The Vision of a Viscountess (The Widowers of the Aristocracy Book 2) Page 12

  I’m so sorry, she had said, tears pricking the corners of her eyes.

  The man chuckled. You needn’t be, my lady. You are not the first—nor will you be the last—to decorate the side of my ship, he said as he looked over the edge. However, you may be the first to use a lifeboat as a chamber pot.

  Marianne’s eyes widened before she took a look over the railing. What? She couldn’t see a lifeboat, exactly, but if she squinted just so, she realized there was something hanging onto the side of the ship.

  The captain regarded her for a moment. The birds will see to it, he had said with a shake of his head. He paused before continuing. Do you usually wear spectacles, perhaps? he then asked gently.

  Swallowing, as much from an attempt to remove the taste of bile from the back of her tongue as to fight the sob she was sure was about to rob her of breath, she nodded. I am in possession of a pair of eyeglasses, she had admitted.

  Wondering at how she reacted to his question, St. John allowed a sigh. May I suggest you wear them whilst on deck? At least when you’re alone? I would hate for you to become injured if you cannot see a boom swing ’round.

  Marianne nodded. Of course.

  She had curtsied then and made her way back down the companionway, deciding she would simply spend the rest of the trip in the cabin.

  “You cannot spend the next two weeks in the cabin,” Jasper said when she relayed the story, obviously amused by what had happened.

  “I cannot face Captain St. John again,” she countered.

  Jasper sighed. “You can and you shall. Especially since we’re to have breakfast with him at nine o’clock.” He had to suppress the urge to grin at her look of embarrassment. “Now, let’s get you properly dressed,” he said as he buttoned up his waistcoat.

  Marianne allowed a nod and turned around so Jasper could undo her buttons, well aware of how he sucked in a breath and seemed to struggle with his role as lady’s maid.

  Perhaps they would suit one another in the mornings as well as at night, she thought with a prim smile.

  Chapter 13

  A Glimpse of Girgenti

  Eleven days later at Marina di Girgenti

  Marianne peered through her spectacles, her gaze fixed on what appeared to be a cluster of white buildings atop a hill. As she slowly turned, she could make out the golden Doric columns of several Greek temples atop what appeared to be a long ridge halfway up the island. The canopy of leaves from a few gnarled almond trees hid some of the ruins from her vantage. Closer to the pier, a large, quadrangular tower rose from the beach. Two large swaths of cloth—sails, Marianne finally sorted—were held up with tent poles to form shaded areas under which men worked.

  Before she could continue her visual sweep of the area known as the Valle dei Templi, Jasper’s face suddenly filled her field of vision. She gave a start, about to step back but unable to do so when she realized he had an arm around the back of her waist.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you, my sweet,” he said. “But we really must be going if we’re to arrive at the villa before dark.” He made a motion with one hand to indicate the general direction they would be heading—up a rising slope toward Girgenti. He then waved his hand to the west. “I cannot believe how gorgeous the sunsets have been on this trip,” he added.

  Marianne glanced in the direction he indicated, stunned at the colorful sky. In what seemed to be just beyond the edge of the island, a series of thin clouds reflected oranges and reds above the golden globe of the sun. Still well above the horizon, the sun seemed to shimmer as much as its reflection in the surface of the Mediterranean.

  Her gaze swept back up to the city. “Are we going all the way up there?” she asked. Although she could do with a walk—her body felt as if it was still moving despite the fact that she was standing still—she didn’t think her slippers would allow her to climb the road leading into Girgenti. She decided too late she should have worn her half-boots.

  “If I’m to understand our guide, not quite,” he said as he indicated a white-clad man standing next to a cart and two donkeys. Porters had just finished loading their trunks into the back of the cart, Singleton giving directions in Italian as they did so, and the guide was seeing to their pay. “Pietro says Signora Romano’s villa is well before the city gate. Closer to the ruins, which means we may not require daily transportation to the site,” he added hopefully. “We’ll pay a visit to the temples tomorrow so that we can get the lay of the land. Pietro will help in that regard,” he added as he nodded to their guide.

