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

by Linda Rae Sande

  Grinning, Jasper maneuvered his body over hers and began kissing her sleep-warm skin. “After I worship my goddess, of course,” he whispered.

  For just a moment, Marianne thought to push him away, to resist his attempt to make love to her. But why? He had put her mind at ease with his words. With the way he held her. And should he elect to practice a Roman art on her, she decided she would allow it. Why deny herself the pleasure of his tongue?

  David and James left the hotel at the same time as Jasper and Marianne, the four making their way in the Via Toledo while Jasper kept an eye out for a particular shingle. When he found it, he was stunned to discover the space beneath it wasn’t simply a hole-in-the-wall hovel, but a brightly-lit shop with a large glass window. The stories above no doubt belonged to a duke or marquis who had fallen on hard times. A few pairs of eyeglasses rested on marble blocks in the display window. Sunglasses were also on display, their dark lenses and large frames favored by those who didn’t wish to be recognized.

  Jasper conferred with James before sending him and David on their way, their valet anxious to share his favorite coffee shop with James. Although Jasper would have liked a caffé, he figured he would indulge after he and Marianne had seen the oculist. Like in London, there seemed to be coffee shops on every corner, although Italian coffee was a much stronger beverage.

  A bespectacled man greeted them before they had even made it through the door. Having put on her own spectacles before they entered the shop, Marianne curtsied and returned the greeting.

  Jasper gave a short bow and attempted to explain why they were there. His enunciated English nearly had Marianne giggling, so at the oculist’s blank look, Marianne stepped up and spoke in Italian. She introduced herself, pointed to her spectacles, and explained that she was in need of a new pair.

  The man’s demeanor entirely changed, his look of curiosity replaced with understanding. He introduced himself as Dr. Ricciardini, pointed to a chair for Jasper, and waved Marianne into a back room.

  Alarmed—he had no intention of allowing Marianne to be alone with the doctor—Jasper followed and watched from the arched doorway as Dr. Ricciardini led Marianne to a wooden chair that faced a contraption the likes of which Jasper had never seen.

  Dozens of round lenses were mounted on hinged metal arms that were in turn attached to a huge frame. Once Marianne was seated, the oculist took her existing spectacles, made sounds of disgust, waved his free hand as if to reinforce his displeasure, and gave instructions Jasper couldn’t make out. Marianne seemed to understand, though, for she straightened on the seat before leaning forward to rest her chin on a small platform.

  Dr. Ricciardini held up a small printed card in one hand, a series of drawings and letters scattered about the surface.

  Then the lenses began moving as the oculist touched their hinges, one from the left joining one from the right side of the frame to fall in front of her line of sight. “Meglio? Peggio?” he asked. Better? Worse?

  Marianne seemed familiar with the equipment, her gaze steady as the different lenses popped into place in front of her, sometimes two or three deep before Dr. Ricciardini said, “Meglio? Peggio?” She answered in Italian, but sometimes pointed to the left or right. He would remove one lens and repeat the question. Add another lens and repeat the question. And on it went for nearly fifteen minutes until the oculist suddenly straightened. He moved to a counter and extracted several oval lenses from pasteboard boxes, holding them up to a gas light one by one, before setting aside two of them.

  Then he moved to the contraption, loaded the lenses into two hinged arms. He placed the lenses in front of Marianne’s eyes and then motioned for her to rest her chin on the small platform. Holding the card farther back from where he had originally held it while he was flipping the lenses, he waited as Marianne’s eyes widened in delight. She recited the Italian numbers displayed on the card, adding, “Prickly pear” and “Tree” when his finger pointed to the drawings. “The images are so clear!” she said in an excited whisper. When the oculist queried her, she said, “Sì,” and the man retrieved the lenses from the frame. When he disappeared into another room for a moment, her gaze lifted to where she knew Jasper was watching. Although she couldn’t see him clearly, she allowed a grin and then winked at him.

  “Did you just wink at me?” he asked in a whisper that gave away his amusement.

