“What are we going to do with her?” Sarah asked him in despair.

“I don’t know,” Julian answered her honestly. “But I think we’d better go down there.” They did the following week, when they both had time, and they tried to reason with her together. But she refused to listen, and she told them bluntly that she was in love with him, and he adored her.

“Of course he does, you little fool,” her brother tried to explain to her. “He can only guess at what you’re worth. With you in his hand, he can sit on his ass forever.”

“You make me sick!” she screamed. “Both of you!”

“Don’t be so stupid!” he shouted back. They took her to stay at the Hotel Miramar with them, and she ran away. She literally disappeared from the face of the earth for a week, and when she returned, Lorenzo was with her. He apologized profusely to both of them for being so thoughtless, for not calling them himself… as Sarah’s eyes shot daggers at him. She had been sick with worry, and didn’t dare call the police, for fear of the scandal. She knew Isabelle had to be with Lorenzo. …

“Isabelle was so upset …” He went on … and now he humbly begged their forgiveness…. But Isabelle interrupted him, and addressed her mother directly.

“We want to get married.”

“Never,” her mother said bluntly.

“Then I’ll run away again. And again. Until you let me.”

“You’re wasting your time. I never will.” And then she turned her attention to Lorenzo. “And what’s more, I will cut off every cent she has.” But Isabelle knew better.

“You can’t. Not all of it. You know that what Daddy left me comes to me when I’m twenty-one, no matter what.” Sarah was sorry she had ever told her, but Lorenzo looked extremely cheered by the news, and Julian looked sick. It was so obvious to everyone. Except Isabelle, who was too young to understand it. She was an eighteen-year-old girl with no experience about life, and hot pants, it was a hell of a combination. “I’m going to marry him,” she announced again, and Sarah was intrigued that Lorenzo said nothing. He was letting his bride-to-be fight her own battles and his, an omen of things to come, Sarah wanted to remind her.

“I will never let you marry him.”

“You can’t stop me.”

“I’ll do everything I can,” Sarah vowed, and Isabelle’s eyes blazed with anger and hatred.

“You don’t want me to be happy. You never did. You hate me.” But Julian deflated her balloon this time.

“Try that on someone else. That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.” And then he turned to his future brother-in-law, hoping to appeal to his reason, or his sense of decency, if he had either, but clearly he didn’t.

“Do you really want to marry her this way, Tebaldi? What’s the point?”

“Of course not. It tears at my soul to see you all like this.” He rolled his eyes, and looked ridiculous to everyone but Isabelle. “But what can I say … I adore her. She speaks for both of us … we will be married.” He looked as though he were about to break into song and Julian didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“Don’t you feel foolish? She’s eighteen years old. You could be her grandfather, or almost.”

“She is the woman of my life,” he announced. And actually the only remarkable thing about him was that he had never been married. It had always paid to keep moving until now. This time the profits were a lot bigger, if he could land little Lady Whitfield, whose family owned the biggest jewel business in Europe, as well as their lands, and tiles, and original holdings. It was quite a purse. No prize for an amateur. But Lorenzo wasn’t.

“Why don’t you wait, if you’re both so sure?” Julian tried again, but they both shook their heads.

“We can’t … and the disgrace …” Lorenzo looked as though he were about to cry. “I just spent a week with her. Her reputation… and what if she gets pregnant?”

“Oh, my God.” Sarah sat down heavily in a chair. The mere thought of it almost made her sick. A child of his in her family would be even worse than poor Cecily’s two colorless children. “Are you pregnant now?” she asked Isabelle directly.

“I don’t know. We didn’t take any precautions.”

“How wonderful. I can hardly wait to hear the result of that in a few weeks.” There was always abortion, of course, but that wasn’t the issue now. The issue was marriage.

“We want to get married this summer … or at the very latest, at Christmas. At the château,” she said, as though he had schooled her, and he had. He wanted a big lavish wedding, so they couldn’t get rid of him easily. And they couldn’t anyway. Once they were married, it was forever. He was Catholic, and he was going to marry Isabelle in the Catholic Church in Rome, after they were married at the château. He had already told her it was his only condition. The only thing that mattered to him, he said, was to be truly married in the eyes of God, and he had even cried when he said it. Fortunately, Sarah hadn’t had to hear him.

