“Do not fret, my granddaughter,” the Prince said, startling her slightly as he came up behind her, leaning on a cane.
He saw her looking down at the piece of wood that helped him stay upright and sighed. “I get a bit more tired in the afternoons, you see. Alessandro insists I walk around using this thing to help me.”
“He seems to care a great deal for you,” Bree said.
“The responsibility of looking after family runs strong in the Bartelli lineage,” the Prince answered. “And I think Alessandro got a double dose.”
“Alessandro is a Bartelli?” Bree was shocked. “He never said anything to me. In fact, he told me his surname was D’Ignoto, not Bartelli.”
“Most do not know, for he chooses not to say anything. And his surname is D’Ignoto, unfortunately,” her grandfather replied. “It means ‘of unknown’.”
“I don’t understand?”
“Alessandro’s grandfather was my older brother, who was the heir to Cosenza ahead of me,” her grandfather began. “However, he fell hopelessly in love with a servant girl, and my father would not countenance such a union, so my brother ran off with his love. Tragically though, he got her pregnant but was killed before he could marry her.”
“Oh that is terrible,” Bree murmured, looking across the other side of the terrace to where Alessandro stood discussing something with his second in command, Damiano.
“Yes, well, the servant girl came back to Cosenza, penniless and with a babe, pleading with my father to recognize the child as the next rightful heir. She claimed she had married my brother and the babe was legitimate, but she had no proof. My father then exiled her and the child from Cosenza.”
Bree could only imagine how desperate that poor woman must have felt, exiled and alone with a child. How tragic.
“I always felt dreadful over what had happened,” he continued, “but I myself was only fourteen at the time and not strong enough to stand up to my father.” He turned and looked back at Bree. “Another one of my regrets, I am afraid. But I was determined to make up for it, so when I succeeded to the throne about twenty-five years after that incident, I tasked Lord Mondesta with finding her and my nephew and bringing them home.”
“What happened?”
The Prince rubbed his chin. “Mondesta found out she had died in the poor house, leaving my nephew an orphan when he was but a boy. But by then, the boy had turned into a man and had a wife and a new baby boy, who he made sure was born in wedlock, as he had not been.”
“Alessandro was the boy?” Bree guessed.
“Yes. My great nephew and your second cousin.”
“But if he was born in wedlock, why is his family name D’Ingoto and not Bartelli?”
“Because that was the name given to his father by the orphanage, so even though Alessandro was legitimate, he still bears the name of his father.” Her grandfather replied. “Unfortunately though, his father wanted nothing to do with Cosenza. But about ten years later, a young Alessandro arrived at the palace doorstep, looking ragged and filthy. He had traveled all the way on foot from Catanzaro to here, some eighty miles. His parents had become ill and died, leaving him on his own. Apparently though, his father had told him to come to Cosenza and that I would look after him.”
“And you did,” Bree said.
He slowly smiled. “It was the least I could do to appease the guilt I felt over how my father had initially handled the situation. But in truth, Alessandro has looked after me more than I ever did him.”
“It explains why he is so protective of you,” Bree concluded.
“He is a very good man, and he loves this province as much, if not more, than I do.” There was a great deal of pride in the Prince’s words. “He was very reluctant to go to university in Rome and receive an education, for it meant leaving Cosenza, but all the Bartelli men have done so, and even though he may not be a legitimate Bartelli in the eyes of the Church, he is a true Bartelli in every way that counts.”
They were both silent, gazing companionably at the sunset.
“I must say, your English is very good,” she mentioned to him, hoping to lighten the tone of their conversation.
He gave a half shrug. “I had an English tutor in addition to my Italian one. My father insisted on it, as Cosenza itself relies on exporting our goods to England and now the United States, so it is imperative that I know how to speak English. I also insist my men learn English and practice speaking it.”
His foresight impressed her. “Yes, it is an important skill.”
Her grandfather was quiet for a moment as he stared off into the distance, his eyes scanning the countryside and resting upon one of the many great mountains in the distance. “In the morning, I will send out regiments of my men to scour the countryside for your cousin. We will find him, I promise.”
Bree smiled sadly, hoping that the morning would not be too late. She looked back again at the vista. “It is beautiful here,” she said, wanting to change the subject.
The Prince nodded. “Cosenza is the true treasure of the region, not King Aleric’s treasure. We get many tourists, treasure hunters, and archeologists each year trying to find it. Many also disappear each year trying to do so, never to be seen or heard from again. The villagers call it the curse of the lost treasure. They think King Aleric rises from his grave to kill any that get too close to disturbing his resting place.” He paused and flipped a hand in the air. “A load of nonsense of course. Though your parents were searching for it, too. In fact, that is how they met.”
Bree was silent as she looked into his pale eyes. “I was told you disowned my mother after she eloped with my father. Is that true?”
“It is. Much to my everlasting regret.” The Prince walked over to a bench seat beside the balcony. He motioned her to sit down on the seat next to him, which she did.
