A Shadowed Fate Read online

  I laughed.

  ‘Aunt Claire, whatever occurred, you have also suffered – and not just from losing your own daughter, but having to live with regret for so long,’ she added. ‘Perhaps you wanted to come here to finally release those feelings … I think you have done your penance.’ She placed a hand against Georgiana’s back and felt her breathing. ‘And I believe the grotto has cleared the last trace of her congestion.’

  ‘Molto bene.’ She was right. There was nothing else to be learned here, except that I needed to forgive myself for being young and thoughtless – and know that I was no longer that woman. ‘Let us go and cool off.’ I took in one last, deep breath and rose slowly as I grasped Georgiana’s hand. As our little trio emerged from the grotto, the same young woman who brought us there was waiting with an herbal tisane. As we sipped the tea, she guided us to another room where we bathed in cold water to stimulate our circulation. After we finished and dressed again, I felt refreshed in a way that I had not in years – both in body and spirit.

  We then made our way back to the Palazzo Fiori, picking wildflowers that grew alongside the cleared path. The sun had risen almost to mid-sky, and a gentle breeze had swept in from the mountains off to the east. Relaxed and happy, Paula and I watched Georgiana skip out ahead of us with her usual energy. All had turned bright with the world for just this moment. And I had what I needed now for the next stage of our journey – some clarity of the past that would help me accept whatever lay ahead.

  Trelawny was waiting for us as we reached the inn, dressed for travel in breeches and jacket, his hair tied back neatly with a thin black ribbon. ‘I do not need to ask whether you had an enjoyable morning.’ His glance took in the three of us.

  ‘It was most … enlightening,’ I replied, tucking a small yellow bloom behind Georgiana’s ear. ‘And cured what ailed us.’

  ‘I am happy to hear that.’ He reached down and swung Georgiana high in his arms, looking her over carefully as she giggled in excitement. ‘This little one looks to be in capital health once again, so we should be able to leave—’

  ‘The wheel is mended, then?’ Paula asked.

  ‘Like new.’ Trelawny set Georgiana down again, ruffling her hair. ‘We can be ready to depart within the hour if you like. Raphael is waiting inside to assist you with the luggage, and I have sent word to an inn near Bologna that we will be stopping overnight – we should then reach Bagnacavello within another day. I also sent a note to Baldini as to our travel plans.’

  He’d contacted Baldini. That meant Trelawny thought we might be in jeopardy.

  My happy moment faded as quickly as it had appeared. ‘Thank you for making the arrangements, Edward.’

  ‘My pleasure.’

  Paula also extended her appreciation, then drew Georgiana toward the inn.

  As we watched them disappear inside, I turned to Trelawny. ‘What about the rider whom you suspected of following us? Do you think he may reappear?’

  ‘I cannot say for certain, but I am taking no chances,’ he said in a low voice. ‘In truth, that wheel was not broken. Raphael and I spent the morning hiring a horse, so I can ride alongside the carriage. That way, if the mystery rider shows up again, I can move quickly to find his intent while Raphael protects you from the inside.’

  A warning voice flared in my thoughts. ‘Did you tell Baldini when you sent him the note?’

  ‘Not yet. I decided to wait until I had concrete evidence, but we must remain vigilant.’

  The voice grew louder, and I glanced nervously over my shoulder at the thicket of trees just behind us. There were many such places along the road to Bagnacavallo where a brigand could hide, just waiting for the moment to attack our cortege.

  ‘Do not worry, Claire,’ he said, covering my hand with a reassuring clasp. ‘We are taking well-traveled routes and are expected at reserved inns along the way, so we shall be quite secure.’ He linked my arm through his. ‘So, what was so “enlightening” about your morning?’

  I paused, struggling to allay my fears. ‘I laid a few more demons to rest – ones that have haunted me for a lifetime. As a Catholic, I have used the word “forgiveness,” but I do not think I truly understood that my own actions could also be absolved—’

  ‘And mine, as well?’

