Chapter Seven #3
‘I want this for yourself, for you to take your place in the world you were born to, that you exiled yourself from. But I also—’ he had been straight with her ‘—am appreciative for myself as well. Yes, my money has got me to the top, I get invitations and the social life that my wealth ensures me, but what I don’t get is evenings like the one tonight.
Small, intimate, private gatherings of the kind of people who populate your world, Eleanora.
That,’ he had said openly, honestly, ‘is what an aristo trophy wife can bring me.’
Now, as they took their places for dinner in the Falcones’ dining room, Eleanora placed next to the Conte, Sanzio to his Contessa, she could see what he meant.
As well as Nic and Francesca, and the Conte and his Contessa—plus Adrietta, greeting her with an exuberant air kiss, her eyes sparkling as she and her husband, the Visconte, were introduced to Sanzio—there were two other couples, both from the upper echelons, all of them from the same world of those born to inherited wealth or status, their families all knowing each other.
Insiders, not outsiders like Sanzio—and Nicolò Falcone.
They both married in—Nicolò Falcone to Francesca, Sanzio to me.
His ‘aristo trophy wife’, that was what Sanzio had called her—and now that he’d glammed her up she could perform that role for him.
She would do it willingly, if she was capable of it, because he was saving her beloved palazzo.
So tonight, she was Donna Eleanora, wearing the beautiful dress he’d bought her, displaying the baroque pearls he’d bestowed on her, another exquisite Fabian clutch lying on her lap.
Chatting to people she’d either known, or known of, all her life, simply by virtue of being her father’s daughter.
That was what Sanzio wanted from her.
Nothing else—except companionship, a partner in restoring the Palazzo, someone easy to be with.
All much for her to value, indeed, and yet—
Don’t ask for more.
Her eyes went to him, his tall, powerful body sleek in his bespoke tuxedo, his strong, distinctive features which so drew her eye, emphasised by his formality as he replied to something the Contessa said to him. It brought a quirk to his sensual mouth, and Eleanora felt a hollow form within her.
Then, with a start, she realised the Conte was addressing her.
‘I understand you and your husband are undertaking the restoration of the Palazzo Verano. I applaud you for it.’ There was approval in his voice.
He paused a moment. ‘It is good to see a da Verano taking an interest in their heritage,’ he said.
His expression was nothing more than courteous, but Eleanora understood.
She made her reply as tactful as possible.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘My sister now, with her marriage, of course, will have her focus of interest in her husband and his family in France—there is a chateau on the Loire—so perhaps the mantle of preserving what I can for the da Verano name falls on me.’
‘I believe it has fallen on sound shoulders, Donna Eleanora,’ il Conte said gravely. ‘And you know,’ he went on reflectively, ‘it is also healthy, I believe, for old families to take in new blood. I myself have been so very fortunate in that respect.’ He paused. ‘I think you have too.’
His eyes met hers, and the approval in them brought a flush of colour to her cheeks. Partly because it was praise indeed from someone held in such high regard—but it was also for a less pleasant reason.
He is treating Sanzio and me as if our marriage is real and meaningful—not something pulled together in haste to save my family palazzo before my father could sell it for whatever he could get for it. And for Sanzio to save face after Tonia jilted him—
There was nothing personal about it at all.
‘Thank you,’ she managed to reply. But she could not meet Cesare’s eye as she answered.
If he noticed her sudden awkwardness, he ignored it. ‘Francesca mentioned that while you are in Rome you are hoping to trace artworks from the Palazzo that were sold over the years. I wish you well in that endeavour.’
‘Thank you. The auction house and dealer I’ve contacted so far seemed hopeful that some might be traced. Whether they can be repurchased is a different issue. Some are in museums, I know, on public display, so they must stay there.’
‘The two Titian portraits most definitely,’ the Conte murmured. ‘A cardinal and, I think, a very distant great-aunt of yours?’
‘Indeed, but such great art belongs to the world,’ Eleanora averred, slightly surprised he knew that much about da Verano portraiture. His next words explained it.
‘True. I’ve lent the finest pieces of my own for public display, but I’ve retained lesser ones to display at my castello. I open the gallery and state rooms to the public some of the year.’
