Chapter 10 #2
The odd man out in the parlor was leaning against the fireplace mantel.
“Mia donna,” David said, immediately straightening to give her a bow.
Recognition had Vittoria blinking, but before she could remember exactly why, all the other men in the room stood and bowed in her direction. She dipped a curtsy and managed a smile. “Buongiorno. Pardon my tardiness.”
A chorus of greetings followed before Donald said, “Now that we’re all here, let’s eat our breakfast. I can hardly wait to show you our favorite sights here in Rome.”
“We don’t have to see them all in one day,” Will said. “We’re going to be here for at least a month.”
“It’s a large city, Father,” Donald commented, lifting his daughter from Helen’s arms before he kissed her forehead and handed her to a nurse who had appeared after Vittoria’s arrival. He turned to his son. “Your tutor is waiting, mio don.”
From Antony’s look of shock, it was obvious he was disappointed. “Sì, Papa.” He made the rounds, bowing to the women before stopping to allow his mother to give him a kiss on the cheek.
“I’ll see you before your dinner, mio don,” she said.
He glanced around the room. “May I join you for dinner? I promise I will be on my very best behavior,” he said.
She grinned. “Of course, mio don.”
Anthony beamed in delight as he headed out the door.
“He’s practically a young man already,” Barbara lamented.
“He’s not even eight years old,” Nicoletta said, her gaze following the Marquess Montblanc as he took his leave. “And he’s growing up far too fast for me.” She allowed Donald to help her to stand and placed an arm on his. “Lead the way, my darling.”
The other couples paired off and followed Donald and the Marchesa Montblanc, leaving Vittoria with the only single gentleman in the room.
“You,” she said in a hoarse whisper.
“Me,” David acknowledged, arching a brow before he smirked. He offered his arm. “It is best we don’t dawdle. My brother tends to walk fast.”
She huffed her disdain. “So you really are David Slater,” she stated, as if she hadn’t made mention of his name only the night before. As if she hadn’t included a comment about his resemblance to his brother.
“Of course,” he said, making a show of taking her hand and placing it on his arm. “Viscount Penton.” He had them exiting the parlor before she could put voice to a complaint. “But you can call me—”
“Whatever I wish,” she finished, lifting her chin defiantly.
David gave a start. “Mia donna?”
She rolled her eyes. “What is the word in English? Rake?”
Given how close they were behind Tom and Helen, David was forced to keep his voice low when he responded. “I am many things, mia donna, but a rake is not one of them.”
“Perhaps the better word is libertino,” she offered.
He visibly stiffened, and from the way the muscles of his jaw moved, it was apparent he was biting back an angry retort. “I think you have me confused with that libertino I found you with in that alcove last night. Don Diavala, was he?”
She gasped. “How dare you. You obviously have me confused with a… a…” She struggled to sort the English word.
“Tart?” he supplied.
“Sì.” She immediately regretted agreeing with him, sure he had laid a trap for her given her limited English.
He smirked as he pulled out a chair for her at the dining table. “Touché.”
“Grazie,” she murmured, rearranging the skirts of her sapphire blue walking gown once she was seated. She was relieved he didn’t take the chair next to her, but she struggled to keep from rolling her eyes when he ended up in the seat directly across from her.
Although the conversation grew livelier as footmen delivered platters of food and poured coffee and wine, Vittoria elected to remain quiet unless someone directed a question to her.
With only one older brother and no other siblings, she wasn’t used to eating breakfast among so many people.
The ease at which they enjoyed one another’s company was unnerving.
Her aunt Nikky acted as if she was familiar and comfortable with everyone, despite having met Diana and Helen for the first time only the night before.
Nicoletta was a marchesa, though, her time as a wife to the late Ricardo Malgeri, Marchese Montblanc, long enough for her to learn the art of hosting guests and the diplomacy necessary to navigate the shifting whims of the Italian aristocracy.
Once Vittoria was married, she would be expected to do the same. The thought had her dark brows furrowing, her appetite suddenly gone. She drank her wine, well aware she was being watched from across the table. Lifting her gaze, she pinned David with a withering stare.
“Did you enjoy your come-out ball?” he asked.