  Glancing briefly at his weathered face, I tried to summon a sense of similar charity toward him, but it would not come. ‘I understand that you had good intentions – or at least you thought to honor your vow to Byron – but it is still difficult for me to accept that you deceived me year after year. It was not the action of a careless youth. You made a deliberate choice when you knew how much it pained me to have lost Allegra.’ Casting my eyes down for a moment, I sighed. ‘I am trying …’

  ‘I can ask no more for now.’ As he ushered me toward the Palazzo Fiori’s entrance, he changed the subject and outlined our upcoming journey east to Bologna, then on to Bagnacavallo. It would be an arduous day, then one more after that, but the roads were decent, and I was used to travel in Italy. The destination would more than make up for the long trip.

  Just then, a driver brought the carriage up and Raphael emerged from the interior. He held open the door with a large smile. ‘Everything is arranged for our departure – we can leave within the hour if you like.’

  ‘Indeed, yes. I am most anxious to arrive at the next stage of our journey.’ With a quick nod at them, I hurried toward my room to make ready. I changed into my travel dress and cape, freshened up, and had my trunk taken downstairs, having packed Shelley’s and Byron’s letters – but not the memoir. Holding it tightly, I took one last glance around the room and realized that it was unlikely that I would ever return. No matter what lay ahead, this chapter of my life was closed. And with it, the recollections of Mary and Shelley, young and laughing in the Bagni Caldi as they dreamed of a future that would be bold and bright, passed away into the realm of days gone by – over and finished.

  I let myself out of the room and closed the door firmly behind me.

  Later, several hours into our trip, I found myself somewhat more relaxed, knowing Trelawny rode at our side. Also, unlike the previous stage filled with fretful irritation, we passed the time in quiet content while Georgiana read a Ruskin fairy tale, and Paula occupied herself with embroidering a pillowcase. After only a few miles, Raphael had grown bored and was sitting outside next to the driver. I could hear snatches of their conversation in Italian, appreciating the beauty of their Florentine accent as they discussed politics and pasta. If every day passed similarly, the journey to Bagnacavallo would be quite pleasant.

  ‘Aunt Claire, may I ask you something?’ Paula said, intent on her needlework, weaving jewel-toned threads into her piece of muslin.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Why did you and Trelawny never marry?’

  I laughed.

  ‘Now that I have met him and seen your regard for each other, I am curious why you never chose to make a life with him.’ She looked up, pausing mid-stitch. ‘He is a fine figure of a man, even at his age, and you have a shared history, to say the least.’

  Still amused, I responded with a shrug. ‘He asked me many times, but I could never find it in myself to accept.’

  ‘Was it because you always loved Byron?’

  ‘Partly, I suppose.’ Hearing his name caused that familiar tug at my heart. Byron. Always and forever. ‘How could I ever look at another man, except in contrast to him? That all-consuming love never totally went away, even when I was furious with him about Allegra.’

  She studied me for a few moments. ‘I cannot imagine what it was like to have loved in that way. I cared deeply for Georgiana’s father, and I truly love Raphael with all my heart, but I would never risk everything for love of them—’

  ‘That is because you have Georgiana – she is your life,’ I interjected with a quick glance at my great-niece, head bent over her book and lips murmuring the words under her breath. ‘I would have probably felt the same if I had kept Allegra w
ith me.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ She resumed her embroidery. ‘But that still does not fully explain your rejection of Trelawny.’

  Glancing out of the open window, I watched as the landscape shifted from rolling hills and cypress trees into the Apennine forest, thick with towering pines. The air grew cooler and the road bumpy as we moved higher into the mountains. ‘I suppose it never seemed the right time. We began as friends in Pisa. Then, after Shelley died and Byron left for Cephalonia, our little circle scattered to the winds. Trelawny stayed on to fight in Greece, and I went to Russia – then Germany, Italy, and England. Then back to Florence a few years ago. I never could settle anywhere for too long. It was the same for Trelawny. He traveled the world, picking up three wives along the way – then leaving them behind when he moved on.’

  She raised a brow. ‘As I said, you are very much alike in many ways.’

