The Marriage Market

by Cathy Spencer

  Clara laughed. “For you, you silly young ass? You do not think too much of yourself, do you? What would Jemma want marrying a young, shiftless thing like you with no money except for what your parents give you?”

  Antonio said, “Clara, do not be so hard on the boy. He has been working hard lately, and some day he will inherit a fine business.” Clara grunted and went back to her stove.

  “Besides,” said Stephano, “I am a big man who can protect her and give Jemma many sons, not like that runt of an Englishman.”

  Clara turned with a spoon in her hand. “I think that Mr. Wovington is handsome, and I bet he can take care of himself and Jemma very well, if she wants him to.”

  Jemma walked into the room in time to hear her name mentioned. “Good morning. How is everyone today? Did I just hear my name?” She glanced at Stephano, who avoided her gaze. Clara bustled over to set another place at the table.

  “Sit down, cara, and I will get you some porridge. Did you sleep well?”

  “Fine, thank you. I was quite exhausted by the time we went to bed last night, and fell asleep instantly. Have you seen James yet this morning?”

  “No, not yet. But if I don’t get Cecilia out of bed soon, we will be late for Mass.” Clara hurried out of the kitchen.

  “I think that many people will be late for Mass this morning. We were one of the first families to leave the festival,” Antonio said.

  Clara came back into the kitchen. “I did not get very far. Look who I found coming out of his room.” She stood aside to let James enter.

  “Good morning, everyone. I hope that you all slept well,” he said.

  “Here, come and sit down beside Jemma. You will eat some porridge?”

  “That would be wonderful. Thank you Mrs. Benelli.”

  Clara shuttled porridge, bread, cheese, and a large pot of coffee to the table before leaving again to wake her daughter.

  Stephano said, “Zia Clara was just saying that we shall have to hurry or be late for Mass. Will you be coming with us, Wovington, or staying here?”

  Jemma turned to James. “It is a pretty little church, James, and the Catholic priest is a dear old man, if you wish to come. I am afraid that you may not understand him, though. I do not think he has any English.”

  “I would be delighted to attend church and to see the town.”

  Stephano added, “You can ride over on your horse, Wovington, and book a room at the inn while you are there.” Clara re-entered the kitchen in time to hear this remark and clucked at Stephano’s rudeness.

  “Now, Mr. Wovington, can’t we change your mind?” she asked. “We have many empty rooms now that the children have moved out. All but Cecilia, that is. And here comes our sleepyhead now. Come and have some coffee, Cecilia.”

  “Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. Benelli. You are very kind, but I think that it would be best if I stayed at the inn. From what you said yesterday, I will be very comfortable there. You must all come and dine with me during my stay.”

  “Well, you must visit with us all the time that you are here. Jemma can show you the vineyard and take you for a walk in the hills, now that the weather is good again.”

  “It really is beautiful here, James. You would not have had the chance to appreciate it last night.”

  “I look forward to seeing it with you, then.”

  Clara turned to her nephew. “What about your business, Stephano? Has Alberto settled with you about the necklace?”

  “Alberto has chosen, and now we must discuss the price. I will not rush him. It could take another week before our business is settled.”

  “Can your mother and father spare you for so long, Nephew?”

  “They will be fine without me for another week. It is not so busy at the shop now that the tourists have gone home. No, I am in no hurry to leave.”

  Antonio snorted and cuffed Stephano lightly on the head.

  “What, Zio? Do you want me to go home?”

  “You know that you are always welcome here, lazy one,” Antonio said. He looked in turn at Stephano, James, and Jemma, and grinned.

  “You are happy to have young people around again, aren’t you Tony?” Clara asked with a smile.

  “Yes, the house will be much livelier with them here,” he replied, putting the pipe back into his mouth and stretching out his legs.

  After the service, Jemma directed James to the inn, where he booked a room and arranged for his luggage to be sent on from Florence. They were both hungry, and sought out the inn’s small dining room. There was no menu to consult; the cook’s daughter told them what they would eat, and the meal was ordered. The other tables were occupied by Sunday regulars already enjoying their luncheon.