They had fought and discussed and argued and shouted well into the night, until Julian was hoarse, Sarah had a headache the size of the hotel, and Isabelle almost fainted, as Lorenzo called for ice and smelling salts and damp towels. And finally Sarah gave in. There was no choice. They would elope anyway, if she didn’t. She was sure of it. And Isabelle swore they would. She tried to get them to wait a year, but they wouldn’t do that either. And Lorenzo kept insisting that it was better to do it now, in case she really was pregnant.

“Why don’t we wait and find out?” Sarah suggested calmly. But they wouldn’t even agree to wait till Christmas, by the end of the evening. Lorenzo had accurately gauged the full measure of their hatred, and he knew that if he didn’t force the issue soon, they would find some way to get rid of him and it wouldn’t happen.

So before the night was out, they all agreed to late August, at the château, with a handful of close friends, no one else, and no press. Lorenzo was disappointed not to have the big wedding they deserved, but he promised her a fabulous party in Italy, which her mother assured her he wouldn’t pay for.

It was a bitter night for her, and for Julian. But Isabelle left the room, and went to stay at Lorenzo’s hotel with him. There was no stopping her now. She was hellbent on her own destruction.

The wedding was small, but tastefully done, at the Château de la Meuze, with only their close friends in attendance. And Isabelle looked lovely in a short white dress by Marc Bohan at Dior, and a big picture hat to go with it. And Sarah was deeply grateful for the fact that she wasn’t pregnant.

Phillip and Cecily came from England for the wedding, Julian gave her away, and Xavier carried the ring, while Sarah wished he would lose it.

“You look thrilled,” Emanuelle said in an undertone, as they sipped champagne in the garden.

“I may throw up before lunch,” Sarah said mournfully. She had watched them be married in her own garden, by a Catholic priest and an Episcopal bishop. It was doubly official then, and doubly disastrous for Isabelle. And throughout the day, Lorenzo gushed, and grinned, and charmed everyone, and made toasts, and talked about how he wished he could have met the great Duke, Isabelle’s father.

“He’s a bit much, isn’t he?” Phillip said, for once making his mother laugh with his understatements. “Pathetic.”

“And then some.” In comparison to him, Cecily was Greta Garbo. That was two now she didn’t like. But Cecily only bored her. Lorenzo she hated, which broke her heart as well, because it meant that she would never be close to Isabelle while she was married to Lorenzo. It was no secret how they felt about her husband.

“How can she even think she loves him?” Emanuelle asked in despair. “He’s so obvious … so greasy …”

“She’s young. She doesn’t know about men like that yet,” Sarah said with infinite wisdom. “Unfortunately, she’s going to learn a great deal in a very short time now.” It reminded her again of her experience with Freddie Van Deering. She would have liked to spare Isabelle that, and she had tried, but it was no use. Isabelle had made her choice, and everyone in the world but Isabelle knew it was a poor one.

The wedding party stayed till the end of the afternoon, and then Isabelle and Lorenzo left. They were going to Sardinia for their honeymoon, to a new resort there, to see his friend the Aga Khan, or so he said. But Sarah imagined there were a lot of people whom he said he knew who were going to disappear into thin air over the next few years, if he lasted that long. And she hoped he wouldn’t.

After they left for the airport, in a hired Rolls-Royce with a driver, the family sat gloomily in the garden, thinking of what she’d done, and feeling that they’d lost her forever. Only Phillip seemed not to care too much, as usual. He was chatting quietly with a woman who was a friend of Emanuelle and Sarah. But for the rest of them, it was more like a funeral than a wedding. Sarah felt somehow as though she had failed not only her daughter, but her husband. He would have been devastated if he could have seen Lorenzo.

Sarah heard from her very briefly when they reached Rome, and then not a sound from her until Christmas. Sarah called once or twice and sent several letters, and Isabelle never answered. She was clearly angry at all of them. But Julian spoke to her once or twice, so at least Sarah knew she was all right, but none of them had any idea if she was happy. She didn’t come home at all the following year, and she didn’t want Sarah to go there, so she didn’t. Julian flew to Rome to see her once. He said she looked very serious and very beautiful, and very Italian, and according to their mutual bank, she was spending an absolute fortune. She had bought a small palazzo in Rome, and a villa in Umbria. Lorenzo had bought a yacht, a new Rolls and a Ferrari. And as far as Julian could see, there was no baby on the horizon.