely he should welcome anything that would occupy her attention and keep her from enquiring too closely into his own activities.

And he should not have allowed his annoyance over her stubborn resistance to his wishes—or her apparent assumption that she was the only sufferer in their present situation—to get the better of him and goad him into inflicting on her that travesty of a kiss.

The holy saints knew it was the last thing he’d ever intended, he thought moodily. He’d planned to be kind and courteous,
putting her at her ease in difficult circumstances, and instead he’d acted like the worst kind of boor.

His behaviour had been unbelievable, he told himself, besides creating an awkwardness between them that he knew he must somehow put right before it became unforgivable too.

Because, however rarely it might be, they were still committed to sharing a roof, and it would be helpful if they were able to do this with some degree of accord, even if it was only in public.

Mouth twisting, he took the Credito Europa’s letter of confirmation from the printer. At least he could show her that there had already been some benefit from this unwanted marriage. That their mutual sacrifice was partially justified at least.

But it was by no means certain that he could persuade her to see it that way. He accepted ruefully now that it had been a serious error of judgement as well as unkind to describe her as ‘a nonentity’. She had a mind and a will of her own, the little Elena, and, it was clear, no very high opinion of him either.

So perhaps it was time, he told himself wryly, that he tried to make amends of some kind. Establish at least a working relationship. And try to end this strange day on better terms than its beginning.

If that was possible, he added silently, and sighed.

Ellie was drifting in and out of a light sleep when she was disturbed by a firm rap at the bedroom door, followed by the sound of the door itself opening.

Pushing her hair back from her face, she lifted herself on to an elbow, expecting to see the threatened maid. But, instead, to her shock, it was Angelo who came striding briskly into the room.

‘What are you doing here?’ Ellie, hideously aware that she was in her underwear, looked round vainly for a rug or even a shawl to put round her shoulders as a cover-up. ‘What do you want?’

He too looked taken aback, a tinge of colour emphasising the sculpted cheekbones as his dark gaze scanned her then
hurriedly turned to the paper in his hand. ‘I came to share some news with you.’

‘Couldn’t it have waited?’ she asked tautly.

‘Yes,’ he acknowledged, mouth tightening. ‘But I thought it would please you to know that Prince Damiano has today agreed the deal with Galantana, and therefore our days together can be considered as already numbered.’

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I—I see. Well, that’s—good.’

‘I imagined you would think so.’ He paused. ‘However, there is also another matter that perhaps we should discuss.’

‘If it’s about the maid you’ve hired for me,’ Ellie said quickly, ‘Assunta’s already told me.’

‘The maid?’ His brows lifted. ‘No, it concerns the other staff.’ He hesitated. ‘I learned just now that a celebration dinner is being prepared for us tonight. The
sala da pranzo
has been specially decorated with flowers, and the Manzini
calice
taken from its cabinet and cleaned. I should warn you that at some point in the evening, it will be filled with wine and various herbs and tradition demands that we drink from it while the household applaud.’

Ellie frowned. ‘Is that a problem?’

‘Not for me.’ Angelo shrugged. ‘But to share the
calice
will also signify our hope for a blissful wedding night and many babies to follow.’ He gave her a sardonic look. ‘It figures, therefore, that they will not expect us to sleep apart on such a meaningful occasion.’

Ellie sat up, embarrassment forgotten. She said crisply, ‘Then they’ll have to be disappointed.’

‘You said in the car that you needed to gain their respect,’ he reminded her softly. ‘I must tell you, Elena, that to reveal yourself so soon as a wife who is no wife at all will not win that respect for you.
Infatti,
it could have the opposite effect.’

‘That’s a risk I’ll just have to take.’

‘Even when it could so easily be avoided?’

‘You mean if I let you sleep with me?’ She shook her head. Her voice sounded stifled. ‘Never. Oh God, I knew I couldn’t trust you.’

‘I mean,’ he said coldly, ‘if I spend tonight in this room rather than my own. Nothing more.’ He glanced around him. ‘As you can see, it could easily accommodate half a dozen people.’ He added more gently, ‘Believe me, Elena mia, you would not wish them to think you displease me. Your life here will be much easier if it is thought we are truly man and wife, and that there is at least affection between us.’

