The Vision of a Viscountess (The Widowers of the Aristocracy Book 2)

by Linda Rae Sande

  When he returned, he found that James had merely loosened the dirt along the wall and toward the center of the room. He began scooping it into the empty pails as Jasper continued to clear away the debris from the developing scene. “There are rust-colored tiles,” he said in awe.

  “It’s Roman, then, right?” James asked hopefully. He lifted both pails and took off to empty them.

  “We’ll know soon enough,” the viscount replied as he continued his work.

  Another hour passed before Jasper stood up to regard what he had uncovered—a piece of what he thought was a hunting scene featuring what appeared to be a jaguar and at least one huntsmen, possibly with a bow and arrows. He hadn’t yet uncovered enough of the scene to be sure, nor had he discovered the signature that might reveal just who had created the detailed art.

  He was about to settle back down onto the dirt when he realized he wasn’t alone.

  “I brought you some breakfast,” Marianne said as she motioned to a basket that dangled from one arm. “Signorina Aurora said you left before she could make it this morning.” She turned her attention to the mosaic that was still only partially revealed. “It’s beautiful,” she added as she leaned over to get a closer look, her spectacles held in one hand as she pulled them close to her face.

  Blinking, Jasper turned to regard her and Signora Romano with surprise. “You are a welcome sight, my lady,” he said. “And not just because you come bearing food.” He could swear she blushed in the morning light. With her broad-brimmed hat mounted at a jaunty angle, he had a flash of a memory of how she had looked when he made love to her the night before, their still-wet-from-the-bath bodies mounted atop his tall bed, engaged in mutual worship.

  Marianne’s attention was on the tiles he had unearthed. “Did you just uncover this today?” she asked in awe.

  “Indeed. With any luck, I’ll have the entire scene exposed before the sun gets too hot.” He dared a glance at Signora Romano, noting how she stared at the mosaic. “Have you seen anything like this before, my lady?” he asked, directing his query to her.

  Chiara angled her head. “Similar. In Palermo,” she murmured.

  “I would be interested in seeing it,” he replied, just as James returned with the empty buckets. “Have you seen Dr. Jones this morning?”

  Chiara and Marianne exchanged quick glances. “We haven’t seen anyone but the farmers this morning,” Marianne said with a shrug, her gaze darting to Chiara again. The older woman shook her head.

  “I don’t believe I know this Dr. Jones,” Chiara said.

  Jasper furrowed a brow. “How can that be? It was Dr. Jones who recommended you. Wrote to let me know about your guest villa.”

  The older woman gave a shake of her head. “He must have learned of it from someone else,” she said with a shrug, although it was apparent she was bothered by the comment.

  “Hmm. Well, I could certainly do with some breakfast,” he said as he removed his gloves. “We’ll have to make do with these foundation walls for seating. You will stay and eat with us?” he asked.

  “I’ll sit with you, but Signorina Aurora has already seen to our breakfasts,” Marianne said as she allowed him to help her take a seat.

  When Jasper moved to assist Chiara, the woman hesitated before taking his hand. Even before she was settled, Marianne had a blanket spread over the ground adjacent to the dig site and was pulling sliced sausage, olives, cheese, bread and a bottle of wine from the basket. “What do you two have planned for the day?” he asked as he motioned for James to join them.

  “Chiara is taking me to town.”

  “Ah, shopping then,” Jasper said. “Which means you need some money.” He pulled a purse from a pocket and extracted several piastras. “These are the latest coins for the kingdom,” he said as he passed them to Marianne. “So they should be valid currency.”

  She studied first the fronts and then the backs, turning to Chiara to ask as to their value.

  “Are you planning to buy out all the shops?” Chiara teased, her eyes widening at seeing the piastras.

  Suppressing the urge to grin, Jasper dared a glance in James’ direction. His colleague gave him a questioning look. “How much did you give her?”

  “Probably enough to buy out all the shops,” Jasper replied in a hoarse whisper, wondering how much she would spend.

  And on what.

