“That sounds wonderful, Nonno,” Katerina assured him.
Christopher nodded in agreement. After so much travel, a nice glass of wine would be very soothing.
* * *
The three lapsed into silence. Katerina's eye flitted to the scenery passing outside the window of the carriage where dense city thinned to open countryside.
A strange sensation gradually grew within her and she turned to see Alessandro regarding her with a considering expression. “Cara,” he said to her finally in Italian, “How did your mother die?”
She looked at him, suddenly feeling haunted. “She had a fever,” Katerina replied at last, in the same language, quite forgetting her husband did not understand.
“So, it was a natural disease?” he pressed.
“Are you sure you want me to answer that question?” She bit her lip.
“Sì.”
Katerina closed her eyes against a sting. “The fever undoubtedly killed her, but the source of the fever was not natural disease.”
“Did that figlio di puttana cause it?” Alessandro snarled.
“Sì.” Pain welled up in her soul.
Christopher took his wife's hand. He has no idea what we're talking about, and yet he knows I need comforting. She gave him a sad smile.
Alessandro continued his interrogation. “And you, cara? Were you in danger too?”
“Sì.” She looked down at her lap, smoothing the fabric of her skirt with nervous fingers.
“Did he hurt you?”
She raised her eyes to meet his. “Sì.” Alessandro growled. Katerina quickly added, “But Christopher rescued me.”
“By marrying you?”
She nodded. “He is my hero.”
“Then I'm very glad to know him.”
She inhaled through her nose, trying to calm herself. Christopher's thumb stroked over her fingers. Another question rose up in Katerina's mind. “Nonno, why did Mother marry my father?”
He thought for a moment. “She insisted. We didn't want her to. No matter the scandal, we would have stood by her. Understand, Katerina, your mother was a good girl, but very young. Your father… manipulated her.”
“Was she… incinta?” Poor thing.
“Sì.”
“With me?”
“Sì.”
“So, I'm responsible.” She closed her eyes against the wave of agony.
Alessandro reached across the seat and grasped her free hand. “No, no one thinks that. You were just a baby. He was the one.”
She smiled sadly. “Right. Nonno, I would rather have been born a bastard.”
His eyebrows drew together, and his mouth turned down. The loss of his shiny smile made him look old and sad. “I'm sure. But you're safe now. And you have a kind husband to look after you.”
“I do.” She snuggled up against Christopher and laid her cheek against his shoulder.
“I'm so glad.” He looked away for a long moment.
“What was that all about?” Christopher asked his wife quietly.
“He wanted to be sure I was safe. He knew about my father's behavior.”
* * *
Seeing Alessandro's attention wander away, Christopher hugged his wife gently. She leaned into his embrace. They turned together to watch the hills outside the carriage window. A river ran parallel to the road. The Arno, their research had told them. On the other side, a massive olive grove shivered its myriad branches in the evening breeze.
After a little time passed, Alessandro returned his attention to his guests, catching them snuggled together. He raised his eyebrows, but both looked back steadily at him, unwilling to release each other.
“Well, this brings up another question,” Alessandro addressed them both in English. “In the past when I have had visitors from England, husbands and wives have demanded separate rooms.”
“One will do,” Katerina told her grandfather firmly.
“I suspected as much.” He winked at them. “That will be fine. Well, children, here we are. Come along.”
They climbed down into the chilly evening air and walked quickly to a gracious tile-roofed home constructed of golden stones. Full dark had fallen, concealing the olive trees from view, but the golden glow of lanterns illuminated the house and complimented the warm sunshine yellow of the stones and the creamy thick mortar between.
It was an irregularly shaped construction, charming in its eccentricity; a two-story rectangle, with a sharply protruding exterior wall to the right, and a recessed area in the center. All the wings had sloping roofs that appeared, like the buildings in Livorno, to be of bumpy red tile, although in the dark, the detail was rather hard to discern. As they approached the front entrance with its huge, arched double door, Katerina noticed that to the left, what appeared to be a square stone tower rose two stories above the normal roofline of the house.
