A Most Unconventional Courtship Page 14

  ‘She is in love with someone, but we don’t know who, she won’t tell, the sly thing,’ Frances announced.

  ‘Well, at least I am not throwing out lures to the Earl,’ Maria retorted.

  ‘More fool you,’ Frances said pertly. ‘I think he is gorgeous. What do you think, Alexandra?’

  ‘Very handsome,’ Alessa pronounced judiciously, ‘but very arrogant too, don’t you think? He looks it anyway. And he expects to get his own way in everything, I have no doubt.’

  ‘So hard to please!’ A masculine voice behind her made her jump and reduced the other three, all sitting with their heads close together, to blushing confusion. ‘Who is this handsome man you are so critical of, Miss Meredith? Does he know your harsh opinion? The poor creature must be desolated, all hope lost, if he does.’

  ‘You are dreadful, Count.’ Helena gazed at him wide-eyed. ‘Don’t you think he is dreadful, Lord Blakeney?’

  ‘I am sure of it.’ Chance strolled in and, catching one of the remaining chairs set at the table, spun it round and straddled it, his chin on his clasped hands resting on the back. His eyes roamed round the four flushed faces before him. ‘What has my friend Zagrede done to offend you ladies this morning?’

  ‘Miss Meredith was expressing the harshest opinion of some poor, weak man and I came to his defence, that is all. So fair, and yet so cruel.’ The Count dropped one lid in a slow wink that sent Helena into stifled laughter.

  ‘Who is this unsatisfactory creature?’ Chance’s brown eyes studied Alessa, leaving her in no doubt he knew perfectly well who she had been criticising. She returned his stare, as coolly as he sent it.

  ‘I dare not say, and if I did, the poor thing would not recognise himself, such is his self-assurance. I might even say, smug arrogance.’

  ‘You have a low opinion of my whole sex, I dare say.’

  ‘I have had the opportunity to observe feckless husbands and idle sons, although most of my fellow islanders work very hard and are devout, good men. Of male English aristocrats my experience has not been, shall we say, encouraging.’

  The others had fallen silent, puzzling over this sparring match, although Alessa was hardly aware of their presence—Chance’s brown eyes seemed to fill her sight.

  ‘Your father must be an exception, surely?’

  ‘I loved Papa dearly and I consider him a hero and a patriot of whom I shall always be proud, but as a husband and a father—and doubtless as a son—he could be atrocious. He was reckless, selfish and opinionated.’

  There was a sharp intake of breath from the girls at this ruthless dissection of her father. ‘And Grandpapa was not very nice to you either, was he, Alexandra?’ Frances ventured shyly.

  ‘I must not criticise your—our— grandpapa; I did not know him. There may have been faults on both sides.’

  ‘And do you know any other English aristocrats, then?’ Maria enquired.

  ‘One sees them all the time, visiting Corfu. They are easy to observe as they now own the island.’

  ‘As the French and the Venetians before them,’ Chance observed.

  ‘Indeed. We are an island doomed to be occupied. But the French and Venetians did not bring cricket, of course.’

  That reduced the whole group to laughter, breaking the tension and causing Lady Trevick to stroll over, observing, ‘You are very merry.’

  ‘Miss Meredith is trying to convince us that the introduction of cricket to Corfu is a benefit of English occupation,’ the Count explained.

  ‘You are a connoisseur of the game, Alexandra?’

  ‘I have watched it played on the Spianadha. I have no idea of the rules, of course—it seems very complicated.’

  ‘By no means,’ Chance began. ‘Let me explain.’

  ‘Oh, no!’ The Count threw up his hands in mock self-defence. ‘I call upon you ladies to protect me! I see the evangelical light in Blakeney’s eye—he intends to teach me how to play cricket.’

  The laughter and denials bought Lady Blackstone to the table, observing in her cool voice that they all seemed much livelier since Alexandra had arrived. This had the effect of bringing the gentlemen to their feet and making the young ladies sit up and stop giggling. Alessa wondered if her aunt was always this severe or if it was her own, unsatisfactory, presence.

  She glanced across and found Chance watching her, his face unreadable, as he made polite conversation with Lady Trevick about making up a cricketing picnic when they were all back in Corfu Town.

