Much to everyone’s delight, the agreed-upon late breakfast the day after the reception was a pleasant occasion. The conversation was lively and made Eleanor forget her anger over her encounter with the count’s oldest daughter. Her children seemed to have enjoyed themselves quite thoroughly, and so had Henry and Giulia. She had to admit that Helen had really tried, although sometimes a bit too much, but the hostess couldn’t be held responsible for the inane chatter at such events. No matter what country or city, those occasions were usually filled with frivolous and often ridiculous drivel.
“What do you think of the count, Mama?”
Charlotte’s question interrupted her thoughts. “Excuse me, darling. I wasn’t paying attention. Which one do you mean?”
“Emma’s fiancé.”
“Oh. That one.” She realized something in her tone made Charlotte raise her eyebrow. It sounded slightly disgusted, as if her mother spoke about an ugly toad, although her expression remained neutral.
“The man makes me feel distinctly uncomfortable. There is something about him I do not care for in the least.”
“Is that why you asked Philip and Martin to stay by my side the whole time?” Charlotte asked with amusement.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Eleanor feigned ignorance as she took another sip of her morning tea.
“Please, Mama,” Charlotte said, “they told me.”
Eleanor cast a disapproving glance at her sons who had the grace to look caught. She sighed, knowing how her daughter did not appreciate to be mothered.
“Yes, I did. I am your mother, and I have the right to do so, and it cannot be helped if you are not pleased by it.”
“Thank you, Mama.” Charlotte put her hand over her mother’s on the table top.
Eleanor was surprised. This was not the reaction she had anticipated at all. She smiled gently at her daughter.
“I am glad you were so overprotective for once. The man makes my skin crawl.” Charlotte shuddered. “The way he leered at me all evening was very unsettling.”
“Don’t worry, sister,” Philip chimed in, “we would have defended your honour.” He playfully puffed his chest which resulted in her throwing a napkin in his face.
“Children, please,” Henry grumbled good-naturedly. “I’m sure Benson would appreciate it if you didn’t cause too much chaos. Shouldn’t you be on your way to get ready anyway?”
“Where are you going?” Eleanor asked, surprised. They had cancelled their Sunday ride because of the late night.
“They are accompanying Jonathan and me to the Museum of Natural History.” Henry got up to follow his children to get ready for departure. Jonathan stood and proceeded out of the breakfast room.
“You are very welcome to join us, my dear.” Henry kissed her cheek and did the same to the contessa.
“No, thank you, that’s very thoughtful. But I think I will take a look at the letters from McIntosh. I am afraid mother is giving the poor man a hard time. Voicing her opinion at every possible chance she gets on the keeping of the castle is going to send the man up the walls. I can only hope he won’t quit on me.”
“I am sorry to hear that. Do not get me wrong, dear, but your mother tends to bring out the worst in everybody.” Henry’s words resulted in a coughing fit by the contessa who had desperately tried to suppress a laugh at the excellent characterisation of her late lover’s daughter. When Henry rushed to her side to help her, she waved him off with the napkin she had used to forestall her coughs.
“Go ahead, I am fine. Don’t keep them waiting.” Giulia took a sip of her tea and watched him leave.
“Your husband has quite a talent for understatement, doesn’t he?”
“What do you mean, Nonna?”
“Mary, I mean Mary, of course,” Giulia explained in exasperation. “Your mother often leaves people with the distinct desire to strangle her.”
“Yes, well.” Eleanor put her napkin on the table and rose. Her grandmother had finished her breakfast, and together they left Benson and James to take care of the dishes.
With her grandmother on her arm, Eleanor slowly led them to the library. “Mother isn’t a very happy or content person.”
Giulia snorted at the carefully worded explanation for the viscountess’ demeanour. “I would call that sugar-coating the truth.”
They entered the library and Eleanor helped Giulia into a wing chair by the windows before she sat behind the small desk in the corner.
“She feels betrayed,” Eleanor explained. “Ever since grandmother made her renounce her right for the title and the money, she is bitter and full of contempt.”
The contessa observed Eleanor intently. “It’s not your fault. And by the way, your mother was that way long before my dearest Bridget made her sign the papers of renunciation.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m positive. Trust me, Cara, it has nothing whatsoever to do with you, and everything to do with the choices she made.”
“Such as?”
“Marrying your father for one,” Giulia said without a second thought. “He was good-looking, but his temper was horrible. He loved the ladies and the cards, which in the end led to his demise as we both know quite well. More than once did your grandmother pay his gambling debts, and she was afraid he wouldn’t quit before he spent your mother’s inheritance. The only chance to put a stop to it and make sure you wouldn’t lose everything Bridget had built was to make your mother renounce her rights.”
