Chapter 41
A Betrothal is Better in Private
Meanwhile, at Villa D’Avalos
When DeLuca appeared at the door to her apartment with word that Patrick had arrived with yet another bouquet of red roses, Armenia couldn’t help but titter.
“I must be in possession of every rose in all of Roma,” she commented, glancing at the clock on the fireplace mantel to see that it was two minutes past the hour.
The American was punctual.
“Indeed, mia donna. What should I do with Signore McAdams?”
“Escort him to the parlor. The roses can go in a vase in there,” she instructed. “I will be there momentarily.”
She had already dismissed Marcella for the evening, deciding that even if Patrick didn’t spend the night with her, she wouldn’t require the lady’s maid’s services.
Wondering at the sense of dread she had felt most of that day, Armenia decided she needed to come to terms with what was happening.
A man she had met two nights ago was either in lust with her, a situation she found curious since she was of the same mind about him, or he had decided she would make the perfect mark.
An older spinster in possession of her own villa and a modest fortune would appear to be a catch for any man in need of a home and blunt.
There was another possibility, of course. Dare she believe what David had said earlier that afternoon? That Patrick McAdams was in love with her?
He loves you.
Was it truly “love at first sight” that had him enriching every florist in town so he could fill her villa with red roses?
The way he had gazed at her when he had found her in the tub that afternoon—not with revulsion over seeing her obviously older body, but rather with an appreciative glance, as if his mere gaze had gently caressed her body beneath the water.
There had been a hint of lust, enough so she thought he might attempt to take her to the bed for a tumble. But he hadn’t.
Shivering at the reminder, Armenia stood from her dressing table and made her way to the parlor. Perhaps a kiss would alleviate her worry. Food and wine would certainly help dispel the uncertainty. A night in bed would seal the deal—whatever it might be.
Patrick took a steadying breath and then another. If he wasn’t careful, he would pass out from having taken in too much air. He was already feeling light-headed.
He couldn’t decide if the scent of roses helped or not. They were certainly potent, the velvety blooms casting off their heavy aroma with every step he had taken from his apartment to her villa.
DeLuca had seen to taking the bouquet from him when they arrived in the parlor, and with practiced expertise, he had used a knife to cut off the ends of all the stems before placing them into a large ceramic vase.
From the blue and golden yellow design displayed on its surface, Patrick decided the pottery was probably Sicilian. Somehow, the colors didn’t clash with the deep red of the rose petals but seemed to enhance them.
DeLuca filled the vase with water from a pitcher he had brought with him, and then, with a nod, he had taken his leave of the parlor along with the cuttings neatly wrapped in a linen.
“Donna Armenia will join you in a moment,” were his last words.
How long ago had that been?
About to pull out his pocket watch, he paused when he realized he was being watched.
“Armenia,” he breathed, coming to his feet. Unsteady on his feet at first—he really had been breathing too much while he waited—he paused before rushing up to take her into his arms.
“Patrick,” she replied, the moment before he engulfed her in an embrace.
“I’ve missed you,” he said, placing his forehead against hers.
She tittered. “You saw me—all of me—only two hours ago,” she chided, inhaling the scent of his cologne. After breathing in rose-scented air for so long, the citrus and amber was a refreshing change. “You poor thing,” she added.
“Don’t you dare disparage your gorgeous body,” he whispered, one of his hands moving down her side to rest on her hip. His gaze dropped down, although he could see nothing beyond her generous bosom. “Which looks especially fetching in red, I might add. My very own red rose.”
Before she could reply, he lifted a hand to her chin and lifted it so he could kiss her on the lips.
Not a quick kiss of greeting. Not one so long as to become awkward. When their lips parted, they simply stared at one another until Patrick swallowed.
“I know we spoke of logical locations where marriage proposals should take place, but after careful consideration, I thought it best I simply ask you in your own home,” he said, lowering before her until he was on one knee.