  ‘I am sure Sir Thomas will be able to call up an eleven and they can challenge the officers of the garrison, and any ships that are in port. Would you join the High Commission side, Lord Blakeney?’

  ‘But of course, ma’am, I would be honoured.’

  ‘Perhaps you could teach the Count to play while we are here,’ Alessa suggested mischievously. ‘The beach is firm, flat sand.’

  ‘I am sure you would play wonderfully, Count,’ Helena said breathlessly.

  The Count looked at her, his dark eyes a little narrowed. ‘You think so, Miss Helena?’

  Helena nodded vigorously.

  ‘Then it is a pity we do not have the proper bats. Or is it rackets?’

  ‘I brought all the cricket equipment with me, along with the battledores and shuttlecocks and the croquet set.’ Lady Trevick smiled, obviously happy that her guests would be entertained. The Count directed an ironic bow of defeat in Chance’s direction.

  ‘I owe you vengeance for that, Miss Meredith,’he murmured in Alessa’s ear. ‘How am I going to take my revenge?’

  Alessa stared into the clever, dark eyes and read suggestions, promises and lurking danger in them. A little quiver went through her—for all his affability, this was a man to treat with very great caution.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Alessa’s view of the Count was confirmed by the next day’s events. At breakfast Lady Blackstone announced her intention to stroll along the causeway that linked the mainland to the steep rocky promontory. Once across, one could climb the steep track to where the monastery stood watch over the village and the bay.

  ‘It is a cooler day today,’ she observed, ‘and I should welcome a walk. Perhaps I will go to the very top. Who will join me?’

  The entire party, it seemed, wished to share the experience, including Mr Harrison, released from his labours by the Lord High Commissioner, who was paying a visit to the troops in charge of building the road across the island.

  Alessa, feeling as though she had been inactive for a week, not a day, was delighted by the idea. ‘It is a very beautiful walk,’ she observed, ‘although quite steep if you intend to go right to the top.’

  ‘We could take a mule or two,’ Chance suggested. ‘Then, if any of the ladies becomes fatigued, they can ride, and we can carry some refreshments with us.’

  ‘We need not take much, the monks will offer food and drink, and the garden is a very lovely place to eat.’

  ‘They will allow women in?’ Lady Blackstone appeared surprised.

  ‘Oh, yes, although we must all take a scarf to cover our heads and make sure that we have long sleeves and modest necklines. And in the church, women must not go through the iconostasis—the screen behind the altar,’ she warned.

  ‘One forgets that you have lived here for so long and know all these things,’ Helena commented brightly. ‘Are you Greek Orthodox?’

  ‘Helena!’ her mother reproved sharply. As if she had asked me something quite scandalous, Alessa thought. Conforming to the Church of England was obviously going to be important, although both the children were Orthodox, and she was most certainly not going to change that, whatever her new family thought. Surely there must be a Greek Orthodox church in London?

  ‘I am an Anglican,’ she said, much to the obvious relief of the older women. Presumably an even greater worry was that she had been brought up by her mother as a Roman Catholic. ‘To have attended anything other than the Orthodox church would have marked us out for attention during the French occu
pation.’

  That appeared to be an acceptable excuse. The Count, who was sitting next to Alessa enquired, low-voiced, so as not to attract attention, ‘So, you are not truly a devotee of the Saint?’

  ‘Saint Spyridhon? But of course I am.’ Alessa smiled at him. ‘All Corfiots are, and I consider myself one, just as much as I am English. I expect you have an occasional word with him yourself, Count, when the gales are blowing and the seas are high. But you sound as though you have seen me in church.’

  ‘The day I met my good friend Benedict, you were there in Ayios Spyridhon, in the shadows.’

  ‘What sharp eyes you have, Count.’

  ‘For beauty, always.’

  That made her blush and he laughed, drawing a sharp glance, not from her aunt, but from Chance, sandwiched neatly between Helena and Maria. And worryingly she was aware of the Count’s gaze following hers. She heard a low chuckle from the Albanian and saw Chance’s eyes narrow. Now Zagrede knew Chance was watching her and Chance knew the Count…Oh, bother all men!