She stared up at him. ‘And you—being here tonight will be enough to convince them of that?’

‘It will probably be necessary to pay you other visits in the future,’ he said. ‘But they will be few and I will make them brief. I shall not again stay all night.’ His mouth twisted. ‘If I wait until you are asleep, you will not even be aware of my presence.’

He watched her as she sat head bent, staring down at the floor. At last, she sighed.

‘Yes, then—if I must. But you have to promise that you’ll keep your word. That you won’t try to—to …’

‘The world is full of willing women,
mia cara,’
Angelo drawled, his voice faintly derisive. ‘I have never forced my attentions on a reluctant girl yet. Believe me, you will not be the first.’

He paused. ‘However, once we have drunk from the
calice
tonight, I shall be expected to kiss you. Perhaps, in return, you could smile at me? Is it agreed?’

As she nodded unwillingly, there was a tap on the door, and he turned. ‘Ah, Donata.’ He spoke pleasantly to the plump dark girl hesitating awkwardly in the doorway. ‘The Contessa has been waiting to meet you, is that not so,
carissima?’
He took Ellie’s hand and raised it fleetingly to his lips, adding huskily, ‘Until later then,
mi amore.
I can hardly wait to be alone with you at last.’

And Ellie watched him go, in the furious knowledge that she was blushing to the roots of her hair.

Her day did not improve as it proceeded into evening.

Donata was polite and efficient, and sighed openly over the
handmade silk and lace underwear that she laid out for Ellie to put on after her bath, but at the same time there was just the faintest suggestion in her manner that her new employer probably needed all the help she could get.

Or am I being over-sensitive? Ellie asked herself drily.

Whatever, it made no real difference, she decided, shrugging mentally. She was not, as the maid clearly assumed, dressing to be undressed later by her bridegroom. Merely forcing herself to do what was expected of her.

Just as later in the
sala da pranzo,
she disguised her total lack of appetite by making herself eat at least some of all the delicious food set in front of her at a candle-lit table, garlanded with pink and white roses, and gleaming with silver and crystal.

And when the
calice
was ceremoniously borne in—beaten gold, no less, and engraved with the Manzini coat of arms—she rose, laughing, to her feet and stood in the circle of Angelo’s arm as they drank, even managing to endure the firm, warm pressure of his mouth on hers when he bent to claim his kiss.

After which, as he had warned her, she was required to retire demurely to her room, and await her husband’s pleasure.

‘Are there any other embarrassing medieval customs I should know about?’ she’d asked him stonily, aware that her skin was warming again. ‘I hope they won’t want to inspect the sheets to prove that I was a virgin.’

His mouth had hardened. ‘And I hope there may come a time, Elena, when you may appreciate their pleasure in having you as their Contessa and respond more graciously.’

When she got to her room, the officious Donata had already been there to turn down the bed on both sides, and lay across its foot the faintly austere white satin nightgown and the matching robe, tying at the waist with ribbons in which Ellie was supposed to entrance her bridegroom, then, her duty done, had discreetly and thankfully departed.

Ellie hung away the pretty primrose dress she’d worn at dinner, put her discarded underwear in the clothes basket, and slid the slender length of satin over her head. As she turned to
reach for the robe, she caught a momentary glimpse of herself in the long wall-mirror and paused, arrested, aware that for the first time that day she actually looked like a bride.

And found herself wondering suddenly what it would have been like if her marriage had been a real one to a man she loved and who loved her in return, so that she’d be waiting here with delight and anticipation for her husband to come to her and take her in his arms.

And was assailed by a wave of such bleak loneliness that she almost cried out in despair.

Biting her lip, she put on the robe, fastened it, then sat down at the dressing table and began to brush her hair with slow rhythmic strokes, in an attempt to restore herself to calm, so that she could meet Angelo’s arrival with the necessary cool and unemotional indifference.

Or at least his eventual arrival, she thought when an hour had passed with no sign of him. She rose from the
chaise longue,
where she’d been perching nervously, retrieved the book she’d brought with her from the
palazzo,
a detective story set in Florence, removed her robe and, getting into bed, began to read.