Bellissima (13 page)

The first tears fell then, and all she could do was snatch up her hat and coat, and run.

The following days were like a waking nightmare.

Pleading a cold, she took to her bed, making sure to stay there until after Sergio’s next dance lesson.

“I will be the family you never had…never abandon you nor leave you unprotected…”

How often she heard those words in her head, and they never failed to make her cry. Was it misplaced sympathy for her that made him say them? Was it the prospective loss of his own family that caused him to want her? Jane wished she knew. Wished with all her heart she could believe what he had said, believe in the love he so freely offered.

A part of her insisted he meant every word, but her commonsense insisted just the opposite. What did she have to offer Sergio Fontini except a wedge to widen the rift between him and his family?

How could she live with herself if that were the case?

After two days, she took herself in hand, and let it be known to the household that Mrs. Rollins was feeling better and would be taking up her duties again. With her reddened, swollen eyes and often hectic flush, she presented a believable picture of a woman recovering from a severe cold. Going about the job of running the Lowell household helped somewhat to take her mind away from its overwhelming preoccupation with the dance master, but he was never really far from her thoughts.

When Mrs. Lowell informed her the coming Tuesday’s lesson with the dance master would be the last for her daughters, Jane was caught between thankfulness and pain so intense it was almost unbearable.

“You still don’t look well, Mrs. Rollins.” Mrs. Lowell inched over in her chair as though to get farther from where Jane stood, at least six feet away. “Are you sure you are fit to be going on?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jane kept her voice at its usual modulation, although she wanted to scream. “I’m quite well now, thank you.”

“Fine. If you’re sure.” Mrs. Lowell shrugged, turning back to the list on the desk before her. “Mr. Lowell has informed me he wishes to give a dinner party for some acquaintances next week.” She pursed her lips into a disagreeable line, and Jane recalled hearing Mr. and Mrs. Lowell arguing about the guest list. The mistress of the house thought including the master’s natural nephew James “Golden” Lowell, the renowned gambler, would be a detriment to her daughters’ social standing. “My daughters will be going to their grandmother from the day before and spending at least a month. While they are gone, I’d like their rooms scrubbed and thoroughly aired…”

Jane nodded at the appropriate times and escaped as soon as she could.

One last chance to see Sergio.

Would he come to her or, hurt at her refusal, ignore her?

Realizing her hands were shaking, Jane stepped into the thankfully deserted servants’ stairwell and sagged against the banister, trying to catch her breath. Finally, pulling herself together, she realized there was nothing to do but wait and see. And count the days until Tuesday, when the final dance lesson would take place.

Chapter Thirteen

Sergio leaned against the wall outside the registry office, staying out of the way of the crowds bustling by. He wanted to pace, to fidget with the small bouquet of flowers in his hand, but pride wouldn’t allow such evidence of his uncertainty. Yes, inside he had doubts, but if anyone were watching, if
Jane
were watching, he couldn’t afford even one small hint of them to show.

A couple all but ran by and climbed the steps into the building behind him, the girl giggling with either nerves or happiness. How very young they looked, Sergio thought. How carefree, as though the step they were about to take was tantamount to going for a picnic in the park. Life had, he was sure, never tested that young girl the way his sweet Jane had been tested. Everyone deserved happiness, joy, the peace of knowing they were loved and treasured, but no one, in Sergio’s estimation, deserved that more than Jane.

He could only hope she would accept his love and his hand, allow him to try to give her all those things.

Impossible not to wonder if there was anything more he could have done to convince her of his sincerity. That was the thought that bedeviled him. He hadn’t seen her since their assignation three weeks and a day before, although two days after their time together at the studio had been his Friday dance lesson with the Lowell daughters. When it was over, he had been informed Mrs. Rollins was ill and unable to take tea with him as usual. He wasn’t sure how he was able to mask his fear at hearing of her indisposition, but careful inquiries had elicited the information she suffered only from a cold, and his concern had been somewhat allayed. With his personal knowledge of what she had been through during her half-day out, he surmised perhaps it was more likely a malady of the heart, rather than one of the body, laying her low.

And although it seemed strange, the thought that it might be so gave him hope. If she cared nothing for him, was not conflicted about what he’d said, she would be up and seeing to her chores.

It was then he’d made the decision not to seek her out on the afternoon of his final lesson at the Lowell home. Firstly, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to resist dragging her into his arms and, with his body, trying to force her to give in to his demands. The time for such physical efforts was past. The next time he lay with Jane, he wanted it to be with her as his wife. He wanted all of her—heart and soul—not just her body, and he wouldn’t be content with less.

So instead of repairing to her sitting room after the lesson, he’d pulled one of the parlor maids aside and, explaining he had another engagement, gave her a sealed letter addressed to Mrs. Rollins. Pretending the delivery was of little importance was difficult, but the maid assured him she would take it down to the housekeeper immediately, and with that Sergio had to be satisfied.

The writing of that letter had taken the best part of two days, and now he found himself going over the contents in his mind again, wondering if he had said everything he needed to. It had been written with the express purpose of appealing to Jane’s practical nature since, to his way of thinking, that was the part of her character most doubtful of the veracity of his feelings. His passion was already known. He hoped she understood the depth of his tenderness toward her. Sergio had wanted to show her he wasn’t just spouting nonsense or had spoken in the heat of desire without any idea of how to achieve his goal.

Dearest Jane,

I hope you have fully recovered from your malady of last week and this letter finds you back to health. While I am unable to take tea with you today, I had to take this opportunity to assure you that nothing said to you on Wednesday of last week has changed. Every word I uttered, every action toward you, was heartfelt and true.