  Chapter 21

  A Lady Sees Her Companion in a New Light

  A few minutes later

  When the women left the men to their excavation, each with an empty basket dangling from one hand, they made their way up the road to the city. They spoke of London and Rome, of fathers and mothers, and finally of why Marianne found herself married to Jasper Henley.

  “I do not think you regret what happened,” Chiara said when Marianne finished her tale of how she became a viscountess.

  “Oh, I don’t,” Marianne agreed. “Not at all. My father gave him his blessing and most of my dowry.” At Chiara’s look of confusion, she added, “We have to pay a call on him in Canobie—just north of England—in order for Henley to collect the remainder.”

  Chiara allowed a brilliant smile that displayed her white teeth and youthened her by a decade. “Bribery!” she said with glee. “It works every time with children.”

  Marianne allowed a giggle before they came to a shop fronted with baskets of nuts and fruits. The clerk bade them welcome, and Chiara motioned for Marianne to follow her in. The respite from the bright sun had Marianne pulling a fan from her reticule and batting the air with it as she perused the shelves of dried spices, pastas, and beans.

  “I don’t recognize any of these,” she commented as she examined various jars. The dried spices looked nothing like their fresh counterparts, so when Chiara pointed to each in turn and said the name and what dish it was used in, Marianne was rather stunned. “Why don’t you grow them in a kitchen garden?”

  “Not all the spices can grow here,” Chiara explained. “It’s too hot in the summer. They wither and die.” She pulled a small parchment from her basket, her eyes scanning the writing for a moment before she pulled several jars from the shelves. “Aurora’s list,” she said when she noticed Marianne’s interest. “She has planned menus for the next month of your stay.”

  “She’s an excellent cook,” Marianne said. “I admit to being surprised that she isn’t married. Is she... betrothed?”

  Chiara shook her head. “There is no man worthy of her, so I am glad she is not yet, but...” She allowed the sentence to trail off before sighing. “She will have to wed sometime.”

  Marianne dipped her head. “Mr. Singleton is sweet on her, I think.”

  Blinking, Chiara furrowed her brows. “Sweet on her?” she repeated. “What is this?”

  Rolling her eyes, Marianne realized the expression didn’t translate. “He likes her. He... flirts with her.”

  Chiara huffed. “And she allows this?” Her manner was suddenly one of annoyance.

  Realizing she shouldn’t have said anything, Marianne shook her head. “No. No. She... avoids him.” She lifted a palm up and pantomimed pushing. “Pushes him away. My husband said he is no longer allowed in the kitchen. In fact, Aurora threatened him with a knife when he tried to help her serve the meat course last night.” Marianne didn’t add that James seemed more amused by the exchange than put off by it, as if the woman had merely challenged him to continue his pursuit of her.

  When she asked Jasper about it, he shook his head and said something about James chasing her until she caught him.

  At the memory of his words, Marianne’s eyes suddenly widened.

  Was James really serious about courting Aurora?

  She was about to ask Chiara if Aurora had said anything about James, but thought better of it.

  She didn’t want the man impaled by a kitchen knife.

  Chiara was regarding her with a frown but finally seemed satisfied with her explanation. “She has a temper, that one,” she murmured, “Which may
prove a challenge to any suitor.”

  Marianne wasn’t about to mention that James seemed ready for the challenge—kitchen knife not withstanding.

  “Come, I have more shopping to do,” the older woman said as she paid for her purchases.

  “Do you keep a garden?” Marianne asked, stooping a bit so she could better see the rows of fresh produce displayed in front of the next shop. Some of the items she recognized while others were a puzzle.

  “Not for several years, but Aurora does,” Chiara replied. “She has more patience than I do. Better knees.” After she selected several ears of corn and two onions, examining each before adding them to her basket, she asked, “Do you?”

  Marianne had only ever looked after a small flower garden in front of her father’s house. A gardener saw to the lawn and trees on the estate. “I haven’t yet seen Henley’s townhouse, so I don’t know if there is a garden there or not,” she murmured.

  Chiara stared at her. “You haven’t been to your house?”