Sure he intended to lay some sort of trap for her, Vittoria lifted a shoulder. “Most of it,” she replied. “The dancing, of course. The rest… not so much.”
Vittoria expected David to put forth a word of protest, but it was Donald who said, “What, pray tell, happened, dearest niece?”
Vittoria stiffened. About to say that his brother had accosted her in an alcove, she was prevented from doing so when David said, “Don Luciano thought to trap Donna Vittoria in a dark alcove, but she was most effective in rendering his advances moot.”
Vittoria blinked and did her best not to put voice to a word of protest.
The rest at the table turned to stare at her.
“I told your brother he shouldn’t include Don Luciano in the invitation list,” Donald said, his quiet words meant only for Nicoletta.
From her place at the opposite end of the table, she rolled her eyes. “Unfortunately, Don Luciano’s father is a conte,” she replied. “And no longer of a mind to attend the entertainments.”
“Don Luciano is a libertino of the worst kind,” Donald countered.
“Yet it sounds as if our niece defended herself?” Nicoletta countered, a dark brow arched in query as she turned her gaze on her niece.
“She was actually quite fierce,” David stated, his gaze directed on Vittoria. “I should not wish to find myself on her list of those upon which she desires to come to harm,” he added.
Vittoria managed a pleasant expression despite what she wished to be doing to David.
Kicking him in the groin, for starters. Seeing to it a certain statue impaled him, leaving him unable to father children. “Really, Don Penton, must you be so… so graphic?”
“I am merely stating your skills, mia donna,” he answered. “Should I possess your ability to render a man unable to procreate, I should be most proud,” he said.
The other men at the table visibly winced at the comment, and the women hid their smirks behind their napkins.
Not sure how to respond, Vittoria aimed a pleading glance in her aunt’s direction.
Nicoletta responded with widened eyes and a lift of her shoulders.
“Don Luciano is not one we would wish to join the D’Avalos family by way of marriage,” she said.
“Better he be injured and gone from the premises than for you to be forced to marry him because someone discovered you with him,” she added.
“I could not agree more,” Donald stated.
Anxious to change the subject, Nicoletta raised her voice. “So, our plan for the day is to take you all on a walking tour of Roma. We won’t see everything, of course, but enough for you to let us know what you wish to revisit on future excursions,” she explained.
“When can we start?” Helen asked, her gaze darting to her husband, Tom.
“In a few minutes,” Nicoletta responded. “Do be prepared to climb a few hills—there are seven all told—and of course we won’t climb all of them today, but if they should be too much for you, we shall have a couple of coaches following us so you needn’t feel as if you must walk the entire time.”
“Well, that sounds quite acceptable,” Barbara stated.
The others at the table nodded their agreements, and when Nicoletta indicated she was done, everyone rose from the table and made their way to the vestibule of the Montblanc house.
The fact that Vittoria still directed a look of derision at him had David realizing it was going to be a long day.
Donald was about to don a pair of gloves but paused when a footman motioned to him. “I’ll only be a moment,” he said to the others, before making his way to where the servant and butler were engaged in a quiet conversation.
“What has happened?” he asked in Italian.
“There has been an accident. The Russo carriage overturned last night on its way home from the ball, and the Conte Russo and his contessa have died,” the butler explained.
Inhaling sharply, Donald glanced back at Nicoletta. Although slightly older than Nicoletta, Maria, Contessa Russo, had been a good friend to his wife back when the marchese was still alive. Their children frequently played together. “What of their daughter? Donna Nancy?” he asked in a quiet voice.
The footman lifted a shoulder. “She was not with them, but one of the servants said they are worried as to what’s to become of her and of the household staff that came with them from Catania.”
Relief had Donald sighing softly. “Send word to their villa that she and her nurse are to be delivered to the Montblanc villa. We will host them until arrangements can be made,” he instructed.
“Until relatives have learned of their fate. Have one of the rooms off the nursery prepared, and be sure there are quarters for the nurse. Have our things moved back there as well.”
“Right away, signore.”
When Donald rejoined Nicoletta and the others, she directed a pleading glance in his direction, but he merely shook his head. “Later,” he whispered.