‘But it’s not Marco’s title.’

‘Darling, he’s a count’s nephew. Pappa’s a snob, and Mamma’s even worse. I really must be going, someone’s calling me-’

She danced away, leaving Harriet to digest what she’d read between the lines. Guiseppe wanted Marco in the family as the husband of his favourite daughter, but Olympia wouldn’t oblige. Then he’d remembered that Harriet was also his child, so she would have to do instead. She’d even been promoted to favourite offspring, now that she could be useful.

The party was in full swing. Her father made much of her, but even more of Marco, sometimes asking the same question several times when he ran out of inspiration. After her first severity of disappointment Harriet found herself feeling sorry for him. She was also growing more and more embarrassed to be introduced to people as, ‘My daughter Harriet, engaged to Count Calvani’s nephew.’

Just when she thought things couldn’t get any worse, they did. Guiseppe launched into a speech about what a wonderful time ‘my dear child’ would have at the two weddings in Venice the following week. He would be thinking of her, he said repeatedly, and she must remember him to Count Calvani, ‘an old and dear friend’. Harriet grew cold with shame as it dawned on her that her father was hinting for an invitation to the weddings. So that was why this meeting couldn’t have waited.

She hardly dared look at Marco, but when she did his face was frozen into a mask of courtesy. At the first possible moment he excused himself and moved away. She wished the earth would open and swallow her up. Luckily Signor Carnelli was there, and he claimed her attention.

At the back of the house was a large, well-stocked conservatory, where several of the older guests had settled to talk. Seeing his mother, Marco drifted to the entrance where, from the other side of a bank of ferns, he heard a female voice, lofty, imperious.

‘An extraordinary young woman, and more English than Italian, despite her name. Frankly, Lucia, I wonder at you promoting such a match for your son. Harriet lacks finish, and she’ll never really be one of us.’

A hush fell as Marco appeared and stood there, taking the measure of the woman. She was the Baroness d’Alari, thin-faced, cold-eyed, a woman who made up in pride and spite what she lacked in almost everything else. The discovery that Marco had heard her made her fall silent, but from chagrin, not shame.

‘I suppose it didn’t occur to you, Baroness,’ he said, ‘that my fiancée isn’t trying to be one of anything? She is unique, a brave, original woman, with a style-and a mind-of her own. In short, she is exactly what I wish her to be.’

It was years since anyone had snubbed the Baroness, and she had no resources to cope.

‘I suppose it’s natural that you should defend her,’ she snapped, ‘but beware defending her too rudely, young man. I believe my husband is one of your more important clients.’

‘All my clients are important, and you must forgive me if I decline to discuss that matter with anyone but your husband,’ Marco said, anger glinting in his dark eyes. ‘If he wishes to take his business elsewhere, doubtless he will inform me. There are several other establishments where he will be gladly received. Excuse me.’

As he moved away Lucia rose and came after him, tucking her hand into his arm. ‘Well done, my dear boy! I never could stand that woman,’ she said happily. ‘The perfect end to a perfect evening.’

‘You’re not leaving already?’

‘Yes, I’m a little tired. The chauffeur will take me home, and you can bring Harriet on later.’

‘I think she’ll need to talk to you. I’m sure she’s seen the truth about tonight.’

‘Certain to. She blinded herself because she wanted to feel she still had a father, but she’s too intelligent to blind herself for long. Awful, snobbish little man! How Etta produced him I’ll never know. But the person she’ll need to talk to is you.’

‘Mamma-what can I say to her-?’

‘My son, if you don’t know how to comfort her when she’s unhappy, I can only say that it’s time you found out.’

‘I’ll do my best.’

‘Marco,’ she said anxiously, ‘how are things between you and Harriet?’

He shrugged. ‘What can I tell you? She blows hot and cold. Sometimes I think she disapproves of me.’

‘Nonsense, how could she?’

He grinned, briefly boyish and delightful. ‘There speaks my mother.’ He kissed her cheek. ‘Goodnight Mamma.’

The evening seemed to stretch endlessly ahead of Harriet. When Lucia said goodbye she wished she could have gone with her, but it was too soon. Lucia had the excuse of age, but her own early departure would be insulting.

Then Marco appeared beside her, carrying a much needed cup of coffee. ‘Bear up. I promise I’ll get you away soon.’

‘Was I that obvious?’ she said, accepting the cup gratefully.