  Marianne was about to do it again, but the oculist returned with a handful of metal frames. He held them close to her face, knowing she couldn’t see them clearly. “Argento? o oro?” Silver or gold?

  “Oro,” she replied, and then watched as he set aside several pairs of frames. He offered her a gold frame and pointed to a looking glass to her right.

  Marianne carefully put the simple hinged eyeglass frames onto her face, resting the bridge on her nose. Unlike her black pair, these featured bows that curved slightly at the ends and rested atop her ears. There was no need for the additional hinged piece that would normally wrap around the back of her head and tie with a ribbon.

  Jasper straightened from where he had been leaning against the doorway, stunned at how different she appeared wearing the gold wire frames. He wasn’t given a chance to make a comment before the oculist frowned and gave her another pair to try.

  Daring a glance at the looking glass, her reflection clear in the flawless mirror, Marianne’s eyes widened and she grinned.

  This time, Dr. Ricciardini allowed a nod before he removed the frames and offered yet another pair. Marianne said, “Sì, Sì!” as she she nearly bounced in her chair.

  Jasper couldn’t help but grin as he watched her excitement. He supposed she was experiencing something much like a blind man suddenly given the gift of sight. “Third pair is the charm?” he half-asked from where he stood.

  “Indeed,” Marianne said, giving up the empty frames when the oculist held out his hand.

  At the stream of Italian the man said, Marianne gave a shake of her head. “I’m not sure.”

  “What is it?” Jasper asked, his brows furrowing in concern.

  Dr. Ricciardini regarded him before he said, “Quanti?”

  “Due,” Jasper answered quickly, understanding the man’s query. Should something happen to her glasses, he wanted to be sure she had a second pair.

  “Sì,” the oculist replied. “Due ore,” he said, holding up two fingers. “Può essere uno.”

  Jasper frowned and glanced over at Marianne.

  “He’ll have them ready in two hours,” she said. “Maybe one.” She settled back in the chair, as if she was prepared to wait right there until they were ready, and moved to open her reticule.

  “Do I pay him now?” Jasper asked as he reached for his purse.

  But Marianne had already pulled apart the gathers of her reticule and extracted the coins he had given her the day she went shopping with Chiara. She held them out to the oculist, and he took two of them with a nod. “Uno ore,” he said, apparently pleased he was to be paid right then.

  Marianne dimpled.

  Although Jasper thought to take her to a coffee shop to wait until the lenses could be mounted into the frames, he realized she had every intention of waiting until at least one pair was ready. So he joined her in the examination room and held her hand as Dr. Ricciardini assembled her eyeglasses from the lenses he had pulled from the pasteboard box.

  When she put on the first finished pair, Jasper was quite sure he hadn’t seen a happier human being in his entire life.

  Within moments, her infectious enthusiasm for everything she could see had him just as happy.

  Chapter 39

  Envisioning the Future

  Five days later

  When Jasper Henley stepped down from the town coach, wincing at the sight of how dusty the glossy black exterior had become over their two-day trip back to Girgenti, he knew something was different.

  All three of Chiara’s nieces stood shoulder to shoulder, much like the servants of an English home would do when their mas
ter returned from a trip. They curtsied in unison and smiled as if they were truly glad to see him.

  Then he remembered that David sat up on the driver’s seat with Pietro.

  He turned and offered his hand to Marianne, who was beaming with delight and looking as beautiful as the day he had married her. Her new spectacles, oval lenses framed in gold wire, were barely noticeable, and a glow suffused her face. He thought at first she might have stayed in the sun too long—they had spent a few days sightseeing in Palermo and visiting the nearby Greek ruins—but her skin didn’t appear any darker then when they had left.

  Marianne dipped a curtsy to the young women who smiled at her and allowed one of her own. “It’s good to be back,” she said as her gaze swept the lane on which the villas were located. She took a few steps until she was beyond the trees surrounding the villa, her view taking in the red and gold sunset beyond the hill.

  Jasper was standing to her side when he said, “Gorgeous, isn’t it?”

  “Indeed. I’ve never seen it so clearly before,” Marianne whispered.

