“No, Mr. Little, but what of you? Do you like to bathe?”
He shook his head, his gaze drifting back to Margaret and Mr. Freer, as if he couldn’t help himself. “I knew a fellow once, went bathing when the water was too cold and became cramped. He drowned.”
He said it with such relish, as if he was wishing the same fate upon the American. Tina was glad when Horace offered her his arm again, and they began the slow stroll up through the garden toward the terrace, where afternoon tea was awaiting them.
Lady Isabelle had excelled herself, and if her color was a little high and her eyes a little bright, Tina felt she could be forgiven her show of emotion. Sir Henry was there, too, as the guest of honor, seated in a large, comfortable chair that had been carried out of his library for the occasion. Although he looked drawn, and his head was still bandaged, he was chatting freely with his guests and accepting their congratulations on his recovery.
“Marvelous to see him up and about,” Lady Isabelle declared, reaching for his hand and lifting it to her lips. Tears sparkled in her eyes. “I don’t know what I would have done if he’d . . . Well, I shall not go there.”
Sir Henry gave her an adoring smile. “I hope I may be around for a good many years yet, my dear. Perhaps we can go on that trip to the Continent you’re always banging on about. Our very own Grand Tour.”
“To Italy to see Signor Veruda,” Horace whispered in Tina’s ear.
She gave him a warning glance and moved away from him, only to find herself within range of Mr. Little. Not wanting to speak with him either she slipped through the guests toward the steps that led down from the terrace into the garden.
A warm breeze had sprung up, and with it a few clouds to cover the sun. If anyone asked her where she was going, she could say she’d forgotten her shawl and was going to fetch it. With a smile she reached up and removed the scrap of paper from inside her bodice. The note had been delivered to her by Archie a moment ago, and now she read it with a thrill of excitement.
Meet me at the folly,
R
The folly was an Italianate building on a man-made hill, designed by Lady Isabelle. Tina had not visited it before, and Lady Isabelle had not encouraged her guests to do so, saying it was being repaired. Now she quickened her step, wending her way through the shrub borders and flower gardens, toward the white columns she could see through the trees on the rise above her.
Eventually she was able to see the folly in its entirety; the circular building with its outer shell of columns seemed to float above her like an ancient temple. There were several low steps, also constructed in a circle, leading up to it. When she reached the top she saw that it was actually like a large open room, with bright cushions and furnishings. A place to relax and contemplate the garden, perhaps.
Or a place to make love.
Was that why Lady Isabelle had discouraged them from coming here? Was it her own personal hideaway?
Someone had left a sketch pad and pencil upon a table, and Tina flipped through the drawings, recognizing Vincenzo Veruda in varying stages of undress. She dropped the pages, and they scattered onto the floor.
“What is it?”
Richard had come up behind her without her hearing him—he was good at that—but she was so glad to see him that she didn’t mind. For a moment she simply smiled at him, enjoying the moment, but as she moved toward him, her foot sent one of the pages sailing across the marble floor.
Richard bent to retrieve it.
“Good God,” he muttered, when he saw what it was.
“This must have been their special place,” Tina said, glancing about, feeling a hint of sadness. “Where they had their trysts.”
“At least the signor has gone, and for now Sir Henry can have his wife back.”
Tina gave him a curious look. “You make it sound as if it is a story you have heard before.”
“I have. I’m afraid Lady Isabelle is not a faithful wife, Tina. Signor Veruda was just one in a long line of lovers she has chosen to bestow her favors upon.”
Tina put a hand to her heart. “But that is awful! Does Sir Henry know?”
“Of course he does.”
“And yet he condones it?”
“He loves her, so he puts up with it.”
Tina shook her head. “I can’t imagine it, Richard. I would not put up with it. Marriage . . . love . . . they are forever. That is one thing your lessons have taught me. While I was learning how to pretend to love, I discovered I would never be very good at pretending, not for long. One should choose a partner carefully, and if one is not sure, then one should say no.”
He touched her cheek gently, and smiled. “That is good. Do not lose that, my dearest.”