Devil's Daughter (2 page)

A
rabella breathed in the warm flower-scented air and sat back against the plush black leather squabs in the open carriage. She felt glad to be home again. She shook her head, bemused at the thought, for she felt the same way when she returned to England from Italy. She swiveled about to gaze back at the glistening blue Mediterranean, like limpid glass under the bright afternoon sun, dotted with tall-masted ships. The city glittered white, rising from the shore like a beautiful woman, as her father was wont to say, with the sea before her and the glorious snowcapped mountains pressing against her back. Genoa—
La Superba.

Though she searched for changes, she saw none in her beloved city now that it was a French protectorate. The peasants trudging beside their donkeys along the dusty road were going about their business, as had the determined shopkeepers in the city. But she feared for them, for she knew Napoleon would not allow them this semblance of freedom for much longer. There was no unity among the Italian states, and Napoleon was drawing them into his insatiable maw as it pleased him. He had already proclaimed several free Italian
states the Cisalpine Republic, an excuse to loot their treasuries and quarter French troops in their cities. There was little anyone could do to prevent the French from drawing Genoa into the empire, and if that happened, Genoa could no longer be her home. She dreaded that day. Though with her honey-colored hair she could never pass for an Italian, as could Adam, she was proud of her heritage, proud when her mother chided her, with a twinkle in her eyes, about her passionate Ligurian blood whenever Arabella lost her temper. She was intrigued that she was supposed to be passionate, for she knew nothing about it.

The thought of being confined to England did not appeal to her. No, the Proserpine arrangement of the past twenty years suited her just fine. Englishmen, Arabella had decided, when she was old enough to draw their masculine attention, were not at all to her taste. They were too civilized, too affected. They probably didn’t know about passion either.

“Smell the oleanders and the olive trees,” she said to Adam, who was blissfully resting his chin on his chest. “Adam?”

“Let him sleep, love,” her mother said, lightly patting Arabella’s sleeve. “He spent all his time on deck during the storm.”

“It was a beautiful storm,” Arabella said.

“I wouldn’t have liked it if we had ended up on the rocks at Minorca,” her mother said.

“Or in the arms of a Barbary pirate?”

“Trust you to think of those barbaric savages as romantic princes,” Adam said, stretching and shading his eyes with his hand.

“You have no passion, Adam,” Arabella said. She
leaned back and closed her eyes. “Smell the wild carnations. There is nothing like them in England.”

“Don’t forget the hyacinths, jasmine, and roses in your raptures,” Adam said.

Their mother sat forward. “Ah, the Villa Parese. Home at last.”

Adam and Arabella straightened as the carriage neared the huge scripted iron gates. The gate boy, Marco, was beside the carriage in a flash, grinning up at them.

“Buon giorni, contessa.”
He beamed, touching his fingers to his woolen hat.

“Come sta,
Marco?” the countess asked, smiling down at the impish face of Sordello’s son.

“Molto bene, contessa, molto bene, grazie.”

“Is
il signore
here, Marco?” Arabella asked.

“Si, signorina.”

The carriage passed through the tall gates on the graveled drive. Arabella gazed at a white marble fountain, dominated by a statue of Neptune, that stood in the middle of the lawn. She sighed happily at the rush of memories it brought her, of hours spent as a child spinning stories beneath that beautiful bearded god.

She started to say something of the sort to Adam, but noticed that he was frowning. “Whatever is the matter, Adam?”

“Father,” he said shortly. “He wasn’t expecting a parcel of females.”

“A sister and a mother hardly constitute a parcel. Besides, you can leave Father to us. He will soon come around, you will see.”

It was likely true, Adam thought. His father and mother were appallingly loverlike. And as for
Arabella, the minx could usually wrap their father about her slender finger.

“Well,” he said to Arabella, “if he takes a strap to you, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Arabella was certain that her father wouldn’t do anything so violent, but she did worry that he would be none too pleased with her arrival. If she couldn’t convince him of his delight, her mother most certainly would.

