Chapter 34 With These Rings #2
David reached out and lifted a gold band topped with a sapphire.
“I like to be prepared,” he replied, examining the jewel in the light from the candle lamp.
“And you? Who will be wearing your ring, if you don’t mind me asking?
” He turned his attention on Patrick. “The woman you were kissing in the Pantheon?”
Patrick cleared his throat. “That is the hope,” he replied. “Donna Armenia, in fact.”
“D’Avalos?” David asked in surprise.
“She is the one,” he acknowledged.
The gasp that sounded in reply didn’t come from David, and both he and Patrick turned to stare at the shopgirl.
“Mi scusi,” she said, her face reddening with embarrassment.
“Why did you react so?” Patrick asked. From her blank expression, he realized she didn’t understand his query. David repeated his words in Italian, and she dipped her head.
“Abbiamo sempre pensato che Donna Armenia fosse una zitella.” We have always thought Lady Armenia a spinster. She aimed the rest of her comment to Patrick. “Lei merita un brav'uomo.” She deserves a good man.
Although he didn’t understand her every word, he nodded when he sorted the sentiment. “Grazie.” He pointed to the tray of rings. “Hai qualche consiglio?” Do you have a recommendation?
Without pausing, she lifted an oval ruby-topped gold band from the tray. “Rossa,” she stated. “Il suo colore.” Red, her color.
Patrick reached for the ring and examined the setting.
“Those are diamonds,” David remarked, pointing to the gems set on either side of a rather large oval ruby. “And that ruby is... remarkable,” he added in awe. He replaced the sapphire ring he had been holding and plucked another ruby-topped ring from the tray.
The cushion-cut gemstone wasn’t nearly as large, and its setting lacked the diamonds on either side, but its color was exquisite. It would make an exceptional betrothal ring.
“I’ll take it,” Patrick stated, offering the larger ruby ring to the shopgirl. “Uh... quanto?”
“Don’t pay more than two-thousand,” David whispered, his attention still on the smaller ruby ring he held.
The girl pulled a tiny tag from the tray and held it out. Patrick and David both leaned over, but Patrick pulled out a pair of reading spectacles and settled them on his nose before he studied the tag.
1750.
He nodded.
David watched as Patrick pulled a purse from his waistcoat, his eyes widening as the older man dumped out the necessary scudi romani coins. “Do you always carry that amount of blunt on your person?” he asked in surprise.
“Not usually, no,” Patrick replied with a chuckle. He nodded toward the ring David still clutched between a thumb and forefinger. “Is that for Donna Vittoria?”
David scoffed. “I haven’t yet decided.”
“Liar,” Patrick teased, grinning. While the shopgirl counted his payment, he continued to regard David with amusement. “So, if not in the Pantheon, did you ever have the chance to kiss her?”
David nodded. “I did. Right after I massaged her feet,” he murmured absently. “We walked a good deal yesterday.”
A whimper sounded from the shopgirl, and they both glanced in her direction to see her busily securing the ruby ring in a hinged box.
“She was in a good deal of pain due to poor-fitting half-boots,” David added, his gaze on the girl.
Patrick arched a brow. The shopgirl obviously understood more English than they had assumed, and he realized she would probably spread word of what she had overheard to everyone she knew. “Might you know of any calzolai near here, signora?” he asked.
She nodded. “Signore Rossetti.” She pointed toward the front of the shop. “Across and up three,” she said, holding up three fingers.
“What are you about, Mr. McAdams?” David asked, his suspicion evident. He handed over the ring he had been holding to the shopgirl. “I’d like to buy this one.”
Pulling the tag from the tray, she held it out to him. He nodded and retrieved his purse from his waistcoat pocket.
“You might start your courtship on the right foot with a pair of half-boots made to fit your lady perfectly,” Patrick suggested.
“No pun intended, I’m sure,” David countered dryly.
“None at all,” Patrick replied, accepting the hinged box from the shopgirl. He tucked it into a pocket. “Over in America, they’ve begun making shoes specifically for left and right feet. Makes for much more comfortable footwear.”
David finished counting out his payment and considered Patrick’s comment. “I believe we have a shoemaker or two doing the same in London. In fact...” He stopped speaking, his eyes suddenly rounding. “McAdams, you’re a genius,” he stated, his gaze on his mind’s eye.
Patrick gave a start. “Hardly, but...” He took the box the shopgirl was trying to give to David and handed it to him. “I’ll take it,” he said. “What has you so dumbfounded?”
“My great aunt Adele. She told us about her husband’s cousin.