“I know.”
She also knew her mother blamed Grandmother Bridget for her husband’s suicide when he realised that the last payment towards his debts would indeed be the final pay-out and that his wife had agreed to an allowance which would be given to her first by her mother, and later by her daughter, to make sure the viscountess could live comfortably.
After his death, they realised circumstances were much worse than initially thought. Only due to enormous amounts of her grandmother’s money was it possible to make sure her mother didn’t lose everything. Though her grandmother forked over a fortune to pay off each and every single debt her father had amassed, this hadn’t kept her mother from blaming her husband’s death on her own mother.
With another heavy sigh she put on her reading glasses and turned to her letters just as Giulia opened her book. They sat in companionable silence, each engrossed in her task until Benson entered the library with a silver tray in hand and a calling card on it. He gently cleared his throat to gain the duchess’ attention.
“Yes?” She asked distractedly without interrupting her writing.
“You have a visitor, your Grace,” Benson informed her with a slight touch of disapproval in his voice as if the unannounced intrusion would prove to be particularly odious. He offered the duchess the tray and she peered questioningly over the rim of her reading glasses, took up the calling card, read it, and felt her anger bubble up again.
“What is the matter, dear?” the contessa asked.
“This woman has the nerve to call on me! Unannounced and uninvited?” Eleanor fumed as she stood and handed her grandmother the card.
“Why don’t you leave it to me, dear?”
When nothing was forthcoming from Eleanor, Giulia addressed Benson. “Take our guest to the drawing room and tell her to wait. I will be with her shortly.”
“Your Grace?” Benson asked to make sure his mistress agreed. She was too furious to speak and merely inclined her head, giving wordless permission that he could do as the contessa asked.
“Well then.” Giulia groaned as she levered herself up from her comfortable chair. “I’m intrigued to finally meet the mysterious woman who has kept you so on edge. Feel free to join us when you’ve calmed down considerably, my dear.”
“Maybe I will. Thank you, Nonna.”
“You are welcome. Let’s have a look at your countess.”
“She is not my countess.” The indignant voice followed Giulia through the door. The butler moved toward the guest to escort her to the drawing room. He offered his arm and accompanied her. The whole way, Giulia twinkled mischievously at Eleanor’s flustered tone.
Benson opened the drawing room door for the contessa, and she quietly thanked him. Standing just inside the door, Giulia observed the visitor who hadn’t heard her enter. The woman was turned away from her, and even from the distance, she detected a visible tension in the way she stood rigidly in front of the window gazing out into the garden. Her long dark hair was flowing freely down her back, and her right hand had a vise-like grip on her cane. She was dressed in slim-fitting men’s trousers and a dark frock coat. How peculiar.
“I am Contessa Silvestri. What brings you here, Countess?” Giulia smirked when her guest slightly jumped at the unexpected voice.
Sophie slowly turned around and glanced, unsure and obviously unsettled. “I’m sorry for the intrusion. I hoped I could speak to her Grace.”
“And why is that?” the contessa asked, amusement colouring her voice. She stepped farther into the room to get a better look at her guest. “Haven’t you already said enough to my granddaughter?”
Sophie hung her head in shame and shifted her feet at the scolding words. “I suppose so.”
“You suppose so? Then why are you here?”
“To apologise,” Sophie mumbled.
“Speak up, girl. I can’t hear you,” Giulia demanded forcefully. She was definitely enjoying this far too much.
“To apologise,” Sophie repeated again, stronger and with a hint of something else in her eyes.
Defiance? the contessa wondered. She said, “Ah, now we are getting somewhere.”
“Are we? I can’t see how. Forgive me, but will you tell me why the person I came to apologise to is not here?”
“Good point, yet I assure you the opportunity to do so will come eventually.”
At the disbelieving expression, the contessa headed to a sofa and sat. She patted the space next to her and waited for Sophie to follow her invitation before she continued speaking. “I am afraid my granddaughter is not in the right state of mind either to meet you or listen to your apology at the moment.”
“I was afraid she might not be,” Sophie said contritely. “I do under-stand.” They both sat in silence for a while, each pondering how to make the best of the situation, when suddenly the door to the drawing room flew open to reveal an angry-looking duchess.
“All right,” Eleanor snapped, her eyes blazing at their intruder. “Out with it! Why are you here? Let’s get this new confrontation over with so I can concentrate on my letters again.”
Sophie gulped and stole a glance at the contessa for help, but the older woman merely patted her hand reassuringly. Sophie stood and took a step towards the duchess but stopped dead in her tracks when Eleanor held up a hand.
“Your Grace, I’m truly sorry for my intrusion. I thought it best to come to beg forgiveness for my awful behaviour yesterday and last Sunday.”
