“You mentioned that you believe the Allegretto stolen from the Uffizi might be in this part of Tuscany. Is that the true reason for your visit?”
Jack found it curious that the baroness pinned Blossom with a steely gaze.Why the companion?
Blossom was no shrinking violet, and responded without hesitation. “Constance believes in the triumph of love, and Allegretto’s paintings exemplify that belief. He apparently found everlasting love with the woman in the painting, who became the sole focus of his artistic endeavors.” There was a challenge in her tone.
Donatella laughed, waving her hand dismissively. “Then why is she completely forgotten? She remains nameless, lost in the cobwebs of time. Perhaps she never existed or was simply a simple peasant who sat for the artist. Allegretto, as I recall, often used people from the lower class as models for his paintings, including prostitutes, much like Caravaggio. The only difference was Caravaggio kept it a secret because it would not do for people to know that the model who sat for the Madonna was aputtana. But then again, Allegretto wasn’t nearly as talented.”
A gasp escaped Cynthia, and she turned to the baroness, her eyes wide with shock. “Aunty, that is truly scandalous. How-how could anyone want to buy paintings of—of those kinds of women?”
“My dear Cynthia,” Stefano said before the baroness could respond, “those are often the most sought-after works of art.”
“Well, I would never allow a painting of that sort in my home,” Cynthia said. Her face had gone even paler, if that were possible.
Jack felt another knot twist in his chest.Lord, is this to be my future?
“Allegretto and his muse had a very special bond,” Blossom said, her gaze spearing the baroness. “He immortalized her, immortalized their love. His artistry and influence will always live on.”
“You are an idealist, Blossom. I am reminded that if wishes were horses, beggars would ride.” Donatella gave a mirthless laugh.
“And I am reminded of something Leonardo da Vinci said: ‘Beyond a doubt, truth bears the same relation to falsehood as light to darkness.’”
Jack sensed an undercurrent in the exchange between Blossom and Donatella that went beyond a heated debate about art. Blossom also surprised him with her knowledge.
He noticed Constance lay her hand gently on Blossom’s arm as though to temper her. It seemed unlikely to him that Blossom and Donatella had met before, but the intensity in the way they eyed each other seemed to indicate otherwise.
Cynthia, too, had grown uncomfortable with the exchange. “Aunty, all of this talk of paintings and long-dead artists and their scandalous lives is most distressing.”
Donatella’s eyes narrowed, and she glared at her niece. “I forget how simple your mind is, my dear. What would you have us discuss? The latest fashions from Paris, or perhaps those Gothic romances you seem to favor.”
Jack felt sorry for Cynthia, who no doubt often felt the sting of Donatella’s insults. The poor girl’s head seemed to shrink into her shoulders like a turtle into its shell. Again, he was reminded of the difference between her and Gabriella. Gaby was fiercely independent and would have torn into anyone who treated her the way the baroness treated Cynthia. Cynthia, with all her wealth, was dependent on this exasperating woman.
But in what way? Was it emotional control or financial, or both? And what would happen if he and Cynthia married? Would this imperious woman continue to reign over Cynthia’s life and fortune? Jack would have to find out what exactly was stipulated in the late baron’s will. The thought of living in the same house as the baroness gave him agita.
“Baroness, I will not have you insulting Cynthia in my aunt’s home,” he said. “Cynthia’s interests, whatever they may be, do not warrant such harsh words.”
Donatella pinned him with her gaze, and a smile crept across her face. “It warms my heart to hear you show protectiveness toward my niece. I hope it foretells a deeper sentiment and a future alliance.”
Jack bit his tongue. He would not fall into the cunning woman’s trap. He wasn’t ready to commit to a future with Cynthia, and he detested the wordalliance, implying he was aligning himself with the baroness. “I am a gentleman, and as such, I consider it my duty to defend a lady when she is being maligned, even by her own guardian.”
“Ah, well, a gentleman also protects the woman he loves, does he not? Even risking his life to do so,” the baroness countered with a sly smile.
“Any gentleman would risk his life to protect a lady,” Jack said. He didn’t love Cynthia and never would. But Cynthia did not deserve to be used as bait in Donatella’s schemes.
Jack felt the burning gaze of Aunt Kitty on him, her disapproval evident. Kitty was a rarity among the upper echelon. She’d stood up to her father and brother and married for love. Sir Stewart Darling had not been chosen by Kitty’s family. Moreover, he was rumored to be a pirate and a rogue. When she eloped with him, it sent shock waves through theton. But Kitty had defied the naysayers and her blood relations and married the only man she would ever love. That was enough to ostracize her, and she and Stewart moved to Italy to escape the wagging tongues of the muffin wallopers.
Tragically, Stewart was taken five years ago in a hunting accident, but Kitty never regretted her decision to marry the dashing adventurer. Jack had been lucky to have spent so much time with Aunt Kitty and Uncle Stewart. After Jack’s mother passed away when he was ten years old, his father had shipped him every summer to Italy. During those summers, Jack discovered his own thirst for adventure and what would be his lifelong passion for archaeology. The ancient world and the secrets of the past transported him away from the mundane banality of the world he lived in. But, because of his father’s premature death and the loss of his estate, he’d been forced to abandon his life’s work in Egypt. In a less-than-satisfying way he dabbled in his passion in Populonia.
Frustrated and angry, Jack needed to get away. He needed to think. “You will excuse me. I feel the need for some cool night air.”
“Be careful, Jack,” said Kitty. “There’s a storm brewing.”
He suspected she was referring to more than the weather. “I should check on the horses and see to their comfort.” Xanthus would soothe his restlessness.
He wished everyone goodnight and strode out the door. Leaves flew in the blustery wind that whipped through the trees. Kitty was right—a storm was coming. He pulled the collar up on his mackintosh and headed to the stable. It bothered him that he hadn’t seen Gaby all day. By now, she was likely tucked beneath the covers, exhausted from a long day in the kitchen. He missed her desperately and wished he’d sought her out earlier to apologize for last night and compliment her on the delicious meal. But it was too late now. He’d have to wait until tomorrow.
The stable door had been left open, and the sound of horses, restless in their stalls, was discernible above the howling wind. It wasn’t like Luigi to be so careless. Jack would have to speak to the boy tomorrow about it. He slipped inside, closing the door and sliding the lock in place to keep the wind from flinging the door open while he was there.
It was freezing in the barn, and as he walked down the central aisle, horses poked their heads out of their stalls and whinnied for attention. He grabbed a handful of carrots from a bucket, stroked soft noses, and patted necks before handing out the treats.
