The Tender Vine (Diamond of the Rockies #3)(92)

The road was long and rough in her dancing slippers and heavy bustle. Carina half wished she had found Quillan. He could have lent her Jock or the gelding. Had he named the horse yet? Plato or Icarus or . . . Sam. She felt a pang. Poor old dog. Second Samuel had been Cain’s dog before theirs. And now he was Alan’s.

Almost for the first time, Carina thought of the people in Crystal. She had thought she would be miserable missing them, but so much had happened, she’d hardly thought of them at all. Did Alex still go to the restaurant? Was èmie managing? Did Mae miss her?

Quillan was right. They seemed distant and somehow insubstantial. Another life that had briefly crossed her own. It was only because so much of her energy was drained now by this current trouble. What are you doing, Signore? What am I doing?

She stopped walking to catch her breath. The corset was tight and uncomfortable. Had they missed her yet? Whom would Papa send? Flavio? She shuddered, glancing swiftly over her shoulder. What if he found her here alone, in the dark? After his words tonight, she would put nothing past him.

What did he mean he kept her sacred, did not defile her as he had “the others.” How many lovers had he had? She hurried on. Dio, get me home. But as she approached the house in the moonlight, saw its imposing gates, she didn’t feel like she was home. She looked at the tall arched windows, the elegant eaves and pillars. It was Papa’s home, as proud and unyielding as he.

But there was nothing else to do but go inside. She rapped on the door, and Jerome, their servant, admitted her. She went to the study to await her papa. He would be angry, and she would as soon settle it now as tomorrow. She sat down in his room, lined with medical texts and scientific writings from all the great men of history. Her favorite had been the book of diagrams by Leonardo da Vinci.

She smelled the slightly antiseptic smell that reminded her of her papa. This was his room. She had spent many hours there. She thought of Divina’s words. Papa’s little favorite. It was true. Papa had little patience for Divina’s silliness. It was she he had coddled, teaching her his craft, or at least the understanding of what he did. He had admired her spunk. She reminded him of Mamma, especially in appearance. How many times he’d said, “You’re so like your mamma.”

But there were ways Divina was like Mamma, too. Slapping and pouting and manipulating with her tears. And saying whatever it took in spite of the truth. Carina raised her head at the sound of the carriage in the yard. They must have all come home. She got up and stood in the doorway, where Papa would see her when he came in.

He was the first through the door. His gaze locked with hers as Mamma pushed in behind, hands to her mouth.

“You’re here, Carina!” She spoke with scolding relief.

“I told Papa I needed to go home.” She back-stepped into the study as Papa came in and closed the door behind them.

He walked to the desk and turned. “Why do you insist on defying me? What have I done to earn your disdain?”

“I don’t disdain you, Papa.”

He looked her down and up. “You are a woman, not a child, but I give you credit for more thought perhaps than you deserve. I know your nature makes you vulnerable to your emotions.”

“It’s not my emotions, Papa.”

He removed his coat and hung it on the stand. Then he turned, his pleated sleeves full and immaculate. He came and took her hands. She looked up into his face. Her papa was tall, as tall as Quillan, though not as broad in the shoulders. But, she realized with surprise, possessing the same sinewy build. Their faces, too, were similar, strong and angular; Papa’s blue eyes and Quillan’s gray, both intense in scrutiny.

“You must trust me, Carina. I know what is best for you.”

“Do you, Papa?”

“You would never have questioned me before.” His face grew sad, and it broke her heart.

“I don’t mean to hurt you. I just don’t understand.”

“Some day you will.”

She shook her head, turning away. How many times tonight would she be told she couldn’t understand? Thinking of that, she turned back. “Papa, why did you leave Italy?”

His brows drew together. “Why do you ask?”

“I’ve never thought to before. But you had so much. Land and power and esteem. Why would you leave that?”

“You know your history. Italy was many years in disarray. How solid was its unification? Parts were still warring.”

“Not Sardinia. Not our Italy.”

Her papa released her hands and walked to the window. Looking out into the night, he stayed quiet.

“Mamma said you wanted freedom and land.”

He turned. “That’s right.”

“But you had land. And position.”

He rested his fingers on the window sash. “Land and position. Even power. But not freedom.”

“What do you mean?”

He returned to stand before her. “Carina, power has inherent dangers. There is always the chance of losing it.”

She searched his face. What power had he lost?

“I don’t speak of my own power, but of those I served.”

She nodded, encouraging him to continue.

“In a country full of strife and rebellion, and you’re wrong to think it didn’t affect us in Sardinia, there are always those who pose a threat to the ones in power. Our stability had been hard fought and harder won.”