  He dared another glance around the port town, wondering if Darius Jones was anywhere about. He was fairly sure the older archaeologist had taken a room here as opposed to one up in Girgenti, but if he had, Jasper didn’t know where it might be. Given the fair weather, it was possible Darius was still up at the site of the old Greco-Roman town. From his latest missive, Jasper figured the man had hired some locals to assist with the excavation.

  He would be relying on locals for nearly everything, including labor if his own expedition required considerable digging. Besides bringing Singleton along, Jasper had briefly considered employing a couple of students from Cambridge to assist him, but he didn’t intend to return to British shores until well after they would be required to resume classes in the fall. As for how he would pay the help, he had already seen to changing some of his funds to the local currency of Sicilian piastra, a relatively new coin to the island.

  “Pray tell, what is that building?” Marianne asked as she nodded toward the area’s largest block-shaped building.

  Jasper followed her line of sight. “Our guide says it’s a storage building for grain. Carlo the Fifth had it built when he was in power.”

  Nodding her understanding, Marianne took her husband’s proffered arm and allowed him to lead her to the cart. “There isn’t room for both of us to sit up top,” Jasper said as he assisted her. “So I’ll ride on the back. I’ll be right behind you,” he added, when he saw her sudden expression of worry.

  “But what of Mr. Singleton?” she asked, when she noticed the man was heading back toward the port.

  Jasper pointed to a line of buildings that made up the central portion of the port city. “He has made arrangements to spend the evening here in town,” he said, not adding that he wanted to have their villa to themselves for their first night on the large island. Once he had explained his changed circumstances with their hostess—he wasn’t yet sure if she had received his letter mentioning his marriage—he would have James join them in their villa.

  “He’s expected for dinner with Dr. Jones.” Jasper didn’t add that he was fairly sure those arrangements included a prostitute. James had made mention of missing female company during their twelve days on board The Fairweather.

  Jasper briefly wondered if the man employed a mistress in London. He was fairly sure James had a lover, but if so, he never spoke of it. “I sent him with another bottle of scotch to give to Dr. Jones. He has promised to come to the villa in the morning for breakfast.”

  Their guide joined her on the bench. “Buon pomeriggio, Lady Henley,” Pietro said before he had the donkeys moving up the hill toward Girgenti.

  “Ciao,” Marianne replied, giving a quick glance over her shoulder to be sure Jasper was sitting on the back of the cart. Their trunks were lined up directly behind her, their bulk taking up most of the cart’s space. Testing the bit of Italian she knew, Marianne turned to the guide. “Quanto lontano?” she asked. How far?

  “About a mile,” he replied in heavily-accented English. “You speak Italian.”

  Marianne blushed a bright pink. “No,” she replied with a shake of her head. “Very little,” she amended when she noticed his look of confusion.

  “I speak English, as does the Vedova Romano,” he replied. He turned his attention to the donkeys who trudged up the slope. “But it is kind of you to know even a little of our language.”

  Marianne wasn’t about to tell him she had no choice—one of her governesses h
ad insisted she know a bit of several languages. Although she was fluent in French, she couldn’t claim the same for any of the other romance languages. “What is she like?”

  Pietro gave a shrug. “She is like Atlas,” he replied after a moment. He gave a quick glance in his passenger’s direction, as if he wanted to be sure she understood his reference.

  “She carries the world on her shoulders?” Marianne questioned, her attention suddenly going to the strange plants along the side of the road. She was sure they were a form of desert plant, but she had never seen anything looking so much like one of the pincushions in her sewing basket. Each plant looked as if it was made up of a dozen green pincushions stacked up in a haphazard array, sometimes forming an entire hedge.