‘Palazzo Verano is not quite in that league!’ Eleanora smiled. ‘But I hope we can offer access of some sort, in some way, when restoration is complete.’
She received another nod of grave approval. ‘Those who were born to privilege should endeavour to be worthy of it and provide some social good,’ he pronounced.
Eleanora flushed. That was not the way her father thought. Nor Tonia. Their privilege was only for themselves.
The Conte was speaking again. ‘If you stall in tracing sold artworks, perhaps you can consult Carla. She writes for an arts journal—’ he named it, and Eleanora knew it was a prestigious one ‘—and so has many contacts.’
Beside Sanzio, Eleanora heard the Contessa speak up.
‘Did I hear my name?’ She leant forward to see Eleanora. Her husband repeated what he’d just said, and Carla’s dark eyes lit up. ‘Oh, definitely,’ she said. ‘In fact, I could probably get an article out of it—your search—and that might bring in a helpful response.’
‘Would you?’ Eleanora said appreciatively. ‘What do you think, Sanzio?’
‘I think the two of you should put your heads together,’ he replied.
‘Done!’ exclaimed Carla.
The conversation moved on. Eleanora relaxed into the evening. Sanzio was at ease too, fitting in perfectly well, yet never showing any sign of trying to hide his origins.
But why should he? Anyone can inherit money—it takes a hell of a lot of skill and work and toughness to make it!
She admired Sanzio for it—admired Francesca’s husband too, starting from nothing as Sanzio had done.
But Tonia didn’t—she didn’t value it; she valued only the money Sanzio would have spent on her. She ditched him because his blood is red, not blue, the moment she found someone as rich as Sanzio but with a title he could bestow on her!
Well, Tonia was welcome to her marquis. To want him more than Sanzio.
While I—
No—no point in letting her thoughts go there.
It will never happen. He tried me out—and set me aside.
And all she could do—must do—was accept it.
* * *
‘Well, that went off very well, don’t you agree?
’ Sanzio said with satisfaction. Eleanora had done just what he knew she could, fitted in perfectly.
She seemed to have made a hit with the illustrious Conte di Mantegna—as Nic had sardonically referred to him in a private aside when they’d repaired to the salone for coffee and liqueurs—and the Contessa had taken to her too.
Talking to the frankly spoken Contessa had been revealing—clearly, there was no love lost between her and Tonia.
He said as much now as they headed back to his apartment. Eleanora heard him out.
‘The Conte approves of us restoring the Palazzo—his own stately pile is a massive medieval castello up in the Apennines,’ she replied. ‘And as for Carla, well, given that she’s a dramatic brunette like Tonia, maybe it’s not so surprising they don’t hit it off.’
Sanzio threw her a look. ‘Your friend Adrietta gave me to understand that Tonia once cast lures out to the Conte, even after he was married. She drew a total blank, but the Contessa hasn’t forgiven or forgotten.’
‘Tonia would only see that as a challenge,’ Eleanora said. There was a note of reserve in her voice.
‘Yes,’ Sanzio mused, ‘Tonia certainly likes a challenge. Providing she wins.’ He paused a moment. He could see Eleanora’s hands tightening over the clutch in her lap. ‘It’s how,’ he said pointedly, ‘I got her interested in me—how I reeled her in. I did it quite deliberately. And it worked, until—’
He broke off. Changed the subject abruptly.
‘What was all that about the two Titians you and the Conte were talking about?’
‘Oh, there are two accredited portraits by Titian from the fifteen-thirties, sold early last century—one of a da Verano cardinal, and the other of his sister. They’re both in public galleries now.’
He gave a short laugh. ‘Just as well. I couldn’t run to buying back even one Titian, let alone two!’ He cast her another look. ‘It really brings home,’ he said slowly, ‘just how very old your family is, Eleanora.’
‘All families are old, Sanzio,’ came the rejoinder. ‘The only difference with those like mine is that a single line of descent is traceable, that’s all. In fact, the Conte actually recommended that old families should bring in new blood—’
‘Well, I am certainly new blood,’ he agreed.
‘Yes, but—’ Eleanora hesitated. Sanzio looked at her curiously.
‘But?’ he prompted.