The Vision of a Viscountess

by Linda Rae Sande

  “Isn’t that what David is supposed to be doing?” she asked as her hands moved to grip the edge of the tub.

  “Usually. Except I told him I could manage tonight and to see to Singleton.”

  “Where is Mr. Singleton?” she asked in a whisper.

  Jasper frowned. “He’s still in the dining room. He’s studying a map Darius gave him last night,” he said, some of his words muffled when his shirt went over his head. He had his breeches unfastened and was about to push them down when he noticed Marianne averting her eyes. “What is it?”

  “What is what?”

  Jasper blinked. “Why did you look away?”

  Marianne blinked, her gaze back on him. All of him. “I thought you might want a bit of... privacy,” she managed, her eyes widening when she realized how his face displayed more color than usual. And not from a blush.

  His top hat hadn’t begun to shade his face from the rays of the sun. She wondered if the sunburn hurt.

  Sighing, Jasper finished undressing and dipped a hand into the water, his sigh of satisfaction at odds with his thought at hearing her words. “You have seen all of me. I have seen all of you,” he replied patiently. “Unless...” He paused, a frown settling on his face after he was halfway into the water, crouched and bent much like she was. “Does the sight of my body... offend you?”

  Marianne shook her head. “I can’t really see it that well,” she reminded him, although this close up, she could make it out in great detail.

  All of it.

  Aware she hadn’t really answered his question, she added, “No. It does not. I’m just... I’m still getting use to this,” she whispered, waving her hand to indicate their situation in general. Why they could be so comfortable together in bed—making love and ending up in each other’s arms was easy—but struggle with nakedness at other times had her perplexed. “By the way, you’re a bit sunburned,” she murmured. “Does it hurt?”

  Jasper shook his head. “I put some aloe on it after dinner. Not the first time I’ve been sunburned,” he added with an arched brow. “Which is why I’ll be wearing a different hat on the morrow.” He settled deeper into the tub and frowned. “There must be a more comfortable way in which to bathe together,” he said with a sigh.

  “I suppose,” she hedged. “Perhaps if you put your legs on either side of mine...” she started to say. “And I straighten mine...” She gave a start when she heard his “Oomph,” and felt his hand grab her foot.

  “Careful, my sweet. Those are the twiddle-diddles, and it’s rather painful when they’re kicked. I do wish to get a child or two on you.”

  Marianne’s eyes widened. “Oh, I apologize,” she said as she quickly bent her legs and wrapped her arms around them, making herself into a tight ball and causing a wave of water to wash almost over the top of the tub.

  Jasper couldn’t help his chuckle. “I think we would both be more comfortable if you turn around and back up.”

  Furrowing a brow, as if she was trying to determine if she could so such a thing, Marianne decided to give it a try. Keeping her knees bent, she slowly turned around. Well aware of Jasper’s legs—his knees broke the water’s surface—she slowly straightened her legs and slid backwards until Jasper had his arms wrapped around her waist. “I’m not... hurting anything, am I?” she asked in a whisper.

  Jasper placed his head alongside hers. “Not at all,” he replied in a quiet voice. He kissed her hair. “Before you wonder too much, I have never done this before.” He couldn’t imagine Sophie allowing him anywhere near her bath.

  Marianne frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve never invaded a lady’s bath,” he said as one of his hands smoothed up and over one of her breasts. “I do hope you don’t mind. I find it rather pleasant. Never bathed with bubbles before.”

  “Bolle,” she replied with a sigh, remembering Chiara’s word for bubbles. “I need to learn more Italian so I can converse with Angela.”

  “Is she going to be an acceptable lady’s maid?”

  Sighing, Marianne was suddenly aware of how his other hand had moved to cup her other breast beneath the water. “I think so. She’s eager to please.”

  Jasper leaned back, gently pulling her back so her head ended up on his chest. “I fear Singleton and I dominated the conversation at dinner this evening, what with all our talk of the temples.”

