Chapter 34 With These Rings
With These Rings
The following morning
Rising to the sound of a soft rain, Patrick stood from his bed and chuckled softly as he attempted to stretch. Although he was sore in several places, his memories of what had caused the minor aches and pains made it all worth it.
He rang for Giovanni and was pleasantly surprised when the valet appeared only a few minutes later. “You’re awake early,” he said to the younger man.
“My mother insists I wake before dawn,” Giovanni replied. “I have to help her with moving pots of water to the stove.” At his employer’s look of confusion, he added, “Today she does the laundry.”
“Oh, of course,” Patrick replied. “Tell me, what time are jewelry shops usually open here in Rome? Or perhaps I need to see a goldsmith,” he considered.
Pulling a top coat and waistcoat from the wardrobe, the valet paused to stare at him a moment. “Most have already opened, signore.”
Patrick gave a start. “Open until sundown, I suppose?” he guessed. “Closed during the midday?” He remembered how few people were out whilst he and Armenia had been touring the last fountain the day before.
Giovanni nodded. “As are most of the shops,” he agreed.
“Might you know of a nearby florist?”
His cheeks reddening, the valet said, “Around the corner.” He pointed to the south. “For your special lady?”
“Indeed. I know I mentioned it last night, but I do plan to be married soon.”
Shaking his head as he retrieved a cravat from a drawer, Giovanni said, “Sì, signore.” His brows furrowed. “Would your wife be moving in with you here?”
Patrick inhaled to answer and realized he hadn’t considered living arrangements.
Armenia had a villa. One that she had lived in nearly her entire life, or at least when her family was in Rome.
All he could offer were rooms in a building he happened to own, staffed by a housekeeper who possessed a poor opinion of her.
“Whatever we decide, I plan to keep you on,” he said by way of assurance.
“And my mother?”
Lifting a shoulder, Patrick said, “I’ll still require a housekeeper here.”
“Very good, sir.”
Patrick couldn’t help but notice the sound of relief in the young man’s voice.
When he finished his breakfast, Patrick followed the verbal directions Giovanni had supplied regarding a nearby jewelry district. He headed southwest on foot until he reached Via del Pellegrino, managing to avoid the puddles left behind by that morning’s brief rain.
Tiny shops were lined up on either side of the thin street, matching arches above each entry on one side while the shop with the number he sought—14—was on the opposite side.
His attention went to the stone blocks set in a decorative pattern above the door’s transom where the words Gioielleria Herzel were emblazoned.
Above the main floor were another three stories of a building that included not only the jewel shop but several others.
Shutters hung on either side of the windows, some open while others were shut against the morning sun.
The window adjacent to the door featured various pieces of jewelry on display, all set in gold. He admired a sapphire and diamond parure before ducking into the shop.
Once his eyes adjusted to the darker interior, he spotted a goldsmith in the back already at work. Shoulders hunched and an optical device strapped around his head, the man nodded in his direction and called out a welcome.
Patrick returned the greeting before he turned his attention to a glass-fronted display case. A black velvet tray behind the glass caught his eye.
A number of rings, all of them set in gold, were lined up from small to large. Some sported a gemstone while others were simply bands of metal. A few included engravings of leaves and flowers or a series of tiny letters.
Dumbfounded, Patrick stood and stared at the selection. Although he had come with the intention of simply choosing a wedding band, he realized he hadn’t considered there would be options.
“Difficult to decide, isn’t it?”
The words, said in English with a British accent, had Patrick giving a start. He glanced over to discover a young man staring at the same tray of rings, his arms crossed despite the brim of a top hat clutched in one hand.
“It is,” he agreed. He stepped back, his brows furrowing when he realized he recognized the man. “You were at the D’Avalos ball two nights ago,” he said.
“As were you. David Slater, Viscount Penton,” David said by way of introduction, holding out his right hand.
“Patrick McAdams. McAdams Textiles,” he replied, shaking the proffered hand. “Pray tell, what is a British viscount doing here in Rome?”
“I’m on my Grand Tour with my cousins,” David replied, his gaze going back to the rings. “They and my brother have all succumbed to the parson’s mousetrap over the course of the past two years.”
“And now it’s your turn?” Patrick guessed, a smirk lifting the corners of his lips.
“Eventually,” David hedged. “I found from past experience it’s best to be ready.”