The chill had turned biting, so they hurried through the door and down a hallway lined with cream plaster walls. An ancient wood floor gleamed in the dim light of lamps fueled by olive oil. They entered the dining room and sat at a rough-hewn table. There, as promised, a hot meal waited. It seemed to be a kind of stew or casserole made of beans and sausage, piled on thick yellow plates decorated with a simple green ring around the edge. Even Christopher found this delicious, and the three ate eagerly. The rich red table wine tasted as delicious as Alessandro had promised. As they devoured the repast, Katerina asked her grandfather a question. “Nonno, where is my grandmother?”
Alessandro's eyes turned sad. “She passed away about six years ago.”
Her hand fluttered around her mouth. “Oh, I never knew. I'm sorry.”
“Thank you, dear.” He reached across the table and grasped her hand. “I miss her still.”
“What was her name?” Katerina asked.
“Caterina, just like you, but with a C,” he replied.
“It's not normal to use the K, is it?” Christopher asked before taking a hearty bite of hot homemade bread.
I wonder if he finds it odd that it has no salt, or if he realizes the fierce seasoning of the stew compensates for its blandness, she wondered idly, trying to distract herself from the intensity of the conversation.
“No. That was Carolina's idea. Since the child – you, cara – was born in England, the K seemed easier for the locals to understand,” Alessandro explained.
“I see,” she replied.
“Oh, and, cara, Signor Bennett, I have organized a party in honor of your visit.”
Katerina shifted in nervous discomfort.
“Please, we're family. Christopher will do,” her husband urged, drawing attention away from his wife's nervous squirming.
“Buono. Then you must call me Alessandro,” her grandfather replied, seeming not to notice her reaction.
Now is the time I have to choose. Choose to accept what I'm not sure I want to please someone else. Nonno wants so badly for me to be fine, so he can feel better about everything else. Therefore, I have to be better than I am.
“Certainly,” Christopher replied with an easy grin.
They get along so well already, these two open-hearted people. I still want to hide like a rabbit.
“What's wrong, cara?” Alessandro asked.
“Nothing,” she said quickly.
Christopher spoke for her. “She doesn't care for parties. She's very shy. But if you have a pianoforte, that will help immensely.”
Oh, Christopher, did you have to? She realized he was trying to protect her, but without the chance to talk privately, she had no way to tell him.
“Of course, I have a pianoforte.” An odd light flared in the older man's eyes. “I also have a musician.”
“Yes?” Katerina asked, eyebrows raised in question.
“Her name is Aimée St. Jean. She's a French soprano, and I've hired her to entertain at our little festa.”
“How nice. Isn't that nice, Katerina?” Christopher pressed, squeezing her hand.
She gave him a sharp look. I'm
not stupid. He made an apologetic face. She addressed her grandfather. “Oh yes, very nice. Thank you, Grandfather. I'm looking forward to hearing her.”
“Well,” Alessandro said abruptly, changing the subject, “I can see you're both finished. Your bags should be unpacked in your room by now, and I imagine you are both tired from you travels. Would you care to retire?”
“Yes, thank you, Nonno. That's just what I was hoping for.” Katerina yawned.
“In the morning, I will give you a tour of the house and estate. The festa is next week.”
“Perfect. Grazie.” She smiled, hoping to dispel any shadows their conversation had raised.
“Yes, thank you,” Christopher echoed in English.
“Follow me.” He led them through the corridors of the house to a spacious suite of rooms with crimson fabrics hanging at the windows and around the bed. As promised, their clothing and accoutrements had been unpacked. Alessandro shook Christopher's hand again, hugged Katerina tight, and left them.
They undressed in silence and got ready for bed before snuggling up together. Katerina had guessed what would happen and left off her nightgown until later, and sure enough her husband pulled her close, so they could make love tenderly in celebration of their arrival before falling into a deep sleep.
