Mr. Freeborn was as meticulously dressed as ever and seemed even more cadaverous next to his wife, a sweet dumpling of a woman with rosy cheeks and gray hair worn in a simple bun. Her dress, of pale gray velvet trimmed with bands of satin, was precisely right both for the lady and the occasion. Elinor was pleased that her own dress of changeable blue-green taffeta with a bertha of cream-colored lace did not clash with her hostess’s gown and wondered momentarily whether that was one of the things a consul’s wife had to consider. Perhaps that was the reason for the choice of gray.
No sooner had they greeted the Freeborns than the other guests arrived. Prince Savelli did not disappoint. Although not particularly tall, he held himself well and looked most dramatically handsome and distinguished, with a head of thick iron-gray hair that he wore slightly long. He was accompanied by a lady of a certain age who was quite breathtakingly glamorous and moved with languid grace. She had black hair, perhaps a little too black, worn in a madonna style, and pale skin that reminded Elinor of thick cream. Her dark eyes were half covered by eyelids that seemed too heavy to stay quite open, so she looked sleepily out at the world. A full mouth just hinted at a smile. Her dress of crimson velvet was trimmed with black, and an extraordinary necklace of rubies circled her throat.
Elinor felt her mother stiffen and saw her lay her hand on her husband’s arm. He looked down at his wife with amusement.
By far the most interesting member of the party was not the glamorous lady but the handsome young man beside her. Handsome was a most inadequate word for him. He was tall, almost as tall as her brother, and he had either broad shoulders or an excellent tailor who understood padding. His hair, as black as the woman’s, curled around a high forehead, and his black eyes seemed to focus directly on Elinor the moment he entered the room. He smiled, and white teeth gleamed against his olive skin. He looked just slightly wicked.
Her breath caught and she was very glad that her gown was so becoming.
Introductions were made. The lady was the prince’s cousin, the Contessa Landi, and the young man was her son, the Cavaliere Armando Landi. The prince made a fuss over Lady Penworth and Elinor. Lord Penworth made a fuss over Mrs. Freeborn and the contessa. The contessa made no fuss over anyone but looked at Rycote as if he were a particularly appetizing morsel. Rycote looked as if he would like to vanish. The cavaliere smiled at Elinor and held her eye just a little too long, then he and Tunbury looked at each other, not quite antagonistic but definitely wary, sizing each other up.
Despite this bit of awkward mistrust at the introductions, dinner proceeded quite pleasantly for the most part. The contessa commiserated with the absent Crescenzis on the poverty caused by their foolish son’s radicalism—“So much of their property was confiscated, you know”—prompting Lady Penworth to expatiate on the family’s kindness and generosity to visitors. The cavaliere covered an awkward moment by turning the subject to opera, and managed to be both knowledgeable and amusing as he discussed the recent premiere of Verdi’s Il Trovatore at the Teatro Apollo.
“Do you know Verdi’s work?” Landi was sitting beside Elinor and she received the full blast of his eyes, looking into hers with a surprising hint of passion. Not really offensive, but still surprising, to her at least. He was, after all, a stranger.
“I’ve never seen the appeal of opera,” Tunbury interrupted from across the table. “All those squawking sopranos with their silly trills, going on and on about dying before they finally get around to it.”
“Ah, then you have not heard Signor Verdi’s works.” The cavaliere turned his back to Tunbury and concentrated on Elinor. “In his operas you will hear true passion. The count loves a lady, but she loves another, a troubadour. For him she will sacrifice everything, just as he will for her.”
He was leaning toward her. Actually he was leaning a little closer than was quite proper, uncomfortably close. He was wearing a heavy, musky scent that seemed to overpower her. She was about to lean back when she saw Harry scowling and decided to stay where she was. Perhaps a bit of prodding was what Harry needed. She smiled at Landi. “Why, Cavaliere, you make it sound truly exciting.”
