Chapter Sixteen
Damian did not want to discuss his father, family, or his lack of travel. “My turn.”
“Your turn for what?” she asked
“How did your father, who is Irish, end up in Carrera, Italy, in a bakery?” That had to be a far more interesting story than his own parents.
“Architecture,” she answered simply
“Because of the marble?”
“No. He had first traveled to France but then the Revolution came about and he did not feel at all safe.”
“Because he was Irish?” Damian supposed that anybody was in danger for various reasons, though the argument the French people had was with their aristocracy.
“Partially. Not all Englishmen were trusted. Even though my father was Irish and not English, he still was not French and he feared what may become of him if it was learned that he was also the third and youngest son of an earl, so he left Paris and traveled to Italy.”
Damian pulled back. He had not expected Georgie’s grandfather to be titled, let alone carry the same rank as his brother. But a third son is offered far more opportunities than the heir, which would have allowed him to pursue architecture.
“After leaving France, Father traveled through Italy studying the architecture and then art in the various cities before he came to Carrera to attend the Accademia di Belle Arti to study sculpture and architecture.”
The school was not unfamiliar to him because his brother, Jules, had mentioned it once because it was where he wanted to study and have near-immediate access to marble, but their father had forbidden Jules from even considering the option.
His father hadn’t allowed any of them to have a choice and Damian, along with his four brothers, had done what was expected.
Well, except for Jules. He may not have gone to school, but he did purchase a commission and became a foot soldier.
“While attending the school, he would often visit Accetta Panetteria, which was opened by my great-grandfather and now run by my grandfather and where Father met my mother, fell in love, and remained.” She chuckled.
“He always knew that he was not going to be the next Christopher Wren and when he met my mother, decided that he did not even want to try.”
Damian could not imagine what it would be like to meet someone and want to be with them so badly that plans and dreams were so easily set aside. So much so that the man remained in Italy instead of returning to his family in Ireland.
It was beyond his comprehension.
“How often did he return to Ireland for a visit?” he asked.
“Father never returned. But my uncles visited. Just not my grandfather.”
“Is it because he did not approve?” He could well understand the displeasure of an earl if his son married a baker’s daughter.
“So long as my father was happy, so too were my grandparents. The opportunity never arose but many letters have been exchanged.”
Just as he writes regularly to his family no longer living in England.
“That isn’t to say there have not been arguments between my father and Italian grandfather.
” She laughed. “Father wants Accetta Panetteria to become Accetta Panetteria and Pasticceria. He had often visited La Maison Stohrer when he was in Paris and has been trying to convince grandfather to hire a pastry cook.”
“Is there a Pasticceria in Carrera?”
“No, and there should be,” she answered. “Father also remembered visiting Caffe’ Florian in Venice, a coffee house, and thought we could become that as well, or all three in one, but Grandfather insists that being a panetteria is enough.”
“As you are near a school for artists and architects, one would think that a coffee house would be visited quite frequently.”
“That was my father’s argument, but my grandfather is quite stubborn.” A smile pulled at her lips, almost daring him to point out that she was rather stubborn herself, but he did not.
“I wish I could have met my Irish grandfather but he passed four years ago, my grandmother before that. It is Uncle Patrick who is now Earl of Clontarf.
“Where in Ireland is he from?” Damian may recognize English, Scottish, and Irish titles, and he had heard of Clontarf, but that did not mean he recalled where each family seat was located. He cared only about Wyndview Hall.
“Outside Tullamore, Ireland.” She sighed. “If given the opportunity, I would like to visit where my father was born and raised, and visit with my uncles, their wives, and meet cousins but it is unlikely to happen.”
“Is there any reason why you and Grace, after she is found, cannot pay a call on your family before you return to Italy? It would certainly be more convenient and the distance not so far from Liverpool,” he suggested. “It is certainly closer than Carrera.”
She tilted her head and offered a sad smile.
“I likely would not be able to afford such an indulgence and fear that I will have just enough to book passage to Italy.” She smiled.
“I should also thank you for purchasing passage on the mail coaches and providing a place for me to sleep so that I do not have to spend my limited funds.”
He truly did not mind and they were in this predicament because of a sailor he had employed. “You are welcome.”
“I will do my best to repay the debt.”
“That is not necessary, Georgie.” He was wealthy with an income that grew quarterly because he rarely spent on himself.
The cost of passage on mail coaches and then for Georgie and her sister to return to Italy would not even be noticed, which made him consider, for the briefest moment, if he might not arrange for her and her sister to travel to Ireland before returning home so that she could visit with family.
He just as quickly dismissed the idea. Damian barely knew her and while he understood Georgie’s plight and desire to meet family, they were hardly friends or anything else. Such a gift could be perceived as a relationship that did not exist between them, and it was certainly improper.
Instead, he opened the satchel Cook had provided and withdrew a bottle of wine, and the screw to remove the cork, which he did carefully so that it could be placed back in the bottle to keep the wine from leaking out. Holding the bottle upright, between his knees he took out two tin cups. “Wine.”
“Yes, please.”
He handed her one of the cups then poured. She glanced at the label. “Do you only drink Wynd Wine?”
“Yes, unless I happen to be dining somewhere else and my hosts do not possess the same superior taste as myself.”
