by J. M. Stengl
“Today.” They were sending their matriarch away on Christmas Day. What had Lady B done now? I ran one hand over my rumpled hair. “What time?”
“She’ll be here by midafternoon. Do you have any ideas about where we should put her?”
“This room is nearest to the bathroom, and Maria could have the adjoining room.” I pointed at the locked door on one wall. “I’ll shift my things into a room down the hall, and we can have these two rooms ready.”
Elena grabbed my hand and squeezed it. “Bless you, child! Francesca and the boys will help. We planned to bring our Christmas dinner up here to the villa anyway.”
“At least there’s plenty of room in the inn,” I quipped.
Elena chuckled, cupped my cheeks between her hands, and patted them. I inwardly recoiled but managed to keep my body still. Exactly when had our relationship progressed to the cheek-patting stage?
“Come down and have breakfast. We’ll get started cleaning the blue bedchamber for you. Unless you prefer one of the others?” She raised inquiring brows.
“Whichever will be easiest,” I said. “I’ll be right down.”
I couldn’t quite wolf down a breakfast of blintzes and scrambled eggs, but I gave it a fair effort. Elena would have been offended if I didn’t enjoy her artistry. The rest of the family had greeted me when I passed them on their way upstairs, as cheery as ever. Everyone, even Luigi, had smiled at me in a knowing yet approving way.
What exactly did the Ganzas approve? My willingness to offer my room to Lady Beneventi? That was no big deal. I was hardly attached to the gold room and its ceiling mirror. If they knew Manny as well as I suspected, they must know he wasn’t serious about me. Attracted to me—maybe a little. Kind enough to spend Christmas Eve with a girl no one else wanted around. Interested in my welfare, perhaps, but not in a deeply meaningful way. He’d been careful to draw the line at friendship.
I couldn’t fool myself into thinking he respected the social barriers between a working man and a peeress. His indifference to rank knocked even that emotional crutch out from under my infatuation.
I would recover as quickly and thoroughly as I had from previous crushes. When did I ever sigh over Prince Omar, Prince Briar, or any of the other handsome men who’d caught my eye in the past? In future, I would probably blush in shame over my foolish behavior—that seemed to be standard—but the pain would fade.
Meanwhile, work should keep me from obsessing.
I hurried upstairs in time to pack up my things and move them into a room with cornflower-blue flowers sprinkled over its walls and solid maple furnishings. The overall effect was dated yet peaceful, and there was no mirror on the ceiling above the king-sized bed. I could get used to this despite its distance from the bathroom.
While helping gather necessities for Lady B’s room, I asked the big question: “Why are they sending Lady Beneventi back on Christmas Day?”
“They gave no details, only that she would be here by three o’clock,” Elena said. “I don’t know whether Lady B refused to stay another day or is being sent home, and I don’t suppose we’ll learn the full story anytime soon.”
I had to smile, but not without a sigh. Lady Beneventi’s version of events would undoubtedly be free of any implication of wrongdoing on her part. I couldn’t help wondering if she’d made a disastrous wish . . .
When Jacopo helped Lady Beneventi climb out of the limousine, she looked frail and pale. I hurried forward to offer additional support, but she slapped my hands away. “Get your hands off me, girl. I can walk. Just take the dog.”
Bacio was a whimpering, wriggling, tongue-flashing bundle of joy in my arms. He couldn’t reach my face, so he licked my fingers and neck and anything else within reach. Ick. I took him to the grass lining the drive to do his business, keeping one eye on him but otherwise observing Lady Beneventi’s progress. She seemed to lean heavily on Maria as they climbed the front steps.
When I entered the house, Lady B was in her wheelchair, rapping out orders and complaints: “Why must it be so cold today? It’s dark in here. Does no one know how to build a fire in the fireplaces? Where are all the servants I pay to work in this house?”
“They are celebrating Christmas with their families, my lady,” I answered while Maria loaded her charge into the elevator. I stepped in after them, and the door closed. “I hope your family warned you that the master suite is being renovated.”
