To Kiss a Count Page 3

  He sat down at the desk, reaching for his inkwell. It was a tale that had to be told. Yet how very much more powerful it would be to have the silver itself! It would inspire others to join their cause.

  Marco had spent nearly all his adult life dedicated to the glorious past, and to Italy’s future. To retrieving lost artefacts, lost history. He would find the silver, too, no matter what it took.

  And if only the memory of Thalia Chase’s all-seeing eyes would cease to haunt him!

  Chapter Three

  It was the crowded hour for the Pump Room, ten o’clock in the morning, when Thalia and Calliope stepped from the Abbey churchyard under the pillared colonnade and into the throngs of people.

  The vast white space, bathed in pale grey light from the cloudy day outside, echoed with laughter and animated conversation. Snatches of words floated to the ceiling and dispersed. That hat—the height of vulgarity! Could hardly breathe in the assembly, it was absurd. The doctor says I must…

  ‘And this is supposed to be conducive to reviving one’s health and spirits?’ Calliope said doubtfully, dodging a dowager’s Bath chair as it rolled past. ‘All these crowds with their nonsensical chatter? We might as well have stayed in London!’

  Thalia took her sister’s arm, drawing her close as Calliope leaned on her. Cameron had gone to sign the book, agreeing to meet them by the pump itself. If they could safely cross the room.

  Thalia was not tall, but she did know how to get her way when needed. She edged the gossiping hordes aside with her blue silk-clad arm, giving any who stood in her way a calm stare until they hastened to clear a path.

  ‘The air in London was not good for you,’ she said, taking their place in line for glasses of water. ‘Nor for Psyche. Here you can rest and recover, with no demands on your time at all. No Antiquities Society, no Ladies Artistic Society, all those unending societies…’

  ‘Lady Westwood? Miss Chase?’ a voice said, and Thalia and Calliope turned to see Lord Grimsby, a friend of their father’s from the Antiquities Society, standing behind them, leaning heavily on his walking stick.

  ‘Lord Grimsby!’ Calliope said. ‘What a delightful surprise to see you here.’

  ‘You cannot possibly be as surprised as we were to hear of your father’s marriage to Lady Rushworth!’ he said, chortling. ‘But Sir Walter wrote to us that you might be visiting Bath soon. My wife and daughter will be so pleased to hear you have arrived. Society has been so sparse in Bath.’

  Thalia glanced around at the jostling crowds. ‘I can see that!’

  ‘You must come to the next meeting of the Classical Society, of course. We are not as numerous as the Antiquities Society in London, but we do have lectures and debates quite often, as well as excursions to see the Roman artefacts. There are so many Roman sites to be seen around Bath, y’know!’

  ‘It all sounds most delightful, Lord Grimsby,’ Calliope said. ‘We were just wondering what we should do without our various societies.’

  ‘We must keep up standards, Lady Westwood, even in Bath. Such a treat to have some of the Chase gels in our midst. You will come to our meeting next week?’

  ‘We would enjoy that,’ said Thalia. ‘But I fear my sister is under very strict orders to rest.’

  Lord Grimsby chortled again, his old-fashioned wig trembling. ‘Aren’t we all, Miss Chase? What else is Bath for but to rest? That doesn’t mean we should rest our minds, as I’m sure your father would agree. Our meetings are very quiet, pleasant affairs. I will have Lady Grimsby call on you tomorrow. Until then!’

  As Lord Grimsby limped away, Calliope gave their coins to the attendant and accepted two glasses of the water. ‘No demands on our time, eh?’ she whispered.

  Thalia laughed. ‘I forgot Father has friends everywhere. We could probably set up camp on a mountain-top and someone would come along with an invitation to a lecture.’

  ‘Well, since Cam has joined forces with the blasted doctors and forbidden dancing, I must take my amusement where I can find it,’ Calliope said. She took a sip of water, and wrinkled her nose.

  ‘Drink it all, Cal,’ Thalia said, taking a suspicious sniff of her own glass. ‘Sulphur and iron, delicious!’

  Calliope laughed, too. ‘Not exactly French champagne, is it?’

  ‘It is Bath champagne, and will make you strong again.’

  Calliope raised her glass. ‘Here is a toast. May we all be well enough to travel to Italy next year.’