“Your mother was an adventurer at heart and determined to find the treasure of King Aleric. She met your father on her quest, and as she was already betrothed at the time to the Duke of Sirprezino, I thought nothing of her talk about a clever English archeologist. You see, I had forgotten the powerful pull of young love. One day, she returned to the palace with your father, and they announced they had married in secret.”
Her grandfather seemed as if his thoughts were far away, lost in the past.
“I was furious, of course,” he continued. “I had given my word as a Bartelli to the duke that my Isabella would marry him, and up until then, I had never gone back on my word. I yelled at her to leave and never return. So she did.”
A lone tear trickled down his weathered cheek. Bree reached over and placed her own hand on top of his. He drew in a wobbly breath.
“I never thought it would be the last time I saw her again. I thought she would eventually get sick of living away from the privileges and comforts she had grown up with. I thought she would come groveling back to me, begging for forgiveness. How arrogant and stupid I was.”
“You were angry,” Bree softly said.
“Yes,” he agreed. “And there has not been a day since where I have not regretted that anger and arrogance. You realize, I didn’t even know of your existence until I was told of all of your deaths. Perhaps if I had not thrown her and your father out that day, my Isabella would still be alive. You think I would have learned from the very same mistakes my father made with my brother.”
“You cannot blame yourself for a madman murdering them.” Bree squeezed his hand.
“Madman?” he asked, his eyes clouding in confusion. “Do you know who it was that murdered them, then?”
“No, unfortunately not.” Bree briefly told him of their discovery of Mr. Bartardi and what he had told them of the killer and his involvement in her parents’ deaths. A stricken look fell across her grandfather’s face after she finished.
“For so long, this villain has eluded me.” His voice sounded pained. “Even with all of my resources, I have not been able to seek justice for them.”
“It is not your faul
t.”
He sighed. “Perhaps not. Though, for the first six months after their deaths, I was in a black haze and retreated from everyone and everything. I even questioned what the point of my continued existence was, but then, with the thought that my nephew Giacomo would inherit Cosenza, I knew I had to live as long as I could.”
“Giacomo?” Bree asked. “Who is that?”
“My nephew, the Duke of Dorentia. He was your mother’s first cousin. And I believe his son, my great-nephew Gabriele, was one of the men you accidentally became betrothed to in Naples.”
Bree’s mouth dropped open. “How did you know about that?”
“I received a semaphore message from Gabriele yesterday, which outlined the matter whilst also requesting I enforce the betrothal.”
“How dare he do such a thing?” Bree exclaimed. “When I didn’t even know what I had been agreeing to. And particularly doing so now, after my aunt has informed him I was already married! How very devious of the man.”
“He wants to rule Cosenza.” Her grandfather furrowed his brow for a moment. “May I ask, though, how it was that you accidentally become engaged? And to not only Gabriele but Siprezino’s heir, too?”
“The other was Siprezino’s son?” she gasped.
“Yes,” he confirmed.
“How did they even know who I was at that stage?” she wondered aloud. “They only knew me as Miss Penderley; at least, I thought that, in any event.”
“You are the spitting image of your mother, my dear. And they both have seen her portrait hanging in the great hall over the years.” Her grandfather replied. “It would not have taken them long to learn that my Isabella had married a Penderley and then put two and two together. Cosenza may be small, but it is extremely wealthy and is not controlled by the Garendetta, as a lot of regions in Calabria are. It is prized.”
“It is beautiful,” Bree acknowledged. “I can see why they want it.”
“You are beautiful, too, my granddaughter.” He smiled at her. “It is not just Cosenza they would have been wanting. But how was it that they both thought they were engaged to you when you were already married?”
“It is a rather long story actually…” She cringed slightly. She really didn’t want to lie to her grandfather, but she didn’t particularly want to expound on the details either. “Let us just say that I definitely need to learn Italian, and then mix ups of that sort of magnitude will never happen again.”
He looked gravely at her. “If I had known all those years ago that you had not been killed, I would have scoured the countryside for you, and I would have never given up until I had found you. Then you would have been able to learn Italiano and would never have gotten into such a predicament. Whoever this man is that killed my Isabella and took you away from me, we will find him and make him pay.”
“Apparently, he is fanatical about unearthing the treasure and an elixir of life.”
“Bah!” her grandfather spat out. “The elixir of life is nothing more than a tale the ancient villagers here made up, which has only grown over the centuries. And even if the treasure were real, everyone believes it would not have survived the Scourge in 1783.”
“What was the Scourge?”
“It was when the earth shook so fiercely that the ground itself became as tempestuous as the sea. I believe you call them earthquakes.”
“Yes, I’ve read about them,” Bree said. “But I’ve never felt one.”
Her grandfather smiled rather wryly to her. “If you do end up staying here, you will be sure to feel a tremor or two.”
“I will?” She didn’t particularly like the sound of that.
“Yes,” her grandfather confirmed. “In fact, over the last month, we’ve been feeling a few rumbles. Nothing to worry about overly, though, and nothing of the magnitude of the Scourge.”
“What damage did the Scourge do?”
He rubbed at his chin. “It affected all of the Calabria region and not just Cosenza. Buildings were destroyed, and lives were lost. Some say it was an act of God to cleanse the lands. Others swore it could only have been the work of Il Diablo. But whatever it was, it most likely changed the location of the treasure, if there was a treasure. Much in this region is founded on myth.”