  “Oh, but it was such an interesting conversation,” Marianne assured him, turning her head to the side, her cheek pressed against his chest. “Until I was able to see all those temples up close today, I wasn’t aware of how majestic they really are.”

  “So, you won’t mind spending several months here while I dig up Roman mosaics?” he half-asked, not sure what he would do if she claimed she would mind.

  “I won’t mind,” she replied. “Chiara said she will accompany me if I wish to see any of them again. She said there are many more ruins and old buildings up in Girgenti.”

  “Chiara?” he repeated, rather surprised to hear her use their hostess’ given name.

  “She told me to call her that, so I told her to call me Marianne.”

  Jasper arched a brow. “Hmm. Perhaps you can discover why it was Dr. Jones recommended this villa,” he replied. “And why he’s staying down by the marina and not here. There are certainly enough rooms.” He supposed there would be more prostitutes near the port than in Girgenti, but he couldn’t imagine the archaeologist with a different doxy every night. There had been times on other expeditions when he thought the man a monk until he learned Lord Darius was married. Estranged from his wife for many years before she died, the man preferred to keep a household near Hexham while his wife and son lived in London.

  “I will ask when next I’m in her company. Tomorrow morning, in fact. She’s taking me to Girgenti. Do you still plan to begin your work in the Greco-Roman quarter?”

  “Indeed. The weather should be fine.” He suddenly yawned. “As much as I like sharing your bath, I fear I may fall asleep, my lady.”

  Marianne allowed a sigh. “The bolle have all gone,” she murmured. She slid forward and turned her head to regard her husband from over her shoulder. Angela had left a bath linen just behind where he leaned against the end of the tub. “Could you... hand me the linen?” she asked as she pointed over his shoulder.

  Jasper allowed a mischievous grin. “Will you promise not to put it on until you’re out of the water?”

  Marianne blinked, realizing she would be forced to emerge from the water with him watching whether he helped with the linen or not. “Will you promise to close your eyes?”

  His look of disappointment had Marianne giggling as she stood up and stepped out of the tub, making sure to slosh water onto Jasper’s face as she did so. “Hey, that’s not fair,” he cried out. By the time he had the water wiped from his eyes and could see again, Marianne had the linen wrapped about her body. “Is there a linen for me to use?” he asked as his gaze darted about the small room.

  Marianne found the stash in a cupboard and held it just beyond his reach. “Promise you won’t splash me when you get out?”

  Jasper’s mischievous grin was back. He was up and out of the tub and pressed against her in a split second, the linen between them suddenly drenched. “I promise,” he said before he kissed her thoroughly.

  Despite his weariness, they made it to his bedchamber, climbed onto Mount Olympus, and worshipped one another until sleep took them both.

  Chapter 19

  Hindsight Proves Heartbreaking

  Meanwhile, across the lane

  Chiara returned to her villa, her arms crossed over her chest as if she were cold. She was sure her guests would have included a different man from the one called Singleton, or perhaps an additional archaeologist, but it was obvious the three people who had let the villa for the next six months were all that were coming.

  She supposed she should have felt relief at learning he wasn’t among those she was hosting.

  But if it wasn’t
him, then who had been asking about the identities of every ‘Chiara’ in Girgenti?

  Gossip traveled quickly in a town like Girgenti, the old women left with nothing better to do than to speculate on who she might marry next—even if she had said she had no plans to remarry. Widowhood suited her just fine. Since she was seeing to her three nieces—Aurora, Tamara, and Angela—she had quite enough to keep her occupied.

  When Antony Romano had been alive, everyone in Girgenti treated her as if she was an aristocrat’s wife. Given his wealth and the lands that even now were being tended by farmers, she supposed the regard was to be expected. Very few in this part of Sicily were wealthy.

  As Antony’s only son, David had inherited most of the property, including the villa in which her guests were staying. Antony had seen to it Chiara would keep the villa in which she was now wandering about, deep in thought.