  ‘I will certainly drink to that.’ As Thalia clicked her glass with her sister’s, she couldn’t help remembering a pair of dark eyes, a wide, merry grin. A man who seemed a very part of the warmth and freedom of Italy. Part of the exhilaration of life, of real life, messy and complicated and beautiful.

  Not this pallid reflection of existence. Not the constant hollow loneliness of feeling adrift in the world.

  She took a drink of her water, and it was just as flat and stale as everything else had been since she had left Sicily and Count Marco di Fabrizzi. Grey. She gazed over the glass rim at the room beyond, at the constantly shifting crowd.

  And suddenly she was tired. Tired of herself, her moping ways ever since she had returned to England. Moping never got anyone anywhere, she knew that well.

  ‘You know, Cal,’ she said, ‘if we cannot get to Italy now, we must make Italy come to us.’

  Calliope, who had been frowning into her glass, brightened. ‘How so, sister?’

  ‘We shall have a party, just as you wanted. Our own Venetian ridotto.’

  ‘In our little drawing room?’ Calliope said with a laugh.

  ‘A miniature ridotto, then. With music, wine, games. You can wear a fine new gown, and preside over the festivities from a regal chaise. That should make the doctors happy. And I will perform scenes from—from The Merchant of Venice! And Venice Preserved.’

  ‘How delightful! I do want a new gown to show off the fact that I once again have a waist. Who shall we invite?’

  Thalia surveyed the room again. ‘Oh, dear. I fear it shall be a rather sedate ridotto. We must be some of the very few people under the age of fifty here!’

  ‘No matter. A party is a party.’ Calliope set about doing what she did best—organising.

  By the time Cameron joined them, bearing yet more water, they had the plans well in hand.

  ‘You see, my dearest,’ he said happily, ‘you have roses in your cheeks already.’

  ‘That is because she has me to order around,’ Thalia said. ‘Like the perfect older sister she is.’

  Calliope made a face at her. ‘I never order people around. I am as agreeable as a summer’s day.’

  Thalia and Cameron exchanged a wry glance past Calliope’s bonnet brim.

  ‘Who is in the book today?’ Thalia asked.

  ‘Not very many names as of yet,’ he answered. ‘None of our acquaintances, anyway. Just a woman named Lady Riverton. Would she be the widow of old Viscount Riverton, the antiquarian? I never met him, but my father said his collection of Greek coins was very fine.’

  Thalia froze, her fingers tightening on her glass. ‘Did you say Lady Riverton?’ she said hoarsely.

  Calliope gave her a puzzled glance. ‘Do you know her, Thalia?’

  Calliope did not know the complete story of the events in Sicily. Thalia simply hadn’t known how to tell her. How did one explain stolen silver caches, ghosts and breaking into a man’s house in the middle of the night? It all sounded bacon-brained in the extreme. So Calliope did not know what Lady Riverton had done, hiring ruthless thieves to help her steal the silver altar set, and then double-crossing even them to escape with her ill-gotten treasure.

  And now she was in Bath, of all places! How could that possibly be? Showing up and brazenly signing the book. She must feel rather secure, knowing Marco, Clio and the Duke of Averton were far away, and no one among the invalids and retired clergymen would know her bad deeds. Had she come to hide the silver? Or chase some other treasure? Lord Grimsby was correct, there were many
Roman sites nearby.

  Well, Lady Riverton had obviously not counted on Thalia. That would be her undoing. Thalia was accustomed to being underestimated. Her blonde curls and blue eyes fooled many into thinking her merely fluffy and empty-headed. She knew now how to work such low expectations to her advantage.

  Lady Riverton would be very sorry she ever came to Bath.

  ‘Thalia?’ Calliope said. ‘Do you know this Lady Riverton?’

  ‘There was a Lady Riverton in Sicily,’ Thalia answered lightly. ‘A ridiculous lady with far too many hats, and a fawning cicisbeo named Mr Frobisher who followed her everywhere.’ Frobisher—one of Lady Riverton’s greedy dupes. He was paying the price now. But Thalia saw no need to mention that.

  ‘I take it you were not exactly bosom bows,’ Cameron said wryly.

  ‘You could say that.’

