The crowd gasped in appreciation then applauded.
James stared.
Marcus cleared his throat.
“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Ryland said under her breath.
“Oh, my,” Violet murmured.
Carved out of white marble, the statue was twice as big as life, depicting the goddess reclining on a chaise, propped up on one elbow. A book dangled from one hand, a helmet was nestled by her feet. Her hair fell in waves over her shoulders and curled over her naked breasts. The position of her legs served to conceal some of her more intimate areas. She rested on a bed of carved drapery. Even with his limited knowledge of all things artistic, he could see this was a magnificent work.
The face was especially exquisite. But then why wouldn’t it be?
It was Violet’s face.
“I can see why you might be nervous about this.” James gestured at the statue. “Why, you might think this would be awkward.”
“It’s really rather unexpected.”
He glanced at her. “You didn’t know about this?”
“I knew it was a possibility,” she said in an offhand manner. “Goodness, James. I posed for it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“YOU WHAT?” SOMETHING AKIN to horror shone in James’s eyes.
Violet couldn’t help herself. One look at his face and she burst into laughter.
“This is not amusing.” Indignation rang in his voice.
“Oh, come now.” She choked back another laugh. “It’s a little amusing.”
He glared. “This is you!”
“Not all of it.” She studied the statue.
He waved at the sculpture. “It’s your face!”
“It does bear a resemblance, I suppose.”
“It bears more than a resemblance.” His gaze shifted between her and the sculpture. “And what of the rest of it? Is it you?” Dear Lord, the man was actually comparing her figure to the statue’s.
“He did make some alterations,” she said thoughtfully. “Improvements, really.”
“Improvements?” He could barely choke out the word.
She pointed at various spots on the marble figure. “There, the bosom. It’s a bit larger than mine. And the hips, as well. Don’t you agree, Cleo?”
“It’s rather hard to tell.” Cleo shrugged.
“That’s what I thought.” Violet sighed. “So, as to your question James, about whether the rest of the statue is me or not, I can’t say.” She smiled. “I really don’t know.”
“How can you not know if this is you or not?” He ground out the words.
Oh, this was fun. “Good Lord, James. I never imagined you would be quite this stuffy.”
“I think a certain amount of stuffiness is to be expected. That—” he waved at the statue “—is my wife!”
“Immortalized in stone.” She grinned. “I would think you’d be proud.”
“Proud?” His eyebrows shot upward. “Proud? You’re naked!”
“No, James, I am quite properly clothed.” She nodded at the sculpture. “She’s naked.”
He grit his teeth. “This is another test isn’t it?”
It wasn’t, but there was no need to tell James that. In fact, she was nearly as surprised as he to see her own face staring out at her. It had been several years since she’d posed for Rinaldo. While she knew it was a possibility, that he chose to use her likeness for Minerva was unexpected and extremely flattering. She shrugged. “Not necessarily, unless of course you wish to turn it into a test.”
“It really is a remarkable work,” Cleo said.
“The man has a great deal of talent,” Marcus added, obviously in an effort to distract his friend from his indignant outrage. “Although wasn’t Minerva the goddess of war?”
“As well as art, industry, commerce and wisdom.” Penelope stepped up beside them. “She was quite busy as goddesses went.”
“Of course.” Marcus nodded. “But one would think a goddess of war and everything else would be depicted with a sword and shield and probably clothes.”
Oh, yes, drawing further attention to the nudity was certainly the way to distract James.
“Poetic license if you will, Mr. Davies. I’ve never met an artist who didn’t take certain liberties,” Penelope said. “Unless of course, the work in question was a portrait and even then we do hope the artist will make some, oh, improvements. If we want the unvarnished truth we might as well have a photograph taken.”
“Might I point out nearly every classic sculpture of a male warrior or god is usually sans clothing,” Cleo said.
Penelope turned to Violet. “Imagine my surprise when I saw your face on Rinaldo’s work.”
“She posed for him,” James said through gritted teeth.
“Of course she did. Some time ago if I recall.” Penelope’s eyes widened. “And why wouldn’t she? He’s quite talented and it really is an honor that he chose to use her face for that of a goddess. Goodness, my lord, we’ve all posed for him.”
Marcus cast a questioning glance at Cleo. She smiled in a noncommittal manner.
Penelope nodded at Minerva. “In fact, I’m fairly certain those are my feet.”
“Why you?” James said to Violet.
She frowned. “What do you mean—why me?”
“Well, well, you two have indeed reconciled. You sound exactly like a husband and wife.” Penelope took Cleo’s arm. “Oh, look, dear, isn’t that the ambassador? We really should say hello.” She glanced at Marcus. “Come along, Mr. Davies.”
“What ambassador?” Marcus asked, following after the ladies.
“It doesn’t matter, it’s just an excuse,” Penelope said, and the trio made its way through the crowd.
“Why did he choose to use your face?” James crossed his arms over his chest.
“Why not my face?” she said slowly.
“It seems to me a man might want to immortalize a woman he had certain feelings for. A woman he was intimately involved with.”