  Marianne shook her head. “Not yet. Henley and I were married the same day we left to come here,” she replied. “He said it’s a townhouse. And I expect from its proximity to Hyde Park that it’s a rather fashionable home, with servants and a cook, although apparently the cook is getting on in years, and my husband says he needs to hire a new one.”

  A glimmer of interest seemed to flash in Chiara’s eyes before it was suddenly gone. “How long have your known your Lord Henley?”

  Marianne dipped her head. “Not even a month,” she replied.

  Chiara whirled to regard her. “That explains much,” she said with a grin.

  Her eyes widening, Marianne wondered at the older woman’s words.

  “It’s nothing bad, I assure you. I only mean that you two seem... tentative, I think the word is... with one another. As if you are afraid what you say might... irritate him, and he is unsure of what to say to you. Although he adores you.”

  “He does?” Marianne boggled at the comment.

  Chiara continued to grin. “He shows his affection out in the open. My first love did so...” She suddenly stopped and sobered.

  “Your first love?” Marianne prompted, wondering how long ago that might have been. Her gaze followed Chiara’s until she noticed an old woman who was staring at them. “Is she a Gypsy?” she asked in a whisper.

  “Sì,” Chiara replied, rather surprised the younger woman would be familiar with Gypsies. “How did you know?” She hadn’t even realized the woman was a Gypsy until Marianne’s query.

  “We have them where I am from. The Lowland Gypsies. They set up camp and stay for a few weeks near the river. Near the border with England. Then they pack up and move on.”

  “Causing trouble, no doubt,” Chiara said with a huff.

  Marianne frowned. “Not at all. They sometimes put on a play—a comedy, usually—to make a bit of money, but for the most part, they keep to themselves. Except for the one time when one of the young men in the village decided to marry one of them.”

  “Let me guess. She married him, took all his money, and left without him,” Chiara said in disgust.

  “Oh, no. He left with them. He always suffered from wanderlust, so it was probably best he ended up with a wife who was a traveler.”

  When Marianne turned to look in the direction where the Gypsy had been regarding them, she found the woman had disappeared. “Now, you mentioned your first love. Forgive my impertinence, but you really must tell me about him,” she pleaded.

  Allowing an audible sigh before she stepped into a butcher’s shop, Chiara whispered, “A long time ago, I, too, had a man who kissed me out where anyone could see. I was young and... stupid. I allowed him the impropriety because I was foolish enough to believe he would offer for my hand.”

  Marianne blinked. “He didn’t?” She couldn’t imagine a man being so free with his affections, with no intention of marriage. Even Jasper had kissed her thinking their only witness was a statue of Cupid.

  Or had he known we would have an audience? He hadn’t seemed the least bit surprised at discovering the identity of their interlopers that night.

  “He did not,” Chiara replied. “I discovered later why he could not, and...” She paused, as if she were having trouble catching her breath. “Let us just say my heart was broken... hardened by what happened. When I married my late husband, Antony, I did so for practical reasons. Besides, he was rich,” she said with a grin.

  “You didn’t feel affection for him?” Marianne asked, not realizing how inappropriate her query was just then.

  “Did you feel affection for your Lord Henley?”

  Marianne blinked. No one had asked her that before. Not even Cherice. “I don’t think I knew him well enough to know one way or the other,” she finally whispered. She turned when she realized a rather large, burley man with hairy arms and a bloody apron was regarding them from the other side of a wide counter. He held a meat cleaver in one hand and displayed a wide grin featuring a missing tooth or two.

  “My bella, Vedova Romano!” he greeted Chiara. “And who might this lovely creature be?” he asked in Italian. “If you will not marry me, perhaps she will?”

  Chiara indicated Marianne with a wave of her hand. “Lady Henley,” she replied, emphasizing the ‘lady’. “And she is not interested in marriage to you. Or your son.”

  Marianne did her best to interpret the words, wondering if the butcher was asking as to her suitability as a wife for him.