  ‘Well, perhaps this is a different Lady Riverton,’ Calliope said. ‘I should hate to meet such a creature just now. The combination of ridiculous bonnets with all this water would be too much for my constitution.’

  Thalia handed her empty glass to a passing attendant. ‘Excuse me for a moment, Cal,’ she said. ‘I see someone I must speak to.’

  She strolled away, keeping to the edges of the room where the crowds were thinner. Though she walked slowly, smiling and nodding at acquaintances as if she hadn’t a care in the world and no place to be, she carefully scanned each face. Each overly adorned bonnet. If Lady Riverton was indeed here, Thalia would find her. She could not hide.

  Thalia felt more excited than she had since leaving Santa Lucia. She had a purpose again, an errand! A way to do something useful. Oh, if only Clio were here, so they could work together again as they had on the ghost play that had flushed out Mr Frobisher and the true villain, Lady Riverton. If only…

  If only Marco were here. Despite their bickering, they had proved to be a fine team when united in a scheme.

  But she was alone as she circled the Pump Room, dodging walking sticks and offers of yet more water. It was all up to her now.

  There was no sign of Lady Riverton, and Thalia had begun to despair of her errand when at last she caught a glimpse of a tall-crowned brown satin hat trimmed with bright blue and yellow feathers. They waved above the crowd like a gaudy beacon.

  Thalia stretched up on tiptoe, straining for a better glimpse. Not for the first time, she wished she were taller, more like Clio. All she could see were backs, blocking her view! Using her elbow again, she forced her way through at last to a somewhat clearer space near the counter.

  The woman with the feathers was just taking a glass of water. Her brown satin pelisse and a cameo earring, a chestnut ringlet, was all Thalia could see. But then she laughed, that dreadful high-pitched giggle Thalia well remembered. It was Lady Riverton, without a doubt.

  Thalia’s first, fiery instinct was to dash forward, snatch that terrible hat off the woman’s head—along with a handful of hair!—and demand to know where the silver was. But even she, with all her Chase impulsiveness, knew that causing a scene in the Pump Room would avail her nothing. It would cause a scandal, and worse would tip her hand to Lady Riverton, making it all too easy for her to escape again.

  No, she had to bide her time. Plan her next move carefully. She wouldn’t fail again.

  She slid closer to Lady Riverton, who was chattering away as if she was in no way guilty of anything but crimes of fashion. ‘…must procure theatre tickets tout suite, my dear! There is no finer way to meet people in Bath, I am sure. The Upper Rooms can be such a squeeze, but only the very best people are in the theatre boxes.’

  Thalia nearly laughed aloud, wondering what Lady Riverton’s idea of the ‘best people’ could possibly be. And who was the poor man being forced to listen to such faradiddle? He was too tall to be Mr Frobisher, who as far as Thalia knew was still in the Santa Lucia gaol. As she watched, Lady Riverton took her escort’s arm and the pair of them turned to stroll away into the crowd.

  Thalia hurried in the direction of their path, nearly tripping over the front wheel of yet another Bath chair. By Jove, but those things were a menace! At last she came face to face with Lady Riverton, and saw that her escort was…

  Marco. The Count di Fabrizzi himself, in all his Roman-god handsome splendour.

  For an instant, all she could do was gape at him in utter astonishment. Surely it could not be! Perhaps he had a twin. An evil twin, who paraded around the spa towns of Europe with silly females, and stole their jewels when they were not looking. She had read about such men.

  But even as the absurd thought flitted through her mind, she knew that it really was Marco who stood there. No one else could have eyes like that.

  As he glimpsed her, those dark eyes widened in surprise, and a smile touched his lips. A mere flash of the dimple set deep in his smooth olive cheek. Then it was as if he suddenly remembered their true situation, and that smile vanished. The spark deep in his eyes went out, and he watched her warily.

  As if he did remember—remember that night she had broken into his house, and had no idea what unpredictable thing she might do now.

  Thalia smiled politely, sweetly, and said in her brightest voice, ‘Lady Riverton! Count di Fabrizzi. What a great surprise to see you here in Bath. It has been far too long since we last met.’

  Lady Riverton smiled and nodded, those feathers bobbing maniacally. Marco bowed, still wary and serious. As well he might be, for Thalia was determined to discover what his game was here.

