Baldini flushed. “Yes, I heard of the conte’s death. Quite a tragedy. I will have to inquire of Conte Trevisan whether he can spare me, but I would be pleased to assist.”
“Excellent. Perhaps you could meet us at de Luca’s house in the morning, say at ten o’clock.”
Baldini obviously wanted to ask more about it, but he politely nodded and said that he would arrive punctually, depending on what Conte Trevisan required.
“Conte Trevisan summoned you here?” I asked, as though in idle curiosity. I recalled the Stanbridges telling me that Baldini had gone off on an errand for Trevisan, and no longer could lead us through the ruins.
“Yes, he wished me to acquire some books for him. Ones on history and art that a young lady might find instructive.” His mouth flattened in a thin line, his displeasure evident. It was clear that Trevisan had become involved with Gisela, and Baldini must have now realized his patron was not the paragon he’d believed.
To change the subject, I thanked him for his promise of help, and then we talked of Pompeii, Baldini relaxing enough to tell me bits of its history that intrigued me. He returned to the claim that his family could trace its line back to the Roman Republic, and I merely nodded. He could believe what he liked—Baldini did know quite a lot about Pompeii’s history. He speculated that the ruins we saw were only one layer of the complicated story of the site, and I would not be surprised if he was correct.
He and I chattered about our interest, ignoring those around us, until the hour grew late. I glanced around with a start when Grenville drifted toward me to tell me we were departing.
Many of the guests had gone, moving on to whatever further entertainments they’d scheduled for the night. Much as in London, one went from musicales to the theatre or opera and finished the night at a supper ball.
Proietti, who’d also lingered, was reluctant to depart. “Many are congratulating me on making a fine match for my daughter,” he told me as I broke away from Baldini to say good night to him. “They believe my wife and I should be pleased.” Proietti sighed. “I would be if I could be assured Trevisan would make Gisela happy. But I fear he will deceive her.”
From what I’d learned of Conte Trevisan, he might not simply toss Gisela to the pavement after he ruined her, but even so, I sympathized with Proietti’s position.
“Take heart,” I said. “We will discover what he is truly about, and if he does love your daughter deeply, then his guests might be right that she makes a good match.”
Proietti regarded me with skepticism. “No, you are correct that we do not know the entire story, but until we do, I will not trust him.Buona notte,Lacey, Grenville. And you, madame. I will arrive at Conte de Luca’s to assist you tomorrow. As you English like to say—all hands to the pump.”
He waved negligently and departed.
I told Grenville as we entered the hired carriage that Baldini had also agreed to assist us. Two men who spoke fluent Italian would be helpful in case we did find ledgers and papers at de Luca’s home.
“Excellent. He is an intelligent man, is Baldini.” Grenville sent me a pointed glance. “I know you like Proietti, Lacey, and he is a fellow soldier from the war and all, but I do wonder about his situation. A gentleman of somewhat reduced circumstances from what I can see, though his home is pleasant.”
“Doing his best with what he has, I imagine.” I recalled Proietti’s admission that he’d been driven to near bankruptcy during the war, which was why he’d sold precious items to de Luca. He’d claimed to have recovered, but I could not verify the fact. “Not all of us are wise with income, as I well know.” I cleared my throat as I finished. My own circumstances when I’d first met Grenville had been strained indeed.
“You were unlucky,” Grenville said as the carriage wound through the narrow streets. “And your family had nothing to leave you. Proietti seems a bit feckless, if you’ll forgive me. I do not say I trust Trevisan entirely, but Proietti is a bit obsessed.”
“He is adamant, I agree, but I still find myself taking his side.”
Grenville lifted an impeccably gloved hand. “I am not sneering at his objections to the arrangement, but he is rather letting his emotions run rampant.”
I shrugged. “WeareEnglish.”
“And therefore cold-blooded and stiff necked?” Grenville laughed. “People are people everywhere, Lacey, as you know. Some are cool like Trevisan, some hot-tempered like Proietti, and if you’ll forgive me, yourself. Perhaps we were raised to place importance on different things, but once those things are put aside, we are much the same across the world.”
“A true cosmopolitan, Grenville,” Donata said in approval. “And a man of good sense. Now then, I have to say I rather like the contessa. She is a bit warmer than her son.”
“Is she?” I hadn’t thought her warm at all—I’d decided that coldness ran in the family. “I grant that she has excellent taste in music.”
“Yes, I enjoyed the concert very much,” Donata agreed. “But she did tell me why she is so fond of Gisela, and why she did not object in the slightest when Trevisan decided to bring the young woman into the house.”
“Do enlighten us, dear lady,” Grenville said with interest as I came alert
Donata went somber. “The contessa has become attached to the girl for a sad reason, I am sorry to relate. Trevisan and his wife had a daughter. She died, the poor thing, when she was but eighteen. Gisela reminds the contessa of her, and she is filling a hollow in the contessa’s heart.”
Chapter21
Ah.” Grenville’s syllable held much sympathy. “Was Trevisan’s daughter ill?”
Every family had a brother, sister, aunt, cousin, who had died young of illness. My mother had been of a weak constitution, but I thanked God every day that my offspring and my wife were of the hearty sort.
“Not an illness.” Donata broke off, the creak and bump of the carriage loud in the night. “When Bonaparte came into Italy, soldiers and men filled the streets of Milan. No, they did not attack Trevisan’s daughter.” Donata shook her head at me as I began to register horror. “It was an accident. There were wagons and carriages everywhere, and one morning, as she and her mother went out to shop, they both were struck down, trampled. Trevisan’s wife survived. Their daughter did not.”
