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By Root 1250 0

of her life. Aldo had always been a charmer, even with that broken nose that he had refused to have fixed, though his brothers had teased him about it. Tommaso, the eldest son, had been the most handsome of her boys; even as a baby he could melt hearts with those wide brown eyes, and later as a young man he’d wreaked havoc among the girls at university. Paolo was a year younger than Tommaso and he had followed in his brother’s footsteps. Though not as handsome, he had been attractive. Aldo had been born later in her life, when the other boys were already fifteen and sixteen years old, and he had come as something of a surprise to Paola and her husband. But how glad she had been to have him, a third boy, when the other two died in the car crash on the autostrada near Naples. It was ten years ago now, but she would never forget that day. It was worse even than when her husband died, because she had come to expect that, and though it saddened her, she could accept it as God’s will.

All she had left was Aldo, and she was getting older. Paola di Montefiore wanted grandchildren—the sooner the better. It was time Aldo got married. But to whom? Renata had been here quite a lot lately—that is, until India Haven came to stay with them. Paola wondered about that. She’d noticed the way he had looked at India at dinner tonight. It was all quite interesting and she supposed it would sort itself out. All she wanted was for Aldo to be happy. And to give her her grandchildren before she grew too old to appreciate them.

It would be a busy weekend. Renata was coming with that maneuvering wife of Fabrizio’s. She couldn’t stand Marisa—but then she had never been able to stand Marisa’s mother either. The compensation was that Marisa was bringing her children and they would be a delight. And then India’s sister Paris would be arriving. Yes, it would be amusing to have the house full again, she must talk to the cook and plan a formal dinner for Saturday, and tell her to get extra help in from the village for the weekend. Now which rooms should she put them all in … ?

Fabrizio was at the wheel of the big Chrysler station wagon with the children and the nanny and enough luggage for a family of twelve, while Marisa traveled with Renata in her little Mercedes.

“Let Fabrizio take the children.” Marisa laughed. “He always complains about not seeing enough of them. A few hours in a car and he’ll be happy to hand them over to their nurse.”

“But they’re sweet, Marisa, they’re really such good children,” protested Renata.

“Of course they are, but even the best children can turn into monsters after more than an hour in a car. You’ll learn, Renata, when you have children of your own. And that reminds me—try to spend some time with the Contessa this weekend. The old lady wants grandchildren, Renata—she would like nothing better than to have you as a daughter-in-law.”

“The question is, though—does Aldo want me as his wife?”

Marisa glared at her in exasperation. “Of course he wants you. It’s the perfect marriage, Renata.”

“What I mean is, does he want me or does he want my money?”

“What a question! Ask yourself what you want—Aldo or his title? Naturally, it’s a combination of both. And why not? Marriage is a practical situation and it should be considered that way.”

“Really? Then why did you marry Fabrizio? He had no money and no title.”

Marisa smiled. “Clever girl. It’s quite simple. Fabrizio had what I needed, he was very handsome, very amusing, very social. He was an artist and I could help him along in the world. I’m a managing sort of person and he gave me a purpose.”

“Tell me the truth, though, Marisa. Were you in love with him, I mean really in love?”

Renata’s tone was wistful. Surely the silly girl couldn’t be thinking of giving up Aldo when she’d done all this work? This weekend was meant to be the climax. Aldo would ask Renata to marry him. She was certain of it. Marisa had made it plain the last time they met that Renata was his for the asking, and Aldo was a young man who knew where his duty lay. It would never do to admit that when