Patrick glanced at Giovanni, hoping the servant could supply the English translation.
“Libertino,” the young man whispered.
Stunned the viscount had such a reputation—he hadn’t paid witness to any actions that would put David Slater into the category of a rake—Patrick turned his attention to his missive.“Thank you for telling me.I shall be sure to pass along the information should anyone ask me,” he said.
The few lines of masculine scrawl were merely an acknowledgement that a delivery of wool had been made to the dock and loaded onThe Fairweather.The sailing vessel was due to depart for England on the morrow.
Since he had shared what he knew from the ball, perhaps Signora Ricci would be able to provide him with information on a certain woman who lived only a short distance away.“Might you know anything aboutDonnaVittoria’s aunt?Great aunt…prozia, I think.Uh…DonnaArmenia D’Avalos?”
A scoff sounded from the servant as she executed the sign of the cross over her left breast.“She is a… anuna puttana.You would be wise to avoid her.”
“Una puttana?”he repeated in confusion.
“A whore,” Giovanni whispered, but he rolled his eyes as if he thought his mother’s assessment wasn’t to be believed.
Patrick settled back in his chair and allowed a sigh of disappointment.He had a hope that his housekeeper might be in his corner when it came to the aristocrat’s aunt.Instead it seemed he would need to keep his regard for Armenia a secret from her.
Turning his attention back to his breakfast, Patrick downed the meal quickly and descended the stairs to his office.
He decided it best he see to the rest of his correspondence in private until it was time to leave for Villa D’Avalos.
