Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“Cristo,” Giovanni murmured, staring blearily at the figure of Thaddeus Grafton standing in the doorway. “Holy Mother and all the Saints.”
Anna and Silas were staring at Grafton and he was staring back in utter confusion. Finally, Silas spoke.
“Son?” He stared down at Giovanni with his mouth agape. Deliriously, Giovanni thought his friend looked a little like a startled fish. “Son?”
“Your grace, what a pleasant surprise,” said an elegant voice behind him. Anna was walking down the stairs, the only one among them to remember any good manners or sense of protocol. Beatrice was frozen beside Giovanni, her hand gripped tightly in his. “What is the nature of your call today?”
“Well, I - I was going to—” Grafton stammered, staring between Silas and Giovanni. “What have you done to him?”
Grafton hurried to Giovanni’s side and fumbled for another handkerchief, which Giovanni took gratefully. Beatrice’s was already sodden with blood. Beatrice bent down beside him, stroking his hair tenderly.
“This is the man?” She asked softly. Giovanni was relieved to see no judgment in her eyes. He nodded tiredly.
“It is nice to meet you finally, your grace,” Beatrice said gently, offering Grafton a timid smile.
Despite his pain, Giovanni’s heart sang sing.
His Beatrice’s instincts were so pure, so connected to him.
She needed no explanations from him, which was more than could be said for Silas at that moment.
“Why are you here?” Silas countered angrily, glaring down at the trio bent on the floor. Grafton and Beatrice set their arms wordlessly under Giovanni’s elbows to help him to his knees. “Why do you trespass on my property? And why do you call him?—?”
“He’s here for me,” Giovanni interrupted thickly. He had stemmed enough of the bleeding so he could finally talk. “He’s my father.”
“Yes, I am,” Grafton huffed angrily, gripping Giovanni’s arm tightly even though Giovanni could stand alone. “And as his father, I demand to know why he is so badly beaten.”
“That is a matter between us,” Silas said stiffly. “Call yourself what you want, Grafton, but you are not this man’s father. Where have you been these twenty-seven years? Do you assign yourself titles you could never earn?”
“You may be Lucifer of London, sir, but you do not get to dictate my family to me!” Grafton replied hotly.
“I could say the same,” Silas countered coldly. “For who has been more family to him than I over these long years?”
Giovanni’s heart turned at those words. He’d begun to lose hope that Silas’s love for him would survive his connection with Beatrice, but now it flickered tentatively back into life. Silas might want to kill him right now, but he was still standing up to Grafton—that had to mean something.
“Is this how family behaves?” Grafton exclaimed, gesturing at Giovanni’s face.
Silas had the self-awareness to look a little shamefaced at that, glancing over at Giovanni’s bloodied visage with curious eyes.
“This was a private matter,” Giovanni rasped, clapping Grafton reassuringly on the arm. “It is nothing for you to concern yourself with, your grace.”
“Perhaps we might take a moment to adjourn this meeting and have refreshments in the parlor?” Anna interjected, taking the opportunity to grasp onto her husband proprietarily. “What do you think, my dear?”
Silas was looking at Giovanni with a twitching jaw, and Giovanni knew he was fighting his temptation to throw another punch, but Anna was squeezing his arm tightly. He winced and looked down at his wife.
“I am sure you have questions,” Anna said slowly, making sure her husband understood every word. “About the Duke of Grafton, who declares himself to be Giovanni’s father…”
Anna looked up at her husband expectantly and Giovanni once again took a moment to admire her ferocity of spirit. She was the only person he knew who could withstand the tidal wave of personality and power that was Silas Klane. They were perfectly matched, just like he and Beatrice.
“Yes,” Silas said reluctantly, and Giovanni felt Beatrice breathe a sigh of relief beside him. “I do have questions.”
“Perfect!” Anna looked around at them with all the vigor of an unflappable hostess. “Then let us take tea in the parlor. Giovanni, I shall have some warm water brought up for your face.”
Giovanni could have laughed at the way she said it, as though it were no different than if she were ordering cake or coffee be brought.
Feeling uncomfortable with the sudden change in social setting, they all walked rather awkwardly into the parlor.
Beatrice guided Giovanni to the chaise lounge, and he flopped into it gingerly, gritting his teeth against the pain in his abdomen.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Silas’s smug little smile at that.
Silas always liked to be the one who came off better in a fight.
Beatrice offered Grafton one of the large armchairs and he took it, and then Beatrice pulled a chair close to Giovanni on the chaise lounge.
