A Most Unconventional Courtship

‘I have encountered island hospitality.’ Chance limped over to the bed and allowed the valet to gently remove his shoes.

‘And, of course, there are a number of eligible young ladies, if your thoughts are turning to less er…recreational relationships.’

‘I am not looking for a mistress on Corfu, nor for a wife, Alfred,’ Chance said repressively. ‘I was just thinking about women in the abstract.’

‘Of course, my lord, forgive me. Does your lordship require assistance with the rest of your clothing?’

Damn his tact. Chance had no intention of confiding in his valet. ‘Thank you, no. Just pass me my dressing gown.’ He was not at all sure there was anything to confide about, come to that. Only Alessa was beginning to preoccupy him, and he was uncomfortably aware that he was feeling proprietorial towards her.

The solution was to solve the riddle of her birth and restore her to the bosom of the woman he was increasingly certain was her aunt. Then he would not have to think about her at all, he would have done his duty and he would have restored things to the state they should be in. As this would normally have gratified him greatly, it was a puzzle why it now seemed to give him very little peace of mind.

Chapter Six

The morning sun was warm, the sky was blue, she had no visitors for medical attention that morning, and no pile of dirty laundry waiting either. Alessa sighed happily at the prospect of an almost lazy day. There was some marketing to be done, certainly, and the basket on her arm was for that. But there was no hurry. She could stroll, chat, or find a bench in the shade of the young lime trees the French had planted to fringe the Spianadha. From that vantage point one could find endless, idle, amusement, watching the English residents as they went about their business or drank coffee in the Italian coffee shop under the arcades of the Liston.

She narrowed her eyes against the brightness as she looked at the dazzling white of the line of apartments and shops that the French had newly built. No sooner had they completed them then they had to abandon the island. There were jewellers in the shade of the arcades, a silk shop, another shop selling luxurious little trifles of no purpose at all other than to amuse the wealthy and to enchant little girls, whose noses would be pressed up against the window if they were allowed. Dora loved it, but she understood that these shops were not for people like them, people who dwelt in the back streets.

Alessa knew Signor Luigi, who kept the coffee shop. He came to her with his sore knee sometimes. He had set up shop under the French and found no problem in continuing business under the English. ‘They all drink coffee, they all pay me,’ he would observe with a shrug.

A number of people were already seated at the tables, men mostly, singly or in pairs, reading the newspaper or talking. Alessa kept her eyes on the road as she passed, unwilling to be ogled.

‘Signora! Signora Alessa! Mi scuzi…’ It was one of the waiters, running down the steps. Puzzled, Alessa turned, and the man stopped. ‘Scuzi, signora, ma il signore…’

‘Questo signore?’ But she knew. Alessa looked and saw Chance half-rising from his seat, his wide-brimmed straw hat politely doffed.

She could turn her back and walk on. Or return a stiff bow and still walk away. He could hardly hobble after her down the street. But the waiter would probably give chase in the hope of a good tip, and that would create a scene.

Conscious that she was the focus of several pairs of interested male eyes, Alessa walked back to the table. ‘Good morning, my lord. Is there something I can do for you?’

‘Good morning, Kyria Alessa. I would be glad it if you will take coffee with me.’He put the hat down on the chair beside him and waited, head slightly on one side, watching her. Alessa swallowed. There was nothing she would like more, just at this moment, than to sit and talk to Chance, she realised. And nothing could be more indiscreet than to be seen talking to one of the English gentlemen in publi

c like this.

‘I can’t sit down until you do.’ His smile was charming, although she suspected mischief behind it. ‘I am sure it is not good for my leg, standing about,’ he added, with a faint implication of pain bravely borne. Yes, definitely mischief.

Alessa perched on the edge of the chair, then, suddenly defiant, sat right back and pushed her basket under the table. ‘Un succo di arancia, per favore.’ That disposed of the hovering waiter. She folded her hands in her lap and watched Chance warily from under the brim of her wide hat while he sat down again.

He looked well. He was still moving with caution, but the pain was obviously much improved and the faint lines of strain had gone from around his eyes. The autumn-leaves hair had been neatly trimmed, but the slight breeze from the sea was catching it, ruffling it out of perfect order.

‘Do I pass muster, or do you think I require a tonic?’

Alessa blushed, conscious that she had been staring. ‘Eat more oranges and drink less coffee and brandy,’ she said tartly to cover her confusion.

‘Is that all?’ Chance glanced up to nod acknowledgement to the waiter bringing Alessa’s orange juice, then brought his gaze back to her face. For a man with such warm brown eyes, he had the most penetrating stare. Alessa made a conscious effort not to wriggle under it. ‘I had hoped I might be in need of my ankle massaging.’

Alessa narrowed her eyes at him, but did not rise to the bait. ‘I should not be here—was there something in particular you wanted to talk to me about, my lord?’

He ignored the question, frowning instead at the statement. ‘Why not? This is a respectable place for a lady to be seen, is it not? And we are out in the open. Surely you do not require a chaperon here? I did not mean to put you to the blush.’

He sounded so concerned that Alessa laughed. ‘It is a perfectly respectable place. That is entirely the problem—I am not a lady, so I should not be sitting here.’

‘Nonsense!’It was said so sharply that she jumped. ‘I beg your pardon, but you are quite obviously a lady. You are an officer’s daughter.’

In answer Alessa swept a hand down her embroidered bodice and kicked the marketing basket under the table. ‘I do not dress like a lady, I have no pretensions to being a lady, and I work for my living. The men watching us will have come to their own conclusions about what we are discussing, and wondering about the price,’ she added, slyly reminding him of his earlier error.

‘Hell.’ He swore softly and swept an inimical eye around the arcade. They were sitting at one end and she had her back to the rest of the tables, so Alessa could not see without turning round. Chance raised his voice, fractionally above conversational level. It had a carrying quality. ‘If anyone here is foolish enough to be taking an interest in my business, then I am sure it will be a pleasure to discuss the matter further with them, in private.’

There was the sound of chair legs scraping and paper rustling. Alessa had a mental picture of a number of gentlemen hastily turning their chairs away or raising their newspapers protectively.