Randolph began leafing through the portfolio. It was amazing how much she could convey with a few deft lines, but far more remarkable was the imaginative way she viewed the world. Over a Roman ruin arched the gnarled, ancient trunk of an olive tree, fishing boats were seen through a veil of nets, and the massive medieval bulk of Castel Nuovo was framed by its Renaissance triumphal arch.
Most striking of all, Vesuvius was drawn from the point of view of a bird looking down on drifting smoke and stark craters, one powerful wing angling across the lower part of the picture. “You have great talent. It’s extraordinary how the viewpoints you choose enhance and intensify the scenes.”
Her cheeks colored becomingly. “Drawing is a common accomplishment, like embroidery or music.”
“That doesn't mean it's always well done.” He turned back to the first drawing, admiring how the thin, restless cat symbolized the passionate, demanding life of the city’s slums. “But you have more than skill. You have a unique artist’s eye.”
Miss Walker opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. After a moment she said, “I was going to make a modest self-deprecating remark, but what I really want to say is ‘Thank you.’ That's a fine compliment you've given me and I shall cherish it.”
“Do you do watercolors or oils?” he asked as he closed and returned the portfolio.
“Watercolors sometimes. I would like to try oils, but I have little time.” She made a face. “It would be more honest to say that I’m afraid that if I started serious painting, I would lose track of the world, and lose my situation along with it.”
A pity she lacked the leisure to develop her gift. With his independent income, Randolph had the time to cultivate talent, but unfortunately he had none. Perhaps he should follow a fine old Italian custom and become her patron so that he could bask in reflected glory. But, alas, with a male patron and a female artist, the modern world would put a different construction on the arrangement, even though Miss Walker was an improbable choice for a mistress.
The waiter returned, this time placing a sizzling platter in the middle of the table. On it was a crispy circle of dough spread with herbs, sliced sausage, dried tomatoes, and hot bubbling cheese. Randolph regarded the dish doubtfully. “You are sure this fulfills my minimum condition of not attempting to eat me first?”
Miss Walker laughed. “I’ve never heard of anyone being assaulted by a pizza. I think you will be agreeably surprised.”
And he was. The pizza was gooey, undignified, and delicious. Between the two of them, they managed to eat almost the entire platter, and he was eyeing the last slice speculatively when someone called, “Lord Randolph, what a pleasant surprise.”
He looked up and saw a female detach herself from a group crossing the piazza. It was a woman whom he had met at the ambassador’s dinner. As he stood, he ransacked his memory to identify her. Mrs. Bertram, that was her name. A lush blond widow with a roving eye, she lived with her wealthy merchant brother. Both were prominent in the local British community.
Ignoring Miss Walker, Mrs. Bertram cooed, “So lovely to see you again, Lord Randolph. Are you enjoying your visit?”
“Yes, particularly today. Mrs. Bertram, may I make you known to Miss Walker, or are you already acquainted?”
The widow gave Elizabeth Walker a sharp assessing glance, then dismissed her as possible competition. Randolph saw and understood that glance, and felt a small spurt of anger. So had his wife, Chloe, reacted whenever she met another woman. “Miss Walker and I are old friends,” he said pleasantly. “She's been kind enough to show me some of the sights of the city.”
Mrs. Bertram’s eyes narrowed in irritation. “I should have been delighted to perform that service. I have lived here long enough to know what, and who, is worthwhile.” She looked at the last congealing section of pizza and gave a delicate shudder. “One cannot be too careful. There is a distressing lack of refinement in much of Neapolitan life.”
Randolph’s expression must have warned her that her cattiness was not being well received, for she went on, “I do hope you will be able to join us for Christmas dinner.” There was a smudge on his sleeve from the earlier altercation, and she reached out and brushed at it, her fingers lingering. “One should not be alone at Christmas. You are very far from home. Let us stand as your family.”
“You are most kind,” he murmured, “but you need not be concerned for my welfare. I have other plans. Pray give my regards to your brother.”
It was unquestionably a dismissal and Mrs. Bertram was unable to ignore it. After a venomous glance at Randolph’s companion, she rejoined her group, which was entering a jeweler’s shop.
Relieved to be free of her, Randolph sat down again. Miss Walker regarded him thoughtfully. “Lord Randolph?”
He nodded. “My father is the Marquess of Kinross.” He wondered if she was going to be either awed or intimidated. Those were the two most common reactions.
Instead, she said, her hazel eyes twinkling, “I presume you didn’t use your title when you introduced yourself because you weary of being toad-eaten? It must be very tedious.”
“It is,” he said fervently. “And I have only a meaningless courtesy title. My father and older brother must tolerate far worse.”
“In fairness to Mrs. Bertram, I imagine that it is not only your title that interests her,” Miss Walker said charitably. “By the way, am I an old friend on the basis of my advanced years, or the fact that we have known each other easily two hours?”
He pulled his watch from his pocket. “By my reckoning, it is closer to four.”
“Good heavens, is it really so late?” She glanced over at the ornate clock suspended over the jewelry shop. “I must be on my way.” She began to collect her belongings. “Lord Randolph, it has been an exceptional pleasure making your acquaintance. I hope you enjoy your stay in Naples.”
He stared at her, disconcerted. She couldn’t just disappear like this! She was the most congenial soul he’d met since arriving in Naples.
No, far longer than that. He stood. “I should hate to think I’ve endangered your livelihood. Let me escort you back. If necessary, I can explain that you are late because you saved me from grievous bodily injury.”
She laughed. “Lord Randolph, can you think of anything more likely to be injurious to a governess’s reputation than having a handsome man say it is all his fault?”
When he looked sheepish, she continued, “You needn’t worry. My livelihood is not threatened. I am between situations, gloriously free until I take up a new position after Epiphany.” She wrinkled her nose. “Twins! The prettiest little vixens you can imagine. I don’t know how I shall manage!”