That knocked the smile right off Silas’s face.
Giovanni bit his lip to stop himself from smirking at his old friend.
You might have got in a good right hook, but I have Beatrice.
Silas threw himself resentfully onto the settee opposite them, glowering as he watched them like a hawk.
“Ah, here is the hot water for you, Gio,” Anna said, directing a maid to set the bowl of warm water on the floor beside the chaise lounge. The maid dipped in a cloth, preparing to wipe the blood from his face, but Beatrice stopped her.
“Let me,” Beatrice murmured. “Lean your head back, amore mio.”
Giovanni’s eyes widened as he did as he was told.
It was the first time Beatrice had called him ‘my love’ in Italian.
It might have been just to deter her brother, not wanting to speak the words aloud in English in front of him yet, but it felt like a moment of special intimacy for Giovanni.
From his chair, he heard Grafton coughing lightly as if embarrassed to have overheard it, and as Giovanni tipped his head back so Beatrice could dab at the blood caked on his chin, he saw a determined flush climbing into her cheeks.
She had meant to say it. She had meant to be heard.
She had wanted Grafton to know who she was to Giovanni, and she had wanted Silas to know she wasn’t backing down.
Glancing at Silas, Giovanni could see his face souring as he glared at them both.
Anna sat beside him, patting his knee comfortingly, as if she knew it was taking all of her husband’s self-control to sit and watch his sister tend to Giovanni so intimately.
“Might you enlighten us to your purpose here today, your grace?” Anna asked politely, diverting Silas’s attention away from exactly how close Beatrice’s fingers were getting to Giovanni’s Adam’s apple.
“Yes, well, I suppose it might be a surprise to you all.” Grafton leaned forward, linking his fingers between his knees.
With a jolt, Giovanni realized this was a gesture he often used.
He noticed Silas’s eyes widening too. He had noticed the similarities too.
“Giovanni is my son and my legal heir. He is Giovanni Thaddeus Christophe Tabinier Amante, the Marquess of Bath and the heir to my dukedom. We met two days ago in the park, and we had a discussion about Giovanni’s origins. I came to deliver these.”
Giovanni’s heart clenched as he saw Grafton hold out another bunch of letters towards him. These ones had Evelina’s name written on the envelopes. Giovanni’s eyes watered.
“I am sorry, Giovanni.” Grafton looked at him carefully. “I admit I am unsure what to say. I do not know how much you have told.”
“He has told none,” Silas said harshly, glaring at Giovanni. “Speak!”
“He can’t,” Beatrice snapped before Giovanni could respond. “Because you broke his nose! I can explain.”
Then, dabbing Giovanni’s face carefully, Beatrice launched into the story of Giovanni’s visit to the park and the history he had uncovered about himself. Giovanni felt a swell of pride listening to her talk. She was so attentive. She had not forgotten a single detail.
“So then Giovanni left with the letters and came home to me,” Beatrice finished succinctly. “We have had no time to read them all, only one.”
“He told you all this?” Silas asked in a strange tone, looking between Giovanni and Beatrice.
“He did not tell me your name, your grace,” Beatrice said, giving Grafton a sweet smile. Giovanni saw Grafton melting inside. “But yes, all this he shared with me.”
Silas was looking at Giovanni intently. Giovanni couldn’t be sure if it was simply that his eyes were going a bit funny from the pain of his nose, but he was sure that he saw a flicker of hurt in Silas’s eyes.
“You told me the meeting was nothing,” Silas said accusingly.
“I wasn’t sure what to tell you,” Giovanni confessed wearily. “I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to contact the duke again.”
“Why would you not?” Anna interjected, a confused look on her face. “He would elevate your status, allow you access to everything you’ve ever dreamed of.”
As Anna spoke, Giovanni saw her eyes darting towards Beatrice. He knew what she was thinking. Being the Marquess of Bath would make him eligible to be Beatrice’s husband.
“Because he did not trust him,” Silas said harshly. “And why should he? He has never met the man. Why should he trust you?” Silas rounded Grafton, his eyes blazing angrily.
“What excuse could you give for having let your child grow up as he did? Do you know what he suffered alone on the streets? He was as thin as a rake, his knuckles bruised, and ribs broken from street fighting.” Silas shook his head and Giovanni was surprised to see a slight sheen in Silas’s eyes.
“He was alone until I found him, completely alone. Because of you.”
Anna squeezed her husband’s hand tenderly, seeing how emotional he had become. Despite his broken lip and nose, Giovanni felt an overwhelming desire to hug Silas.