Her point was valid but Alessandro had to acknowledge that her having the future she envisioned would be unlikely. Few men would tolerate in a wife the sort of independent disregard for popular opinion she described.
His heart thudded slightly harder, for the truth was, rather than be put off by what she’d told him, his admiration grew. Which prompted him to wonder if he might be the sort of man to help shoulder her pursuits, rather than deny them.
The interest with which Signor Rossi responded to what she’d told him was refreshing. Ordinarily, men offered placating smiles or simply changed the subject whenever she mentioned her efforts to collect used clothing she could donate or told them she helped in the kitchen herself when preparing meals for the homeless.
As much as they longed to dance with her or be seen riding with her in the park, her charitable work was a side they’d rather pretend did not exist. And having been courted on two occasions, she’d also learned it was something they planned on putting a stop to once she became their wife.
So here she was, unmarried at two and twenty because she refused to settle or let a man dictate her life. Of course, her brother could always force her hand. He had the power to do so. But Robert understood her, thank goodness, and had assured her he would never make any demands since he cared more for her happiness than he did for public opinion.
Still, she’d eventually have to make an effort to settle down, if only for Robert’s sake.
Beatrice ate her stew while discreetly studying Isabella’s brother from behind lowered lashes. His skin, she noted, was the same olive shade as his sister’s, his hair so dark it looked almost black. Chocolate brown eyes, an angular nose, and full lips surrounded by a day’s worth of stubble completed his handsome appearance.
“How long do you plan to remain in England?” she asked, surprising herself with the impromptu question.
“At least a month, I should think. And you? How long will you stay at Thyburn?”
“I made plans for a week but…”
“Yes?” He held her gaze and it was as though the deep intensity in his eyes branded her very soul.
She swallowed and reached for her wine while her pulse leapt about with frenzy. “I can extend it, should I wish to.”
The smile he gave her was slow and seductive. “Then I shall pray for you to do so, my lady, for I daresay I would be sorry to lose your company.”
Heat flooded her cheeks, prompting her to return her attention to her food.
“He’s quite the looker,” Dorothea murmured. “And he’s foreign, which may be precisely what you need.”
Beatrice pressed her lips together and hoped Signor Rossi’s English was truly as bad as he’d suggested. “We’ve only just met.”
Dorothea snorted. “Every romance begins with a first encounter. You ought to ask him to help you with the pine.”
It wasn’t the worst idea. Certainly, it would give them an excuse to spend more time together. She set her spoon aside. “Signor Rossi, you may have noticed the pine we brought in earlier. It is my intention to decorate the inn, to make the place more festive for everyone trapped here. Perhaps you’d like to help?”
His answering smile mesmerized her. “I’d be delighted to, my lady.”
For the next two hours, Beatrice worked with Signor Rossi’s assistance, binding pine together with ribbons and hanging them under the rafters. She learned that he had a soft spot for stray cats and dogs and that his villa had become a refuge for them. In a way, his values were not so different from hers. The fact that he cared to discuss it all with her as if her opinion mattered, rather than being something that ought to be stifled, appealed to her immensely.
“What do you think?” she asked when the last of the pine had been pinned in place.
“It looks like a celebration awaits.” He met her gaze. “You should ask if anyone here has a violin and if the tables can be moved out of the way to allow for dancing.”
Beatrice agreed. A dance would be the perfect thing to liven the mood and fill the space with additional holiday cheer. “I’ll be right back.”
When she returned, it was with not only a young stable boy who claimed he could play the fiddle but with the assurance that the inn’s cook was preparing Christmas pudding for all the guests. The innkeeper made a quick announcement pertaining to the planned entertainment which was met with everyone’s heartfelt approval.
Tables and chairs were moved to the edge of the room. Those who still ate or had not yet been served their meals were moved to the supper rooms and to the staff’s dining hall.
The stable boy set his fiddle between his shoulder and chin, then started playing a lively tune.
Signor Rossi executed an elegant bow. “Will you do me the honor of partnering with me, my lady?”
“I would be delighted.” Beatrice placed her hand in his and was instantly struck by a strong electrical charge. Their gazes met and the deep awareness she saw reflected back at her left no doubt in her mind he’d felt it too. His fingers curled around hers, adding heat and leaving her both weak–kneed and breathless.
And then they were in motion, moving between other guests in an improvised dance of their own design. They hopped and skipped and twirled about while laughter and smiles abounded.
“Perhaps I can convince you to visit my hometown one day,” Signor Rossi suggested after they’d each engaged in several more dances.
Dorothea, Beatrice noted, slept quietly in a chair while most of the inn’s other guests had gone off to bed. She should probably consider doing the same though she was reluctant to end what had turned into the perfect evening.
“Anything is possible,” she told him, losing herself in his gorgeous brown eyes.
“Then I shall permit myself to dream, though your leaving England would require leaving your precious charities too.” Reaching up, he traced his finger along the edge of her jaw, scattering sparks across her skin. “Perhaps it is I who should relocate instead.”
She wanted to say it was much too early to think in such terms, but that would be dishonest. Truth was, she knew in her heart that this was the man she wanted to marry. How such a thing could be determined during the course of one evening, she’d no idea.
“Let’s agree to think on it at greater length in the coming days.”
“All right.” He glanced at the door. “Can I convince you to come outside with me for a moment to take a look at the stars?”
“Yes.” She collected her cloak and followed him into the courtyard behind the inn. The air was crisp, the sky so clear it appeared like an indigo blanket of velvet dressed up in diamonds.
An arm circled her waist and drew her into a warm embrace. A startled gasp misted the air. “Signor Rossi.”
“Please. Call me Alessandro.”
Needing purchase, she gripped the lapels of his jacket. “Alessandro.”
His name was but a whisper, barely there at all yet somehow more important than any word she’d spoken before.
“I don’t know how, but you’ve captured my heart in the space of one evening.” His palm flattened against her back, adding warmth while bringing her closer. He dipped his head and made his confession. “If you would permit, I’d dearly like to kiss you.”