‘You were looking as if you’d had enough.’

‘Oh, dear, I hope I haven’t offended any of your important business contacts.’

‘No, I did that. But it was worth it. I’ll tell you another time.’

‘Marco, my dear boy!’ It was her father, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘I’ve just said goodbye to your excellent mother. I understand, of course, that she needs to save her energy for the journey to Venice next week. Weddings can be so tiring, especially large weddings. Why I’ll bet they can’t even keep track of all the people they’ve invited-’

Unable to stand any more, Harriet slipped away, leaving Marco in her father’s clutches. She felt bad about that but she was ready to scream.

After an hour she found Marco beside her again. ‘That wasn’t very kind, but I don’t blame you,’ he said. ‘Come on, we’re leaving. Unless you’d prefer to stay.’

‘Get me out of here,’ she said with feeling.

It took nearly another hour to make their farewells, and Guiseppe walked with them to the car, talking non-stop. But at last they were on their way.

Harriet slumped silently in her seat as the car swung out of Rome headed for the Appian Way. Finally she roused herself.

‘You knew, didn’t you?’ she said. ‘You knew as soon as you heard about the invitation. That’s what you were trying to warn me last night.’

‘I guessed there was a reason why he’d suddenly decided to remember that he was your father. I’m sorry. That was a sad business for you.’

The words were kind but he didn’t take her hand and his eyes were fixed on the road.

When they stopped outside the villa he said, ‘I won’t come in. I have to be getting back to my paperwork. Goodnight.’

‘Goodnight,’ she said huskily, and ran into the house and up the stairs. She wanted to be alone, and at the same time she wanted someone to be there. But there was no comfort to be found in Marco, and the sooner she finished with him the better.

In her room she tossed her bag aside and put her tiara back in its box. She stood at the window in the moonlight, feeling lonely and bleak. Tonight something had been taken from her that she knew she would never get back. It might have been a pointless hope, but she’d clung to it, and now it was over. Gradually she lost track of time and had no idea how long she’d been standing there when she heard the knock at her door. Outside she found Marco. He’d discarded his jacket and bow-tie, and was holding a vacuum jug and a mug.

‘I brought you something you need,’ he said, easing his way past her. ‘English tea.’

He set the mug down and poured out the tea, already milked. It was exactly as she liked it.

‘This was a wonderful idea. Thank you.’

She sat down on the bed, and he sat beside her. She met his eyes and found them very dark and kind.

‘I thought you’d gone,’ she said.

‘I changed my mind. I came into the house and waited for you to come back downstairs. I thought you might need to talk. When you didn’t return I-well, maybe I’m starting to understand you by now. I still reckoned you might need someone to listen. I’m quite good at that.’

‘Thank you for coming,’ she said softly. ‘But there’s nothing to say, is there? I’ve had something confirmed that I suppose I always knew. I should have faced it years ago. I thought I had. More fool me.’

‘You’re not going to make the mistake of minding what he says or does, are you?’ Marco chided her gently.

‘No, of course not. After all, he was saying all the right things, making a fuss of me, just as I always dreamed. Only-it wasn’t me he was making a fuss of. It was you. He’s just a petty snob. As he sees it I’ve snared myself a count’s nephew, so suddenly I’m his daughter again.’

‘Harriet, stop this,’ he urged. ‘You’re a fine woman, beautiful, brainy and strong. You’ve built an independent life on your own talents. You don’t need him. You never did.’

‘I know, I know. It’s silly isn’t it?’ Suddenly tears were pouring down her cheeks and she set the mug down hurriedly as her control deserted her. ‘Why should it matter after all this time? I’m not a child any more.’

She finished on a husky sob and at once his arms were about her, holding her firmly in the comforting embrace her father had never given her.

‘In a way you are,’ he murmured against her hair. ‘Your childhood is never really over. Its ghosts haunt you all your life.’

She clung to him, unable to stop crying now she’d started. The grief of years poured out and she could do nothing but yield to it.

‘He never loved me,’ she choked, ‘not really.’

‘He did at the start. Remember what you told me, how you two adored each other?’

‘Not even then. If he’d really loved me he couldn’t just have discarded me like that, could he?’

‘I don’t know,’ he sighed. ‘Some people love that way. Real enough at the time, but shallow. Others-do it differently.’ He laid his cheek against her hair and held her again, saying, ‘I’m here, I’m here,’ as another paroxysm shook her.