‘There’s actually a signet ring specifically for the Contessa,’ he said. ‘My mother wore it always from her wedding day. But for tonight, my dearest love, as we celebrate this moment, wear my ring, which I have never taken from my finger since the day I placed it there—the day my father died.’
She felt her throat catch. So simple a gesture—so profound a meaning. She felt tears well in her eyes again. His hand tightened over hers.
‘No more tears!’ he commanded. ‘I will not permit it!’
Her face quivered into tearful laughter. ‘There speaks il Conte!’
‘Indeed he does,’ he agreed, patting her hand.
He dropped a kiss on her forehead, then started to draw her to her feet.
‘If you feel ready, mi amore, can you face my household? My steward will now have informed everyone of our news, and I have ordered champagne to be served in the salon. One glass, I am sure, will not harm our child.’
He helped her stand up, and walked with her to the door.
‘And then I am sure you will wish to phone your mother, will you not? I hope she will be glad for you now that she need have no fear that you are repeating her own experience of marriage, and now that she knows how much I love you.’
His expression softened, and Carla felt again that wash of bliss go through her.
Then another emotion caught her. She halted.
‘Cesare—my mother is...controversial,’ she said uneasily. ‘When she sold Guido Viscari’s shares after Vito refused to marry me, Lucia ensured she became persona non grata in Rome—’
‘I think you will find,’ replied Cesare, his voice dry and edged with hauteur, ‘that as my mother-in-law, and grandmother to my heir, she will find no doors closed to her—in Rome, or anywhere else!’
Carla smiled. ‘Thank you,’ she acknowledged gratefully. ‘Though I know she means to live in Spain now, which makes things easier all round.’
‘She will visit here whenever she wishes,’ Cesare ordained. ‘Starting with our wedding. Which—’ he glanced at her speakingly, his eyes going to the slight swell where their child was growing ‘—I would ask to be as soon as possible.’
She looked at him, her eyes glowing with love. ‘I would marry you tonight! You need only send for your chaplain!’
His hand stilled on the handle of the door before he opened it. ‘Before, you wanted a civil ceremony only.’
Carla shook her head vigorously. ‘Cesare—now I will marry you in your chapel here—before God and all your ancestors. I want our marriage to last all our lives and for all eternity, for that is how long I will love you!’
She leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder, feeling his strength, his presence, his love for her. Her hand entwined with his, the gold of his signet ring indenting her finger, their hands meshing fast, indissoluble. She felt his hand tighten in return, heard the husk in his voice as he answered her.
‘And it is how long I will love you,’ he promised her.
He took a breath, resolution in his stance as he opened their bedroom door. Beyond was the wide landing, the marble staircase sweeping down to the hall, and waiting there, he knew, would be all his household. Beyond he could see the salon doors thrown wide open, brilliantly lit, and champagne awaiting them all.
He stepped out with Carla, leading her to the head of the stairs. And as they paused for a moment, looking down, applause broke out below. He turned to Carla, raised her hand to his lips, then smiled at her, with a smile as warm as the love in his heart.
‘Ready?’ he murmured.
‘Quite, quite ready,’ she answered.
And at his side—as she would always be now—she went down with him to take her place as the woman he would marry, the woman he would love all his life—his wife and his own true love. One and the same.
* * *
The metre-thick stone walls of the castello’s chapel seemed to absorb all the low murmurings of the small, select congregation, which stilled as the priest—Cesare’s chaplain—raised his hands and began to speak the words of the age-old sacrament.
Inside her breast Carla could feel her heart beating strongly. Emotion filled her—and she felt a low, fine tremble go through her as she stood there, her cream lace gown moulding to the fullness of her ripening figure. Stood beside the man who was her bridegroom. Waiting for him to say the words that would unite them in marriage—as they were already united in love, each for each other, and both of them for the child who would soon be born to them, who would continue the ancient family of which she was now an indissoluble part.
* * * * *
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