Chapter 26
Early the next morning, Elizabeth woke to the gentle patter of rain against the windows of the Albergo del Sole. Rome in the rain held its own particular magic.
Throwing her window open, she inhaled the rich scent of dampened earth mingled with spring flowers blooming in window boxes and courtyards.
A gentle gust of wind carried another aroma from nearby, rich and savory, with tomatoes and herbs, that made her stomach flutter in anticipation of a cuisine unlike anything she had tasted in England.
“What a glorious morning,” she murmured, dressing quickly for their day of exploration. The moisture would not dampen her enthusiasm for experiencing everything the city had to offer. She was British, after all.
Her father was already awake and equally excited. Stepping alongside him, she asked, “Do you miss Hertfordshire’s spring rains?”
“Not at all. I am even of a mind to let Mr. and Mrs. Collins have Longbourn, so Mrs. Bennet and I can come and reside here for the rest of our lives. Imagine, Lizzy! She would have every window box filled with red pelargoniums and a courtyard covered with roses, violets, and sweet peas, which would delight her. While I studied history, she could scour the markets for trinkets, which would be far superior to perusing the same items she always sees in Meryton’s shops.
” He grinned. “What do you think, my girl? Would your mama want to uproot herself and travel the world with me?”
Elizabeth studied him. Was he serious? Teasing? Dreaming? “Surely you jest! Mama leave Hertfordshire? Leave her sister Phillips and all her dear friends? Leave the proximity of Jane’s future children?”
“Ah, you have found the fatal flaw in my romantic fantasy.” He chuckled.
“I confess, I find the prospect of being free to explore every inch of this history deeply tempting. But truthfully, Lizzy, I could never leave Hertfordshire permanently. You are correct that your mother would never consent to move. Neither could I bear to miss seeing those potential grandchildren grow.”
“Then what would make you content at Longbourn?” Elizabeth asked. “Is there nothing that might bring you satisfaction without abandoning everything you love?”
He was quiet for several minutes, his gaze distant. “You know, I have found tremendous pleasure in teaching young Tommy to read and write. There is something deeply satisfying when a mind awakens to new possibilities.”
“You are a gifted instructor, Papa.”
He tapped his fingers on the windowsill.
“What if―now, I am only considering this option―but what if I were to establish a small school at Longbourn’s dower house?
Nothing grand. Just a place where I could tutor boys like Tommy.
Bright lads who might never have had the opportunity for proper education.
If we economized, we could hire a steward to manage the estate, freeing me to focus on the task. ”
Elizabeth’s heart lifted at the vigor creeping into his voice. “That sounds wonderful, Papa. You would make such a difference in their lives.”
“And,” he continued, warming to the theme, “once the school was established, I might even bring my most serious students to places like this. To Italy, Greece, or wherever learning might take us. Your mother could accompany us, fussing over the boys like a mother hen gathering her chicks under her wings.”
“That is exactly what Mama would do, would she not?” Elizabeth said with a smile. “She would adore having a houseful of young men to care for, especially as her daughters leave for their own homes. What a lovely notion.”
“We would both have a purpose.” Her father’s smile was animated. “Thank you, my dear. You have helped me see a path I had not previously considered.
He turned toward the door. “Now then, shall we find Mr. Darcy and venture forth into this glorious Roman rain? I suspect he is ready to escort us to whatever ancient wonder he thinks will capture your attention today.”
She laughed, knowing he spoke the truth. “To think that I once found his presence irritating. Now I look forward to his company.”
“You have made considerable progress, my dear Lizzy.”
Father and daughter broke their fast, eating fresh bread dipped in olive oil along with sliced ham and cheese. Shortly after they had finished, Darcy approached them with a familiar elderly gentleman.
“Signore Mario, what a pleasure to see you.” Elizabeth curtseyed politely and then introduced her father to the artist.
“Si, Signore Darcy sent a note an hour ago and asked me to come. I am to go with you as you shop and see everything today. I will draw your stay in Roma.”
“Mr. Darcy is very attentive to detail.” Although Elizabeth spoke to Mario, she looked directly at him. “Is Signora Rosellini to accompany us as well?”
“Not until this evening.”
With a nod, she smiled. “Then I am ready whenever you are.”