  Jemma gazed across the table at her companion. “I can still hardly believe that you are here, James. How was everyone back home when you left them?”

  “Everyone was well. The Larkes were busy planning Patricia’s upcoming nuptials, about which you have no doubt heard.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Larke has written a lot on that topic. Both she and the admiral are delighted with the match and speak highly of the young man.”

  “Yes, I have met him. He seems a very earnest, good-hearted man who suits Patricia admirably. I like the plans he has for his parish, and Patricia supports him wholeheartedly. They are fortunate in the living that his father has provided for them, although I suppose that Patricia will be well looked after by her father, too. I am sure of their future happiness.”

  “I am glad to hear it. Various young gallants have tried to woo our Patricia and failed to win her heart. I knew that it would take a special man to gain her affections.”

  The food arrived and the couple were silent while the waiting girl laid out the serving dishes. Jemma dished the food onto plates while James poured the wine, and they toasted each other’s health. As they ate, Jemma asked, “And what about you, James? How goes your practice? What business drew you to Paris?”

  James paused and put down his fork. “I think it time that I was honest with you, Jemma. I was not telling the truth when I said that I had business in Paris.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There never was any business. I did not even go to Paris. My sole object in coming to the continent was to see you.”

  Jemma stared at him. “You travelled all the way to Italy just to see me?”

  James reached across the table for her hand. “Yes. It was no good, Jemma. I could not stay away from you any longer. These months without you have been a misery. I was a fool and a coward not to tell you that I loved you. I just did not know how much until after you left me. I adore you, Jemma, and I ask you to grant my heart’s desire by consenting to be my wife.”

  Jemma continued staring at James without moving or speaking. His expression became fearful. Finally she said, “James, I am at a loss. You take me by surprise. When we said goodbye, I did not know that we were even still friends.”

  “Always,” he uttered, raising her hand to his lips. “My heart was broken, but I had no one to blame but myself.”

  Jemma gazed down at the table as she struggled with her emotions. “James, I do not know what to say. I do care for you, but . . . .”

  “No more,” James said quickly. “That is enough for now.” Jemma lifted her eyes and looked at him unhappily. “Please, let’s just finish our meal and go for a walk. Tell me what you have been doing all these weeks. Tell me about your friends. Let us spend the day together, and I will be happier than I have been since we parted.”

  Tears welled up in her eyes. “I would like that. I have missed my friend very much, and I am glad that you have come.” She smiled at him and they were silent as the girl came to serve the coffee.

  They strolled around the town that afternoon and climbed the road to enjoy the view of the surrounding countryside. Jemma was afraid that James might say more on the subject of matrimony, but he did not. Instead, he seemed composed and thoughtful. It grew late, and James rented a carriage from the inn to dri
ve Jemma back to the Benellis. When they arrived, Clara pressed James to stay for dinner, and he accepted her invitation with gratitude.

  They had a pleasant meal together, with Clara’s savoury cooking and Antonio’s excellent wine contributing to a convivial mood. Only Stephano remained silent while the others chattered and laughed. When it was time to clear the table, the men lit cigars and remained in the dining room while the women were busy in the kitchen.

  “Well, Jemma, what is it?” Clara demanded once the three women were alone. “Your face looks both happy and sad, all at the same time. Tell me what happened.”

  Jemma shook her head. “Your eyes are very sharp, Clara.”

  “Yes, Mama does not miss a thing,” Cecilia said with a grin. “She knew when Alberto had proposed just by looking at me.”

  Clara smiled triumphantly and crossed soapy arms across her chest. “That is it, isn’t it? Mr. Wovington has asked you to marry him.”

  The three women edged closer together and lowered their voices. “Yes, he has asked me to marry him,” Jemma replied.

  Clara clapped her hands together. “But, that is wonderful. I am very happy for you, cara. It is time that you had a husband again.”

