Even the twins were impressed when they arrived at the Grand Hotel de Londres, a palace built nearly four hundred years ago. Tillie announced that Mozart had once stayed here according to her guidebook. Tillie had only begun looking at a guidebook in recent days. Willie’s guide noted there had been any number of auspicious events at the hotel, including the coronations of kings and signing of treaties. She was finding her books more and more interesting. Even in one’s hotel room, one had the oddest sense of everyone who had come before. Besides, immersing oneself in history in a place like this was an excellent way to keep one’s mind occupied and off despicable cads.
The group settled into their accommodations then gathered to begin their exploration of the city. But it wasn’t just the evidence of the Roman past or the faded grandeur of the Renaissance palaces that permeated the atmosphere here. There was an annoying sense of romance in the air, which could be laid firmly at the feet of one of England’s native sons.
“Verona.” Harriet sighed as they strolled down the street. She cast a pointed look at Bertie. “The home of Romeo and Juliet. Isn’t it perfect?”
The other girls murmured their agreement.
“Romeo was a Montague too,” Emma said, with a flirtatious smile at Dante. She’d been dividing her attention between Bertie and Dante since they’d arrived in Italy. Of course, Dante had looked well turned out in his formal attire on their last night in Monte Carlo. Quite dashing really. One couldn’t blame the girl for developing a crush on an older man. Willie knew any number of couples whose age differences were far greater than Emma and Dante’s. It was most annoying. To his credit, Dante did his best not to encourage her. In that alone he might have had a streak of decency.
“Do remember, ladies,” Jane said, “they were fictional.”
“And they did not end well,” Rosalind added in a grim manner, aiming a pointed look first at her daughter and then at Bertie.
“I’m not so sure about Juliet being fictional,” Tillie said, reading from her guidebook. “It says right here that the tomb of Juliet...oh.”
Emma peered over her sister’s shoulder. “It says the author won’t mention the tomb of Juliet as it is a dreadful fraud.” She frowned. “But he also says the real tomb was destroyed long ago.” She looked at her mother. “That makes no sense if indeed Juliet wasn’t real.”
“It’s not our country, dear,” Jane murmured.
Surely Willie had not been nearly as susceptible to romantic nonsense about star-crossed lovers at their age? Although it was very nearly at the age the girls were now that she had made the foolish decision to run off and marry George so perhaps her memories weren’t entirely accurate. And she had thought herself in love.
Still, if one was going to lose one’s heart in an affair that would not end well, perhaps there was not a more beautiful place than Verona in which to do it. Fortunately, as Willie’s heart had already been shattered, she would not succumb to the temptation of romance that shimmered in the very air around them, although that was absurd. She was no doubt mistaken. Still, it did seem the ancient city conspired to remind her of Dante should she for a moment put him out of her mind.
They weren’t ten minutes from the hotel when they happened upon a piazza with a larger-than-life statue of Dante Alighieri. It was in these grand houses that he had apparently taken refuge after being banished from Florence. The figure carved in marble was of a fine-looking scholarly man. Everyone thought it most amusing although Dante did seem somewhat smug at encountering a statue of the poet he was named after. Perhaps he had failed to notice the pigeons roosting on the head of that particular Dante.
Admittedly, he might have the tiniest reason to be smug. He was certainly in his element. Dante was as well versed in architecture as he was in art and one couldn’t take two steps here without tripping over a painting or sculpture by names Willie couldn’t pronounce that all tended to sound the same. The man never failed to turn an answer into a lecture and didn’t hesitate to flaunt his knowledge whenever possible. As much as she hated to admit it, his explanations were fascinating and while she pretended not to listen, she did. Odd how much more interesting and engaging he sounded now than when they first met. She was truly enjoying the frescoes and marble reliefs, intricately painted domed ceilings of the religious and public buildings, and the oddly compelling church-like spires of Verona’s ornate tombs. Although, by their second day in Verona, she would rather see anything as long as it wasn’t yet another Madonna-and-child painting. Perhaps her unbending adherence to their schedule was at least partially to blame for her growing impatience. Marian had grumbled about the relentless pace and the diabolical itinerary while Jane had mentioned that Willie herself was beginning to be a bit cranky.
Well, who would have imagined such a thing? Just because that vile loathsome creature had apparently decided that if she wasn’t going to talk to him then he wasn’t going to attempt to talk to her. Not that she had any desire to talk to him at the moment. But he claimed to be a man in love. Hah! A man truly in love would certainly not give up this easily. It had only been four days after all. Not unless his declaration of love was a lie too. The knife that had lodged in her heart when she’d learned his true purpose twisted. Hard.
