Chapter4
A Guest Arrives
Meanwhile, at the top of the stairs to the ballroom
Handing over his greatcoat and topcoat to a footman, Patrick McAdams briefly studied the tapestry drapes framing the windows on either side of the double doors of Palazzo D’Avalos.From the outside, their detail had been obscured by the sheers that hung closest to the glass windows.Now that he could see them up close, he pretended to smooth his salt-and-pepper hair into place as he glanced into a carved plaster-framed mirror perfectly placed in the entry.
The jewel-toned tassels dangling from the edges of the drapes showed no signs of wear nor were they dusty, which meant they were fairly new.The drapes weren’t bleached from the sun, either, which suggested they had been recently installed.
Conte D’Avalos obviously knew how to impress his guests—at least those who paid attention to such details.For one whose business was textiles, Patrick was impressed.
Daring one last look into the mirror, Patrick noticed how his face had tanned despite his wearing a hat whenever he was out of doors.He had a thought to acquire one with a broader brim before he crossed the wide marble corridor to stand at the top of the stairs.
He paused to regard the scene below and cursed softly.He hadn’t thought his arrival was more than a half-hour past the time printed on the invitation, but from the number of people already dancing, he realized he was late.
“Il tuo nome, signore?”
He gave a start at the appearance of yet another servant and wondered how many were employed by Conte D’Avalos.Two footmen had seen to his coach and driver, two more flanked the entrance as if on guard to prevent uninvited guests from entering—although neither asked to see his invitation—and another had seen to his outer garments.
This one was different, though, his attire suggesting he was the head of the staff.“Uh, Patrick McAdams,” he said, realizing the servant had asked for his name.
“Titolo?”
He was tempted to answer with “Proprietor”.He was sure the only reason the conte had invited him was because Patrick had sent him a note requesting a moment of his time to discuss a business proposition.He hadn’t thought a ball an appropriate occasion at which to conduct business, but he would take what he was offered.
Patrick dipped his head and said, “Mister...uh,SignorePatrick McAdams.”He returned his attention to the ballroom, his gaze taking in the gold, glitter, and gilt on display.The colorful gowns and the even more garish costumes worn by the men had him reconsidering his choice of black formal attire.He chuckled softly.“It’s worse than the Brits,” he murmured.
“Perdono, Signore?”
Patrick lifted a hand and waved it dismissively.“Niente.”
The booming voice of the short butler sounded as he called out Patrick’s name.Blinking in surprise, Patrick scoffed before heading down the stairs.Although he was sure the announcement could have been heard in the next villa up the road, only a few of the people down below had paused in their conversations to glance up at him.
Which was fine with him.
The direction to which most turned showed him where their host was located, as if those in attendance sought to learn if the newcomer was known to their host.With his back to the wall, the conte was on the opposite side of the ballroom, a small half-circle of aristocrats paying homage.
“There you are,” Patrick whispered, descending the steps as casually as he could manage given the black heeled shoes he wore.
Attending a ball with the intention of landing a potential client wasn’t exactly how Patrick intended to do business in Rome, but from his research, he had discovered the Conte D’Avalos had influence and a sizable fortune mostly due to his marriage.The D’Avalosconteahad also grown in size, some of the land featuring vineyards while the rest outside of the city was farmed.
There was also a sizable flock of sheep.
Patrick made his way in the direction of the conte, quickly learning he needed to stay on the carpeting that surrounded the checkered marble floor or he would cause a collision with one or more of the dancers.
As he nodded to those who took notice of him—he confirmed his choice of black satin pantaloons and black satin topcoat was at odds with most of the other men—he was glad he had worn his favorite silver embroidered silk waistcoat.The garment seemed to be attracting a good deal of attention.
Or perhaps it was merely him.
Before he had even reached the conte, he felt a prickle on the back of his neck, a sure sign someone had taken an interest in his arrival.
When his gaze darted to a tall woman who was openly watching him, he was surprised when she didn’t turn away.Instead, she merely lifted her glass of bubbly—Prosecco, he remembered learning the day before when he was buying wine—and took a drink, never taking her eyes off him.
He might have continued his stroll toward the Conte D’Avalos, but curiosity had him taking a detour in her direction.
As he grew closer, he was struck by her classical beauty and by how tall she was—nearly as tall as him.Rather than slouching in an attempt to hide her height, she stood proud, her bare shoulders held straight.She had every reason to, though, given her generous bosom and the way it was displayed by a bodice made of an exquisite silk trimmed in embroidery festooned with tiny beads.
“Buonsera, mia donna,” he said, bowing.He reached for the gloved hand that wasn’t holding the glass and brushed his lips over the back of it.