  “Oh, Clara, I am not sure that I want to marry him,” Jemma cried, throwing her arms around her friend.

  “Why, what is wrong with him,” Clara asked, holding Jemma and stroking her hair.

  “Nothing at all. He is a dear man, intelligent, charming, honourable, generous, successful . . . .”

  “And handsome,” Cecilia said.

  “Yes, very,” Jemma said, releasing Clara and drawing out her handkerchief. “Just look at what he has done for me. How many men would help a woman to start her own business?”

  “None,” Clara said. “You will have freedom with him that most married women do not have. I know that this is important to you. You would not be content to stay at home looking after the babies, would you Jemma?”

  “No, you are perfectly right. And James would not expect me to confine myself to that. He will suit me well in that respect. But I am afraid that he does not really know his own heart.”

  “Why do you say that?” Clara asked.

  “I have a good friend back in England – Victoria – who married James’ oldest friend not quite two years ago. Victoria introduced James to two ladies in the past year with hopes of his marrying them. In both cases, a friendship developed that was ended by the lady.”

  “Oh,” Cecilia said, her eyebrows arching.

  “Did he propose to them?” Clara asked.

  “No, I do not think that things got that far.”

  “Well, what is that, two women? When my Antonio proposed, I had many men chasing after me.” Clara shrugged. “And your friend was trying to match him with these women, right?”

  “Yes, she thought that he would be happier married.”

  “Women sometimes think that even though the man does not. How should a man act, when a woman friend is pushing another woman at him? Maybe he was just being polite. I would not worry about it. Listen, Jemma, Mr. Wovington has come all the way from England to see you. Is that not proof that he is serious?”

  “That is true,” Jemma said, her face brightening. “He has come a long way to risk rejection.”

  “Well, there you are. I am certain that he loves you. But what are your feelings for him, cara?”

  “Oh, Clara, therein lies my second problem. I care for James, truly I do, but I do not think that I want to marry again. I like my life the way it is, especially now that I know that I still have James’ friendship. It is a long story, but I was not sure that James would want to continue our friendship when I left Bath. Now that he has suddenly turned up here, my head is all in a whirl!”

  “You are right,” said Clara, putting a motherly arm around her friend’s shoulders. “It is all very fast. Take a few days and think on it, Jemma. He will wait for you.”

  “Ahem,” a voice suddenly said behind them, making the women jump. They turned to see Stephano leaning in the doorway. “Zia Clara, my uncle asks that you bring the liqueur glasses. He would like to serve an after-dinner drink.”

  “All right, all right, tell your uncle that we are coming. Ask him to stir up the fire in the sitting room.”

  “Yes, Zia,” he said, retreating from the kitchen.

  The women exchanged a look. “How long do you think he was standing there?” Jemma whispered.

  “I do not know. Sometimes that boy walks like a cat,” Clara said. “Well, we can’t help what he heard. Let’s go see what is happening.” She brought out the glasses and they left the kitchen to join the men.

  Antonio was in a very jovial mood as he poured out a sweet plum liqueur that was a local favourite. He made a toast: “To good friends and family – long life, long love, and the blessing of many children. Salute!”

  They sipped from their glasses in the small sitting room that was used only for company. A good fire kept away the evening chill and the heavy brocade curtains at the windows blocked the draft. The women sat together on the sofa while Antonio and Stephano shared the settee across from them and James sat on a dining room chair. A highly-polished wooden table that had belonged to Clara’s mother sat within easy reach in the middle. On it rested a handsome silver tray bearing the liqueur bottle and a matching silver bowl with nuts.

  “Come, come, Mr. Wovington, have another glass. We have to warm you up for the ride back to town. Ladies, would you like another? How about you, Stephano?” Antonio asked.

  James said, “Thank you, Mr. Benelli, but I fear that I enjoyed your fine wine rather too much at dinner, so I will not overdo this delicious liqueur. You will have to tell me where to purchase a bottle to bring home.” The ladies also declined a second glass, but Stephano helped himself to another.