.. uh, cousin’s son,” he stammered. “He fell in love with a woman who had a crushed foot—from some sort of accident with a horse—and he hired a shoemaker to make all sorts of shoes for her. Boots, slippers, dance shoes,” he murmured.
“All made specifically for each foot so they fit perfectly.”
“Did she marry him?”
David grinned in delight. “Yes. Apparently she even loves him more than her horses,” he added, stuffing the ring box into his waistcoat pocket. “Grazie,” he said to the shopgirl.
Patrick screwed his face into a grimace. “Here I was thinking only of a ring and flowers,” he whispered.
“Oh, those should work fine,” David commented. They took their leave of the jewelry shop and made their way to the shoemaker’s workshop. “Your Donna Armenia joined us for dinner last night,” he commented.
“She mentioned she was due at the Villa Montblanc for dinner,” he replied, curious if the viscount would provide any more information about her.
“She didn’t say much, but given how many there were at the table, she probably couldn’t get a word in if she had wanted to,” David said.
“Did she seem... happy?” Patrick asked.
David furrowed his brows as if he was trying to remember. “Secretly so, now that you ask,” he replied. “That must have been some kiss in the Pantheon.”
Patrick resisted the urge to mention there was far more than a kiss exchanged the afternoon prior. “I’m rather surprised myself,” he said. “As a widower, I never thought I would find another woman I would want as my wife.”
“Love at first sight?” David guessed.
“Indeed. Despite my graying hair, I feel as if I’m twenty years younger,” he claimed. He didn’t mention that morning’s soreness. The short walk had alleviated most of his aches and pains.
David chuckled and then sobered. “What if I really don’t like her?”
Patrick halted and turned to stare at the viscount. “Then you wouldn’t have massaged her feet, kissed her senseless—you did kiss her senseless, did you not?”
“I... I did,” David acknowledged.
“Then spent four-hundred lira on a betrothal ring, and...” He motioned to the Rossetti calzolai shop. “We wouldn’t be going in there to order specially made half-boots.”
David nodded. “You’re right,” he said. He reached out to open the door when he noticed Patrick’s sudden hesitance. “What?”
“How will you know what size to have him make the boots?” Patrick asked, preceding David into the workshop. The odor of leather and polish filled their nostrils.
“I held her feet in my hands,” David replied, pantomiming his moves from the night before.
“You obviously liked her feet,” Patrick teased, waggling his brows. His attention was caught by a few pairs of boots and slippers on a nearby shelf.
Although it took several minutes to make the shoemaker understand what he wanted, David was soon holding wooden carvings of various sized feet. He finally settled on one of a particular length but explained that it wasn’t wide enough where the toes should go.
Another round of negotiations ensued, and soon the shoemaker had a drawing of a foot that suited David.
Before he had a chance to pay the man, a young woman took the drawing and began transferring the measurements to a piece of leather she had stretched out on a workbench.
Her brother was already working on the soles, a set of one-inch heels set off to one side.
“Color?”
“Uh... black.”
“Three o’clock,” the shoemaker said.
“Three o’clock,” David repeated. “Please, keep the pattern. If this works, there will be orders for more,” he said.
Nodding his understanding, the calzolai joined his children in the construction of Vittoria’s half-boots.
Meanwhile, Patrick and David made their way out of the workshop and to the nearby intersection. “How did you get here?” David asked, not seeing another town coach.
“I walked. My apartment and office are near Piazza Navona.”
“Would you like a ride? I borrowed a town coach to get here,” David offered.
“Thank you, but I will walk.”
“Might I ask when you’ll propose?” David asked as the tiger opened the coach door for him.
Patrick nodded. “She has invited me to dinner this evening.”
“So... during the dessert course?” David guessed.
“I doubt I’ll make it to the first course,” Patrick replied, his grin broad.
“Good luck, Mr. McAdams.”
“To you, too. If this works, we’ll be part of the same family.”
He watched the town coach as the wheels clattered on the black brick street, glad for the serendipitous meeting. Although he remembered Armenia’s list of places best suited for marriage proposals, he had already decided he preferred the privacy of her home.
Heading north, he found the florist Giovanni had mentioned and placed an order for red roses to be delivered to Villa D’Avalos as soon as they could.
Seeing they had a dozen more, he ordered those be delivered at noon.
He wrote notes for both with instructions on which ones were to be used for each delivery.
His hand gripping the ring box through his top coat pocket, he made his way to his office, wondering the entire time how he would manage to get any work done that day.