Chapter Three
Damiano entered theinn’s dining room to find the duke and his daughter already there. Confirming the endless eccentricity of the English, the housekeeper and the fat dog were there too.
“Come sit by me, Count,” the duke said.
This seemed painfully obvious, as the housekeeper had her charge settled on the other side of the table. “Yes, Your Grace, most considerate. A fine evening.”
“Do you enjoy our weather?” Lady Valor asked.
Damiano had to pinch his leg to stop from laughing. Who on earth enjoyed English weather? Mother Nature seemed to glare down at this spot of the world and order more rain, and then more rain again. That rain was reliably cold. The sun appeared very reluctant to ever make an appearance.
“Oh yes,” he said. “It is so…forceful.”
“Hah! Not like your Sardinian weak-willed sunshine. Surprised you don’t get tired of it, day after day,” the duke said.
“What brings you to our shores?” the housekeeper asked.
Now he was to paint a picture that did not at all say why he was here. “Ah, my family has deep roots in England. I was educated at Eton and I have cousins here. After I check on our estate in Hertfordshire, I will spend time enjoying the London societal season.”
“Do you spend much time at your estate in Hertfordshire?” Lady Valor asked.
“Naturally,” Damiano said. “A fine estate just north of St. Albans. If I have to criticize it in any way, it is that it is in a very quiet neighborhood. But then, I find I can appreciate quiet. I have been considering settling there permanently so that I might enjoy the peace of the bucolic English countryside.”
There was no confusion about how that idea landed with Lady Valor. She was most approving of it. His suspicions were confirmed that she was a rather timid lady who would not care for anything too exciting. Another type of lady might thrill to hear of a swordfight. Lady Valor Nicolet would rather hear of cows grazing.
“Do you collect anything, Count?” Lady Valor asked.
He was not certain what she was fishing for, but he collected knives and was relatively certain she would not see the beauty of them. “Ah, I carry on the family tradition—we collect art. Is there anything so satisfying as going to a museum and walking the hushed corridors amidst the works of great masters?”
“That does sound rather marvelous,” Lady Valor said.
“Could there be anything more wonderful than the Capitoline in the Palazzo dei Conservatori?”
“I’m sure I do not know,” Lady Valor said. “I’ve never been to the Continent.”
Of course she hadn’t. These young English ladies never went anywhere. “But then,” he said, “you have your own storied institutions. The British Museum is very fine—what do you think of it?”
Lady Valor blushed up to her ears. “Goodness, I’ve never been.”
Mio Dio, she had not even bothered to go to a museum so nearby. “No! I cannot believe it. You must allow me to escort you there.”
“Papa?”
“Fine, fine, as long as Mrs. Right or one of your sisters accompanies you. Now, I did not wish to put a damper on the evening, but we ought to look sharp these days. I am certain there is a French spy in this neighborhood.”
One of the innkeeper’s waiters set a platter down with a crash. The other spun round and stared at the windows. Then he hurriedly closed the curtains.
Damiano set his glass down slowly. What did the duke say? Did he somehow know that Damiano spied for the French? He must do, why else would he say it? Was it a warning of some kind? But then why allow his daughter to be escorted to a museum by him?
The duke suddenly roared with laughter. “Works every time! The look on your faces!”
“Count, my papa likes to invent a ruse to amuse himself,” Lady Valor said.
The housekeeper nodded in agreement. “He’s very clever about it. Last year, he had everybody celebrating Captain Cook Day, a holiday that does not exist.”
“Good fun,” the duke said, “that’s what’s needed to ease these interminable journeys.”
A ruse for the fun of it? About a French spy in the area? Damiano did not see the humor in it.
