The Scandalous Lord Lanchester. Anne Herries

there anything else your ladyship requires me to pack?’

      ‘No, I do not think so …’

      Mariah sighed as her gaze fell on the small trunk, which was to accompany them on their visit to Milan. They would stay at the count’s large house in Milan for two nights before returning to his villa to complete their stay in Italy. In less than three weeks they would remove to Venice for a few days before leaving for France. Sylvia wished to spend a little time shopping in Paris and after that they would return home to England.

      What was she supposed to do with her life then? Lucinda had said she would be welcome to make her home with her and Justin, but though Mariah would be happy to visit for a while, she needed her own home. She had paid brief visits to the country house Winston had left her, but it was too grand and impersonal. Of course she could fill it with friends, but she did not think it would suit her to live always in the country—at least, it might be bearable if she were married. As a widow she would do better in London or Bath. No! Bath was full of old tabbies who had nothing better to do than drink the foul waters and whisper behind their fans about the latest on dit in London.

      Mariah thought she would rather be amongst the people making those scandals—or preferably making them herself. A mischievous smile touched her soft mouth. Andrew’s manner was so frustrating to a woman who did everything impulsively. His eyes seemed to caress her, to dwell on her mouth, as if he found it attractive, yet she could not tease him into a kiss. She could have sworn he was on the verge of making her an offer as they walked by the lake the other day—or at least declaring himself—but he had drawn back once more. Her intuition told her that there was some mystery, perhaps some hint of scandal. Andrew was being so foolish. If he would only confide his problem to her, she might be able to help him. As if she would have cared for a little scandal!

      ‘May I send for the porter, Lady Fanshawe?’

      ‘Yes, please do, Lily,’ Mariah said and smiled at her maid. ‘Once the trunk has been taken you may go to bed. I am not ready to retire yet and can manage my gown myself when I wish to disrobe.’

      ‘Very well, milady.’

      Mariah left her maid to arrange for the luggage to be taken down to the porter’s wagon. It would set off before them and her things would be unpacked and waiting for her when they arrived.

      Mariah had not yet met Count Paolo, who was a personal friend of Lord Hubert and of his age group, she supposed. He had graciously loaned them his beautiful villa here at the lakes and must be a generous man. Mariah wondered if he were married. She had not heard Sylvia speak of his wife or family.

      Shaking her head at the way her thoughts were taking her, Mariah went down to the spacious salon, which led onto a veranda. The windows were closed, but not locked, and she let herself out, deciding to take a turn about the lush gardens. The air was heavy with scent from a variety of flowers. Mariah thought she could smell jasmine, oleanders, roses and other more exotic perfumes that she could not name.

      It was such a perfect setting. A night for romance and adventure, she thought, feeling wistful. How pleasant it would be to walk here with the man she loved, to feel his strong arms about her and his lips on hers. A surge of need and longing swept through her. She had so many friends and yet she was lonely.

      She wanted someone special, a man she could lean on in times of trouble, a companion who would be with her throughout life, taking the good things with the bad.

      Feeling the trickle of tears on her cheeks, Mariah swept them away impatiently. She would not give way to self-pity! Yet she wanted so much to be loved—passionately and without restraint. She was a fool to torture herself with thoughts of Andrew Lanchester. If he cared for her at all, he would surely speak!

      Raising her head, Mariah felt angry. Why should she wait? If she were offered marriage by a man she believed more interested in her than her fortune, she would accept—and if a man she could like sufficiently offered an affair she might take a lover.

      She was so tired of being a widow.

      The journey to Milan was accomplished without incident and Mariah was delighted to discover that Count Paolo’s home there was one of Milan’s ancient palaces and had beautiful gardens and courtyards behind the rather faded facade. The entrance hall was large with high arched ceilings and marble floors, the sound of their footsteps echoing as the count’s English butler greeted them and took them up to their apartments.

      ‘Count Paolo will be with you in a short time,’ the man said deferentially. ‘He is with other visitors, but he will be with you very soon.’

      ‘Yes, of course, Tomkins,’ Lady Hubert said and smiled at him. ‘And how have you been keeping since we last saw you?’

      ‘Very well, milady. The climate suits me here and I have settled in nicely. I am grateful to you for recommending me to the count.’

      ‘I was happy to do so. I knew you would get on famously.’

      Sylvia beamed at him as he preceded them up the wide, rather worn stone stairs to the gallery above, then turned to Mariah.

      ‘Tomkins worked for my father until he died, you know. He suffers with the rheumatics and decided he would like to live in a warmer climate than the east of England. Knowing that Count Paolo was looking for a major-domo for his house here, I suggested he might apply and gave him a reference.’

      ‘That was kind of you.’

      ‘Oh, no, Tomkins deserved it. He was very kind to Papa in his last days.’

      They were led along the gallery to a suite of rooms that overlooked the courtyards to the rear of the house. Mariah went immediately to the window to glance out. The paved courtyard was very attractive with its slightly uneven and faded pink bricks that were interspersed with rose beds; there was a fountain with beautiful statuary and she could see a series of courtyards and gardens leading from the one below.

      A man and a woman were walking at the far side of the courtyard. As she watched, the man kissed the woman’s hand and she left him, going through an arched gateway to whatever lay beyond. A servant approached the man, who glanced up at the window where Mariah stood and nodded at something he had been told.

      Was he the count? From this distance Mariah could see little except that he was dressed exquisitely in the French manner and his hair was a pale silver-blonde.

      She drew away from the window as Sylvia called to her, ‘This is your room, dearest. What do you think?’

      Mariah went through the elegant sitting room to a bedroom. She gasped, for it was beyond anything that she had expected. Furnished in the French Empire style, which had become so fashionable during Napoleon’s occupation, the furniture was imposing and grand rather than comfortable, made of light wood strung with ebony and gold leaf, the soft furnishings in purple and cream with touches of black. The mirrors were flamboyant with gilded rococo-style frames, as was a picture that looked as if it were an Old Master. Perhaps not da Vinci, but of the same period, and the ceiling was painted with ridiculously fat cherubs, ladies of ample proportions and a satyr.

      ‘Good gracious,’ she murmured, a naughty gleam in her eye. ‘I am overwhelmed. Do you suppose this chamber was meant for royalty?’

      ‘I think Napoleon may have stayed here, though I am not certain he had this suite,’ Sylvia replied and laughed. ‘That was in Count Paolo’s father’s day, of course. He has only recently inherited the estate, you know. Hubert was the late count’s friend, but we met Paolo at the funeral and he was gracious enough to offer us his villa whenever we wished to stay near the lakes.’

      ‘He must be a very generous man.’

      ‘Yes, I dare say,’ Sylvia replied. ‘He would accept no payment—but I believe Hubert and the count have some business together. The count also has vineyards and wishes to import his wines to England.’

      ‘Ah, yes, a mutually beneficial arrangement. I wonder—’

      Mariah broke off as she heard a knock at the door and