Since the group was small, the conversation was general, ranging from opera and music to a comparison of garden styles to the acknowledgment of a fondness for macaroni on the part of all. There was one moment of confusion when Rycote suddenly leaped back from the table, almost overturning his chair. Conversation came to a halt while everyone stared at him, but he mumbled a confused apology and subsided into his seat.
Landi proved himself skilled in the art of offering graceful compliments—not just to Lady Elinor but also to Mrs. Freeborn on the gracefulness of her hands and to Lady Penworth on the elegance of her posture. The ladies rewarded him with smiles. Tunbury regarded him with narrowed eyes.
After dinner things were a bit strained in the drawing room where the ladies waited for the gentlemen to join them. The contessa seemed to find the effort at conversation so exhausting that she found it necessary to lean back in an armchair with her eyes barely opened. Whenever Mrs. Freeborn offered a topic of conversation, the contessa would open her eyes slightly, raise her brows, and resume her semi-somnolent pose. She came to life only when Lady Penworth admired her rubies, at which point she embarked upon a loving description of jewels she owned, jewels she had seen, jewels she coveted.
Finally, as she was winding to a close, she focused on the brooch nestled in the lace of Lady Penworth’s bodice. It was a large sapphire, a very fine one, surrounded by a filigree of delicate gold set with small diamonds. It was also the only jewelry Lady Penworth wore, other than her wedding ring. The contessa looked puzzled. “You do not greatly care for jewelry?” she asked.
“I do not care to take much jewelry with me when I travel.”
Lady Penworth’s tone was not encouraging, but the contessa did not seem to notice. She nodded understandingly. “That is very wise. One never knows what sort of people one may encounter.”
Lady Elinor turned away. Had she met the eye of either her mother or Mrs. Freeborn, she was not sure that she could have restrained her laughter.
*
Things went a bit better among the gentlemen, who were enjoying Freeborn’s excellent port, an English habit of which Savelli heartily approved. While the others discussed Etruscans with considerable erudition, Tunbury drew Rycote aside.
“What the devil was going on at dinner? You jumped up so fast I thought you were going to hit the ceiling.”
Rycote turned uncomfortably red. “It was that…that woman. She put her hand on my leg.”
“Oh for goodness sake, Pip. You aren’t carrying on because a woman’s hand brushed you.”
“She didn’t brush me,” he said in outrage. “She put her hand right on my thigh, and then, and then she moved it.”
Tunbury had all he could do to keep from howling with laughter. “It’s those damned Byronic looks of yours, Pip. You get that faraway look in your eyes and women think it’s passion smoldering in you when what you are really doing is deciding which varieties of apples to plant.”
“I’m glad I amuse you,” Rycote said stiffly, “but how am I supposed to look that woman in the face when we rejoin the ladies? She’s old enough to be my mother!”
As it turned out, there was no need for him to worry. When the gentlemen reached the drawing room, the contessa ignored Rycote and concentrated on Penworth. Then, when Lady Penworth joined them, she smiled and withdrew to offer her charms to Freeborn. Tunbury watched them for a minute, fearing he might have to go to the older man’s rescue, but he concluded that the consul was accustomed to the lady. He handled her with admirably polished courtesy that warded off anything even slightly warm.
Tunbury was less approving when he turned around and realized that Landi had managed to seat himself next to Norrie and seemed to be making himself agreeable. Too agreeable. Norrie was enjoying his company far too much. Not that Harry didn’t want her to enjoy herself, but Landi was a stranger. He mig
ht not realize that Norrie was just a friendly person. Landi might think she was actually interested in him. She really needed to learn to be more distant with strangers. He went over to them.
“May I join you, Norrie?” He didn’t bother waiting for an answer but sat down, even closer to her than Landi was sitting.
“Hello, Harry. Cavaliere Landi has been telling me about a wonderful Etruscan amphora his uncle discovered with a painting of Admetus and Alcestis between two demons.”
“Oh?” Tunbury looked at Landi coldly. “Alcestis belongs in one of those Greek myths, doesn’t she? If it’s a Greek subject, how do you know it isn’t a Greek amphora?”