*
Georgie nearly snorted. The wine was good, but she had tasted wine that would rival Wynd Wine although she did not tell him so.
“If you were born in the Cape Colony, does that mean that your family resided there since the time your great-grandfather’s ship was damaged?” She recalled the story he had told her last night of how the family became wine merchants.
“No,” Damian answered. “My great-grandfather, Simon, was the second born of the Earl of Wyndham. His older brother remained in England and Simon pursued trade on behalf of Trade Wynd. Unfortunately, his older brother died without leaving a male heir, a most inconvenient pattern often repeated in my family, and great-grandfather Simon was forced to return to England with his bride and only son, who was twelve at the time, after having lived at Wyndview Farm for nearly fifteen years.”
Georgie frowned. “Was Wyndview Farm left in the care of an estate manager or man of business?”
“Yes and no.” Damian grinned, his eyes bright with intrigue or interest, much like they had been when he first spoke of Wynd Wine.
“There was a third son, Nathaniel, and a fourth, Benjamin.”
Georgie sipped her wine and leaned back in the seat. At least they were not arguing and his story telling was much better than what she had been reading. She liked this part of Damian, he drew her in and she wanted to move closer to hear everything he had to share.
She was also acutely aware of him in the confines of the coach. The two of them alone, wine and a basket of foodstuffs, much like a romantic picnic…one where he might kiss her at the end.
She needed to stop thinking of Damian as being attractive and she certainly must stop having any type of desire for him.
“Nathaniel oversaw the trade in the Port of London as well as Southampton. When he was one-and-twenty, he was kidnapped and impressed in the navy. He tried to tell them who he was, but it made no difference.”
She gasped and sat forward.
“For four years my family did not know what had become of him and then one day the navy ship docked in Gibraltar.”
“Why is Gibraltar important?” She had overheard sailors mention it when she was hidden below on the ship that brought her to England.
“The British had control of the port and it was also a free port for merchants that linked trade between the Atlantic and the Mediterranean. Nathaniel knew that if he was going to escape this would be the place where he would have the most success, so as soon as it grew dark and the sailors grew sleepy from their guard, he slipped over the side.”
“See, it is easy to gain access to a ship, or leave one, in the early morning hours.” She could not help but remind him that she had snuck onto his ship under the same circumstance. Except, perhaps that was a mistake since he glared at her.
“Go on,” she encouraged. Georgie wanted the animated, story-telling Damian back and not a return to the unpleasant one.
“He had hoped to find a Trade Wynd ship in port, which was a possibility. He also was not going to seek help on a British ship, even if it was a merchant because they would likely turn him in for a reward, or so he feared, and then, when he was looking for a place where he could hide until the naval ship left, someone called out, ‘Simon.’”
Damian took a drink, frowned and added more wine to his cup, and offered her some as well, which Georgie accepted.
“Even though Simon was not an uncommon name, Nathaniel hoped that by chance his brother was here. Instead, it was a Dutch Captain who approached. He thought Nathaniel was Simon because they looked so much alike.”
“He was rescued,” she offered happily.
“Yes, except the Dutch ship was sailing south to Cape Colony and not back to England. So, Nathaniel was hidden aboard the Dutch ship, then he wrote a letter to his family in England, explained what had happened and remained in the hold until the Dutch ship was safely out to sea. Nathaniel was later delivered to Wyndview Farm, where Simon still resided. He also vowed that he was never getting on another ship again, especially anywhere the British Navy may be, and spent the rest of his days at Wyndview Farm.”
“Therefore, when your great-grandfather Simon had to return to England, Nathaniel was there to manage Wyndview Farm,” Georgie surmised. “What about Benjamin?”
“He was encouraged to sail to Madeira. It was a port of call for British merchants and even though Trade Wynd had stopped there, they had not taken advantage of the land. Therefore, Benjamin purchased a good deal of it and planted a vineyard, so Trade Wynd now had two places that produced wine.”
“But how did your father end up back in the Cape Colony?”
“It was his duty.” Bitterness laced his tone.
“You do not approve?”
He shook his head. “It is not that. We all need to do our part for Trade Wynd to continue to prosper,” he answered.
“My grandfather was an only child, but he and his wife had five living children. Uncle Peter was the eldest, thus the heir, and would be the next Earl of Wyndham. Then there was Thomas, who would become the one who managed the Trade Wynd offices.”
“The position you hold,” she said for clarification.
“Yes,” he answered. “My father was the son sent to Cape Colony and Wyndview Farm. However, Uncle Peter’s wife never gave him children before he died.
As for Uncle Thomas, he left two living daughters, but his son had died when he was only three.
There was still time for his wife to have more children, but Uncle Thomas died before that could happen.
Thus, when my grandfather died, my father had to return to England with his wife and five sons.
Now, and as the tradition has been for generations, each of us has our assigned duties.
As the second born, it fell to me to see to the management of Trade Wynd. ”
A somberness settled over Damian as he took a sip of wine and glanced out the window.
He was doing his duty, but she was not certain if it was something he wanted.
Had he never been given a choice?
Did he want to do something else?
Should she ask?
“What if you would have wanted to do something different?”
“I never dared to entertain the possibility,” he answered without looking at her.