  ‘Maybe too much so,’ I said drily as Trelawny rode alongside my window, tall and straight in the saddle from a lifetime of being on horseback. He stared off intently into the distance and then moved forward at a faster pace ahead of the carriage. My friend – and lover. ‘I never told you this, but Trelawny and I spent a night together. It was in 1822. Shelley had recently drowned at sea, and Mary had left for England with her son. I was alone at the house on the Arno … It was a beautiful autumn night and we turned to each other in our grief and loneliness.’ And maybe something more …

  She did not seem surprised. ‘But you could have remained together. Nothing stood in your way.’

  Except Byron – the man I loved more than life itself. And Mary – the woman who had long been the object of Trelawny’s fascination. I vividly remembered parts of what I had written in my journal three years after my interlude with Trelawny:

  I think a great deal of past times today … but the sentiments of that time are most likely long ago vanished into air. This is life. So live to nothing but toil and trouble – all its sweets are like the day whose anniversary this is – more transitory than a shade – yet had it been otherwise, if Trelawny had been different, I might have been as happy as I am wretched …

  But he was not different, as he had shown me by asking Mary to wed him and, later, moving on to other women … not to mention deceiving me about Allegra.

  ‘Did you not want any more children?’

  ‘No.’ I held my handkerchief to my face to block out the dust kicked up by Trelawny’s horse. ‘Losing one child was almost more than I could bear … I could not endure that kind of pain again. Even though Trelawny lost three of his seven children, it is different for a man, I think.’

  ‘It seems so.’ Her face turned pensive as she set her needlework down. ‘Georgiana’s father has little interest in her beyond sending us a pittance – and she is such a sweet girl.’

  I patted her hand. ‘But Raphael loves her dearly—’

  ‘Yes, of course. That is more than I had hoped for when Georgiana and I came to Florence to live with you.’

  ‘La fortuna – it has turned your way in this regard.’

  She picked up her embroidery. ‘Does Trelawny even have a chance to win your affections?’

  ‘After everything that has happened?’ I shook my head. ‘I trust him to see us through this journey, but that is all.’

  ‘Feelings can change …’

  ‘Not in this instance – I do not want to love again.’

  She did not respond at first. ‘It may seem that way now, as I know only too well. When Georgiana’s father left us without money or resources, I swore that I would never allow my heart to be broken again. But the anger and bitterness faded – and then I met Raphael and found myself won over by his steady devotion.’ Paula reached for her sewing bag and sorted around the contents, bringing out a bright yellow skein of cotton thread. She then threaded the needle with swift, sure motions and began adding tiny new stitches into the fabric. ‘It may be the same for you.’

  ‘I think not.’

  Although Paula kept her head down, I sensed she was hiding her response. Perhaps my emotions were not as firm as I let on, but I could hardly speak of new beginnings when so much still lay unknown about our adventure’s end. ‘I shall always be grateful that he chose to reveal the truth, even at this late stage, and is trying to make amends with his usual military precision. He was always the person who could be counted on to handle every aspect of an unexpected turn of fate – no matter how harsh or overwhelming. That is his strength.’

  At that moment, the carriage rolled over a large bump in the road, causing us to lurch to one side. Paula cried out as she pricked her finger with the needle as Georgiana and I righted ourselves in our seats. I gave Paula my handkerchief, and she wound it around her index finger, holding it in place for a few moments.

  ‘You mean after Shelley died?’ she asked. ‘It must have been such a shock to learn of his death at sea.’

  ‘It was … devastating.’ Shifting my glance toward the window, I found myself forming the words about the tragedy with a matter-of-fact tone that bespoke the passage of time between then and now. ‘We knew something had happened to him – and our friend, Edward Williams. For some reason, they had decided to set sail on the Don Juan in the middle of a squall near Leghorn. I do not know why. We waited for days to learn of their fate and then heard the boat had gone down in the Bay of Spezia. Still, we had a dim hope that they may have survived – until Trelawny came to tell us the bodies had washed ashore near Viareggio. We were stunned … numb with grief, but he arranged everything – had them buried on the shore, rented a new apartment for us in Pisa, and escorted us there. We had no one. But he took care of the unrelenting details that accompany an untimely demise. The paperwork. The officials. All of it.’ I let out a shaky breath. ‘He could not have been more helpful.’