It was obvious James thought Rinaldo was her lover. And just as obvious that it bothered him. “You’re jealous.”
He ignored her. “You’re a married woman.”
“Oh, I don’t think you of all people can use that particular argument.” She narrowed her eyes. “Why not me?”
“Because I don’t like it!” He huffed then paused. “Actually, I do like it. It’s quite good. What I don’t like is that it’s you. And whether or not anything from the neck down—”
“I do like to think of myself as inspiration.”
“—is you or Lady Fenton or Mrs. Ryland or God knows how many others, everyone who sees this is going to think it’s all you.”
“Perhaps.” He was right, of course. Not that it mattered. When she’d posed for the artist she was discreetly draped in yards of sheeting, something reminiscent of an ancient toga. And Rinaldo’s wife was present, as well.
“I have no desire to share you—even in marble—with the rest of the world.”
She stared at him for a moment then smiled. “That’s rather sweet of you.”
“I did not say it to be sweet.” He grabbed a bite-sized pastry off the tray of a passing waiter.
“Then it was just the jealousy speaking?”
“Yes!” He popped the hors d’oeuvre in his mouth, no doubt to keep from having to say more.
She gazed into his eyes. “You were the one who wanted to put the past behind us. You promised not to throw my affairs in my face if I didn’t throw your affairs in yours.”
“Yes, well, that’s proving a bit more difficult than I imagined,” he said sharply.
She wanted to laugh with sheer delight. The man really did have feelings for her. Feelings serious enough to warrant jealousy. Feelings that had nothing to do with his inheritance. And wasn’t that...wonderful
.
“Come along, James. There are all sorts of people here I want to introduce you to.” She took his arm. “As my husband.”
He glared at her. “Won’t that be awkward?”
“Oh, it will definitely be awkward.” She smiled. “But worth it, I think. After all, I’ll be introducing you that way for at least the next three years.”
“At least?” A slow grin spread across his face.
“Don’t be smug, James,” she said coolly. “You haven’t won anything.”
He glanced back at the goddess and then looked at Violet’s hips. “I don’t think you need any improvement.”
And that was rather wonderful, as well.
James was as good as his word. No one could have asked for a more charming, thoughtful companion. The perfect husband. It was easy to forget she was still angry with him. Indeed, it was becoming more and more difficult to remain angry with him. In truth, and Violet wasn’t sure how or when it had happened, but her anger had nearly faded away altogether. Perhaps she had forgiven him at that. He was at once an entirely different man than he had been six years ago and yet there were moments when he was very much the same.
When the reception drew to a close, Violet and James took a carriage to Rinaldo’s family home on the outskirts of the city. Cleo and Marcus begged off, saying they wished to retire early given tomorrow’s travel. It was all Violet could do not to laugh at the innocent looks on their respective faces. James apparently still did not know about the couple’s marriage.
The house was near one of the last remaining sections of the ancient wall that had once surrounded the city. Rinaldo’s house had been his family’s home for generations. A large outbuilding on the property had been turned into his studio. The house was already crowded with friends and relatives when they arrived.
“There’s someone I want you to meet.” Violet scanned the gathering. “I didn’t have the chance to introduce you earlier.” She took his arm and guided him through the crowd.
“Another friend? Another sculptor perhaps?” James asked innocently.
“I should smack you for that,” she murmured.
“Oh, would you?”
She ignored him and caught the eye of her friend who waved them closer. “James, allow me to introduce you to Signora Lazzari. Francesca, this is my husband, Lord Ellsworth.”
“Ah, il marito.” Francesca was significantly shorter than James and yet still managed to kiss him on both cheeks with an enthusiasm nearly as great as her husband’s greeting of Violet. Apparently, James had no particular objection to a wholehearted welcome when it came to a lovely Italian woman. “Welcome to my home, my lord.”
“This is your home?” James asked.
“Sì. And the rest of my family, of course.” Francesca beamed. “I am so sorry I did not meet you at the unveiling. I left immediately after Minerva was revealed.” She looked around with satisfaction. “But as you can see, I had much to do here. Violetta, did he meet Rinaldo?”
Violet nodded. “He did.”
“And Signore Lazzari is your husband?” James said slowly.
“He is.” Francesca’s pride-filled gaze shifted to Rinaldo, engaged in animated conversation on the other side of the room. “It is so much more convenient that way, for the children, you understand?”
James nodded.
“They have...” Violet looked at her friend. “Is it still five?”
“Sì.” A firm note sounded in Francesca’s voice. “And five it will remain.”
“Francesca and I attended the same school in England, although she was older and we didn’t know each other then.” Violet smiled. “We met again on my first trip to Florence.”
“And have been friends ever since.” Francesca’s gaze skimmed over the gathering. “Violetta has been here many times. We consider her our English cousin and we celebrate her visits with food and wine and music.”
Violet laughed. “The Lazzari family wastes no opportunity to celebrate.”