  “She knows not what she is missing!” the butcher countered, his meat cleaver suddenly doing a somersault in the air before them. Marianne stepped back. She might not have been able to see it clearly, but she knew exactly what it was capable of doing.

  “Signor Garcia’s family has lived in Girgenti for many generations,” Chiara explained in English. “All butchers, and very proud about it,” she added.

  Nodding to the man, Marianne said, “Buon pomeriggio, Signor Garcia.”

  Chiara placed her order while Marianne moved to study the various carcasses that hung from hooks in the front of the shop. Although she recognized most of the animals and fowl, she was glad she had never had to prepare one for a meal. Her status as an aristocrat’s daughter had sheltered her from having to learn how to shop for food and prepare it.

  When they took their leave of the butcher’s shop, Marianne had to stifle a grin at hearing Signor Garcia’s parting proposal of marriage. “Was he asking you or me?” she queried.

  Chiara gave her a quelling glance. “He is a widower. He misses having a woman in his bed at night is all,” she said, which had Marianne blushing.

  “He seems friendly,” Marianne replied, wondering if Chiara had ever considered the butcher to be her second husband.

  Chiara grinned. “He is, but he is a... friend. Not a lover,” she replied. “He wouldn’t feel affection for me as your Lord Henley feels affection for you,” she explained before she led them across the street and into a shop featuring fabric and threads.

  Unsure of how to respond to the woman’s surprising comment, Marianne instead wondered at how Chiara could know such a thing. They had barely been in her company! “How can you be so sure?”

  Chiara allowed a shrug as she examined a length of fabric. “I am old. I know these things.” After examining some white muslin, she glanced over at the young woman to find Marianne on the verge of tears. She frowned. “You don’t wish him to feel affection for you?” she asked as she moved to wrap an arm around Marianne’s shoulder.

  “Oh, I do. Very much,” Marianne whispered. “I just... how can you be so sure when I... I cannot see it for myself?”

  Chiara blinked. “Perhaps because you are blind, my lady,” she replied. “How often does he visit your bed?”

  It was Marianne’s turn to blink, and not just because a tear was about to escape one eye. “He has not,” she answered with a sniffle. At Chiara’s look of disbelief, she added, “He... We sleep in his bed.”

  “Ah,” the older woma
n said with appreciation. “High up, where he is king,” she teased.

  Marianne blinked again. “He called it Mount Olympus.”

  Chiara furrowed a brow for a moment before her face lit up in delight. “Where he can worship you as a goddess, no doubt,” she whispered. Then she chuckled.

  “Signora Romano!” Marianne scolded, glancing about in a failed attempt at learning if anyone could hear their inappropriate conversation.

  Chiara was worse than her Aunt Cherice!

  “Forgive me. I am... I am merely remembering what it was like to be in love,” she said in a quiet voice. “A man once worshiped me like that. Several nights a week for three months. Took my virginity, but gave me...” She stopped and inhaled sharply.

  “What is it?” Marianne asked, her brows furrowing in worry. “Gave you...?”

  Chiara turned away and pulled a length of folded fabric from the stack next to where she stood. She carried it to the shopkeeper and recited a litany of instructions in Italian that Marianne couldn’t begin to follow.

  What had the woman been about to say? She obviously had mixed feelings about her first love. One minute she was remembering him fondly, and the next, she seemed about to curse him.

  Will I have such conflicted feelings about Jasper one day? Marianne wondered as she watched Chiara interact with the shopkeeper. A hand absently went to her belly. If she did, she hoped it would be long after she had borne a child or two.

  Preferably never.

  Chapter 22

  Bringing Mosaics into the Light

  Meanwhile, back in the Greco-Roman quarter

  Dr. Darius Jones regarded Viscount Henley from where he stood on the other side of an ancient stub of a column and gave a shake of his head. Prepared to chide the younger man for his poor skills in the field, he watched as the viscount did exactly what he would have done upon revealing a possible artifact. “Well, I’ll be damned,” Darius murmured, crossing his arms and leaning against the honey-color marble as he continued to watch Jasper clean away dirt from whatever he had discovered using a soft brush.