  “Her family, at least,” Pietro said with a roll of his eyes, referring to Signora Romano. “She is mother to her own and mother to her brother’s bambinos and anyone else who needs a mama,” he added. When Marianne didn’t ask another question, he added, “But she is a sad woman. Perhaps your visit will bring happiness.”

  Marianne wondered at the comment. He had said “vedova,” which implied their hostess was a widow. At one time she’d had a husband. “Did Signore Romano die recently?” she asked, a thought that their arrival might be ill-timed.

  What if her husband had just died?

  Pietro’s brows furrowed again. “Four years, I think,” he replied after a time. “But she was sad even before Signore Romano’s death. I used to say she lost a love long ago.”

  “Did she?” Marianne asked, giving another quick glance behind her to find Jasper’s head turned, as if he, too, was listening to their guide.

  “I no longer ask about such things, my lady. She...” He paused as if he was searching for the appropriate word. “Punched me.” He frowned and turned in Marianne’s direction, his open palm moving across his face in a pantomimed slap.

  “Slapped you,” Marianne corrected him. “I rather imagine she doesn’t wish to discuss such a private matter.”

  The guide bounced his head from side to side. “Have you slapped him?” he asked, one thumb lifted to indicate her husband.

  Marianne blinked. “I have not,” she replied, a bit indignant, suddenly understanding why the Widow Romano had slapped the guide.

  “You are new to wed?” Pietro countered.

  Frowning at the man’s impertinence, she finally said, “Sì.” The word came out easily, as if she’d been using it all her life.

  “Ah,” he replied. “You will someday. All men are fools. Eventually, he will do something stupid, for which you will slap him.”

  “Hey!” Jasper finally spoke. “Speak for yourself. I have no intention of ever doing anything that has my beautiful bride reacting in such a violent manner.”

  Marianne grinned as she turned and gave him a wink. She realized after a moment that he may not have been able to see her wink, as she still wore her eyeglasses. About to remove them, she paused when she noticed Jasper’s sudden look of awe, his gaze directed just beyond her shoulder. Turning to follow his line of sight, her mouth dropped open upon seeing the remains of a Greek temple just off the side of the road.

  Bathed in the light of the setting sun, the honey-colored marble columns took on a reddish cast. Past the temple to their immediate right, the ruins of several more temples could be seen in the near distance. One appeared as if the sea would swallow it at any moment, although after a time, Marianne realized it actually sat atop a ridge well above the breaking water.

  Pietro said, “Templi dei Concordia is the best preserved. Juno, not so much. Heracles has only the one column left standing.” He paused until another opening in the trees allowed the ruins to show again. “The Templi dei Zeus is almost gone, although there is still a telamon there on the Olympian field,” he explained as he pointed in the general direction of a fairly flat plane in the distance. Dotted with small palms and agave plants, it was difficult to imagine that columns—let alone a building—had at one time stood there. Giant honey-colored boulders and pieces of columns were strewn about as if they had been dice tossed by a Titan. “Many will say the Greeks never finished it, but if they had, and if it had withstood all the earthquakes, then it would have been magnificent,” he claimed. “You already saw much of the rest of it,” he added as he glanced back behind them. “It was used as a...” He struggled to find the right word. “Quarry. To build the marina.”

  Not sure why she felt sad at hearing the temple’s marble stones had been repurposed, Marianne continued to study the temples she could see from their vantage. “Are there any Roman temples?” Marianne asked, her curiosity bringing a grin to Jasper’s face.

  “Sì,” Pietro replied. “Norman, too.” He pointed up to the city, where a square bell tower dominated the skyline. “Like the church in Girgenti.”

  Marianne glanced back at Jasper. “Will we have time to see all of them?” she asked, her voice hopeful.

  Jasper smiled, partly because of how his wife looked wearing her spectacles and partly because of her enthusiasm. If he had any concerns she would be bored on this trip, he realized he had nothing about which to be worried. “Of course, my sweet.”

  Their guide lifted his head. “Ah. If he had said, ‘no,’ then you would have slapped him, no?”

