A Ring For The Pregnant Debutante. Laura Martin

only slightly spoiled by the clicking of the cane on the tiles.

       Chapter Four

      ‘Last night you were telling me about the disgrace that had your family disowning you,’ Thomas said as he helped Rosa up into the curricle.

      ‘No,’ Rosa said pointedly, ‘I wasn’t.’

      ‘Well, we’ve got an hour’s ride to the village of Malcesine, and it will be a terribly dull journey if you sit in silence the whole way.’

      Thomas had suggested a day trip to the next sizeable village around the lake when Rosa had talked about seeking a passage back to England. The Di Mercurios would no doubt be searching for their runaway prisoner and there was no point in making it easy for them. In Malcesine they would find the date and time of the next coach leaving for one of the port cities where Rosa would be able to buy a fare home.

      ‘You could tell me what you’re doing hiding away in Italy,’ Rosa suggested with that sweet smile she used when she was determined to get her own way.

      ‘What if we play a game?’

      ‘I’m listening.’

      ‘We each get three questions. The other has to answer truthfully and fully.’

      ‘I get to go first?’ Rosa asked.

      ‘Ask away.’

      She sat in silence for a while, watching the countryside passing by and pressing her lips together as she thought. Thomas glanced at her every now and again. Ever since he’d caught her looking at him as he emerged from the lake he’d felt a spark of excitement, a slowly building intrigue at the woman hiding beneath the composed façade. He felt he needed to be close to her, to touch her, to find out what was really going on behind those calm, cool eyes. It wasn’t often Thomas met a woman he could fully engage with intellectually. So many of the debutantes his mother had introduced him to before he’d fled England had seemed to want to appear less intelligent than they actually were, wittering on about the weather or the latest fashion. Admittedly he didn’t know Rosa well, but there was something more to her—something bold, something that refused to back down.

      ‘Why do you live in Italy?’ Rosa asked eventually.

      ‘I like it here.’

      She shook her head and actually wagged an admonishing finger at him like some disapproving elderly aunt. ‘You’re breaking the rules,’ she said. ‘You said we had to answer truthfully and fully. Why do you live in Italy?’

      Thomas broke out into a grin. ‘You caught me. I will try to be more honest,’ he said, trying out a contrite expression and finding it didn’t sit well on his face.

      The intensity of her gaze was a little unnerving as she waited for him to speak.

      ‘The past four years I have travelled as far east as India, as far south as Turkey, stopping at various places for a few weeks, maybe a couple of months. I’ve been here beside the lake for six months, the longest I’ve stayed anywhere. I suppose I feel at peace here, waking up to such beauty every day is humbling. It makes you admit how insignificant your problems are.’

      Although he had never set out to be quite so honest Thomas realised it was the truth. He could have settled anywhere, but he’d chosen Lake Garda to make his home at least for a while.

      ‘Why do you feel the need to move around so much?’

      ‘Is that question number two?’

      Rosa nodded.

      ‘When I first left England I didn’t know what I wanted to see, I just knew there was a whole world out there waiting for me to discover it. I marvelled at the ancient temples in Greece, climbed an active volcano in Italy, was stalked by a tiger in the jungles of India and spent three glorious weeks floating adrift in a rickety old boat in the Black Sea.’ He paused to see if Rosa looked as though she believed him. It was partly the truth, but it did not explain his need to run from his fate, a strange compulsion to keep moving, as if staying in one place too long might let the disease he was so afraid of catch up with him. ‘Once I started discovering new places I was like a laudanum addict, I needed to see more, experience more. It was like an illness—if I didn’t keep moving on I would become restless and anxious.’

      ‘So why have you stopped now?’

      Thomas pulled on the reins to slow the horses as they rounded a tight bend and considered Rosa’s question. In truth he wasn’t quite sure. The answer he’d given earlier, talking about the humbling beauty of Lake Garda, was true, but he’d visited many beautiful places in the past few years. He wasn’t sure what had made him slow, what had made him start thinking of home, yearning for the green fields and grey skies and all the places he had known as a child.

      He thought of the letter from his mother, asking him to return, and knew that even without her plea it wouldn’t have been that long before he boarded a ship and sailed for England. Something was pulling him home, but he wasn’t sure what.

      ‘I suppose everyone needs a rest now and again.’

      ‘You’re being flippant again,’ Rosa challenged him.

      ‘Sorry. I suppose I don’t know. For a while I grew tired of new places, not knowing anyone, never being sure of where I would rest my head from one day to the next.’

      ‘So will you stay here, in Italy?’

      Thomas smiled and shook his head. ‘That’s question number four, Miss Rothwell. You’ve had your turn, now it’s mine.’

      Rosa stiffened as if actually nervous about what he would ask, but nodded for him to continue.

      ‘How many months pregnant are you?’ He hadn’t meant to be quite so blunt and as the shock and hurt flashed across her eyes he cursed his clumsy handling of the question.

      ‘What makes you think I’m pregnant?’

      ‘Look how you’re sitting,’ Thomas said softly.

      Rosa glanced down and grimaced as she realised one hand rested protectively against her lower abdomen.

      ‘I suppose it’s natural, a mother’s instinct,’ Thomas said. ‘You’ve had a hand on your abdomen throughout most of the morning, and every so often you will look down fondly when you think I’m not paying attention.’

      She nodded, mutely. They continued in silence for nearly ten minutes before Rosa spoke again.

      ‘Four months, nearly to the day.’

      Thomas did a few quick sums in his head, and realised things didn’t quite add up.

      ‘And that was why you were sent away in disgrace? You must have known pretty early on that you were pregnant.’

      It wasn’t a subject Thomas was well schooled in, but he did have a vague idea that most women weren’t sure until they were about three or four months along in their pregnancy.

      ‘I knew as soon as I missed my courses, by that time I was only about a month gone. I spoke to the father a week later, confessed to my mother the same evening and the next day I was packed off to Italy.’

      That explained the timings a little more.

      ‘What if you were wrong?’

      Rosa shrugged. ‘I suppose my mother thought it easier to recall me if it turned out I wasn’t pregnant than to explain an ever-growing bump.’

      Thomas detected a note of bitterness alongside the sadness and wondered if the relationship between mother and daughter was a little strained.

      ‘It took five weeks by boat, a couple more overland, and then the Di Mercurios kept me locked away for a month. That makes four months.’ She said it in a matter-of-fact voice that belied the pain on her face.

      ‘What