The first time Violet had visited Francesca and Rinaldo’s home it had been a bit overwhelming. Especially when compared to Violet’s own reserved and very English family. Even when she was a child, family gatherings were restrained and proper and obligatory. She would wager every person at the Lazzari house tonight was here because they wanted to be nowhere else. There was a joy to be found in the presence of this family and their friends that warmed Violet’s soul. She never left without promising to return and she always meant that promise.
Francesca caught sight of something and frowned. “Mannaggia.” She sighed and held up a finger. “Un momento. Scusami.” With that she hurried off to see to whatever crisis had arisen. A not-infrequent occurrence in Violet’s experience.
Someone passing by paused long enough to hand Violet and James each a glass of wine. James gratefully threw back half the glass.
Violet choked back a laugh. “Not what you expected?”
“Not exactly.” He smiled. “So Lazzari’s wife is a friend of yours?” he asked in an offhand manner.
“Indeed she is.” Violet took a sip of the deep red wine that spoke to her of sun-drenched days and warm breezes and star-filled nights.
“A good friend apparently.”
“Very good.” Perhaps it was time to put the man out of his misery. “By the way, I would never be involved with the husband of a friend. Or anyone else’s husband for that matter.”
“I know.” He nodded. “Or rather I should have known. I suppose I expected you to be as...disreputable as I was. Or used to be.” He blew a long breath. “If one was strictly catering to one’s own desires, one could ignore things like responsibilities and regrets. And guilt.”
Violet wasn’t sure what to say. She’d never expected this kind of confession, especially not here and now. Nor was she entirely sure what it meant. But it was most intriguing.
“So.” James took another sip. “You’re a member of the family, are you?”
“Yes, and extremely proud to be considered family.” She glanced around the crowded room. “These people are welcoming and honest and very kind. They aren’t worried about propriety or position or—”
“Or titles or wealth.” James considered the gathering. “They are rather free-spirited, aren’t they? Happy as well, it appears. And unconcerned about showing their happiness.”
“Every time I visit, I can’t help comparing my family with this one.” She snorted. “Can you imagine my mother here? Or my sister for that matter.”
“Until tonight I couldn’t imagine you here.”
“Oh?”
“Well, everyone is having a great deal of fun.”
“I have fun.” She drew her brows together. “I frequently have a considerable amount of fun.”
“I stand corrected.” He chuckled. “The Violet I knew six years ago would have been uncomfortable with all this. Violetta is completely at ease.”
“One of the benefits of years of travel, James.” She took a sip of wine. “I’ve met some of the nicest people in the most interesting places. One needs to be open to new experiences when one wanders the world. And in the process, one discovers different from what one is accustomed to—while it might be momentarily awkward—is not necessarily bad. It’s simply...different.”
His gaze wandered over the gathering, a faint pensive note in his voice. “This is not our world, Violet.”
“Do be careful, James. You’re sounding philosophical again.” She sipped her wine. “It didn’t used to be Francesca’s world, either. She was orphaned at an early age, the only child of parents descended from prominent Florentine families. She was sent to England to school, her family’s fortune and her future left in the hands of an untrustworthy guardian. When she finished school and returned to Florence, the guardian claimed the fortune left by her parents had been spent on her education and there was nothing left.”<
br />
James winced.
“Fortunately, her parents had friends, one couple in particular who took her in and gave her a home.” She looked around. “They’re probably here somewhere. He was an art dealer and, as Francesca speaks several languages, she proved helpful in his dealings with foreign clients. It was through him that she met Rinaldo.”
“And lived happily ever after.” He grinned.
“Now, Lord Ellsworth.” Francesca appeared beside them. “I would be the most awful of hosts if I did not introduce you to the rest of Violetta’s family.”
“I would be honored,” James said with a smile and offered his arm. “And please call me James.”
“Oh, I could never call you James, my lord. I was taught that would be highly improper,” Francesca said, then smiled. “But James is Giacomo in my country.”
“Then Giacomo it is.” He leaned toward Violet and lowered his voice. “Wasn’t Casanova’s first name Giacomo?”
“However, as Shakespeare pointed out...” She smiled innocently. “What’s in a name?”
He snorted back a laugh then turned his attention to Francesca, and the two of them circled the room, barely taking more than a few steps between introductions. Violet started behind, them then encountered one person after another she’d met before, everyone greeting her as if she truly were a member of the family. Violet noticed Francesca introduce James to her mother-in-law, who promptly pulled him into the dancing. While a look of apprehension did flash across his face, he didn’t hesitate for so much as a moment. Good man. The thought pulled her up short. Dear Lord, she was proud of him.
When the opportunity arose, Violet stepped out of the flow of celebrants to take a deep breath and observe the festivities. No less than a hundred people filled the house, spilled onto the loggia and tumbled into the garden. Children darted about, laughing and calling to one another and doing all those things children tend to do when adults are paying no attention. Endless platters of food covered the tables, wine flowed without pause, music and laughter filled the air and from oldest to youngest, everyone danced.
The Lady Travelers Guide to Happily Ever After Page 27