Chapter 16
Morning dawned, brightly sunny but with a winter chill that could be detected even through the walls of the house. They ate a quick breakfast of hot sweet rolls and powerful coffee before meeting Alessandro in the parlor of his spacious manor. It was a gorgeous room, boasting delicate blue walls and several floor-to-ceiling windows decorated with ornately cream-colored wood frames and moldings. The wood floor was covered with a mostly-red rug accented in a blue that complemented the walls.
Cream and dark wood furniture was arranged in several seating areas around the space. All the staff assembled there, and Alessandro introduced them to his granddaughter and her husband, his eyes glowing with pride. Many were older and remembered her mother. Like their employer, they had been appalled at her ill-conceived marriage and had grieved her death. They were delighted to see her lovely daughter. To all appearances, Katerina seemed healthy and happy, if a bit shy, on the arm of a kind husband.
One particularly round barrel of a woman approached Katerina and they conversed for several minutes in Italian before she kissed her on both cheeks and lumbered away.
“Who on earth was that?” Christopher asked.
“Oh, she's the cook,” Katerina replied, eyes alight with laughter. “She knew my mother growing up. They were… friendly, I suppose. She thought I was too skinny and is currently planning to cook something decadent to fatten me up.” She grinned. “She might just succeed.”
“Do you think you might share?” he asked, regarding her with teasing silver eyes.
“It depends,” she teased him back with a flirtatious glance.
“All right you two,” Alessandro growled, “don't shock my servants.” He dismissed the staff with a word and led the couple on a tour of the house. On the first floor, they explored the spacious parlor, the dining room, Alessandro's study, and a cavernous library with books stacked floor to ceiling on oiled wooden shelves. Finally, they arrived at the kitchen. The ceiling of rough-hewn and weathered gray boards drew the eye upward, where gleaming copper pans dangled. The size of the space caused Katerina to draw in a deep breath, filling herself with the aroma of garlic and olive oil. The cook grinned at them and insisted they each snack on a little pastry before heading on. The sweet treat made Katerina's eyes roll back in her head. It won't be hard to gain weight in this place.
Then they headed up the broad staircase to the second floor. There wasn't much to see here, as it was all bedrooms, mostly for guests, each decorated in a different color: golden yellow, rust, or blue. Alessandro did not offer to show them his suite of rooms, which appeared to consist of all the three floors of that odd little tower. Finally, they returned to the ground floor, ending up in the music room.
Compared to the tiny space in the Bennetts' London townhouse, the Bianchi music room was huge. It contained a beautifully carved pianoforte and a harpsichord along with various other instruments, which were displayed on tables and hung on the wall. In particular, a small instrument that resembled a guitar snared Katerina's eye. It was clearly Spanish in origin, and heavily decorated with inlaid wood. She looked at it for a moment before being drawn by the magnetic pull of the pianoforte. Sliding onto the bench she played a series of lightning-fast scales and smiled. Lovely tone. “Does anyone play this?” she asked her grandfather.
“Sometimes, when I have parties. Your grandmother played.”
“I see.” And then she gifted them with a lilting little number by Chopin.
“Very nice,” Alessandro told her when she was finished, “you're quite accomplished.”
“Thank you, Nonno. I love music.” She switched to Handel and played the slow opening chords of “I Know that My Redeemer Liveth.” Then she sang.
* * *
Christopher remembered her telling him she could sing rather well, and he had teased her about opera, but after their rapid and traumatic wedding, he had forgotten the conversation. Truly she is no operatic soprano. She's better. Her voice, delicate and soft, rang like chimes. She hit each note, no matter how high, how fast, with pinpoint precision, and her clever fingers never faltered on the keyboard. Just as she climbed the scale to a high note, which she touched with the lightness of a butterfly's wing, her impromptu concert was interrupted by the arrival of a woman.
“Brava,” the stranger said, her voice slightly unpleasant as she eyed the pianoforte with a proprietary air. “Signor Bianchi, who is this ingénue? Are you replacing me?”
