“Luckily, you did make an Italian friend,” Grenville said.
I’d been thinking of Proietti before Grenville’s answer. I did not know whether he would assist me if Trevisan was involved, but I could ask.
We fell silent the rest of the way home. The day had turned blustery, with wind drawing in clouds. I smelled rain in the air.
When we entered Grenville’s hired house, we found it buzzing with activity. Bartholomew and Matthias hurried up the stairs, their arms full of linens, while Gautier tried to make himself understood—loudly—to the Italian servants who did the everyday cleaning.
Gautier abruptly became his cool self as soon as he spied Grenville. “Her ladyship has sent word she will be arriving, sir. We expect her upon the hour.”
I tried without success to hide my gladness. Though I had been thoroughly enjoying my sightseeing, I missed Donata and looked forward to her arrival with the eagerness of a young swain.
Gautier made no mention of Gabriella or Marianne, so assumed they’d stay behind. Grenville did not ask him, also pretending nonchalance, though I knew he longed to see his wife as well.
Grenville and I retreated to his upstairs chamber, Grenville pouring brandy, while we went over the events of the day.
I was restless, however, and when I heard a carriage halt at our door, I was out of the room so quickly I forgot to set down my glass. Grenville’s laughter followed me down the stairs.
Donata, the former Lady Breckenridge, glided into the house, servants swarming around her like drones to a queen.
A wife generally curtsied to her husband, but I had dispensed with that formality on the first day of our married life. I slammed my glass to the nearest table, went straight to her, took her hands, and kissed her lips.
“Gabriel,” Donata said calmly, but her eyes sparkled with pleasure at my greeting. “I hear you have inserted yourself into other people’s troubles yet again.”
Chapter15
Donata had read my letters I’d sent to the villa, and she forestalled me launching into the entire tale again.
“Let us walk. I am cramped from sitting in the carriage.”
The wind had let up, though a gentle rain pattered down. We took our leave of Grenville who waved us away good-naturedly. Donata had brought him a missive from Marianne, and we left him seeking a quiet place to read it.
Brewster started to accompany us, but Donata forestalled him, telling him she wanted one walk alone with her husband.
Donata wore stout boots against the wet, a long redingote, and a wide-brimmed bonnet. She kept her hand on my arm, and I held an umbrella over us both.
Did I puff with pride that I walked with a most beautiful woman at my side? I am afraid that I did.
“Gabriella, Peter, and Anne are well?” The first question popped from my mouth as we strolled toward the Piazza Navona.
“All are in excellent, roaring good health, especially Anne. She toddles everywhere, and her voice could bring down the rafters. I thought it best they remain at the villa.”
“I had thought you might. Most sensible.”
Donata’s laugh was like silver in the rain. “No, you are annoyed that I left them behind, but Grenville’s small house on a dirty street is hardly a place for children. Marianne was happy to see me depart—Grenville’s servants defer to me because of my rank, but she is in truth the lady of the house. She needs time to be just that, without my interference.”
“You’d never deliberately interfere,” I assured her.
“Rubbish. I’m the most interfering woman I know. I like things to be a certain way. The only reason you do not notice this at home is because you pay no attention. You have no idea how to run a household, in any case.”
“True, though you perhaps could sound more compassionate when you say so,” I said, my tone light. “Poor Captain Lacey never had the chance to be master of his estate.”
“You could have been, but you gave it away to your cousin Marcus.”
Donata was still not happy that I’d stepped aside without a fight so my cousin, who by rights was the true heir to the Norfolk house and lands, could come into his birthright. The proofs were still going through the courts, which took time—Marcus had certainly already paid many fees to solicitors—but I granted he was a much better steward of the estate than I had ever been. It had even started to produce now that the weather was more salubrious than it had been a few years ago when we’d hardly had a summer at all.
“I prefer to live in Town with you,” I explained.
Donata sent me an assessing glance and did not reply. She knew I did not consider myself a farmer, and that the memories of my home in Norfolk were not happy ones. The memories I built now were much better.
