A whirlwind of emotions had rushed over Francesco as he had listened to her. Understanding, pain, desperation and longing. Now he felt dizzy, unable to react. He felt he should react, but what was he to do? He hardly even knew the girl. He had desired her to the brink of madness but now he saw there was a world behind those orchid eyes. A world he knew nothing about. What was he to do?
Eugenia St. Yves had tears in her eyes. "I must go after her!" she wailed. "Something's very wrong! She has never behaved like that before. Never! She was always the first to joke about her mother's ambitions. And she doesn't want to be a lady companion, I know it! I know it! I have to talk to her."
Dominic held her back. "Let her calm down, Eugenia. Don't forget, she has been ill and today she was almost drowned. And you have to stay calm too, it's not good for— you to be so excited."
Viscount Lackerby, whose presence Francesco had strangely not noticed until now, took a breath as if about to say something.
"Hold it, Lackerby," the General growled.
Lady Cartwright clutched her hands together. "I agree. Flora is suffering from shock, I'm sure. She didn't look happy, even before you mentioned your wedding scheme. Well, I guess, we all need to rest. There has been a lot of turmoil and it's still early in the day. I invoke a siesta. I'm not the lady of the house, Your Royal Highness, but as we are an intimate circle and you are a relation, I hope you won't mind if I take over my daughter's duties. I believe a boat has been made ready for your return to your residence, I gather you wish to leave as soon as possible. I must also thank you again for saving our dear Flora, who will hopefully recover from her indisposition. Please come to see us again before you leave Italy."
"You must!" The General boomed.
"Yes, Francis, do come and see us before you leave," Gigi smiled through her tears. "We can arrange a nice diner before you go abroad."
Francesco, still somewhat groggy, watched himself uttering words of salutation and was aware he was leaving Palazzo Sforza, but he could not really wrap his head around it.
He felt like an invader to this tight circle of people.
There was nothing for him here.
Flora, he had understood, was fighting her own demons. Who could understand that better than he?
What had he wanted from her anyway? He had not thought of it yet. Those last few days, when he had lain in painful agony, not pain from his injuries, but pain from his longing for her, from his hunger for her! What had been his plan? Wild summer nights, entangled, sweating? Had he swum across the lake today to seduce her in the reed? An unmarried girl? He must still have been intoxicated by her magical scent, not to see how absurd the idea had really been.
And why had he been so angry when she had said "it was only a joke." Why should he care? Marriage was out of the question for him anyway. Or wasn't it? Why had it made him so bitter when she said she did not want to marry a Karlsburg prince?
Because I want her to want me to marry her. And she does not.
He closed his eyes. He could simply not make head or tail of it.
I need to get away.
Tomorrow I'll go to Genoa and I'll find a ship for Mexico. I'm through with Europe once and for all.
Eleven
Still Palazzo Sforza…
Clara rushed up the stairs to her chambers. She needed to be alone with her feelings. There was so much chaos in her and so much joy! So much fear! So much everything! She wanted to throw herself onto her bed like she had done countless times before to dream of James. To roll around in the blankets and dive into a beautiful daydream.
But she could not do it, because her dreams had become reality. James Crawford, The Earl of Darlington, had said that he would marry her. To her brother. In front of two witnesses. She would be James' wife. She, Clara "Freckles" St. Yves, would really be James' wife and nobody else!
It was the "nobody else" that Clara could relate to at present. Never, until the day Eugenia had said she wanted James for Flora, had Clara imagined that he might ever marry anybody. It had simply not entered her head. It had been rather a shock when the realisation struck her that, indeed, he would be getting married one day.
Now she would marry him herself. And nobody else.
From the first time she had seen him as a little girl, she had loved the golden James from the neighbouring estate, who knew everything, could do everything and looked so perfectly handsome and noble that she believed he was Lancelot born again. Or Ivanhoe. He was the perfect knight!
Her love for him had been her secret, of course. She had not told anybody, not even Frankie, because James belonged only to her.
And now he really belonged to her, but now, she was afraid. She was afraid of seeing him again, of having to talk about it! Of having to say why she would marry him. Of being at home with him! As his wife! Day and night! It was all so mortifying!