Glittering Promises (15 page)

“Not at all,” she returned in perfect English. “It is my joy to host new friends. Please, please,” she said, turning to the rest. “Come in.” She turned and lifted her skirts to climb the steps to the main house, then paused at the top. She leaned in to speak to a servant, gesturing to ours, and then spoke to their group again. “As you can see, I cannot house you all within this building, but there is plenty of room here and about. My foreman can direct your servants as to where to store your luggage, and we shall gather for some lunch. Come, come.”

They followed her into a beautiful room full of aged but welcoming furniture surrounding a wide fireplace with so much soot, it looked like it’d enjoyed a century of continual use. The house was perfectly clean but far more rustic than anywhere they’d stayed yet. Will scanned the group, assessing their reaction, and saw that Cora was delighted, Vivian and Andrew clearly dismayed, the girls in shock—but game for an adventure—and Hugh and Felix…well, they hadn’t taken their eyes off their hostess. The elder men had been dropped off in Pienza with Pascal to see to some banking business. Who knew how they would react to Will’s bringing their children here? Would they object? Will sincerely hoped not. Signora Masoni had been more than kind to invite them all to stay with her, especially now that he knew what a stretch it would be for her.

She did not pause in the great living room, but moved on through an arched, open doorway, directly into a kitchen. He covered a smile when the younger girls shared a wide-eyed look at this new spectacle—no separation between a servant’s domain and a lady’s. Had they even seen such a home? His pleasure grew… It was perfect, really. A true opportunity to expand their minds and help them understand how others lived.

“You must be famished,” Signora Masoni said, wrapping an apron around her slim waist and bending to wash her hands in a massive sink beneath a window with one of the prettiest views of Tuscany Will had ever seen. “There’s a washroom back to the right, or you can wash right here, if you like. I’ll help Ita to get some food ready, and we can share a little lunch.”

Will and Cora stepped forward as the others awkwardly paused. “It is most kind of you to have us here,” Will said, rolling up his shirt sleeves.

“Not at all,” Signora Masoni said with a smile, handing him a linen towel as he finished washing his hands. “I love to meet new people. And people from America?” Her brown eyes shone as she looked over her group of guests. “We shall speak long into the night as you tell me tales of your journey and home.”

“Only if you share some of your own, too,” Cora said, taking the towel from Will—the closest they’d been to each other all day.

“I like to tell a good story as well as hear them,” their hostess returned. “Here, come,” she said, gesturing to the vast aged-pine table in the center of the room. “Sit, sit.” They sat down on the benches on either side after washing up, and Will looked up to see drying bunches of lavender, garlic heads, and peppers hanging from the heavy beams above them. In the corner of the room were three cured hams hanging in nets.

With one brief query from Signora Masoni, Hugh launched into a tale about their traumatic crossing from America, leaning against the counter as he spoke. Ita, a girl of about fifteen, moved swiftly and efficiently around him, dicing tomatoes with a practiced hand, then unwrapping a huge wheel of pecorino cheese and hacking off a chunk with what looked more like a small axe than a knife. Another servant girl appeared and silently set a cloth napkin and ivory, porcelain plate in front of each of them, leaving two more for her mistress, Will, and Hugh—who were still standing—and then went about offering wine or water to each person.
“Vino o acqua?”

They all opted for water, except for Hugh and Felix, who chose the wine. Andrew looked like he was suffering actual physical pain and kept shooting Will looks as if to say,
Surely you don’t mean to keep us here.
Vivian, in turn, seemed to become more settled with this choice, since it was so obviously the opposite of Andrew’s preferences. While she seemed to keep outwardly to her goal of sticking with their courtship, Will was as convinced as Cora—Andrew and Vivian belonged anywhere but together.

Antonio arrived, and Will moved over on the bench. Instantly, Ita had another place setting in front of him. Then came cold duck liver; grapes; a wedge of soft cheese; apple slices; and thick, crusty bread with soft-churned butter. In minutes, they were all eating, and Signora Masoni told them about the latest run of rain that had threatened the year’s crop before letting up just two days prior.

“How long have you managed this place on your own?” Felix asked, careful to not look her way.