  ‘Why, if it is not Miss Thalia Chase!’ Lady Riverton said gaily. ‘And looking just the same as when we parted in dear Santa Lucia. How is your lovely sister, the new Duchess?’

  ‘Clio and her husband are both well, thank you,’ Thalia said, giving the bizarre couple her sweetest smile. ‘They are still travelling on the Continent.’

  ‘I was so very sorry to miss their wedding, but I had to travel in haste to Naples to visit an ill friend,’ Lady Riverton said. ‘That is where I met Count di Fabrizzi again! He has been such an attentive escort.’ She simpered up at Marco, her gloved hand tight on his arm.

  Marco gave her an indulgent smile, his eyes soft as he gazed down at her. As if he could not watch her enough, get enough of her presence.

  Thalia remembered how just such a look from him could make her feel, back in Santa Lucia. How his teasing smiles made her feel all hot and chilled, weak and invincible, light and unbearably serious, all at the same time.

  She wished she still had a glass of the vile water, so she could throw it at him. First Clio, now Lady Riverton! The—the bounder.

  ‘How fortunate, Lady Riverton, that you possess the happy talent of making friends wherever you go,’ Thalia said.

  ‘Indeed I do! My dear husband, the late Viscount Riverton, said it was my greatest gift. Or one of them, anyway!’ Lady Riverton giggled, leaning on Marco’s arm even more. He seemed to have no objections, though Thalia noticed they were beginning to attract interested attention from the passers-by.

  ‘Speaking of friends, Miss Chase,’ Lady Riverton continued, ‘never say you are here on your own! Your sister’s great marriage must have caused such a lowering of spirits for you. I hope the waters will soon restore your bloom.’

  Thalia felt her ‘blooming’ cheeks grow warm. ‘On the contrary, Lady Riverton. We are all most happy that Clio has found someone who loves and values her as much as we do. And I am here with my eldest sister, Lady Westwood, who has recently had a child.’

  ‘Indeed?’ Lady Riverton said. ‘Well, I am glad you are here with someone to see to the proprieties. If I recall from Santa Lucia, you yourself are often too busy to worry about such things.’

  Proprieties like stealing? Destroying history? Thalia again felt that burning urge to throw something. At Lady Riverton, whose smugly smiling countenance said she knew Thalia could do nothing in such a public place. At Marco, who seemed to fawn over Lady Riverton like a simpleton, like a new Marco di Fabrizzi. He was obviously playing some game, and it was ma
ddening that she could not decipher it!

  ‘Thalia? Will you introduce us to your friends?’ she heard Calliope say, and she turned gratefully to her sister. Calliope had always been the sensible one, the one that drew the rest of them down to earth when their wild Chase-ian schemes sent them flying off.

  But Calliope was staring at Marco with wide eyes, as if she could not account for his presence here. Yet how could she know him? She had not been in Sicily. She knew nothing of the silver fiasco there.

  Cameron came to her side, taking her hand. The two of them exchanged a long glance.

  If Thalia thought she was confused before, now she felt she had tumbled down into an abyss. An upside-down world where nothing made sense.

  ‘May I introduce Viscountess Riverton,’ Thalia said, automatically mouthing the polite words. ‘And the Count di Fabrizzi. This is my eldest sister and her husband, Lord and Lady Westwood.’

  There were bows and curtsies all around, perfectly polite and conventional. But Thalia still felt that strange tension in the air, that taut sensation, as if all the good manners would suddenly snap and send them into chaos.

  ‘We are always happy to meet friends of Thalia’s,’ Calliope said. ‘I hope we will see more of you around Bath.’

  ‘Oh, indeed!’ Lady Riverton trilled. ‘We are to attend the assembly on Tuesday, and I want to organize a card party soon at my villa. I will send you a card!’

  ‘We look forward to it,’ Calliope said.

  ‘But now I fear you must excuse us,’ Cameron added. ‘My wife has an appointment at the Hot Bath this afternoon.’

  ‘How delightful,’ Lady Riverton said. ‘Nothing like taking the waters! We shall see you very soon, I’m sure.’

  Not if I can help it, Thalia thought. Calliope took her arm in a firm clasp and led her past the still-simpering Lady Riverton, the inscrutable Marco.