  When David stepped down from the coach, his cousins surrounded him much as they had done the month before, greeting him with hugs and speaking all at once. Watching from where he still sat in the town coach, James wondered at the bit of jealousy he felt.

  Their four days in Palermo had been an eye-opening experience.

  Learning that David was the owner of the villa in which he was staying had him seeing the young man in a different light. David was a landowner, his holdings including much of the cultivated farmland below and to the east of the villa.

  He was also a man who had inherited a good deal of wealth. His late father had managed to hide his money before the various usurpers of Sicily and southern Italy took their turns claiming ownership. As a result, Chiara was a rich woman, and her only son was even richer.

  He already knew David was educated. Their late nights discussing ancient architecture and Roman history was a testament to it. But learning his so-called valet was actually in a class higher than his own was a humbling lesson.

  Even more humbling was David’s dismissal of his concerns, and his proposal for how they might continue their relationship. Must you go back to England? David had asked the night before, when they were staying at the coaching inn in the mountain village.

  James had been asking himself that very same question. As the second son, he didn’t stand to inherit the family business. He wasn’t betrothed to a young lady. He didn’t even have regular employment, but rather a stipend that allowed him to participate in archaeological expeditions. I don’t have to go back, he had finally answered.

  Then you shall stay in my villa and continue your research. And I shall oversee my farmers and those of my mother.

  The arrangement seemed far too simple, but then he supposed the best arrangements were.

  Despite having spent most of the day inside the town coach—for a time, he had sat up on the driver’s seat with David—he hadn’t yet mentioned the plans to Jasper.

  When James finally stepped out of the coach, he gave a nod to the women, ignoring how Aurora glared at him—perhaps a kitchen knife was still in his future—and made his way down the lane to where Marianne and Jasper were standing. “What has captured your attention so...?” He stopped in his tracks at seeing not only the brilliant sunset, now rich with golds and peach and dark yellows, but a couple caught in a passionate embrace on the path that led to San Nicola.

  Standing next to the large canvas sail that covered the Roman mosaics Marianne and Chiara had unearthed were Darius and Chiara. She had no doubt just come from the church, where she lit a candle for her late husband every afternoon. As for Dr. Jones, James wasn’t sure if the archaeologist had lain in wait for her, or if he had escorted her, but it was obvious much had happened during the week they had been gone.

  “They loved one another a long time ago,” Marianne whispered.

  Remembering what she had said that night when she imagined him leaving her for a gorgeous Italian woman, Jasper took her hand in his and lifted it to his lips. “I would venture to say they never stopped loving one another,” he murmured, before kissing her gloved hand.

  “Do you suppose Dr. Jones will stay on Sicily?” James asked, not sure he welcomed the thought of Darius Jones living across the lane from where he would be staying for the rest of his life. “Or will she join him in England?”

  “Both, perhaps,” Marianne replied with a sigh.

  “Summers in Hexham, winters here?” Jasper guessed.

  “I do hope she’ll be amenable to allowing Angela and Aurora to join us in London,” Marianne said then. “Tamara, too, although that may be asking too much.”

  James’ eyebrows arched in surprise. “What is this? You’re taking my Aurora with you?” he asked in mock shock. “Don’t I have a say in the matter?”

  Marianne gave a shrug. “Jasper says he has to pension his cook, so, sì, we wish to take Aurora with us when we return to London,” she explained.

  The older couple had finally separated a bit, but were now arm in arm as they made their way up the path to the lane where Jasper, Marianne, and James stood watching.

  As they approached, Marianne noticed how they were dressed. Chiara wore a gold silk gown with vertical rows of embroidered flowers, the laced, scooped neck displaying her décolletage. A small veil was attached to her pinned up hair, and earbobs decorated the sides of her neck. Darius, dressed in a topcoat of superfine, Nankeen breeches, a gold embroidered waistcoat, and polished boots, actually had the appearance of an aristocrat.

  “Hello,” Jasper called out when the couple were within earshot.