“In the place you feel most comfortable. In the place where I have fallen in love with you even more than I already was. Armenia D’Avalos, will you marry me? ”
She stared at him for several seconds. Despite suspecting they might use that evening to discuss marriage, she hadn’t given a thought to him actually proposing.
To seeing him kneel down on one knee as he pulled a hinged box from his top coat pocket.
To seeing him opening it to reveal a huge ruby ring.
The light from the chandelier reflected off the stone, casting a shower of red glitter about the parlor. Or perhaps the effect was due to the tears that had collected in her eyes.
She blinked several times, and a barely there, “Oh,” sounded as one hand went to her chest. “Patrick. It’s gorgeous.”
His face suddenly screwed into a grimace. “Apologies, my love.”
“What’s wrong?” she asked in alarm, thinking he had changed his mind. Pity, too, since she was about to give him her answer.
“Kneeling seemed appropriate when I rehearsed this in my head early today, but I didn’t give a thought to what would happen once I was down here, and now I fear if I... if I don’t stand up now, I might not be able to.”
The comment struck Armenia with a combination of relief and humor. She tittered. “Oh, dear. Let’s get you up,” she said, gripping his free hand with her own to pull on it.
Patrick straightened, still holding onto the ring box with his other hand as he stared into her eyes. When he was finally standing, he allowed a tentative grin. “May I put it on your finger?”
A tear escaped one of her eyes and made its way down her cheek.
“Sì,” she whispered. She waited as he plucked the ring from its velvet bed and reached for her left hand.
When he slid the ring onto her fourth finger, it was as if she was watching it happen to someone else, as if her hand wasn’t her own.
Until he brought it to his lips and kissed the back of it.
“I know it seems impossible—it’s only been two days—but I do love you,” he said in a quiet voice.
“Obviously,” she replied, her gaze on the enormous ruby. On her slim finger, the stone seemed entirely too large despite the snug fit of the gold band. The two diamonds on either side of the ruby winked as she wiggled her finger. “When—?”
“This morning. I actually had the benefit of Viscount Penton’s counsel whilst I shopped,” he said.
Armenia widened her eyes at the mention of David. “Oh?”
“He was buying a betrothal ring at the same shop.”
She blinked. “He... He knew you bought this?”
Patrick nodded. “He did. Gave me guidance on what to look for. He’s obviously familiar with jewelry shops. With gemstones,” he said, gently lifting her hand so he could once again kiss the back of it. “I’ll never tire of doing this.”
Another tear ran down Armenia’s cheek. She had spent most of the day on David’s arm, and yet he hadn’t said a word about a ring purchase. “You said he was buying a betrothal ring?”
“He did. One with a ruby. Not as large as this one, of course, but it’s quite pretty.”
“For Vittoria?”
Patrick angled his head first to one side and then the other.
“Probably. He seemed, uh, a bit uncertain, but by the time he had the ring and we had gone across the lane to arrange for a pair of boots to be made for her...” He shrugged.
“I would make the wager there’s a marriage proposal in her future. ”
Relief swept through Armenia, and she stepped closer to Patrick, wrapping her arms around his middle as she rested the side of her head against one shoulder. “If Vittoria agrees to marry him, my work is done,” she murmured.
He embraced her, settling the side of his face onto her head. “Because you were seeing to her come-out?” he remembered.
She nodded.
“Does that make you sad or happy or—”
“Relieved,” she said on a soft chuckle. She pulled her head away from his shoulder to glance up at him. “Relieved,” she repeated. “It’s not as if my life was in some sort of limbo, but I did feel as if I shouldn’t be—”
“Seeing me?” he finished for her.
She nodded.
“And now?”
Her grin broadened into a smile. “I can marry you.”
Chuckling, Patrick placed his hands at her waist, lifted her, and spun the two of them in a circle.
Armenia shrieked in delight before he set her back on her feet.
“Are you hungry?” she asked.
“Ravenously so. I’ve been running all over Roma in search of roses all day,” he said, pointing to the vase of blooms DeLuca had left on the table next to the settee.