“You mean how long have I been without a man,” she said, a hint of a smile on her lips but a direct challenge in her eyes.

“That too,” Hugh said, lifting his cup to accept another bit of wine from Ita as she rounded the table. But his eyes were on their hostess.

“My husband passed two years ago,” she said dismissively. “He was ill for a short time.”

It was impossible to tell if there was any grief behind her words. She said them matter-of-factly, with no hint of emotion.

“I am sorry for your loss,” Will said after an awkward pause.

The women murmured their condolences too, but Signora Masoni cut them short. “No, no. Don’t be,” she said, waving her hand. “I am far better off without him.” She smiled. “He was not a nice man. The Lord spared me”—she crossed herself from forehead to chest, and across her shoulders, then placed her hands together as if in prayer, looking up—“when He took my husband from this earth.” She shook her head, popped another bite of bread into her mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “My husband had a terrible temper. I did not wish to marry him, but my father insisted.” She shrugged. “And so I did. We all make our mistakes, no?”

The group fell silent, none of them but Will daring to look down the table toward Andrew and Vivian. Andrew’s eyes narrowed as he saw Vivian look to her lap.

“Take your ease, my friends!” Signora Masoni said, misinterpreting their collective unease. “I am young yet. And while my husband was far from kind, he left me with this, a home I love, and now, I share with you.”

“Or rather, that we’ve now overtaken,” Felix said, raising his glass in a toast. “Thank you for your generosity.”

“It is my good pleasure.”

They all began eating again. And while the conversation continued in amiable fashion, Will doubted any of them were thinking about anything but Vivian becoming entrapped by an unkind husband, just as Signora Masoni once had been.

The next morning, Will moved down the tiled outdoor hallway toward the main house, admiring the ancient fat timbers that crossed above, layered in vines. The Masoni villa was small but quintessentially Tuscan, and their hostess had put Will and Antonio in a separate small cottage, just off the southern corner of the larger, two-story villa. He thought it entirely satisfactory—and this brief respite, without any of his charges in view for once, even more so. Especially Cora. They needed some…time. Separation. Or at least he did.

Will put his hands on his hips and took in a deep breath, looking toward the morning sky, peach-hued and full of the promise of a warm day. “Thank You, Lord,” he said.

A hat-covered head popped up from the other side of a four-foot hedge. Signora Masoni. She flashed him a smile, her eyes curious as she looked around. “To whom do you speak, Signore McCabe?”

“Ahh,” Will said, feeling a flush of embarrassment. “To God, actually.”

She gave him a confused, amused smile. “And do you often speak to God, Signore—
Mister
McCabe?”

“As often as possible,” he returned, locking his hands behind his back. “And in retrospect, not nearly enough on this tour.”

She rose, and he saw she’d been cutting sprigs of lavender and laying them in a broad, flat basket hooked over her arm. With the morning sun behind her on the horizon, warming the entire landscape with an ethereal, golden light, she looked more than a bit like an Italian angel.

“I’m surprised you look as rested as you do, Mr. McCabe,” she said.

When he hesitated, caught, she said with a smile, “Oh, yes. I know that you prowled the grounds last night.” She came around the hedge of lavender and laid a feather-light hand on his arm, so quickly he wondered if he’d imagined it. She peeked up at him from under the brim of her hat. “I think it charming, Mr. McCabe. Most charming. You take good care of your tour group. Or is it Miss Cora that you worry most about?”

He studied her. Clearly she missed nothing. “I am concerned about the well-being of all my charges. And the first night in a new place…” He paused and shook his head. “Well, that never is my best night of slumber.”

“They are fortunate to have you as their guide,” she said, moving around him to his right shoulder and looking out to the valley with him.

“It is I who am fortunate to lead them,” he said, “for I get to see lovely country like this and stay with kind hostesses like you.”

She smiled and then paused to look out over a short wall. He stood beside her. The villa was situated on the crest of one of the highest hills around, affording a magnificent view for miles. The valley stretched before them. To the left was a massive olive grove that extended down and then up and over the next hill. To their right was a vineyard that covered five of the nearest hills in tidy rows of gnarled vines. “You have a sizable vineyard.”

“Bigger each year is our goal,” she said. “There are restaurants in Roma that only serve our wine.”