  Alessa changed back into her Greek clothes for the walk, not relishing the thought of climbing to the top of the rock in stays and someone else’s borrowed gown. Now, if she wanted to scramble off the track in pursuit of plants, she could do so with a clear conscience.

  Lady Blackstone raised an eyebrow at the sight of not just the wide black skirts, but also an empty basket lined with white cloths, but Lady Trevick was enthusiastic. ‘Such a useful skill for a lady, to be able to manage her own stillroom,’ she pronounced. The other woman did not comment and Alessa was left with the impression that her aunt felt slightly outranked by her hostess and would take care to conform to her opinions.

  The Count fell in beside her as they started to cross the causeway, and gallantly relieved her of the basket. ‘I have heard of you and your skills, Kyria Alessa,’ he confided. His use of her Greek name made her feel more comfortable with him. ‘You cured one of my men of his bad shoulder last year with a mixture of manipulation and ointments.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I am glad my treatment worked.’ She glanced back to where her aunt was strolling beside Lady Trevick. ‘I would be grateful if you did not mention that I do more than make medicines and salves. I do not think my aunt would approve of my touching patients.’

  ‘You laying hands on Albanian seamen will be our secret.’ The Count chuckled, and she wondered dubiously if she was leaving herself open to some sort of blackmail. But then Chance knew too, and so did Mr Harrison, so it was hardly a deep dark secret. It was only the Count who might say something out of pure mischief.

  ‘Tell me about your ship,’ she asked, turning the conversation away from herself. ‘What cargo do you bring, or are you taking it on?

  ‘Both. I have brought furs and skins and I am taking oil. We produce very fine furs. Do you enjoy hunting, Kyria Alessa? My country is famed for it, both in the mountains and the lakes.’

  ‘I have never tried. I do not think I would care to kill something, except for food.’

  ‘A pity; you have sharp eyes and a steady nerve, you would be a good shot.’

  ‘Oh, I can shoot.’ Alessa laughed. ‘My father taught me, only he showed me how to shoot men, not animals.’

  ‘How bloodthirsty! The French, I hope.’

  ‘Of course. Not that I ever had to do so, but Papa felt I should know how to defend myself.’

  For some reason she glanced back. In the lead, they had just reached the point where the track bent back and began to climb the monastery rock, and they had a good view of the others behind and slightly below them. Chance had stopped and was shielding his eyes to stare up at them, his face hard to read at the distance.

  ‘My good friend Benedict is wondering what I am saying to make you laugh,’ the Count observed with a chuckle. ‘It is very tempting to see if I can make him really jealous.’

  ‘Whatever do you mean?’ Alessa had a sinking feeling she knew—Zagrede’s sharp eyes seemed to miss nothing. ‘I hardly know him.’

  ‘You saved his life, so I hear. And when you do not think he is looking, you watch him, and when he thinks you are not looking, he watches you. It is obvious he desires you—which is quite natural. He is a man, after all, and you are a beautiful woman. And now you are so well chaperoned by your new aunt, what can he do about it? Why, nothing at all. It is very amusing.’

  ‘It may be amusing to you,’ Alessa snapped, too startled to be diplomatic, ‘but you are making a story up out of nothing. It is complete nonsense and I would be most embarrassed if you repeated it to anyone else.’

  ‘Oh, ho! A raw nerve. But of course, a sensible girl like you would never give her virtue to some passing English aristocrat, however attractive she finds him. After all, however well bred the lady, no Earl is going to want to marry someone whose past, even if it is spotless, is so unconventional. I admire your discretion and your restraint—I imagine Benedict can exert considerable charm. No, no…’he held up his hands as Alessa turned indignantly to confront him ‘…it is our little secret. We are beginning to have several, are we not?’

  He was a rogue and a tease, and possibly something much more dangerous, but he was also very charming, even if alarmingly frank. Alessa eyed the Count, eyes narrowed, and made herself stand up to him. She would worry about his insinuations about Chance later. ‘You think you have two secrets of mine, I know I have none of yours. I hardly think that is a fair exchange.’

  ‘What can I confess?’ he wondered aloud. ‘I know, I will open my heart and perhaps you will help me. I am looking for an English wife.’

  ‘Goodness.’ Alessa turned to look at him and began to walk backwards uphill, the better to study his face. ‘Do you mean it?’

