Prologue #3
Sebastian’s scowl deepened, and he straightened to his full, imposing height. Leaning over, he tapped Lorenzo’s chest with a firm warning finger. Though Lorenzo was tall and lean, Sebastian loomed over him, the tallest man of Marco’s acquaintance.
The Englishman was a veritable giant, with a mane of bronze hair and a close-cropped beard that always put Marco in mind of a Norse warrior bound for Valhalla, hacking his way through one battle at a time.
Sebastian had arrived in Florence years earlier on his Grand Tour, ostensibly like the other young Englishmen.
But unlike most, he had never left. A brother to an important nobleman back in England, he had chosen instead to remain in the city that had captivated him.
Over time, he and Lorenzo had established a profitable partnership, trading art to wealthy visitors eager to bring a piece of Florence home with them, a memento of the city’s inexhaustible allure.
Marco could not fault their patrons. Florence had a way of seizing one’s senses with a tenacious grip, and he understood well the desire to recreate it in distant places, even if only in fragments.
Marco had been friends with both men for several years and always enjoyed their company.
Lorenzo, ardent to the point of near zealotry about art, often claimed his lineage traced back to an apprentice of the great Leonardo da Vinci himself.
His fervor could be exhausting, but fortunately, Sebastian’s steady good humor generally tempered Lorenzo’s intensity.
This, however, did not appear to be one of those occasions.
Lorenzo’s sharp words had clearly struck a nerve, and realizing this, he displayed his palms in surrender, stepping back with a murmured apology.
Sebastian relaxed almost instantly, his tense shoulders easing as his customary smile returned.
Turning to the counter, he ordered his coffee, his tone now calm and measured.
Marco decided it was time to make his presence known. He raised an arm in greeting, and his two friends, spotting him at last, crossed the caffè to join him at his table.
“What is the news, Marco?” Lorenzo asked, his dark eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Have you secured a new student?”
Marco exhaled, steadying himself. The moment of truth had arrived as he committed himself at last. “No. I am leaving for London instead.”
The announcement was met with astonishment.
Sebastian’s sharp gray eyes fixed on Marco, his shock evident in the way his expression stilled. Lorenzo, meanwhile, turned to Sebastian in triumph. “It is a sign.”
Marco arched an eyebrow. Apparently, it was his turn to be perplexed. “A sign of what?”
“A sign that Sebastian and I are meant to depart for England. With you, of course. We shall enjoy the journey together!” Lorenzo declared, his tone self-congratulatory.
Sebastian frowned, draining his coffee in one swift motion before letting out a deep, beleaguered sigh. “I have no desire to leave.”
“You must admit, it is a sign,” Lorenzo pressed, undeterred. “We were arguing this very matter, and now our dear friend Marco announces he is departing for the great city of London. Fate itself intervenes to point the way. It is time for you to return home, Sebastian. You are needed in England!”
Sebastian’s gray eyes narrowed. “We have been debating this for months. Someone was bound to plan a journey to Britain sooner or later. It is not a sign.”
Marco leaned back in his chair, observing the spirited exchange with equal parts astonishment and amusement.
That he himself was leaving Florence to delve into his father’s life still felt unreal.
Yet, as his friends bickered, the notion of having their company on this journey grew steadily more appealing.
Angelo had already pledged to accompany him, waiting on Marco’s final decision.
And now, with the prospect of traveling alongside Lorenzo and Sebastian, the burden of his impending quest seemed to ease.
Perhaps this could become a grand adventure.
It was not so different, he thought, from the groups of young Englishmen who arrived in Florence together, brimming with excitement to explore its artistic treasures.
“I am telling you,” Lorenzo insisted, gesturing emphatically, “it is a sign. We must accompany our friend Marco!”
Sebastian shook his head, his voice firm. “I do not wish it.”
Marco could sense that Sebastian was chafing under Lorenzo’s relentless insistence.
But there was something more, a deeper conflict that mirrored Marco’s own turmoil after Mr. Long’s visit.
Perhaps his mother was right. The past demanded to be faced.
It had always struck Marco as curious that Sebastian had never returned to England, the land of his birth.
Perhaps the time had come, just as it was time for Marco to explore his own roots.
Perhaps … perhaps he ought to help persuade him.
“I would value your company, my friend,” Marco said, his voice warm but steady.
Sebastian met his gaze, the storm flickering in his gray eyes confirming what Marco had suspected all along.
The Englishman had avoided returning home because, like Marco, he carried ghosts that required laying to rest. And perhaps, if they undertook this journey together, they might find a way to reckon with the past and return to Florence with spirits made lighter.
Marco’s words had struck a chord. He watched as Sebastian mulled them over, his broad shoulders stiff with unspoken tension. Lorenzo fidgeted, opening his mouth as if to interject, but Marco shook his head to silence him. Even the table seemed to hold its breath.
The Englishman’s square jaw tightened and his eyes flickered. Marco could see the moment when the decision crystallized. Suddenly, Sebastian brought a large fist down onto the table with a resonant thump that sent the cups clattering. His face split into a wide grin.
“Then we shall voyage to the green and pleasant land!”
Marco laughed, carried away by his friend’s infectious shift in mood.
Sebastian’s use of William Blake’s evocative words stirred a pang of bittersweet memory.
Catherine Dashwood had adored such poetry, and Marco had taken to reciting it to her in the drawing room of her family’s rented villa once reading had grown too taxing for her.
If they had ever spoken of his father’s homeland, Marco thought Catherine would likely have approved of his decision to return to England.
But they had never shared such a conversation.
The thought dimmed his humor only slightly.
The desire to visit merry England, that faraway land of his father’s youth, took root in him once more.