Alessandro's suntanned skin darkened. “Of course not, Madame St. Jean. This is my granddaughter, Katerina Bennett. Remember, we're having a festa in her honor?”
“Oh, that's right. How sweet. And the gentleman?” She ran hungry eyes over Christopher's frame.
“Her husband, Signor Christopher Bennett.”
Katerina felt a twinge of anxiety. This singer is much showier and more beautiful than I, with her thick gleaming blond hair and her rosebud lips. Her figure was voluptuous and displayed almost to the point of indecency in her low-cut morning dress. She knows how to attract male attention, this one. Katerina glanced at her grandfather. He was watching the curvy beauty watch his grandson-in-law, and a look of anger crossed his craggy face.
Hoping to break the uncomfortable silence, Katerina rose from the piano bench and took her husband's arm. He patted her reassuringly. “Pleased to meet you, Madame St. Jean. I'm looking forward to hearing you sing. I'm sure you'd like the music room to yourself, so you can practice. Grandfather, I would love to see your olive grove now, if you have time.”
Alessandro shook his head as though to clear it. “Yes, in a moment. Can you two go back to the parlor and wait for me? I have something I have to do. You do remember the way, do you not?”
“We do,” Christopher assured him, and escorted his wife from the room.
Once the door was closed behind them, Katerina sighed… and then giggled.
“What, love?” he asked as they made their way down the hallway.
“I believe Madame Aimée St. Jean was chosen for more than just her musical ability,” she said, feeling naughty for even suggesting such a thing.
“Oh?”
“If I'm not very much mistaken, she appears to be his mistress.” Katerina's cheeks warmed.
Christopher chuckled. “Yes, I did get that impression. Does it bother you?”
She laughed. “Of course not. He's been widowed a long time, and she's quite lovely and very young. I doubt she's seen thirty-five years. Good for him.”
“Yes, well, she has a wandering eye. I'm not sure how he figures on keeping her.”
“Perhaps he doesn't,” she replied, unperturbed. “He might just be enjoying the moment. But I don't like how her eye wandered to you.”
* * *
Christopher had known the sight of the flirtatious blond would unsettle Katerina, but honestly, he had been completely unmoved by her. He loved his wife.
I need to tell her. It would boost her confidence, but he wanted to find just the right moment. Every other part of their relationship had been done in a panic-stricken rush, but this is too important. So, in the meanwhile he assured her with long tender kisses, cradling her in his arms like the priceless treasure she was, and as always, she eagerly returned his affection.
“Ahem.” the clearing of a throat interrupted the embrace. Katerina's grandfather was eyeing them with an amused look on his face.
“Oh, hello, Nonno,” Katerina said, trying for nonchalance, but not quite managing it. She's so adorable when she's flustered.
“Hello, lovebirds.” Katerina blushed and giggled at his comment. “Well, shall we tour my estate?”
“Oh, yes please,” she agreed eagerly, and Christopher assented with a nod.
“Better cover up,” Alessandro suggested. “It's chilly this morning. Though I must say, you two look warm enough.”
Chapter 17
The days of the visit passed pleasantly, filled with delicious food and superb conversation. Christopher and Katerina both enjoyed getting to know Alessandro, who proved to be a kind and amusing gentleman with a gruff manner that belied a tender heart. Slowly they because aware he was also dangerously enamored of his little French musician, and she played with him, keeping him on his toes.
In fact, only Aimée made the visit difficult. She teased and flirted with Christopher, which made Katerina wild with jealousy, and Alessandro furious. She also had a skill for knowing when Katerina was playing the pianoforte or the harpsichord in the music room and chasing her out. Actually, she mercilessly bullied the younger woman. Katerina's first impulse was to avoid the music room altogether and spare herself the endless harassment, but after careful consideration, she decided it should not be necessary to do so. Mme St. Jean had no right to monopolize the instrument. Katerina wanted to play, and she worked hard to find a time when she would be able to do so unmolested.
Keeping Katerina (The Victorians Book 1) Page 18
