Page 43 of A Counterfeit Engagement

Some months later, in Italy

As the sun crept lower towards the horizon, making the hillsides full of poppies glow redder still and the cypress trees cast long, strange shadows, Jonathan almost felt that he could see the ghost of his boyhood self running through the grounds of the villa.

He had forgotten how much there was to remember here.

There was the corner of the patio where his mother had always taken her tea, sheltered under the arbour of wisteria.

There was where Sarah had insisted on making a doll’s house in the hollow of an old tree, and there were the stables, where good old Carlo had taught him how to ride a mule — a thing that, at fifteen, Jonathan had assumed would be simplicity itself, though he had been quite badly wrong.

Carlo was too old to work now, but his son Matteo had taken over the stables.

God willing, he would teach Jonathan’s sons to ride mules one day.

If they have as much spirit as their mother, Jonathan thought, grinning, he’ll teach my daughters, too.

Though she had never left England before, Sophie had taken to travel with aplomb. He would never forget her look of respect and delight upon learning he could speak Italian — or her resolve to learn herself.

Her delight in discovering the treasures of Florence had been no less a revelation.

Jonathan was long familiar with the sight of the Duomo towering over the city, seemingly visible from every part of it, and the enchanting timelessness of the Ponte Vecchio, the waters of the Arno flowing below.

Despite his boyhood familiarity with the city, Jonathan had insisted on making it a part of his Grand Tour all those years ago.

Had anyone asked, he would have said he already knew the magic of Florence for himself, but upon seeing Sophie’s delight in it, Jonathan learned he had been quite wrong.

Sophie had a way of turning down exactly the right alley to find the most delightful little shops, or of wandering through a medieval garden and discovering paths Jonathan had walked by unseeing.

And each discovery, whether of her first sight of Michelangelo’s David or of an iron door-knocker cast in the shape of a lion, brought forth her sudden, flashing smile, and made something tighten in his chest in a burst of joy so deep it was almost pain.

Jonathan took in a breath of the dry air that came rolling over the hills, full of the scent of rosemary and sunbaked earth, and could not have thought of anything on earth to want.

He could not even regret that Sarah was left behind in England.

After all, it had been her own choice. When they had begun planning the Italian trip, Sarah had insisted that she would rather stay with Isabel and Mrs Anderson.

If that had been a little white lie designed to give Jonathan and Sophie some much needed time together, he could not regret it.

Much as he loved his little sister, time spent alone with his wife was rare and precious.

“What are you thinking of, Jonathan?” Sophie inquired.

He turned to find his wife had joined him on the patio.

Sophie wore her night rail and wrapper, both of light cotton trimmed with Venetian lace.

Of late, Sophie had taken to sleeping a little in the heat of the day.

At first, the change had been alarming. Tiredness might signal some illness.

Yet the absence of any other symptoms, along with Sophie’s own lack of concern, gradually reassured him.

Sophie did not seem to lack for energy. She would gladly walk through the city for hours.

It was only the bright sun of Tuscany that seemed to sap her energy in the afternoons.

Sophie’s afternoon nap had left her sleep-tousled and drowsy — utterly delicious. Jonathan drew her into his arms, dropping a kiss on her hair.

“I was thinking about how much I love this place, and how much I love you,” he murmured.

Though Sophie had tucked her face against his chest, he could almost feel her blushing.

“I love you, too, Jonathan. With all my heart.”

He released her, and they stood side by side at the patio railing, watching the sky turn fiery as the sun dropped lower.

“I suppose I should say that I love Tuscany, too,” Sophie said at last. “And this villa, most of all. Thank you for bringing me here, Jonathan.”

“No, thank you,” he murmured. “For making me happier here than I ever was before.”

She chuckled. “It helps, I suppose, to see things through someone else’s eyes. It is easy to be enthusiastic when you have never had the opportunity to see anything before.”

“That is part of it, to be sure. It has been delightful to discover all the things I had forgotten were wonderful and not to be taken for granted. But it is more than that. Wonderful as our trips were, I was never entirely at my ease. Not as I am now, in your company.”

She smiled at that. “It is wonderful to be with the person one likes best in all the world. I could not have imagined it.”

At that, Jonathan could not help kissing her, and it was some time before they said anything more.

They remembered themselves in time to catch the sunset at its fullest beauty, when the light clouds of the day were illuminated in flaming shades of pink and orange and purple, and the shadows began creeping over the hills.

“We never planned when exactly we should return to England,” Sophie said at last. “Have you any thoughts on the matter, Jonathan?”

He sighed. “I am afraid it must be within a few weeks, perhaps a month. Much as I have enjoyed our time here, I do not wish to leave the affairs of Belford to my agents for much longer. I hope you are not too disappointed, love.”

A small smile curved her lips. “No, that will suit me well. Perhaps we might begin making our plans now and leave in another fortnight.”

“Certainly,” Jonathan said, “but I must confess myself surprised. I had not thought you would wish to leave so soon. Indeed, I would have said that you were quite enchanted by the villa.”

“I am,” Sophie said. “If it were not for our friends and family back in England, I could gladly stay forever.”

“Then why do you wish to leave? I hope I have not made you worry over the estate. My agents are excellent men. It is only out of an abundance of caution that I wish to keep my own eyes on matters.”

“No, not at all. I must confess it had not occurred to me to be concerned.”

“Well, then?” Jonathan pressed. He kissed her swiftly. “Beware, Sophie. You shall satisfy my curiosity, or I shall kiss the answer out of you.”

“This is a strange way of going on!” Sophie protested laughingly. “I have no intention of keeping my thoughts a secret, but if you make such promises, I shall not tell you the answer until you have earned it with kisses.”

Jonathan kissed her again, slowly and lingeringly. “You shall have as many more of those as you might wish — once you have told me.”

“Very well, then,” Sophie said. “If we travel home in a fortnight, or not much more, we shall return before I begin increasing too much, and the voyage becomes more difficult.”

For a moment, Jonathan only stared at her. “Do you mean — are you certain —”

She nodded. “I spoke with my mother before we left about what the signs would be. Yes, I am quite sure.”

Though Jonathan would have said he could not have been happier, he found he was wrong, after all. It was some time before he could compose himself enough for speech, and to his surprise, he found tears had gathered in his eyes.

To judge by her smile, Sophie had read in his silence and emotion all that he could not say. He could only hold her, feeling the beating of his heart run through his body, undone by joy.

At last, Jonathan had recovered himself enough to speak. “Sophie, my beloved, my heart, I am so glad you showed me what love is. You have given me — everything.”

“And you me, love,” she murmured. “And you, me.”

THE END