Patrick regarded the young aristocrat with an arched brow. “Past experience?” he repeated. “So... did someone get away?” He winced at the thought the viscount could already be a widower, and he regretted having put voice to the flippant query.
David inhaled and let the air out in a whoosh. “Something like that. She liked the betrothal ring, so I let her keep it,” he explained. “Her husband is now a rather good friend, and come to think of it, he’s also a relative of sorts. Brother to my cousin’s wife.”
Obviously surprised by the young man’s cavalier attitude regarding a jewel, Patrick said, “Rather sporting of you.”
Shrugging, David continued to examine the rings. “It wasn’t an heirloom, of course. I wouldn’t bestow such a treasure on a woman until the actual wedding.”
“Posso aiutarla?” May I help you?
The two turned to discover a young lady standing on the other side of the display. Engrossed in their discussion, neither had seen her approach from the back of the shop.
“Possiamo vedere gli anelli?” David asked. May we see the rings?
“Sì,” she replied, pulling the tray from the cabinet to place it atop the display. She moved a candle lamp closer so the rings were better lit.
“How do you decide?” Patrick asked, aiming his query at David.
“Have you a lady in mind?”
“I do. I almost proposed yesterday, but, uh...”
“Thought better of it?” David guessed.
“I was interrupted. By a priest.”
David chuckled softly and then suddenly sobered. “Did he... did he catch you kissing your lady, by chance?” he asked.
Patrick arched a brow in surprise. “He did, actually. It was most inconvenient.”
David barked a laugh. “In the Pantheon?”
Glancing around the small shop, Patrick felt his cheeks grow hot. He lowered his voice. “How do you know about that?” he asked. “Were... were you there?”
“A few minutes after you, apparently,” David replied. “I... I was escorting a young lady. We were with my brother and my cousins on a walking tour,” he explained. “I wasn’t going to kiss the girl, but the priest obviously thought that was my intention.”
“Because?” Patrick prompted, once again displaying his teasing smirk.
David seemed to consider the query before he dipped his head. “Despite my protestations and behavior to the contrary, Donna Vittoria believes I am a rogue. But why the priest would think I am, I’ve no idea.”
Patrick gave a start. “Donna Vittoria? D’Avalos?” he guessed.
Apparently not surprised Patrick would make the connection—he had been at her come-out ball—David merely nodded.
“Huh,” Patrick responded. “You think a ring will change her mind?”
David gave a start. “I have absolutely no idea,” he replied. “I’m not even sure I like the girl.”
“What?”
“Had you asked me my opinion of her yesterday morning, I would have told you she’s a shrew. A spoiled rotten brat.”
Chuckling, Patrick said, “Well, she is the daughter of a conte. But a shrew?” He suddenly sobered.
“What is it?” David asked, his dark brows furrowing at seeing the change in Patrick.
“Prior to her come-out ball, Vittoria was apparently only seen in the company of her parents and her aunts,” he explained, remembering what Armenia had told him.
“She’s probably lived a rather sheltered life as an aristocrat’s daughter, but she has been raised to be a proper young lady.
Although she’s not yet betrothed, she knows what’s expected of her, especially if she ends up the wife of an aristocrat,” he continued.
“She’s Donna Armenia’s niece,” he added.
“Great niece,” David corrected him. “She is my sister-in-law’s niece.”
Realization dawned as Patrick stared at the young man. “Your sister-in-law is the Marchesa Montblanc?” he asked in awe.
“Indeed. My brother, Donald, married her a couple of years ago.”
Patrick scoffed. “How is it a Brit would even know Donna Montblanc?”
David seemed to consider how to respond before he said, “Well, they met eight years ago in Catania...” He shrugged.
“Donald was near the end of his Grand Tour at the time. When her father promised her to another, they pledged their undying love, and Donald returned to England, heartbroken, of course,” he said dramatically.
He rolled his eyes. “He didn’t tell any of us what had happened until a fortnight before we set off on our Grand Tour—when he learned Montblanc had died and insisted he hurry to be with Nicoletta,” he explained.
“That’s quite a tale of young love.” Patrick narrowed his eyes.
“So... if you don’t intend to propose to Donna Vittoria, pray tell, why are you here?
In a jewelry shop?” he asked, waving to the tray of rings.
He had to suppress a grin at seeing how the shopkeeper was staring at them.
She probably couldn’t understand everything they had been saying, but from her widened eyes, she obviously recognized the names they had mentioned.