  ‘I can only imagine,’ she observed. ‘He certainly showed a great deal of sensitivity to Mary and you. In many ways, a true friend.’

  ‘I suppose so.’ Taking Paula’s hand, I carefully unwound the handkerchief and checked her finger. The bleeding had stopped. ‘Then again, if he had not taught Shelley how to sail the Don Juan, Shelley would not have taken the boat into the rough seas …’

  She shook her head with firm conviction. ‘Trelawny could not have known that Shelley would be so foolhardy – that is hardly his fault.’

  ‘Not by intention, but by his presence,’ I said, catching a glimpse of him again as he allowed his horse to fall back, slightly behind the carriage. ‘A brilliant poet was never meant to be a warrior.’

  ‘Do you speak of Shelley or Byron?’

  ‘Both, I think.’ I crumpled the handkerchief in my hand, then shoved it into my bag next to Byron’s memoir. ‘And Raphael, as well. We must not let him get too carried away as they once did. He has already risked his life once for us and agreed to take this journey for your sake. Raphael deserves to have a long life ahead of him – shared with you and Georgiana.’

  ‘Do not worry – he is not one to behave rashly. The trials of being orphaned when he was a boy have stripped him of any illusions that he is above being harmed. He knows that life is precarious.’ Paula slipped her arm through mine and leaned her head against my shoulder.

  ‘As do we all.’ I fastened my glance on Georgiana who had fallen asleep, her book still open on her lap.

  I would not lose her.

  La fortuna was with us now.

  Two more hours passed before the carriage stopped at the edge of Vergato, a mountain town about forty kilometers west of Bologna. I spied a garden cafe with tables set beneath a sloping roof covered with thick jasmine vines. Sweet, delicate flowers in the summer sun. As Trelawny helped me out of the carriage, I inhaled the fragrant blooms and they revived me after the long hours on the road.

  ‘But this is quite enchanting,’ Paula said, emerging from behind me with a still-sleepy Georgiana in hand. ‘How did you find this town, Trelawny?’

  He smiled. ‘I have crisscrossed Italia many times.’

 
‘Whereas I have come this way only once when I traveled here with my nonna,’ Raphael said as he jumped down from his perch near the carriage driver and pointed at a large Gothic structure with turrets and onion-shaped domes nestled high on a peak. ‘But I remember seeing the Rocchetta Mattei as a boy and running through its courtyard and towers.’

  She raised a hand to her forehead to shield the sun from her eyes. ‘Is it a medieval castle?’

  ‘If only.’ Trelawny laughed as he gave instructions to the driver to return in two hours. ‘Count Cesare Mattei, an eccentric doctor, lives there along with an entire community of medical charlatans. He built it twenty years ago on the remains of old ruins as the center of his medical “inventions” that are supposed to cure all diseases. They say he is quite mad.’

  Intrigued, I followed Paula’s glance and noted the odd blend of Moorish and European architectural styles. ‘It looks almost like the castles that I saw in Germany – dreamy and fairytale-like, nestled in the trees. If we had time, I should like to speak with him since I learned much about herbs when I lived as a governess in Russia. Many people lived over a century there by consuming only plants.’

  ‘I cannot imagine anything more appalling than to live such an insufferably long existence,’ Trelawny quipped. ‘Everyone would be heartily bored at hearing the same stories year after year – the elderly can be so tedious.’

  ‘You speak from experience, I suppose?’ Still gazing at the castle, I contemplated the daunting prospect of a life that extended into the next century, seeing Georgiana grow to a young lady and perhaps have children of her own. Not all bad …

  Trelawny offered me his arm. ‘Indeed, I do.’

  I laughed as he led our little band of travelers to the outdoor tables and summoned the owner. A paunchy, middle-aged man brought out wine for the adults and lemonade for Georgiana; he then served the local specialties himself – cheese, prosciutto, and fresh, fragrant honey dripping from a small, square comb set over a bowl. While Trelawny conversed with him in broken Italian, I found myself drifting into that lulled space of a journey half finished – I did not dare let my thoughts move in the direction of the possible risks on the road or what awaited us at Bagnacavallo. For the latter, at least, it was too tempting to imagine the outcome that I most fervently wished with all my heart.