“Renovated? Whose fool idea was that?” the old lady snapped.
“Not mine,” I returned. “But it would make no sense to update the rest of the house and leave your suite back in the last century. This renovation team is fast and efficient, so I imagine you’ll be back in your rooms within a month.”
“A month,” she grumbled. And the talk didn’t stop. All day. All evening.
“It was a miserable holiday. Everyone so busy! My grandson Christian did bring his family to meet me—noisy little children. Other relatives were in and out . . . I wouldn’t know my own grandchildren if I saw them on the street. Your generation cares nothing for their elders.”
I could easily picture the young people trying and failing to humor their irascible grandmother. Bird-nest Beard was older though, a man, not a boy.
“You had two sons. How many grandchildren do you have?”
“Seven. Four from one son, three from the other.” She sounded proud. “Emanuele’s four sons work for the company—his wife is sister to the queen, you know. Vittorio also has all boys.”
I had no idea where Bird-nest Beard was in birth order . . . No, wait—hadn’t my father said he would inherit the title? He must be the oldest son of Lady B’s older son. What would Lady B have to say about me if I’d accepted his proposal? Nothing good, for certain.
The gold room was an extreme inconvenience, and Lady B railed at the notion of sharing the bathroom with me and Maria. Having her television in the same room as her bed was some consolation, however. “There must be something worth watching on television even though it’s Christmas Day. Hmph. Some Christmas . . . sent home like a child . . .” she grumbled under her breath.
So it hadn’t been her choice to return. Oh, how I wanted to dig for details!
Not until that evening, when I took Bacio down to the kitchen, did I hear the story. I was surprised to find Elena and Jacopo in the kitchen together, snacking on Manny’s nuclear explosion cake.
“So, it is edible after all,” I commented in passing.
“Delicious,” Jacopo assured me. “Would you like a slice?”
“Sure. Let me take this little guy out, and I’ll be back.”
After Bacio was snug in his kennel, I joined them to find a piece of cake and a cup of spice tea waiting for me. “Thank you!”
“After today, you deserve a treat,” Elena said. “How is she?”
“Asleep. She did nothing but complain all evening. I think she is really upset.”
“She should be,” Elena commented, pressing her lips together in evident concern. “Maria told me why they sent Lady B back to us.”
I lowered the bite of cake I’d been lifting to my mouth. “What happened?”
Elena sipped her drink, exchanged a glance with her husband, then began her tale. “On Christmas Eve, the family had their usual big party. Lady B got miffed at a relative—her grandniece or something. Apparently, this woman has had many, um, enhancements to her face and body.”
“She has a plastic surgeon on retainer,” Jacopo added.
I had to laugh. “What happened?”
“Lady B wished this woman would look entirely natural for once,” Elena answered. “And she did. She still had clothes on, but they didn’t fit anymore. No makeup, no bleached hair, and no enhancements. Maria said she looked like an entirely different person.”
“And this happened at a party?” I asked, picturing the scene. That kind of thing would draw a lot of notice.
“Lady B’s daughter-in-law hustled the woman out of the room.” Elena shook her head. “
Maria says only a few people saw her, and they didn’t recognize her.”
“Anyone who saw the transformation probably figured they’d had too much wine.” Jacopo raised his cup of tea in salute.
“It happened in late afternoon. The current Lady Beneventi convinced the restored relative to return to the party after sundown, so most of the guests still don’t know anything unusual happened,” Elena continued. “However, the family was terribly upset. Everyone knew it could have been much worse.”
“How many people connected what Lady B said to what happened?” I asked.
“Only immediate family members who already knew about the ‘difficulty,’ as they call it.” Jacopo linked his fingers together behind his head and grinned, reminding me of Luigi. “The current viscontessa swears Lady B isn’t welcome back to their home until this curse is broken.”
My amusement fading, I shook my head in concern. “She’s been so good recently!”
“But her memory is getting worse,” Elena said.
“I’ll have to speak with her again about the danger of her wishes.” I sighed at the prospect, but it had to be done.