  So learning that someone down in Marina di Girgenti had been asking about women named ‘Chiara’ had her curious.

  Curious and a bit concerned. As far as she knew, there were only five women in Girgenti that shared her given name.

  What if someone had learned the truth?

  What if the person was there to make trouble for her?

  Or perhaps she wasn’t the Chiara they were looking for at all, and she had no need to be worried.

  The problem with considering the “what-if”s was where the questions led, which had her remembering just why she feared the person was seeking information about her in the first place.

  David wasn’t her late husband’s son.

  Oh, he had been born after she married Antony. He was legitimate in the all ways necessary to be considered Antony’s son. But David’s father had loved her and left her.

  They had spent his last day in Rome visiting all the important historic sites. They had crossed the Tiber River on the Pons Aelius—the Bridge of Hadrian. Tossed a piastra into the Trevi Fountain, where he explained that the water was from the Aqua Vergine, which was a fifteenth century restoration of the Aqua Virgo aqueduct. He had pointed out the architrave dating to 46 AD, which told of how Claudius had to rebuild a portion of the aqueduct before Caligula had the stone removed to build an amphitheater. They were always stealing stones from one thing to build another, she remembered him saying in disgust.

  There had been the stop at the Pantheon, Hadrian’s temple to all Roman gods, where he claimed the roof was made of the largest concrete span in all the world. Inside, they had studied the Egyptian obelisk dedicated to Ramses II. There are more Egyptian obelisks in Rome than in all of Egypt, because they were taken as trophies by Roman emperors, he explained.

  When it was too hot to be out of doors, they had gone into the tunnels under the Thermae Antoninianae—the Baths of Caracalla—and wandered along the imperial bath’s high walls.

  When they toured the world’s oldest public museum, Musei Capitoline, he explained how the Palazzo dei Conservatori had been built on the Temple of Jupiter. Michelangelo did the plans, and it was the first piazza in Rome, he claimed with the exuberance of a child.

  She had merely smiled and nodded, as if she hadn’t been to the museum at least a dozen times with her father.

  The walk by the Colosseum had been followed by the slow stroll to the end of the Via Sacra and onto the steps of the Forum. She remembered that moment as if it had just happened—the way her heart had clenched at seeing the pain in his face.

  His parting words had been filled with sorrow and regret. She even remembered how his voice broke, and how he seemed to have trouble breathing before he gave her one last kiss, placed a piastra in one of her palms with instructions to take a hackney to her home, and suddenly turned and took his leave of her.

  Antony had found her crying on the steps of the Forum, alone and heartsick. Perhaps he had felt sorry for her, or perhaps he had been attracted to her—she had been a beautiful young woman back then—but no matter the reason, he had offered to drive her to her home.

  As they made their way in his town coach, a conveyance pulled by a matched set of four black horses, he asked simple questions and answered some of hers, so that her tears were soon dry and the hiccups from her sobs finally ceased. Having met the man in her father’s home—he was a patron of the archaeological expeditions her father helped arrange—she knew he was from a family of means.

  When dusk deepened the shadows around them and the coach-and-four had arrived in front of her familia’s large villa, she was about to beg forgiveness and take her leave of the coach when she was kissed for the second time that day.

  Antony proposed later that night, angering his parents with his impulsiveness. But when he announced only two months later that Chiara was expecting their first child, his father suddenly welcomed her into their familia. By the time David was born, she had become their second daughter and could do no wrong.

  As for David’s real father, she never saw him again after that day. Good riddance, she remembered thinking after she and Antony had repeated their vows in the cathedral.

  So why had she thought of him nearly every day since?

  Chapter 20

  A Day of Visual Discoveries

  The following day

  “Where do you suppose he is?” Jasper asked as he surveyed the ruins of the area known as the Greco-Roman quarter.