Landi smiled, showing too many white teeth. “In this case, because the writing is Etruscan. But you are correct. There is much Greek influence to be seen.” He paused and looked at Norrie quizzically. “The viscount calls you Norrie? Is this a name?”
She glared at Tunbury before she turned to smile at Landi. “It’s a nickname. When I was a baby, my brother couldn’t say Elinor and called me Norrie. The name stuck, and as a child I was always called Norrie by my family. It seems that some people have trouble realizing that I am no longer a child.”
“I see.” Landi smiled happily. “Then Lord Tunbury is a member of your family.”
“Not at all. Just an old friend.” Tunbury smiled back.
“Yes. Harry and my brother went to school together, and he’s been around our family for years and years.”
“How nice for him,” said Landi, his smile a bit cooler. “I would have liked to see you as a child. You must have been a delightful little girl. Did you have tea parties for your dolls?”
“Actually, she was a dreadful little hoyden, climbing trees, fishing, swimming in the sea.” Tunbury grinned. “She was forever escaping from her governess to join Pip and me in our games.”
Landi smiled at her warmly. “That is an even more enchanting picture. You are a woman of spirit, not one to be bound by silly rules.”
She smiled at Landi and was pleased to see that Tunbury’s grin faded.
*
In the carriage on their way home, Landi shook his head at his mother. “You are really too bad. You greatly shocked poor Rycote.”
She shrugged. “These English are impossible to understand. He is so beautiful. Who would have expected him to be so cold?”
“You will have to behave yourself. His Excellency seems likely to take them up, and you must not cause trouble. You saw the girl, did you not?”
She sighed and leaned back. “Yes, yes, I will be good. What of the girl? Her father has a title, but titles are of no use.”
His smile gleamed in the darkness. “They are rich, these English.”
“What makes you think that? They wore no jewels, the women. One paltry brooch the marchesa had on. It was a good stone, but still.”
“They may not wear their wealth, but I made some inquiries. The father is one of the richest men in England.”
“Ahh.” The contessa sat up and peered at her son. “Then you must make haste. Capture her interest.”
“That should be no problem. She already smiles at me.”
“The other young man is not a rival?”
“Bah. He growls and glowers when I am near her, but he has no idea how to woo her himself. It never occurs to him to give her a compliment, to show his admiration.”
“You will have to move quickly. You are not likely to find another girl so rich.”
“Both rich and pretty. Do not fear. I have no intention of allowing her to escape.” His teeth flashed once more in a smile.
Eleven
A common interest in the Etruscans had created an immediate rapport between the English marquess and the Roman prince. That in turn led to an invitation for the English party to visit the Palazzo Savelli to view the prince’s collection of antiquities.
Lady Elinor looked about her and decided that the palazzo itself was more than worthy of a visit. Like the Crescenzi palazzo, it had walls and ceilings covered with frescos and floors covered with tiles. Unlike the Crescenzi palazzo, it showed no signs of faded glory. Everything here was beautifully maintained. The marble floors gleamed with wax and were covered with thick carpets from Persia and India.
Far from flaking, the frescoes looked as fresh as the day they had been painted. In the enormous reception room where they awaited the prince, one wall was devoted to a landscape of the Roman countryside that seemed to quadruple the size of the room. On another wall, windows opened into a garden, letting in the spicy scent of wisteria, already blooming in April. And something else. Something sweeter.
“What is that?’ Elinor asked Tunbury quietly.
“What is what?”
“That sweet smell from the garden.”
He sniffed. “Lemon blossoms. The lemon trees are blooming.”
“Oh,” she breathed out on a contented sigh.
“Why are we whispering?”
She looked at him impatiently. “Because I don’t want to sound like an ignorant foreigner.”
He bit back a smile. “But you are a foreigner. In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re in Rome. The fact that everyone here speaks Italian might have given you a hint.”
“You’re just being difficult. You know perfectly well what I mean. And don’t think I haven’t noticed how you pride yourself on your Italian accent. I saw you preening the other day when the waiter asked if you were from Florence. You like to think you fit in.”