  “So, Mr. Wovington, what will you do while you are on holiday?” Clara asked.

  “I have not made any plans yet, Mrs. Benelli. I have never been to Italy before, and I had hopes that Jemma might be my guide.”

  Stephano cleared his throat. “You should not waste anymore time in the country, Wovington. You must go to Rome to see the important sights. A friend of mine conducts tours there. I will write to him. He will take you to the best places and show you what the tourists don’t get to see. You should go soon before the weather is too cold. That would be the best plan.”

  James contemplated him for a moment. “That is a very kind offer, Mr. Rossi, but I do not plan to go as far as Rome.” He turned to Jemma. “I had hoped that you would show me Florence, my dear. I would like to see where you used to live, the market where you bought your food, and your favourite shops. I have heard of the city’s beauty, and I would like to see something of your old life. Will you take me?”

  Jemma smiled at him and nodded. “I would like to show you Florence, James. I was very happy there, once.”

  Clara winked at her husband and steered the conversation to Cecilia’s upcoming nuptials. Stephano remained hunched in his corner, mechanically refilling his glass when it was empty. Suddenly, he stood.

  “It is getting late and you will have to be back before they lock the door at the inn, Wovington,” he said. “I will walk you to the stable and help you to harness your horse.”

  “You are right, Mr. Rossi, it is getting late. I lost track of the time.” James stood, and Jemma rose as well. “I will be back again after breakfast, Jemma, to discuss our plans. Perhaps we can go to Florence the day after tomorrow, or would that be too soon?”

  Clara said, “We will help you pack one of your trunks tomorrow, Jemma, so that you can leave for Florence right away. You can leave the rest of your things with us, or we can send them to you, whatever you like.”

  Jemma looked at James, smiled, and shrugged. “It would seem that I am at your disposal, sir.”

  He took her hand and kissed it. “Until tomorrow, then. Sleep well, Jemma. I hope that you all rest well,” he said, turning to the Benellis and bowing. Stephano bowe
d in a parody of James’ formality and gestured to the sitting room door. James indicated that Stephano should precede him from the room. Stephano exited quickly, if a little unsteadily, and headed coatless for the front door. The Benellis and Jemma escorted James to the door, where they waited for him to don his cape and hat. Bidding them good night, he followed Stephano into the night.

  “Don’t be out too long, Stephano. I need you to bring more wood for the kitchen stove,” Clara called out the door. She squinted into the darkness and saw her nephew waiting on the gravel walk for James. James joined him, and the two men walked together out of her sight. Clara sighed and closed the door.

  The sky was overcast and the wind had risen. The lantern that Stephano carried did not cut the murkiness beyond the path, and James felt alone in the world with his sullen companion. It was obvious from the young man’s unsteady gait that he had imbibed too freely of the plum liqueur. Stephano turned to look at him, and James could see a sneer upon his face.

  “Well, Wovington, I must say that things are going well for you. Jemma has agreed to go to Florence with you. That is very generous of her. She must hold you in high esteem.”

  “I hope so,” James replied.

  “Jemma is a wonderful woman. We all love her like she is one of the family. We would not like to see any harm come to her.”

  “I can understand that, Rossi.”

  “Good. Then you will not mind my asking what your intentions are toward Jemma?”

  James looked up at the big man walking beside him. “I intend to marry her, Mr. Rossi, and to take her back to England with me.”

  “Is that so? But there is something I do not understand, Wovington, and I want you to explain it to me. If you love Jemma, why did you not marry her back in England, eh? Why did you let her come all this way alone? Here in Italy, we do not let our women travel alone and unprotected.”

  “It is a complicated matter, Mr. Rossi, and one that I do not care to discuss with you.”

  Stephano stopped in the middle of the path, blocking James’ way. “Is that so? But I don’t care what you want, Wovington. I want Jemma to marry a good man, and I am not sure that you are good enough. As a matter of fact, I think that I would make a better husband for Jemma. What do you say to that?”