The following afternoon, I was reading to Lady B, who reclined on a white satin chaise longue, when Luigi knocked at the open door and brought in a huge flower arrangement. Luca followed close behind with a sturdy table, asking, “Where do you want these, my lady?”
“Oh, how beautiful!” I gasped.
“What are these men doing in my room?” Lady B grumbled. “I don’t want a bush in here.”
I took charge and pointed to an unused corner. “Over there by the washstand, I think.” They obediently placed the arrangement and withdrew. Luigi gave me a commiserating wince.
“Where did those flowers come from?” Lady B demanded. “Who would send red roses to me? Ridiculous. What are you waiting for, girl? Go read the tag and see who sent them.”
I found a card and opened it. “It says, ‘Merry Christmas. I’m sorry, I miss you, and I hope these brighten your week. All my love, Raoul.’” That would be Bird-nest Beard. I recognized his name with a little heart twinge.
Huge, velvety red roses, white tulips, and red berries set amid cedar, pine, and holly branches—it quite took my breath away. The man with the horrible beard had incredible taste in flowers, and he must love his grandmother a great deal to send something so extravagant. My stomach pinched again at the reminder of my rudeness to him.
“Well, that’s something,” Lady B commented, evidently pleased. Then she frowned. “Raoul wasn’t home for my visit. They expected him in a few days, but I missed him entirely this year. He’s always working.” Her expression softened. “He was a scamp, but such a loving boy. He and his brother Christian visited often when Arturo was still with us. They both have magnificent beards like their nonno’s.”
Ouch. The beard again. “Would you like me to move the flowers closer, so you can see and smell them?”
“Oh no, the smell is already overpowering.” She grimaced. “I despise having flowers indoors. They belong out in the garden. Whoever sent them was either forgetful or terribly inconsiderate. Get rid of them immediately!”
I don’t know why my stomach kept hurting, but her rejection of the flowers felt too much like my rejection of her grandson. Once again, his kindness was spurned. I stepped into the hall, ready to go in search of Luigi and Luca, and started in surprise to find them leaning against the wall, arms folded.
Before I could say a word, they straightened. “Want the flowers in your room? She’ll have a fit if she sees them anywhere in the house, and they’re too pretty to waste.”
“In my . . .” I paused. “Sure!”
That night I sent Manny a text: Lady B’s family sent her home Christmas Day for making a wish at a party. No one was endangered, thankfully. I talked with her again today about the importance of watching her mouth. Tactfully, I promise. Hope you had a nice holiday.
I was nearly asleep when my phone rang. Seeing Manny’s name in the caller ID, I popped wide awake. “Hello?”
“You can’t say I didn’t try to leave you a voicemail.” His voice was low and warm, and my heart filled my throat.
“I forgot to turn my phone off.” I hopped out of bed and walked around the room, too excited to remain still.
“No complaints here. I thought Lady Beneventi’s suite was all torn up.”
“It is, and the renovations began today. I had to turn her television’s sound up so she could hear over the commotion. Putting her in my former room might not have been the best idea after all, but at least she has the bathroom close.” I then told him about the holiday-wrecking wish, and he laughed in all the right places.
“I’m sorry your Christmas wasn’t much of a holiday,” he said. “Did you ever hear from your family?”
“No, but I was busy all day anyway. Today, one of Lady B’s grandsons sent her a fabulous floral arrangement, but she hates having flowers in the house, so I have them in my room. Best Christmas present ever, even if it is second-hand.”
I could hear the smile in his voice. “You deserve some brightness in your day.”
“Are you enjoying the holiday with your family?” I asked.
“Sure.” I heard other voices in the background, and his voice suddenly changed to a distant friendliness. “I’ll be heading back on the road in two days, but it’s nice to be spoiled for a day or two. Thank you for catching me up on events. I’ve gotta go.”
“Oh. All right. Goodbye.”
And that was that. What was with this guy?
Why in the world did I text him? Why did I pick up when he called? Stupid, stupid, stupid! Forget him.