Their father’s Scottish valet, Scargill, an ancient relic after many years of service with the Welleses, his carrot head of hair now a shock of white, met them in the entrance hall of the villa.

“Well, ye scamp,” he wheezed, looking Adam up and down, “I see ye canna deny the ladies any more than yer father can. It’s hardly pleased the earl will be, I can tell ye.”

The countess laughed. “You grow pessimistic in your old age, Scargill. My lord will be delighted, once he is over the shock.”

“Ye forget his lordship’s temper so quickly?”

“You’re an old fusser,” Arabella said, and kissed him soundly on his wrinkled cheek.

“Little twit. It’s in the library ye’ll find him.”

Though the Villa Parese could have housed a staff of fifteen servants, there were but six, a sop, their father told them, to the Genoese gospel of thrift. Thus only one housemaid peered down at them from the top of the stairs as they stepped through the entrance hall. As if by tacit agreement, Adam and Arabella let their mother precede them through the library doors.

They found the Earl of Clare staring thoughtfully down into the empty grate, his fingertips drumming
softly on the cool marble mantel. When he saw them all standing in the doorway, a frown drew his dark brows together.

“What the devil?”

To Adam and Arabella’s embarrassment, but not their surprise, the countess launched herself at their father, threw her arms about his shoulders, and kissed him fully on his mouth. Arabella stared raptly at a vase of fresh-cut flowers on a table, until she heard her father say softly to her mother after a moment, “Little fool, can I never trust you to obey me?”

“So, my lord,” the countess said, “have I mistaken your disapproval for enthusiasm?”

They heard her laugh as their father murmured something they couldn’t hear. Then he straightened and said, “Well, Adam, I see you have as much difficulty controlling our women as do I.”

“Sir,” Adam said, “I would as soon face down a hurricane.”

His father merely smiled, his fingers tightening about his wife’s hand. “With two such women, Adam, I am only surprised you were not delivered to me trussed up like a chicken.”

“You see, Adam,” Bella said to her brother, “I told you Father wouldn’t mind.”

“That I did not say,” the earl said, beckoning his daughter into his arms.

“Behold your women, Father,” Arabella said, giving him her most brilliant smile. “We are here to solve your problems for you. Surely you did not expect Adam would be your sole support.”

“Indeed,” the earl said, smiling lazily toward his
son, “I suppose that even the best of us occasionally have need of a woman.”

“Bella,” the countess said, “I do not know if we have been complimented or insulted.”

“Bella I will insult, my dear,” the earl said. “You I will appreciate. So, daughter, you left a bereft Eversley to come adventuring?”

Arabella shrugged indifferently. “I forgot him, Papa, our second day out.”

“It is just as well. Eversley, for all his noble antecedents, would likely not do for you, I’m afraid. He is, I think, rather too . . . tame in his tastes.”

“Father,” Adam said abruptly, “have you discovered what has happened to our ships?”

“Perhaps, indirectly,” his father said calmly. “I will tell you about it after you have settled in.”

Adam seemed impatient, and his father added, “It has been over five months since I have seen your beautiful mother. Keep your sister out of mischief until dinner.”

Arabella watched her parents walk arm in arm from the library, her fair head raised to his dark one. “They are likely going to be silly and make love,” she said.

“What would you know about that, little chit?”

“I know a thing or two, Adam,” she said, grinning.

“Bosh,” Adam said.

“For instance,” she continued, her eyes downcast so he wouldn’t see the wicked gleam, “I know it begins with taking off one’s clothes.” She wrinkled her nose and paced about the library for a moment. “Eversley kissed me once. I hated it. His lips were all wet, and he tried to make me open my mouth.”

“Is that all?” Adam asked.

“It was quite enough, thank you. I kicked him in the shin.” Arabella saw a dangerous glitter in his midnight-blue eyes, and narrowed her own, deciding she had goaded him enough. “Really, Adam, I wish you would stop acting like a silly, overprotective man. I can quite take care of myself.” She was thoughtful a moment, then added in a spurt of candor, “I shouldn’t like to have taken my clothes off with Eversley.”

