‘I checked the Peerage. Lady Blackstone was Honoria Meredith, the sister of the fourth Earl Hambledon—Edward Charles Meredith. And the Peerage mentions one other brother, the Honourable Alexander William Langley Meredith. There is nothing else about him—no marriage, no death. Nothing. But I remembered you told me your real name was Alexandra. On the beach you told me your father’s name—it cannot be a coincidence.’
‘No.’ How strange I should feel like this—numb. Not afraid, not happy, just numb. ‘No, it cannot be coincidence. Chance, she will not want to acknowledge me.’
‘I think she may be here to look for you. She is travelling to meet her husband in Venice, but this is by no means the logical route for her to take. In fact, it is positively perverse. When I probed she became evasive, but Lady Trevick let drop that she thinks Lady Blackstone has family connections with the island.’
‘Why should she search for me?’ Alessa heard the bitterness in her voice and suppressed it. ‘After Mama died Papa wrote to his family, to ask for their help for me; but the letter was returned by my grandfather’s lawyers.’
‘Did they know where you were at that time?’
‘No, only that we were in the Mediterranean. But now the war is over, I suppose it would be possible to find out where my father was based.’
‘Could it be that your grandfather never forgave your father for whatever had caused the breach between them, and for your father’s marriage, but now he is dead his children wish to make amends?’He swivelled on the bank to face her. ‘Lady Blackstone is going to make the journey to Venice, so she plans this detour in the hope of finding you.’
It was logical, and it held out the hope that her aunt—if she thought the word often enough it would begin to sound less impr
obable—her aunt would want to acknowledge her.
‘Has she made any enquiries about me, I wonder?’ She bit her lip, frowning down into the bay below them. ‘But no one here knows my true name.’
‘I will find out what she is about, as tactfully as I can. Do not frown so, Alessa, you will develop wrinkles.’
She ignored his teasing tone, a new worry building. ‘I cannot just impose myself upon them. Why should they support me?’
‘Because you are their niece and it is their duty. But your father, even if only a younger son, must have had some assets—some land, some investments sitting there earning interest. There will be back pay owed by the army.’
‘But if his family thought he was dead…’
‘They have to wait seven years to presume that. The War Office would have given them the date of his death if they had enquired and they would have no reason to suppose you too had died. That money and land will be in trust somewhere and it is yours by right.’
She had never thought of that. Money for Demetri’s education, for a dowry for Dora, modest independence that depended on no one, least of all the family who had turned their back on Papa. ‘If I do not have to be dependent on them,’ she began hesitantly, ‘then perhaps…’
‘I will sound out Lady Blackstone as tactfully as I can, and let you know. There is no need for you to confront her before you are both fully prepared.’
‘I do not remember England, not really. It was cold and grey and damp and Papa was not in a good mood, that much I do recall. Does the sun shine in England?’
‘Occasionally.’ He was amused by her doubt, she could tell. ‘But the rain has its advantages. The grass is green and lush all year, the rivers run full and the English umbrella industry flourishes.’
‘That is very gratifying,’ she retorted tartly. ‘Will you return to England?’
She wished the question back as soon as the words were out of her mouth, but Chance did not appear to take them as some sort of flirtation. He was getting to his feet, careless of the moss and twigs clinging to the loose cotton trousers and belted shirt. ‘Home? Yes, I expect to travel on from here to Venice, then back overland. I haven’t decided on the exact itinerary yet, but home for Christmas, then I shall be at my mother’s mercy for the Season.’
‘Will she expect you to squire her around to all the balls?’
‘That, and to escort my sisters. But her main intention is to find me a wife.’He said it so carelessly, jumping down into the hollow track that ran down to the village, that for a moment she missed his meaning.
So, why are you surprised? Of course he is going to be looking for a wife. And, of course, he expects to find her among the eligible young ladies of London. What do you expect, that he would turn and take you in his arms and say, ‘But I have no need to search, she is here’?
Without waiting for Chance to turn and offer her his hand, Alessa jumped down beside him and took the lead as the track turned downhill, curving under the spreading shade. By the time they regained the cottage she would have her emotions under control and a serene smile back on her lips to ward off the speculation in all those watching eyes.
Chapter Ten
Chance steered the fishing boat into the bay under the looming monastery where Odysseus had once been washed ashore, to be received by the Princess Nausicaa. He hoped it was an omen. Alessa had shown no reaction to his remark about seeking a wife. Had she not understood his hint? Probably not. More and more the feeling was growing within him that she was the only woman he wanted in his life. But to court her now, marry her out of hand before her status was confirmed and her place in English society established, would always brand her as ‘that Greek girl Blakeney picked up on his travels.’
No, Alessa was going back as Miss Meredith, the eminently respectable daughter of a war hero and the niece of an earl. Could he explain that to her? He had started to frame the words in his head half a dozen times, only to realise that, however he put it, she was going to be deeply offended. Her independence, her work, her adopted country were all sources of pride to Alessa. Back in England it would come into perspective and his courtship of her would appear the honourable thing he intended it would be.
As it was, if he made any declaration now…
‘Are you going to sit in that boat all night, Benedict my friend?’ Zagrede was standing on the sand regarding him. He cut an exotic figure in the evening light with loose trousers, a flowing silk shirt and a scarlet sash into which was thrust the long dagger he never seemed to leave the house without.