Armenia followed his gaze and sighed appreciatively. “I do love red roses.”
“I’ll see to it you always have some,” he whispered, kissing the side of her head.
“With little notes in them?” She extracted herself from his hold and hurried over to the roses to search for his latest missive.
“Uh... it’s not in the bouquet,” he warned.
At her look of disappointment, he added, “I, uh, didn’t wish for it to fall out whilst I carried them here.
” He reached into a waistcoat pocket and offered her the note.
“It’s merely my proposal, I suppose. In case I passed out while I was waiting for you. ”
Armenia gently took the note from his hold, but she didn’t open it. “Still, I wish to keep it with the others,” she said in a quiet voice. “I’ve never received love letters before.”
He scoffed softly. “As hard as I find that to believe, I am happy to hear it,” he replied, kissing her forehead.
Her stomach grumbled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten since that morning. “Let’s go to the dining room. Dinner should be ready.”
He straightened. “We’re eating at a table?” he teased.
She hooked her arm into his. “Tonight we are. I don’t want any crumbs in our bed.”
Patrick gave a start and allowed a soft chuckle. “Our bed?” he repeated. “Does that mean—?”
“You’re moving in, the sooner the better,” she stated.
He allowed a chuckle. “I’m happy to hear it. I think you should know that even though I do own a building that could be renovated into a decent house... a... a villa, I would prefer not to live where I work,” he replied.
“Bene. If you ever displease me, you’ll have a place you can spend the night,” she countered.
Patrick gave a start, but when he glanced over at her, he saw that she was grinning.
“Minx,” he accused.
“I’ll ask DeLuca to see to quarters for your manservant,” she offered as they descended the stairs.
Patrick slowed his steps, and when they reached the first floor corridor, he paused to regard her with a look of worry. “Are you... are you sure?” He remembered their conversation about Giovanni from when they toured the fountains and the other they had shared whilst in her bed.
“I am,” she replied. “He is my nephew, is he not?”
Reacting as if he had been slapped across the face, Patrick nodded. “I... I’m fairly sure he is. We talked about it last night. He has as much as confirmed what you said.”
She dipped her head. “He has every right to be... bitter.”
“He’s not, though,” Patrick assured her.
“Still, it’s only right he be able to live here at Villa D’Avalos,” she said in a quiet voice. “He may not have the name, but...” She lifted a satin-clad shoulder and sighed. “The sins of the father shouldn’t reflect poorly on him.”
“Or on you,” Patrick murmured. He took a breath and let it out. “Thank you,” he said.
When they entered the dining room, she asked, “Have you other servants you wish to bring along?”
Patrick stiffened as he held her chair for her. “There is only one other servant. My housekeeper—who is also my cook—but I have no intention of asking that she be accommodated here,” he replied.
“Oh?” Armenia asked, her brows furrowing with her curiosity. A footman appeared and poured wine.
“She has rooms in my building. I’ll keep her on as the housekeeper there,” he explained, leaning to one side when another footman delivered a bowl of soup.
Armenia dipped her head. “Giovanni’s mother?” she guessed, lifting her spoon.
He nodded. “If I dismiss Signora Ricci, I fear I will lose Giovanni’s services. He says she is too old to find suitable employment.” About to take a bite of soup, he paused. “Is that... acceptable? For you?”
Her eyes widening in surprise, Armenia nodded. “It is kind of you to ask.”
“Of course, I would ask. You’re to be my wife,” he countered.
Armenia inhaled softly. “So, if I were to ask you to let her go... to give her notice, you would do that?”
Patrick lifted a shoulder and sighed. “I would, of course,” he replied.
“Then you will keep her on as housekeeper for your property,” Armenia stated.
Blinking in surprise, Patrick allowed a slow grin. “I love you,” he stated.
“I know. The sooner we finish dinner, I’ll let you prove it,” she teased.
Patrick lifted the soup bowl to his lips and drank it down in a few gulps.