That gave Bree an idea. “Grandfather? Is there a mountain in the region called the Weeping Mountain?”
“Not the Weeping Mountain, no. But do you see that mountain over there?” He pointed across to the ridge of mountains in the distance. “The large one between the two smaller ones?”
She felt a frisson of excitement tingle up her spine. “I was admiring it earlier.”
“Ancient legend has it that two lovers eloped but were hunted by their furious families across the mountain. The families caught up with them at the top peak, and the lovers were separated, but in their desperation to reunite with each other, they both fell to their deaths.”
“Oh that is terrible,” Bree remarked.
Her grandfather nodded. “Yes, and ever since then, legend has it that the very mountain itself mourns their deaths, and come each spring, it cries for them. It’s actually the ice caps at the peak of the mountain melting as summer approaches, of course.”
“Creating a waterfall of sorts?” Bree surmised.
Her grandfather grinned. “Exactly so! And that is why it is called La Montagna Piange. In English, this means the crying mountain.”
Bree glanced across at the edifice. The crying mountain was a very similar name to the weeping mountain, which was the first clue in her mother’s journal. It had to be the same one. “And is that the only mountain in the area with such a name?”
“It is.” Her grandfather’s eyes clouded over in concern. “Are you all right, my dear? You look a little bit flushed.”
Bree could only nod, her gaze returning to the mountain. King Aleric’s burial chamber must be somewhere deep inside it.
“I find myself suddenly very exhausted, and I think I may need to retire for the evening, Grandfather.” She turned toward him and could see the worry etched on his face. “I’m all right, truly. I just need to sleep, and I shall be fine tomorrow.”
“But of course,” he said. “I have had your room made ready in preparation of your arrival. It is also filled with new clothes and toiletries for you and your husband.”
His thoughtfulness brought a warm feeling to her heart. She leaned over and kissed his weathered cheek. “Thank you, Grandfather.” She pulled back and was charmed to see a flush of delight creeping up the old man’s face.
“Shall I accompany you?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Thank you, but no, my husband can escort me.”
Briefly, she squeezed the Prince’s hand before striding over to Daniel, who she noticed was already eyeing her with a look of concern or possibly suspicion; it was rather hard to tell with the man’s poker face.
“Is everything all right?” his deep voice rumbled as he stood upon her approach.
Mr. Boyd followed suit.
“I have a slight headache,” she said aloud to them all. “I think it best if I retire for the evening. Would you accompany me to our room please, husband?” It worried her how easily it was becoming to call him that.
“You’re sharing a room?” her aunt asked, her voice rather pinched. “I know you are married,” she quickly rushed on, “but a husband and wife should still have their own separate rooms. It is what we do in England. Would it not be best to do that here, too?”
“It will be fine, Aunt Edith,” Bree tried to assure her.
“Since when have you ever gotten headaches?” Milly asked from where she sat across the table from them, a suspicious tone in her voice and glance. Milly, unlike Daniel, could certainly not manage a poker face, even if her life depended on it.
“I have been having headaches ever since this nightmare began,” was Bree’s rather pert reply to her. Milly looked suitably chastened, though Bree didn’t feel too bad about lying to her, because she had been feeling off ki
lter ever since this whole thing started. So, it wasn’t really that much of a lie.
Daniel stood and excused them both before walking her over to the door. “All right, what’s going on?” he murmured as they exited the room.
“I know where to find the treasure!”
Chapter Thirty-Three
The butler showed Daniel and Brianna into their allocated bedchamber on the second floor. He bowed deferentially toward them both before leaving and closing the door crisply behind him.
Daniel scanned the chamber. It was a spacious and ornate room, with high ceilings, wooden parquet flooring, and a massive canopy bed sitting obtrusively in the center of the room. God help him.
Without a pause in her stride, Bree made a beeline straight for the doors leading out onto a balcony, then stepped outside. He damn well hoped she wasn’t trying to escape again, this time shimmying down the palace walls.
As he followed her out, she motioned him over. “There it is,” she said, pointing to the towering mountain in the distance. “La Montagna Piange!”
“The crying mountain?”
“Yes,” she grabbed his arm and shook it. “The first clue from my mother’s journal talks of a weeping mountain. It’s got to be one and the same!”
“Why? Your mother said the weeping mountain, not the crying one.”
“Honestly, men can be so literal sometimes.” She smoothed back some strands of her hair that the wind had blown across her forehead. “English was my mother’s second language. Perhaps she got it mixed up? Or perhaps she simply thought it would have been too obvious to say crying mountain? Weeping and crying are practically the same, and it is the only mountain in the area with such a sorry tale.”
“A sorry tale?”
She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter about that. But I’ve found the mountain; I am certain of it!” She dug out the journal from her satchel and pulled out the piece of parchment with the poem on it. “The first clue says, ‘A weeping mountain must be climbed’.” There was such excitement shining in her eyes, it took his breath away.
The Elusive Earl (Saints & Scoundrels) Page 28