He had the grace to blush slightly. “Point to you. And I do know what you mean. But you needn’t worry, you know. People never get upset when you are admiring their country, only when you are sneering at it.”
“How could anyone sneer at Rome? At Italy? Just look around.” She waved a hand at the room. “Everywhere you look there are treasures from the past. The very stones are ancient.”
There was a gentle laugh behind her, and she turned to see Prince Savelli smiling at her. He was really quite handsome despite his age, she thought. Not at all portly, as so many elderly gentlemen were, but slim and standing straight, and he had a full head of hair, even if it was graying. She didn’t generally care for aquiline noses, but on the prince it looked appropriate. Especially when, as now, a smile softened his fierce features. Elinor smiled back at him.
“I am pleased indeed that you admire my city,” he said. “And the very stones of which this building was constructed are indeed ancient. My ancestors—who were, perhaps, not as respectful of the past as we are today—found it convenient to build this palazzo on the ruins of an ancient theater. Fortunately, the Romans were not careless, and the arches they built provide us today with a firm foundation. You will see them in the rooms below that house my Etruscan collection.”
“We are looking forward to that, Your Excellency,” Tunbury said, taking Elinor’s hand and putting it on his arm.
Savelli turned his eyes from Elinor and stared at the younger man briefly before smiling again. “It will be my pleasure.”
As the prince stepped away, Armando Landi appeared at Elinor’s side. Tunbury tightened his arm against his side, firmly trapping Elinor’s hand. She ignored this and greeted Landi with a smile.
“Lady Elinor, your smile brings new life to these old stones.” The cavaliere lifted her free hand, brushed a kiss over her knuckles without ever taking his eyes from her face, and kept her hand in his just a fraction too long for her comfort.
She would have said something discouraging, but Tunbury’s derisive snort was too audible. Instead, she made herself look flattered by the flowery welcome. “It is delightful to be invited to the prince’s beautiful home.”
Just beside them, Rycote looked around nervously. “Is your mother joining us as well?”
“Not just yet.” Landi smiled at Rycote’s obvious relief. “She is still preparing herself for dinner and will join us later. I suspect that her real reason for delay is that she does not wish to disturb her costume in these underground chambers. I fear she cares littl
e about the past. Her home, her family—it is there that her interests lie. Someone like the beautiful Lady Elinor, who takes an interest in the history of our country, is most unusual and delightful.” He sent a flashing smile, accompanied by a bow and a flourish, in Elinor’s direction.
Rycote may have looked relieved, but Tunbury did not. He continued to glower, and Elinor wanted to shake him. Did he really think she was flattered by the sort of drivel Armando spouted?
“Do not monopolize our guests, Armando.” The prince spoke sharply to his cousin, who flinched at the tone. Then, with a smile, Savelli suggested that the tour begin.
They proceeded down a broad stone staircase, accompanied by servants carrying lamps to illuminate the way. Although the rough stone of the walls and arches was a warm gold in tone, there was a chill to the place as they descended. Elinor was glad to hold on to Tunbury’s arm, finding comfort in his nearness.
“I apologize for the inadequacy of the lighting,” said the prince with a rueful smile. “Gaslights have come to the cities of Lombardy, but here in Rome we seem to prefer the dimness of the past. Change is very slow here.”
“But change is coming,” said Landi, sounding a bit angry, thought Elinor. Or resentful.
Savelli looked at him in silence, no expression on his face, and then gave a quick smile. “Is it?” he said softly. “Perhaps. We shall see.”
“I notice that you speak of Rome and of Lombardy, but not of Italy,” observed Penworth. “Do you disapprove of the efforts at unification?”
“Disapprove? No, I neither approve nor disapprove. If it happens, it happens. Will it change anything? That I doubt. Mazzini, Garibaldi, they seem to think that unification will somehow transform us into a great nation of honorable and virtuous men. I fear that most of their followers want only to benefit themselves.” Savelli was looking at Landi in a way that seemed half amused, half contemptuous.
Lady Elinor's Wicked Adventures Page 9