  ‘But of course. And here I am, surrounded by four lovely young Englishwomen of good family—and what do I learn? Two of them are about to be whisked off to Venice before I have the chance to fix my affections with either.’

  ‘Lady Trevick is taking her daughters to Venice?’ Over the Count’s shoulder she could see Chance, walking at her cousin’s side, but looking up the hill at the leading pair. She skipped round to walk beside the Count again; the sight of Chance, after Zagrede’s insinuations, made her uncomfortable.

  ‘But, no, Lady Blackstone is taking her daughter and you with her when she travels on to join her husband in Venice.’ He must have realised he had given her a shock, for he added, ‘You did not know?’

  ‘No, I did not.’ Now, what did that mean? She had no objection to visiting Venice, it sounded fascinating, but it took her no nearer establishing herself and the children in England, nor to claiming her small inheritance. And by how long would it lengthen the journey? She did not want the children unsettled and without a fixed home for any longer than she could help it. And it made her the pensioner of her aunt for an even greater period.

  ‘You will love Venice, and I will visit you there.’

  Alessa pulled herself together. She must speak to her aunt when they were back at the villa and discover the truth of the matter, but meanwhile to brood on it was rude. ‘I am sure I will. I have read so much about it. Do you visit the city often?’

  ‘But of course, I trade there, as I do through all of the Adriatic and the Ionian islands. I will call upon you and Miss Blackstone and I will bring you silks and pearls and you will both fall in love with me.’

  He was impossible. Alessa laughed, linking her arm through his as the track suddenly steepened. ‘You have not fixed your affections, then, Count?’

  ‘But no, although I suspect that in the case of one young lady it is already a lost cause.’ He gave her a very speaking look and Alessa found she was blushing.

  ‘Oh, look, fennel in flower. I must pick some. I have none fresh.’

  ‘It grows everywhere.’ The Count held out his hand to steady her as she scrambled up the bank.

  ‘Yes, I know, but it is a very good variety here—see how large the flower heads are,’ she improvised. She picked one and held it out and the Count cuppe
d her hand to look at the floret just as Chance and Frances caught up with them.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Chance demanded, looking furious.

  ‘Of course.’ Alessa returned his glare with a haughty look of her own, then caught the Count’s eye. She could read the message he was sending as plainly as though he had spoke aloud: jealous. ‘Of course,’ she repeated with a smile that hid gritted teeth. ‘I am very used to this terrain, my lord.’

  Could Zagrede be correct? Was Chance truly jealous because he lusted after her or was the Count wrong and he entertained some deeper feeling, despite her shady past? Surely neither was correct—this was dog-in-the-manger behaviour, two virile men sparing over the womenfolk.

  Instead of irritating her—which of course it should, as an independent woman—she realised she found it rather endearing. ‘Something is amusing you, Miss Meredith?’ Chance enquired politely. He had edged closer to the side of the track so that she had an equal choice of whose hand to take if she wanted to be helped down.

  ‘For some reason something reminded me of Demetri,’ she observed, reaching out to take Frances’s hand instead and jumping down beside her. ‘I cannot imagine why.’ She tossed the bunch of fennel heads into the basket with a smile of thanks to the Count and linked her arm through her cousin’s. ‘He is my young ward,’ she explained to Zagrede.

  She had half-expected Chance to catch her meaning, and the darkling look he shot her told he that shaft had gone home, but she had not expected the Count to take her up. ‘Oh, ho!’he chuckled, turning away. ‘The lady has a sharp tongue, my friend, let us walk on and nurse our wounds in private.’

  Alessa let them get well ahead before strolling on with Frances, who appeared to notice nothing amiss with the by-play. It was dawning on Alessa that her cousin was both very young and very sheltered.

  ‘He is so handsome.’ Frances sighed.

  ‘The Count? I agree, such a romantic figure,’ Alessa teased, straight-faced, knowing her cousin meant Chance. She had no real worries about the state of Frances’s heart; this was calf-love, she was certain. In a way, her own lack of concern at the girl’s wide-eyed adoration was proof of it. She really loved the man, and she felt not a twinge of anxiety about Frances’s admiration for him.