  “Ah, the wayward travelers have returned,” Darius replied when they were a bit closer.

  “I think they’ve just married,” Marianne said in a whisper. She had never seen Lord Darius so finely dressed, and Chiara looked like a... “She will be duchess one day,” she added with a sigh.

  James frowned. “But.. it’s too late in the day to get married, isn’t it?” he argued.

  “It’s not yet noon,” Jasper countered, the query reminding him of Sicilian time.

  “Then it is perfect timing,” David said from where he stood next to James. “Twenty years too late.”

  The other three turned to stare at him, not having noticed his arrival. “What are you saying?” Jasper asked in confusion.

  “They are my mother and father,” David said with a shrug, before he broke away from them and hurried down to greet the couple.

  Marianne watched as the younger man first shook hands with Lord Darius and then embraced his mother. But before he could break away, Lord Darius had them both in his hold. She was sure she hadn’t felt such happiness—and relief—in a very long time. Stubbornness, it seemed, could be overcome.

  When Jasper glanced over at Marianne, he found she had tears streaming down her face. “Oh, my sweeting. What is it?” he asked in a whisper.

  She turned her face to gaze up at him, her lips quivering. “I have no idea. I am just so... overcome.”

  “Happiness then?” he asked as he angled his head. His brows furrowed then, as if he was deep in thought.

  Marianne nodded. “I suppose so.”

  Jasper’s eyes widened then. “Well, I suppose it’s to be expected when you’re... expecting,” he said in a hopeful whisper.

  Her eyes widening to match his own, Marianne realized he spoke the truth. She hadn’t had her monthly courses since leaving England. “Oh!” she managed before Jasper’s lips were suddenly on hers.

  Rolling his eyes and feeling just a bit left out, James Singleton made his way down the hill to congratulate the couple.

  Epilogue

  A year later in Mayfair

  Lady Marianne Henley surveyed the dining room one last time, carefully counting every place setting at the long table. Tamara appeared with a plate of aspic and a basket of rolls, her grin widening at the sight of her mistress with the viscount’s heir in the crook o
f one arm, her gold spectacles firmly in place.

  “Are they here yet?” Tamara asked in her halting English.

  “Their coach has just pulled up,” Marianne replied with a grin, wondering at her nervousness. Angela had finished pinning up her hair only moments ago, and a quick check of Aurora in the kitchen assured her everything was in place for their first family dinner since leaving Sicily.

  Their first family dinner to include Lord Darius and Lady Chiara, Lord and Lady Devonville, Lady Torrington, and her father. Even David and James had sailed from Sicily for a visit to the capital.

  Jasper stopped in the doorway. “There you are,” he said as he kissed her on the cheek. “Looking lovely as usual,” he added before he turned his attention to the sleeping infant. “Our little Cupid seems unimpressed by all this. I don’t know why I’m so nervous, but I am,” he added with a shrug. “It’s not as if I haven’t met these people before.”

  Marianne dimpled at the comment. “You are not alone. I still wish Aurora had allowed us to hire a cook for the evening. It’s not fair she’s had to do all the cooking,” she said with some concern.

  “I believe it’s a matter of pride with her. When I suggested we could hire another kitchen maid to help, she threatened me with a knife. Besides, what other cook in London is going to know how to make the Sicilian food we’ve come to know and love?” he countered.

  He started counting the chairs at the table, and Marianne gave him a quelling glance. “Tamara knows how to count,” she chided him. “Come. Let us greet our guests.”

  The butler had already opened the front door, and the first of their dinner guests—and guests for the next few weeks—filed into the vestibule.

  “I wish to hold the bambino,” Chiara called out even before she was out of her mantle. She was through the vestibule and approaching Marianne and Jasper with open arms, her gown giving away her own post-pregnant state. “I cannot get enough of holding my own,” she said as she took the babe from Marianne and carefully moved it into the crook of her arm. “Oh, he looks just like Cupid.” With his head of golden blond curls and cherubic face, the babe did bear a resemblance to the statue Jasper had acquired and had placed in the back garden.