Offering her his arm, he placed the leather strap of the satchel containing her journal over his shoulder, and they exited their lodgings, eager for the day.
Their first jaunt took them through narrow streets lined with shops offering items Elizabeth had never imagined.
They spent most of the morning selecting gifts and personal purchases.
She chose silk scarves in jewel tones for her mother and sisters, each piece so fine it seemed to shimmer with captured light.
The shopkeeper, a dignified woman with silver hair, studied Elizabeth before stepping behind a partition at the back of her stall.
Returning, she held two pieces of delicate fabric.
The colors of the Mediterranean Sea flowed like liquid across the worn wooden counter.
The deep blues melted into brilliant aquamarine with such seamless beauty that she felt transported back to their first glimpse from Gibraltar.
“Oh,” she whispered as her fingers hovered above the delicate fabric, not quite daring to touch an item so exquisite. The silver threads woven throughout created the illusion of sunlight dancing on gentle waves.
The shopkeeper displayed the second scarf, sunset colors that blazed from coral to rose to golden amber, then deepened to lavender and purple. Elizabeth held the soft fabric to her cheek. Here, captured in silk, was the early evening sky with glorious colors almost too vivid to be real.
She was unaware that Darcy was watching her until he whispered her name, “Elizabeth.” He stood transfixed, as though the sight of her pressing the silk against her skin had rendered him unable to say more.
“Papa,” she called, never taking her gaze from Darcy. “I believe I must have both of these.”
Her father approached, glancing between his daughter and the gentleman. “My dear Lizzy, if you continue to glow like that, poor Mr. Darcy may forget how to breathe.”
From nearby, Mario chuckled as he observed the scene, his pencils and chalk covering the pages of her journal.
“Signorina,” he called out in his accented English.
“These scarves…they are perfect for you. Take them home, si? They will carry with you the spirit of Italia, the colors of our beautiful sea and sky. When you are an old woman in your country, you unfold them and remember this moment, this place, this…” He waved his hand meaningfully toward Darcy with a theatrical wink.
Darcy said, “Years from now, as Signore Mario says, these scarves will bring you memories of when we stood at the ship’s rail and how the sunset illuminated the ancient ruins in its golden light.
” He stepped closer, speaking for her ears alone.
“When I gaze upon your beauty, my heart beats so strongly for you… It is almost painful.”
Tears pricked Elizabeth’s eyes. “Fitzwilliam, you should not say such things.”
“I cannot help myself when you look as you do.”
Her father cleared his throat pointedly. “If you two are quite finished with your private conference, perhaps we might complete our purchases before the entire market becomes spectators to your romantic drama.”
Elizabeth laughed, the spell broken, but the warmth remained. “Yes, Papa. I shall take both scarves, and…” She turned back to the shopkeeper, her practical nature reasserting itself. “Do you know where we may purchase fine leather gloves and silk slippers?”
The next few hours passed in a pleasant blur of examining goods and making selections. The gloves were buttery soft, and the slippers were lighter than air.
At a wine merchant’s establishment, they tasted Chianti for the first time, the rich red wine unlike anything from English cellars. Upon his first sip, her father’s eyebrows rose with appreciation. “My word! This is how wine should taste. I shall certainly need several bottles to carry home.”
“Ah, you understand good wine,” Mario said approvingly. “This comes from my cousin’s vineyard in Toscana, or Tuscany as you say. I tell him save his best for English visitors with―what is the word? Ah!―refined palates.”
Darcy immediately ordered several cases to be delivered to the ship, and Elizabeth was delighted at his obvious pleasure in helping the artist’s family business.
When the morning shopping concluded, Mario promised a surprise and led them through winding residential streets to a modest house with flowers spilling from every window box.
“My home,” he announced proudly. “And mia moglie, my wife, Caterina, who cooks like un angelo from heaven.”
Mario’s wife proved to be a small, energetic woman with a wide grin and flour-dusted hands who welcomed them as if they were long-lost family members.
Despite the language barrier, her warmth transcended words as she bustled about her kitchen, eager to share her culinary knowledge.
“Today, I teach you. You learn to cook Italia,” she declared in broken English, gesturing for Elizabeth to join her at a worn wooden table that served as both workspace and dining area.