From nearby, Mario chuckled as he observed the scene, his pencils and chalk covering the pages of her journal. “Signorina,” he called out in his accented English. “These scarves…they are perfect for you. Take them home,si? They will carry with you the spirit ofItalia, the colors of our beautiful sea and sky. When you are an old woman in your country, you unfold them and remember this moment, this place, this…” He waved his hand meaningfully toward Darcy with a theatrical wink.
Darcy said, “Years from now, asSignore Mariosays, these scarves will bring you memories of when we stood at the ship’s rail and how the sunset illuminated the ancient ruins in its golden light.” He stepped closer, speaking for her ears alone. “When I gaze upon your beauty, my heart beats so strongly for you… It is almost painful.”
Tears pricked Elizabeth’s eyes. “Fitzwilliam, you should not say such things.”
“I cannot help myself when you look as you do.”
Her father cleared his throat pointedly. “If you two are quite finished with your private conference, perhaps we might complete our purchases before the entire market becomes spectators to your romantic drama.”
Elizabeth laughed, the spell broken, but the warmth remained. “Yes, Papa. I shall take both scarves, and…” She turned back to the shopkeeper, her practical nature reasserting itself. “Do you know where we may purchase fine leather gloves and silk slippers?”
The next few hours passed in a pleasant blur of examining goods and making selections. The gloves were buttery soft, and the slippers were lighter than air.
At a wine merchant’s establishment, they tasted Chianti for the first time, the rich red wine unlike anything from English cellars. Upon his first sip, her father’s eyebrows rose with appreciation. “My word! This is how wine should taste. I shall certainly need several bottles to carry home.”
“Ah, you understand good wine,” Mario said approvingly. “This comes from my cousin’s vineyard in Toscana, or Tuscany as you say. I tell him save his best for English visitors with?what is the word? Ah!?refinedpalates.”
Darcy immediately ordered several cases to be delivered to the ship, and Elizabeth was delighted at his obvious pleasure in helping the artist’s family business.
When the morning shopping concluded, Mario promised a surprise and led them through winding residential streets to a modest house with flowers spilling from every window box.
“My home,” he announced proudly. “Andmia moglie,my wife, Caterina, who cooks likeun angelofrom heaven.”
Mario’s wife proved to be a small, energetic woman with a wide grin and flour-dusted hands who welcomed them as if they were long-lost family members. Despite the language barrier, her warmth transcended words as she bustled about her kitchen, eager to share her culinary knowledge. “Today, I teach you. You learn to cookItalia,” she declared in broken English, gesturing for Elizabeth to join her at a worn wooden table that served as both workspace and dining area.
What followed was the most delicious afternoon Elizabeth could remember. Caterina demonstrated the preparation ofgnocchi alla romanaandcoda alla vaccinarausing semolina, milk, and cheese for the first and stewed oxtail for the second, with herbs Elizabeth could not identify. The two dishes possessed a depth of flavor that delighted her tongue.
“You write,si?” Caterina asked, noticing Elizabeth’s careful notes. “Good. You takeRomahome to your kitchen.”
Elizabeth filled several pages of her journal with detailed observations, sketching Caterina’s progress and recording approximate measurements.
The downpour outside continued, providing theopportunity for Caterina to demonstrate the ancient art of making mozzarella from fresh cow’s milk, salt, and rennet derived from stinging nettles. “Is magic,si?” She laughed at Elizabeth’s wonder. “Milk becomes cheese. Cheese becomes joy.”
As they were sampling the fresh mozzarella, which was still warm and incredibly creamy, the rain ceased, and brilliant sunshine burst through the clouds. The room seemed touched by a divine blessing.
“Now,” Mario announced. “We see myRoma.”
Darcy studiedElizabeth’s movements throughout the day, amazed by her enthusiasm for every new experience. His love for her increased as he observed her willingness to learn, to engage with people so different from herself, and to find joy in the simplest discoveries. Whether she was noting cooking techniques or listening to Mario’s stories about hidden corners of the city, her joy was infectious and completely genuine. At the Pantheon, she stood in the center of the vast, domed space and turned slowly, her face tilted toward the oculus through which rain and sunshine fell directly onto the ancient floor.
“It is like standing inside a prayer,” Mr. Bennet said, his voice filled with awe.
Elizabeth and Bennet asked countless questions about Roman engineering and architecture. As the group toured various ancient sites, the old artist accompanied them, filling Elizabeth’s journal with page after page of swift sketches?architectural details, street scenes, andportraits of vendors, children, and priests that would preserve their Roman adventure.
During their earlier shopping, while Elizabeth and her father examined gloves and slippers, Darcy had secretly pursued a different sort of purchase. At their final stop, a jeweler’s shop tucked between a bakery and a leather goods store, he found exactly what he had been seeking.
The proprietor, understanding Darcy’s careful Italian, had produced two petite, exquisite cameo brooches that could be worn as a necklace. One featured a classical profile carved in cream against a coral background. The other showed the same elegant lines in pale blue against white. Both were delicate works of art that spoke of Italian craftsmanship at its finest. “From the Amalfi Coast,” the jeweler had explained. “Made by my brother’s son. Very fine work. Very romantic gift for beautiful ladies.”
Darcy had studied them, imagining Elizabeth wearing one at her throat. The coral would complement her warm coloring, while the blue would suit Georgiana’s more delicate palette perfectly. The jeweler added a golden chain to the purchase. “These will do beautifully.” He paid despite the considerable cost. Some purchases were worth any expense.
When the afternoonfaded into evening, Mario bid them farewell with warm embraces and promises to remember their visit fondly. Elizabeth’s father, pleading exhaustion from their day full of exploration, returned tothealbergoto rest and record his observations in his journal.
“You young people enjoy the evening,” he said with a meaningful look at Darcy. “I believe thatSignora Roselliniis an adequate chaperone for a stroll through Rome’s gardens.”
And so Elizabeth approached the Villa Borghese toward the Pincian Hill with Darcy and their companion after an open-air carriage ride through the city. The setting sun painted the city in gold. The air was soft and warm after the day’s rain, carrying the scent of pine trees and blooming jasmine. When they reached the Pincian Terrace, they found Rome spread before them like a living map of history. Church domes and ancient ruins formed the silhouette that had inspired visitors for centuries. The view was magnificent, but Elizabeth found her attention drawn more to Darcy’s profile as he gazed out over the Eternal City.
“I have a gift for you,” he produced a small, wrapped package from his coat. “I am aware that, in England, it would be inappropriate for me to give you a personal gift since we are not yet betrothed. However, Mario assured me that it is proper here in Italy. I want you to have a small token of our brief time here.”
Elizabeth unwrapped the coral cameo, its delicate beauty evident even in the fading light. The gold-encased stone was less than an inch in length, yet the intricate carving was grand.