“Thank God for that. There’s quite a bit more to love than just kissing and quoting poetry, Bella, and taking off your clothes, for that matter. You should be careful of men who would try to take advantage of you.”

“And you know all about them?”

“A man learns some things early in life.”

“Well,” she said, her hands on her hips, “I believe I shall learn all about it too. The world is half women, Adam.”

“To my everlasting pleasure.”

Arabella gazed upward. “Do you think you’ll still want to do all that sort of thing when you’re older, like Mother and Father?”

Adam burst into laughter. “I will be older, but I will not be dead.”

Rosina, the housekeeper, appeared in the doorway, and Adam finished under his breath, “This isn’t proper talk, Bella.” He turned swiftly to Rosina and gave her a big grin. “You are more beautiful than ever,
signora,
” he said in Italian.

Rosina flushed, her black eyes flashing with pleasure. Arabella, used to seeing females of all ages flutter at Adam’s attention, yawned.

“Welcome home,
signore, signorina,
” Rosina said. “It
is your
sorella
who is the beautiful one. All that golden hair, just like her mother’s.”

“My sister, beautiful?”

“Beast,” Arabella said, and poked his ribs.

“Ah, and spirited as ever. It is good that you are all here.
Il signore
has been lonely, I think. And so much trouble, always trouble. There is no peace in the world, what with that
diavolo,
that Corsican monster, pillaging.” Rosina sighed, and patted strands of her peppery hair back into its severe bun at the back of her head. “When Scargill told me you had arrived, I sent that lazy Marina to prepare your rooms.”

“I hope Marina doesn’t wander into our parents’ room,” Adam said under his breath. To Rosina he said, “May we have some of your delicious lemonade? Arabella and I will be in the gardens.”

Rosina curtsied and left the library, her stiff black skirts rustling over the marble floors. She would probably grant Adam anything he wished, Arabella thought.

“Come, Bella, we will sit for a while,” Adam said. “I, for one, am a bit blown.”

“If you had shared the helm with me during the storm, you would not be so weak-kneed now,” his sister said. “You probably just want to look at the naked statues in the garden, not the flowers.”

Adam gave his sister a lazy smile and took himself off, knowing she would be at his heels. He strode through the entrance hall, an airy and spacious room hung with Alexandrian tapestries, to the back of the villa. All the rooms were filled with more flowers than furniture, and the scent of fresh jasmine hung in the air. He stepped into the three-tiered gardens,
immaculately tended, and gazed up at the Palladian structure of whitewashed stone, thick circular columns, and flower-covered balconies that ran along the entire second floor. Three gardeners worked in the Parese gardens, and the result of their efforts was a barely contained wilderness of flowers that abounded with color. He wandered about a bit, glad to be away from the trimmed and corseted gardens of England, and sat himself on a marble bench beneath a rose bower.

She joined him, spreading her white muslin skirts about her. “I am worried for this place, Adam,” she said. “We have given everything away with the Treaty of Amiens. How could the king and Addington allow it? By God, all the English have left is Trinidad and Ceylon. And Napoleon can take back Naples and the Papal States whenever he wishes. We may not have an Italian home much longer.”

“True,” Adam said, stretching his long legs in front of him. “We must think of it as a respite, both for England and, unfortunately, for France. At least we knew enough not to hand over Malta to the Knights Templar.”

Arabella chewed thoughtfully on her lower lip, gazed up at their parents’ bedchamber, and said unexpectedly, “Since I’ve gotten to know Rayna, I’ve wondered what we would be like if mother had married Edward Lyndhurst instead of Father.”

Adam cocked his head in amusement. “Even though they grew up together, I somehow can’t help but think that Mother would have been a sore trial to the staid Viscount Delford. As for us, Bella, we wouldn’t exist.”