“Truly?” Will said, crossing his arms and gazing down at the vineyards with renewed interest. “That is impressive. Most of the Toscana vintners I know only cultivate for their own tables.”

“Well, that is a side benefit,” she said, smiling again and giving him a wink. She turned to go and then glanced back at him. “Please find me at once if your people need anything at all.”

“Thank you, Signora. You are most gracious.”

“Please, call me Eleonora.”

“Gladly. But only if you call me Will.”

She placed a delicate hand at her neck and gave him a coy smile. “Will,” she repeated with a slight
v
to her pronunciation. “Have a lovely morning, Will.”

His eyes narrowed, even as he put a hand to his chest and gave her a slight bow. “
Grazie mille
, Eleonora,” he said, then waited for her to turn and leave him, as was proper. When she finally did, he walked back down the stone path to his small villa, needing to get his thoughts in order before he faced the group.

Especially Cora. His eyes cut guiltily to Eleonora’s back, almost inside now, then back to the path. What was that moment of attraction he’d felt? The easy connection to the young widow? In all of his years as an adult, that had only happened to him perhaps four or five times. One was Cora. And now…Eleonora as well? That could rapidly complicate things.

Antonio was outside on the small flat patio, arms crossed, admiring the morning sun. He looked to the right at Will as he came around the corner of the stone building. “Ahh,
buon giorno
, my friend. I’d be questioning your morals if I didn’t know you’d returned to your bed off and on all night.” He gave Will a sly smile.

“Come now,” Will said, standing beside him, crossing his arms too. He knew Antonio assumed that he’d been romancing Cora. He hadn’t told him what had transpired in Firenze. “You know very well how I must settle into a new place. No wine and long conversations for me.”

Antonio clapped him on the shoulder. He looked out over the valley. “This is a good place, far from anywhere that Nathan Hawke might look for us.”

“Indeed. With luck, we’ll avoid him and any reporters in the hill towns, too.”

Antonio eyed him again from the side. “And what of our hostess? Was she truly drawn in by our generous, thoughtful Miss Cora, or by her handsome guides?” He ran his hands down the lapels of his jacket.

Will smiled. “Perhaps both,” he admitted. “You saw us up there in the walkway?”

Antonio gave him a smile in return. “I saw her cutting quite a bit of lavender for quite a long time. Almost as if she was waiting for you to pass by.”

Will scowled at him. “You imagine things, Antonio.”

“Si, si
,” said his friend, slowly, pretending to agree. “I am an old man, given to fanciful ideas.”

~Wallace~

After a brief reunion with the children, Wallace Kensington settled heavily into his chair beside Sam Morgan, who was smoking a cigar on the veranda of Villa Masoni, overlooking the valley. “Mighty far piece from Montana, aren’t we, Morgan?”

The man nodded, took a deep drag on his cigar and then slowly blew it out. “Must we really follow the children along this tour? They seem safe enough, especially here in Tuscany. Business is piling up… It’d be advantageous for us to go to Rome straightaway. Look what we got done today. They could rejoin us there.”

“I need to stay with them,” Wallace said. “If you are so inclined, don’t let me hold you back. We can go to the city as needed to keep things from the edge of disaster, but I…” He shook his head. “No, I need to stay nearby, even if you need to go.”

“It’s probably best,” his old business partner said, waving in the air with his cigar. “I expect Andrew and Vivian will have good news for us any day now. If I wasn’t here to witness it, Mary would have my hide.”

“I expect she would,” Wallace said with a humorless laugh.

The two sat in silence for a while. “Tell me the truth, Wallace,” Morgan said, taking a slow look around to make certain they were alone. “Have you seen enough to believe that Cora has what it takes to run the Kensington-Diehl Mine?”

“She will,” Wallace said, bending forward to cup his hand around a match and drag deeply on his own freshly cut cigar. He took a couple of puffs to make certain it was well lit and then settled back in the chair. “I’ll make sure she’s the most successful woman in America.”

But even he could hear the sigh in his own tone.

“And are you hoping,” Morgan said, taking a drag and then letting it out slowly, “that in filling her life with newfound duties, she’ll turn away from young McCabe?”