Proietti turned a look of irritation upon me, but the older gentleman, to my surprise, nodded in agreement. He and his mother had kept their tempers best out of anyone in this argument.
“I agree,” he said to Proietti. “I will meet you with my men of business and explain things to you.”
“Will you indeed?” Proietti demanded, clearly not believing him.
“He has said so,” the older woman stated in disdain.
“Papa, please,” Signorina Proietti said in Italian—I understood the simple phrase. “I wish this.”
“Return home and take your retainers with you.” The gentleman’s words were in English, for my benefit. “I will send word when I can meet.”
“Very well.” Proietti growled the assent, but I could see he thought nothing would come of this meeting. He turned to his daughter, imploring her with a long look one more time, but she shook her head. She didn’t like to turn her father away, but the pull to the rich gentleman was, at the moment, too strong.
The footmen were ready to advance. Proietti at last snapped off a curt nod to the gentleman, a slightly more polite one to his mother, and strode from the room, the servants parting to let him pass.
I gave the gentleman, Signorina Proietti, and the older woman another bow. “I beg your pardon for disturbing you. Please make certain you have this meeting, Signor.”
“It will be done.”
The gentleman spoke without a qualm, and I suspected he’d win this war. I recognized a person of strong will and influence when I met him.
The daughter now seemed less certain, yet she sent me a regal nod, already practicing to be mistress of this house. The older woman did nothing, said nothing, but it was plain she was finished with us.
I started after Proietti, Brewster’s heavy tread behind me. The footmen melted from Brewster’s path, and I noted their obvious relief that they wouldn’t have to test themselves against him.
Downstairs, we emerged into the narrow street and the cool February air, the sky still cloudy. I smelled moisture—rain was coming.
Proietti waited for us at the end of the lane. I’d half expected him to disappear and leave me behind in his frustration, but he lingered, if restlessly.
“I will see you back to your lodgings,” he said when we reached him. “I do not need you wandering all over again.”
We set off at a quick pace, my knee now truly aching from all the activity.
“Who is he?” I asked as we went.
“Aristocrat,” Proietti said, the word clipped. “A bloody conte. Trevisan is his name. From Milan.” His sneer spoke volumes. A wealthy man, not even from Rome, who’d moved in and ensnared Proietti’s daughter, was not to be borne.
Brewster shot a glance at me, and I returned a minute nod. James Denis had asked a favor of me before I’d set off from London—to seek a count who resided in Rome and arrange for Denis to purchase a small statue from him. That count was not called Trevisan, but the coincidence startled me.
Proietti proceeded at a rapid march, and I hurried to catch up to him.
Proietti saidnothing more as he led us to the Piazza Navona, where he tipped his hat. “Thank you, Captain Lacey,” he said. “I am sorry you had to witness such a scene.”
“Not at all,” I assured him. “I suppose the conte will keep his word to a meeting?”
“Oh, he will.” Proietti’s words held disgust. “He prides himself on his correctness. He will bring men of business and lawyers with him.” He let out a heavy breath. “I suppose I’d better do the same. Good day, Captain.”
He held out his hand, and I shook it.
“Good day,” I returned. “If you have need of me again, please do call. I am lodging in a house near the Palazzo Giustiniani, though we depart in the morning for Pompeii for a few weeks. A letter to the Villa Bella in Napoli will reach me.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Proietti said with true gratitude. “I hope it will not be necessary.Buon viaggio—have a fine journey.”
We parted after this cordial exchange, and Brewster and I made for the far side of the square.
“Shouldn’t have promised him that,” Brewster warned as we went. “Who knows what sort of muck he’ll drag you into?”
“I sympathize with him, is all,” I said, a bit defensively. “Gabriella is about his daughter’s age, perhaps only a year younger at most.”