  “It’s a bit early for his lordship,” James replied, referring to Dr. Darius Jones. His gaze took in the early morning sunrise, and he marveled at how the rays of the sun illuminated the honey-colored bits of columns and foundation blocks in a golden glow.

  The ancient city, located just southeast of the current city of Girgenti, appeared to have been laid out in a traditional grid pattern. From the series of foundations that poked above the level of the surrounding grounds, it was apparent the Duke of Serradifalco’s team had begun some excavation work. A few areas had been freed of dirt and debris, and the floors of some of the buildings were exposed, while others remained hidden beneath the earth.

  “Did he say where he would be working?” Jasper asked as he led them along the east perimeter, his shadow cast on the foundations that appeared above the ground. Although the morning was cool, he knew the sun might make it too warm to work in the midday. He hoped they could locate the place they had found on the map to start their work.

  “He’s been concentrating on the aqueducts over by the southwest corner,” James said as he pointed across the field of ruins. “Said he’s uncovered a stash of Roman coins and evidence of the military, but that area was most likely a gate into the city back in the day, so it was probably heavily guarded.”

  Stopping to consult the map they had studied the night before, Jasper compared it to what he was seeing. “I think we’re here,” he said as he pointed to the barely visible foundations of what was most likely a Roman villa near the edge of the city.

  James hoisted his satchel and placed it atop the remains of an ancient wall. He pulled several wood stakes from it and went about marking the perimeter of the area in which they would work while Jasper extracted several tools from his bag. He wished they could have brought the entire trunk, but Pietro had been unavailable to provide transportation, so they brought what they could carry.

  “Do you wish to draw this before we begin?” James asked.

  Jasper shook his head as he unrolled a crude drawing of the area. Although it included a far larger area than the one they would begin excavating on this day, their particular foundation was easy to discern from the rest. “No need,” he said as he moved to one of the foundation walls and settled onto the dry ground next to it. Although he was tempted to start in the middle of the nearly square area, he had learned long ago that walls were the best places to start when searching for the best preserved floors of villas. The middles tended to remain exposed to the elements—and to scavengers and looters—far longer and were usually in poor condition as a result. The floors nearest the walls were usually sealed with enough dirt and debris to keep them preserved.

&nbs
p; Using a small hand shovel, and soon joined by James, Jasper made quick work of digging down the side of a wall until he was sure he had reached the original floor of the villa. The bucket in which he dumped the dirt was nearly full despite the small perimeter of the hole he had created.

  “It’s not too deep,” James commented as his gaze swept to the west in an effort to determine how deep they might have to dig there.

  “It’s not,” Jasper agreed. Could it really be this easy? he wondered as he widened his hole. When the bucket was full, James saw to its replacement and took care of depositing the contents of the full pail on the eastern edge of the city. When he returned, he let out a whistle when he noticed Jasper had already exposed several small tiles. Although they appeared stained by dirt, they had obviously been nearly white at one time. “I see you’re not wasting any time,” he commented, lifting the already full second bucket and putting down the one he had just emptied.

  “The ground isn’t as hard as I expected, although I think it will be later into the summer,” Jasper replied, his small shovel breaking up the dirt to reveal the rich, dark volcanic soil that made up most of the island.

  When James returned from having emptied the second bucket, he boggled at what Jasper had already uncovered—row upon row of the cream-colored tiles and a single row of black tiles. “We need another bucket,” James said as his hands went to his hips.

  “Let me take a turn at emptying pails,” Jasper replied. “Let you have a bit of fun.” He scrambled to his feet and hurried off with the full pail, amazed at the display of the Temples of Concordia and Juno Lucina in the early morning sun. Farmers were already tending their fields around the temples, and goat herders watched their animals as the beasts cleared the land of vegetation.

  When he returned, he found that James had merely loosened the dirt along the wall and toward the center of the room. He began scooping it into the empty pails as Jasper continued to clear away the debris from the developing scene. “There are rust-colored tiles,” he said in awe.