After a long day of ornate churches, ancient monuments and fourteenth-century palaces turned museums, Willie steered her weary group to the ancient Roman arena, said to rival the Colosseum in Rome. Oh, it was in some disrepair, much of the outer wall had crumbled, but all in all it was in adequate shape for something built nearly two thousand years ago. At least the vendors who had set up their wares in the shelter of the arcade around the perimeter of the building seemed confident in the integrity of the structure. And apparently it was still used for theatrical performances, as well. The sound projection was said to be as good as any contemporary theater.
Willie was not alone in being somewhat ill-tempered at this point. Harriet had been sniping at Bertie all day, culminating in a spat just before they entered the arena, much to Rosalind’s barely concealed glee.
They meandered into the arena and for a moment, Willie could have sworn she heard the cheers of audiences long dead and gone to dust, although it was more likely the groans of her band of tired travelers. Harriet and the other girls immediately climbed the steps to the first tier of seats and collapsed. Jane, Rosalind and Marian declared their intention not to climb so much as a single step that wasn’t necessary and instead wandered aimlessly around the interior of the arena, idly examining the ancient structure. Dante and Bertie stood some distance away, engaged in earnest conversation probably about Bertie’s quarrel with Harriet given the way the young man kept looking at her. Willie did hope the poor boy wasn’t asking Dante for advice.
After a minute or two, Bertie approached the girls sitting some five feet above him, Dante lingering a few steps behind.
Bertie cleared his throat. “‘But, soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief.’”
The girls exchanged suspicious glances.
“What do you want?” Harriet snapped.
“I am making a—” Bertie glanced at Dante who nodded “—a grand romantic gesture in the city where star-crossed lovers pledged their eternal love.”
“He does know they died, doesn’t he?” Geneva said to the twins.
“I wouldn’t wager on it.” Tillie scoffed.
“But he is terribly dashing,” Emma said with a sigh.
Bertie glanced at Dante, who nodded. Obviously he was giving the boy the benefit of his questionable wisdom regarding women. Oh, this should be good.
Bertie began again. “‘She speaks. O, speak again, bright angel for thou art as glorious to this night, being o’er my head as is a winged messenger of heaven.’”
“That’s not the next
line,” Tillie said under her breath to her sister.
Emma shrugged.
Harriet stood, stepped to the edge of the wall and crossed her arms over her chest. “Go on.”
“‘Unto the white upturned wondering eyes of...of...’” Bertie cast a helpless look at Dante.
“‘Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him,’” Dante said in a stage whisper.
Bertie tried again. “‘Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him and...and...’”
“What do you think you’re doing?” Rosalind approached her brother with all the fury of a hen protecting her chick. “This has nothing to do with you and I would suggest you stay out of it!”
“I am trying to help the only other male in sight,” Dante said sharply. “And I don’t care if you like it or not. There comes a time, sister dear, that men have to stand together or we shall all surely perish under the weight of an elegantly shod female foot!”
“And well deserved I might add! You are scarcely one to give advice.” She nodded pointedly at Willie. “Might I suggest you resolve your own problems before you try to solve anyone else’s!”
He stared at her then nodded. “You’re absolutely right.” Dante turned to Willie. “Lady Bascombe, if I might have a word?”
For a long moment Willie stared at him. Why not have it out with him here and now? Hadn’t she been considering exactly what she wanted to say for the past four days? Even so, she wasn’t at all sure she was ready. She didn’t want to reflect later on what she should have said now. This was her one opportunity to salvage a tiny bit of her dignity. Still, there would never be a perfect time. Besides, she was tired of wondering what he would say to her. What possible justification he could have for his deceit.
Once again the cheers of the absent crowd rang in her ears.
“Why, Mr. Montague.” She cast him a brilliant smile. “I would be delighted.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
WILLIE’S SMILE WAS ENOUGH to strike fear into even the most courageous heart but Dante had had quite enough.
“All right, what have I done?” Dante said sharply. “You can’t throw a man in prison without a trial. Without a chance to defend himself. I demand to know what no doubt minor, insignificant infraction I have committed.”
“Minor, insignificant infraction?” Her brow rose.
“Yes!” he snapped. “Because if it was something of importance I would surely be aware of it. I am not an idiot!”
She scoffed.
He ignored her. “I have gone over every word, every nuance, every, well, everything and for the life of me I cannot figure out why we have gone from anticipating a future together to the icy disdain you have directed toward me since we left Monaco.”
“Do you really wish to discuss this here?” Willie said coolly and nodded toward the others. “In front of everyone?”
“You haven’t given me the tiniest opportunity to speak to you privately. You have avoided me as if I were ridden with plague.”
She shrugged.
“As for everyone, they would all have to be deaf and blind not to already be aware that you are clearly furious with me for some unknown reason.” He adopted a high-pitched tone. “And on this side of the train is a village that appears quite charming but in truth is a den of deceit and betrayal, a hotbed of men who know nothing save lies and treachery.”