  Allowing a titter, Marianne shook her head. “I would have sneaked away while he was digging for Roman artifacts and seen the temples for myself.”

  Pietro’s eyes widened. “You will only go in the company of Signora Romano,” he warned.

  A bit alarmed by his serious manner, Marianne’s eyes widened. “Should I be worried for my safety?”

  “Pietro is merely warning you that Sicilian men will find you as beautiful as I do, and they will attempt to capture your affections with words of adoration,” Jasper said with an arched brow. “And capture you with offers of marriage.”

  Marianne considered this bit of information before saying, “That doesn’t sound so awful.”

  “And your fortune,” Jasper added, which had Pietro allowing a loud laugh.

  At the mention of her fortune, Marianne wondered how much her father had given Jasper. She remembered his comment about having left some of it in her bedchamber at their home in Canobie, as if he had to bribe her to visit him. She had every intention of returning there, and hoped they might do so when they completed their tour of Italy.

  “Your husband speaks the truth, my lady,” Pietro said as he directed the donkeys to turn off on a well-worn path. “You will be... proposte,” he warned. “They will wish to marry you, even if you are already wed.”

  The remains of a wall and chunks of marble marked where a gate and a wall surrounding the city had at one time stood. Almond trees lined one side of the lane, and more of the pincushion plants were scattered about the dry terrain. Small palms sprouted from around the base of rocks and boulders.

  “What are those plants?” Marianne asked as she pointed with a gloved hand to one of the pincushion plants.

  “Ah. Fico d’India,” Pietro replied. “Indian fig. Prickly pear, I think is what the English call them. They are edible. If you are parched, you can...” He motioned breaking one open and sucking on the flesh. “Eat it,” he finished.

  Marianne frowned, deciding she would have to be very thirsty before she would try eating a cactus. “And those? What are they?” she asked as she pointed to a plant with a base featuring long, tongue-like leaves and a central stalk that sported a series of smaller tufts of leaves up high.

  “Agave,” Pietro replied. “The leaves are used to make...” He paused, as if he struggled to come up with the English word for the caning for chairs.

  “Cord,” Jasper offered. “But a bitter aloe to dose children is made from the flower at the top. Not a spirit I would recommend my lady trying,” he said by way of warning.

  Marianne made a mental note to ask Signora Romano if she had any of the aloe. She would have been satisfied with never having tried it, but Jasper’s words had her curious.
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  “Where does this road go?” Jasper asked as he pointed to the one that headed down the hill at an angle and disappeared into a grove of almond trees.

  “The old Roman city,” Pietro replied as he turned the donkeys to go up the same road in the opposite direction. “Where you will wish to dig, if I understand your words,” he added.

  After only a hundred feet, he pulled the donkeys to a halt next to what appeared to be a stucco wall with a door. “This is the guest villa, and up there is Signora Romano’s casa,” he explained. “Come. I will introduce you,” he said as he directed his attention to Jasper.

  The viscount jumped off the back of the cart and came around to Marianne’s side. He reached up and gripped the sides of her waist, lifting her from the cart. When Marianne had her feet beneath her and was gazing up at him in what appeared to be surprise, he grinned and said, “I shall never tire of doing that.”

  Marianne couldn’t help the blush that colored her face. “I hope I shall never tire of you doing it,” she replied, wondering if their ease with one another in the evenings would continue now that Jasper would be working. Although their nights on the ship had been spent making love, they had spent their days relatively apart from one another, Jasper conferring with Singleton and studying maps up on deck, or writing letters, whilst she read books or did needlework under the shade of the sails.

  When they dined, she remained quiet unless someone asked her a question, preferring to listen as Jasper, Captain St. John and some of the other passengers discussed various topics. It was during their meals she realized she had married a man of some intelligence, a scholar who preferred the study of Roman history over Greek history and Roman mosaics over those of the Greeks, even if they were heavily influenced by Hellenistic styles.