“Hmm . . .”
Eleanor studied her imperiously, and it was all Sophie could do not to turn and escape, never to show her face on the premises again.
“You actually sound sincere. Can you at least explain your moronic behaviour?”
Sophie flinched at the words and felt her fury rise again but held it in check when she saw the slight lifting of the duchess’s lips. She was baiting her. She did deserve it after the way she had treated her.
“On Sunday, I was angry because you were occupying the place I go when I want to be alone. In addition, I was embarrassed after I made a complete idiot out of myself by falling off my horse. Yesterday, I was irritated that you seemed to refuse to grant me what you offered von Bernthal so freely.”
“What would that be?”
“The courtesy to listen to what I had to say. I meant to offer my apology yesterday. To be honest, it was the only reason I came to the villa. I was hoping to find a chance to speak to you alone, but we both know how that ended. I am sorry. Please accept my sincerest apology for behaving akin to an utter moron.”
The pleading expression in Sophie’s dark brown eyes broke Eleanor’s resolve to stay firm and refuse the offer. No matter how hard she tried to stay stiff-backed and severe, she couldn’t deny her acceptance of such a heartfelt apology. She was becoming soft and pathetic nowadays. The duchess rolled her eyes—just a little—and said, “Oh, all right. Apology accepted.”
“Thank you. This is very generous of you.” Sophie was relieved and felt the visit had been the right thing to do after all.
“Yes, yes. It sickens me already, my own generosity.” Eleanor’s sarcasm earned her a stern glare from her grandmother. “Why don’t you sit down, please.”
“I don’t want to impose. I merely came—”
“Sit!”
The order was spoken in a voice leaving no room for argument. Sophie dropped onto the sofa next to the contessa again while attempting to avoid seeing how her seatmate was smirking at her flustered demeanour.
The contessa leaned over and patted Sophie’s knee. “Dear, I may have forgotten to mention that Eleanor can be quite commanding when she wants to. She inherited that trait from her late grandmother.”
Eleanor ignored her. “I want to explain a few things. Not that it’s any of your business but—
“Of course not.” Sophie stopped abruptly cringing at the withering gaze she received. “Sorry?”
“As I was trying to say, though of course it’s none of your business, I did not enjoy my little conversation with the count at all. To be honest, I do not have the slightest idea why your sister Emma is marrying him. I am well aware of what is expected from a young woman of her social position, but it doesn’t mean she has to enjoy it as your sister obviously seems to be, which is a complete puzzle.”
“Nor do I have the slightest clue why she’s marrying him,” Sophie said meekly.
The duchess saw a flicker of pain in her guest’s eyes and decided that a change of subject was in order. “Enough about that then. Your brother told me you’re quite accomplished as a translator of ancient manuscripts.”
Sophie blushed at the praise, “I help with them every now and then, yes.”
“How do you know so much about languages?”
“My late mother used to read all the ancient Greek tales to me, and she also translated them. I came to appreciate the beauty of the words. She made sure I had the best tutors to learn as much about ancient languages as possible, and it seems I had an aptitude for them.”
“Impressive.” Eleanor was more intrigued now than before when she’d heard about it the first time. “I understand that the museum and the library you work for upon occasion have large collections of manuscripts.”
“Yes,” Sophie said enthusiastically. This was a safe topic, her favourite subject. Might the duchess be somebody who could actually appreciate what she did? “Would you be interested in seeing the collections? May I be so bold to offer you a tour through the Museum of the History of Art and eventually the library?”
The duchess gazed at her grandmother for advice, but Giulia merely shrugged, offering no guidance at all.
“Why not? Perhaps we could consider it as penance,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. “When would a tour be most convenient for you?”
“Tuesday. I could come by at one o’clock in the afternoon with the carriage.”
“Tuesday it is.”
Sophie got to her feet and with a warm goodbye she left the palais.
“That wasn’t so bad now, was it?” the contessa teased after their guest closed the door to the drawing room behind her.
“I suppose not.” Eleanor sniffed haughtily then held back a smile.
“Please. When you steered the conversation to her work, her whole demeanour changed. Her eyes lit up like a Christmas tree, and when you
agreed to take her up on her offer to play your guide, her smile was blinding.”
“She seems very passionate about her work.”
“Makes me wonder if this is the only thing she can be passionate about,” Giulia pondered thoughtfully.
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t be obtuse. You know full well what I mean, my dear. She is one of us.”
“So?”
The contessa shook her head in exasperation. Obtuse was indeed the correct word she realised, quite fitting to describe Eleanor at times.
Flustered, Eleanor asked, “Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”
“No, dear, I merely made an observation.” Her grandmother rolled her eyes and returned to her book, leaving a stunned duchess behind.