I tended the floral arrangement carefully, and it lasted well over a week. After the flowers faded, the evergreens scented my room for several more weeks. Bird-nest Beard would never know it, but his kindness brightened an otherwise dull and lonely winter.
One windy morning in late March, I pushed Lady B’s chair through the gardens while Bacio dashed about, chasing his own shadow. The day was not exactly warm, but we all appreciated the sporadic sunshine after some recent rains and cold weather. As we strolled along the path overlooking the view of the ocean, Lady B gasped in horror, one hand to her throat, her eyes staring fixedly down the slope of lawn. Frightened, I leaned over her, feeling for her pulse. “What’s wrong? Are you ill?”
She turned a shocked, furious glare at me and shouted, “Arturo’s beloved poplar trees have been chopped down! Who is responsible? I must know at once!”
I stared down the hill, trying to remember any trees that were now missing. “Um, let’s find one of the groundskeepers and ask what happened.”
Lorenzo had been sweeping the veranda, so I headed that direction while Lady B ranted at me. He probably heard us coming—Lady Beneventi’s voice carried well—and met us on the path below the terrace. “How can I help you, my lady?” he asked with an unusually formal bow.
“The Vetrician poplar trees Arturo planted after our honeymoon are gone! Who is responsible for this outrage?” she snapped.
He bowed again. “You ordered the trees removed last spring, my lady, because they blocked your view of the ocean.”
“I most certainly did not!” Her eyes nearly bulged out of her head.
“I will show you the order as it was written up, if you wish,” he responded in a polite, respectful tone. “It might comfort you to know that the trees were coppiced and are already vigorously growing back. We will trim them into a neat hedgerow to preserve your ocean view.”
“Oh. Well, then.” Her temper slowly subsided. “Very well. Carry on. Gillian, I want to visit Giano.”
“Are you feeling better now?” As I asked, I looked down at the top of her newly cut-and-styled hair, only to see it moving around as if a tiny whirlwind had settled on top of her head.
Blinking several times didn’t help. The hair kept whirling, and Lady B’s good cheer vanished. “Girl, stop asking stupid questions and take me to Giano.”
/> My stomach pinched slightly, but I didn’t argue. We’d been nearly three months without a disastrous wish. Other than Arturo’s visits, I wasn’t certain she had made any at all. I had my suspicions about some little things but no solid evidence. At least she was no longer shouting about the trees.
“Yes, my lady,” I said, wheeling her down the sloping path to Giano’s garden.
“She’s a self-centered girl, like most of her generation. Doesn’t know what’s good for her,” Lady Beneventi said in an undertone, speaking to her shoulder.
“Who?” I inquired.
“Eavesdroppers never hear good of themselves,” she snapped without looking at me.
I drew a deep breath, puffed out my cheeks, and released it slowly. If I wasn’t already crazy, which was questionable, I soon would be at this rate.
Lady B tilted her head as if listening to her shoulder. “You think so? I notice no improvement. I’ve simply learned to put up with a control freak in my life.”
Takes one to know one. The words trembled on my lips, but instead I asked, “If you’re not talking to me, who is listening—Bacio?” The little dog, hearing his name, dashed toward us, tail wagging, and danced around my feet until I reached down to pet him.
“Girl, you worry me. Bacio is a good listener, but he was much too far away to hear what I said.” She reached down to let her dog lick her hand before he charged ahead to drink from the pond.
I parked her chair beside the bench, and she levered herself out of it, chuckling softly. “Ridiculous, I know! Self-absorbed, like I said.” Once seated on the bench, she looked up at Giano’s earnest face and smiled. “How are you today, handsome?”
Lady Beneventi’s hair wafted about as if dancing to imaginary music. Her eyes were closed, and she rested one aged hand on Giano’s foot. My gaze shifted to Giano, whose fixed gaze seemed to focus on the horizon . . . yet I felt his attention on me.
That afternoon, seated on a ratty sofa in a tiny house in the village while Lady B played cards with her friends, I texted Manny: This isn’t an emergency, but Lady B was talking to herself today and seemed to hear answers. I’m starting to worry about my own sanity.