Her brow furrowed. “I don’t sound like that.”
Someone murmured, “She does a bit.”
“Very well.” Her jaw tightened and anger flamed in her eyes. Whatever she thought he had done was obviously substantial. “But I would prefer not to have an audience, if you don’t mind.”
“What do you think he did?” one of the Americans asked.
“No one knows.”
“I’d wager it was awful.”
“I see your point,” Dante muttered.
She glared. “When we return to the hotel—”
“No, now.” He had put this off too long already. It was driving him insane. He’d been racking his brains trying to determine what he might have done. He was in love with the blasted woman after all and she was acting as if he were the worst sort of scoundrel.
“As you wish.” She glanced around and indicated an arched arena opening far enough away to eliminate the chance of being overheard. “There?”
“Fine.”
She nodded, adjusted her parasol and strode briskly toward the opening—he followed a step behind.
Good. He really didn’t want the others to hear more than was necessary. Who knew what he and Willie might say. He most definitely wanted to avoid the girls and Bertie learning about their night together. It was not at all appropriate. For that matter, he didn’t especially want their mothers to know either. It was bad enough that Roz knew. He’d much prefer to start his life with Willie without any specter of scandal or impropriety. Surely they could work out whatever it was he had done. How bad could it be if he was unaware of it? It was probably nothing more than a misunderstanding. He would apologize, profusely, even grovel if necessary, and that would be that. They could move on from here. Why, she might be back in his bed tonight. Of course, he would have to banish Bertie and that would take a bit of arranging. Or Dante could come to her room. Better yet—why couldn’t they marry right here in Italy? Certainly he had suspected she wanted a proper wedding but surely the romance of Verona carried an irresistible appeal. Yes, indeed he would do what was necessary to make amends for whatever minor infraction he had committed. And once that was resolved, he would tell her about the Portinari. But that was a hurdle he didn’t want to jump over at the moment. One awkward dilemma at a time.
She stopped and turned to him, her expression calm and serene and cold.
“Please, Willie.” He stepped closer. “Whatever I have done, I am truly sorry. Just tell me my misdeed and I will move heaven and earth to make it right.”
She studied him for a long moment. He held his breath.
“I saw the dossier you have on me.”
Bloody hell. His stomach lurched.
“You went through my things?” he said without thinking then immediately realized his mistake.
Her eyes narrowed.
“Not that you aren’t perfectly welcome to do so, of course,” he added quickly. “My life is an open book.”
“An open book? Hardly. It’s a book of secrets filled with lies and deceit.”
“That’s not the least bit fair or accurate.” He drew his brows together. “I’ve lived my entire life with propriety and honor.”
“As opposed to my life?”
“I didn’t say that but I am not the one who invaded your privacy.” It was not the wisest thing to say but it was the first thing that came to mind and it did seem an important point.
“The transgression here is not the invasion of your privacy, which I did not do.” Her jaw clenched. “I inadvertently knocked over your valise and discovered the dossier when I was putting everything back.”
“An accident, then. I can certainly forgive that.”
“Oh, I am fortunate.” She drew a calming breath. “You said you loved me.”
“I do.”
“You asked me to marry you.”
“I did,” he said staunchly.
“Of course you did.” She huffed. “If I marry you, you acquire my painting. It’s an easy solution for you.”
“I daresay there won’t be anything the least bit easy about marriage to you. If I want easy, I could have my pick of any number of willing females.” His jaw tightened. “But I don’t want them, I want you. And acquiring the painting didn’t even occur to me when I asked you to marry me.” He paused. “Although I will admit it would be convenient.”
“Convenient?” Her voice rose. “I assure you, I intend to be anything
but convenient.”
“I didn’t mean—”
She thrust out her hand to stop him. “This is not exactly what I had intended to say. I have given a great deal of thought about what I would tell you when we finally had it out.”
“Then please, go on.” His tone softened. “I deserve to hear everything you wish to say. I made an enormous mistake by not being completely forthright with you and I do apologize. But I never lied to you,” he added quickly. “I simply didn’t tell you why I was accompanying you.”
“A lie of omission, then?”
“One could call it that,” he said weakly.
For a long moment she stared at him then shook her head. “Upon further consideration, at this point, I don’t believe I’ll say anything at all.”
He stared. “Surely there’s more you wish to say. You have to say something.”
“Actually, I don’t,” she said in a lofty manner. “I never wish to say anything to you again. Ever. Until I breathe my last.” She turned and started back toward the others.
“You’ve said that before.”
“It bears repeating.”
A panicked voice in the back of his head warned if he let her walk away now, he might never get her back.
“I want my painting.”
She froze.
“Despite what’s happened between the two of us, that painting rightfully belongs to my family.”
The Lady Travelers Guide to Larceny With a Dashing Stranger Page 25