To that end, I have undertaken certain actions I felt you should be apprised of. On Thursday last, as I indicated I would, our names were entered into the register at Bishopsgate. In three weeks from that date, we will be eligible to say our vows before the Registrar. I then went to see my father and informed him of my plans to marry you. I invited him and my entire family to witness our joining in matrimony, should any of them so desire.

Having given notice to my landlady, I found and secured for us a small house, which I hope will meet with your approval. If it does not, I will be happy to find us one that does, if you will be patient and give me time to do so.

I will wait for you at the Bishopsgate Registry office a fortnight from Thursday, in the morning, from ten of the clock.

Here he had planned to leave it. All the pertinent facts had been covered. There was no more information to impart. Yet his heart would not allow such a dry recitation, and his intention to appeal to her practicality alone fell to the wayside.

With all my heart, I pray you will come to me, sweet Jane, take me for your own. Without you, I am nothing—neither man nor beast, but something caught between those two extremes. Only with you do I feel complete, able to do anything, be anything, so as to make you happy.

If you do not come on Thursday I will return on Friday, and then Monday, and so on, until all of London speaks of the man who waits, day after day, for his beloved to come to him, to give his hope final, joyful culmination.

Sei il grande amore della mia vita. Il mio cuore batte solo per te.
These are the words I will whisper in your ear when finally you are mine. You are the love of my life. My heart beats only for you.

Sergio

His mind had shied away from thinking about exactly what he asked of her—the trust he was requiring her to exhibit. Now he was forced to ask himself if he had asked too much, too soon. She had fought so hard for respectability, a place of her own in the world, it was madness to ask her to so abruptly give it up on the strength of their short acquaintance and his profession of love. Perhaps only time and his faithfulness would convince her. If she didn’t come to meet him today, this was a possibility he may very well have to face.

Then, without warning, something drew his gaze up and along the pavement to a still figure standing to one side, letting the other pedestrians stream by.

Jane.

Without her padding, with her hair parted in the middle and swept back in a soft style that flattered her face and somehow revealed the truth of her age.

She was too far away for him to see the expression in her eyes, but her posture was that of a fawn poised to run. Sergio slowly straightened, afraid any sudden movement on his part may cause her to flee. The cadence of his heart shifted from an instinctive, joyous race to an almost frighteningly heavy beat.

He had said all, done all to convince her, yet still she hesitated.

What more could he do?

“
È che lei?
” A voice said from behind him.

“
Sì,
” he replied, so intent on watching Jane it took a moment for him to realize who asked,
“Is that her?”
Surprise had him looking around, and his heart leapt. “Mama!”

Behind her stood Marco, with Sophia clinging to his arm, and Nico too.

His family, come to see him wed.

No sign of his father, which was not surprising, but just the others’ presence signaled a softening in Ennio’s stance against Sergio. Much as he loved them all, he knew they wouldn’t openly defy the patriarch of the family.

As he bent to accept his mother’s kisses, reached out to shake Marco’s hand, received Nico’s slap on the back, his gaze never left Jane, who still had not moved.

It was, he knew, the time to act, to ask one more time for her trust. So he held out his hand toward her, willing her to come, to take it—and take him.

Jane recognized Sergio’s brother, Nico. The other man, who also bore a striking resemblance to Sergio, could only be his older brother—the pretty young woman on his arm, his wife. But it was the other woman who drew Jane’s gaze and held it for a long moment. Short and plump, dressed in an unadorned dress that, nonetheless, spoke of fine quality, she seemed to epitomize everything Jane never had been and never could be.

His mother.

His mother had come, believing she would see her son wed to a woman she knew nothing about. One she would no doubt be horrified to discover was such a poor match for her beautiful, talented son.

Seeing her made every transgression, every lie, all the ugly, painful things Jane had been forced to do in her life rise to the surface. They seemed to coat her skin like a pall, made her want to turn away so the other woman wouldn’t see her shame.

All was not lost, she thought, almost hysterically. Yes, she had given notice to the Lowells and left their employ, but she had been smart enough to say it was to go and care for an ailing aunt in the north. She had enough savings to live off for a short time, and, once they began to dwindle, she’d seek a new position. Surely Mrs. Lowell would give her a reference.

She could leave now and not suffer too much from the momentary madness that had gripped her, making her believe she could have a life with Sergio.

Everything would go back to normal.

Except for her heart, which would be irretrievably broken.

For an instant, she allowed herself to imagine what could have been. Children, with dark hair and their father’s flashing, expressive gaze. Even, perhaps, a woman who would treat her as a daughter, who would be there to give advice and listen as Jane spoke of hurts only another woman could understand. A family around her, protective, loving, caring…

Sergio holding her, his arms the one place in the world she felt infinitely safe, completely and utterly loved.

The pain clawing at her chest was too strong even to allow tears, and she struggled to breathe, pressing her hand to her stomach, taking a gulp of cool October air.

Everything around her slowed, seemed to waver for a moment, and she tore her gaze from Mrs. Fontini, wanting just one more look at Sergio, at her own heart, before she walked away.

His hand was outstretched, reaching for her, and, even over the distance between them, she saw the need and determination in his expression.

Her pain intensified until she thought she may faint from it, as she realized and finally accepted she was about to break his heart, as well as her own.

Words from his letter came to her, as though he spoke them into her ear:
Only with you do I feel complete, able to do anything, be anything, so as to make you happy.

She hadn’t truly believed his words, had she? Yet here she was, as he wanted, so there must have been a part of her that hoped. And there he was, as promised, showing his integrity, his fidelity. The surprise on his face when he saw his family told her he hadn’t known they would come, indeed hadn’t expected them at all. He had risked all that was important in his life—the family he loved—for her, and asked only that she give him what he already possessed.

Her. All of her. Body, heart and soul.