Читать книгу Rake Most Likely to Thrill - Bronwyn Scott - Страница 13

Chapter Five

‘La famiglia è la patria del cuore! Family is the country of your heart. Of course you’ve come.’ Giacomo Ricci rose from his chair and came to embrace Archer, kissing him on both cheeks the moment Archer entered the loggia where a late breakfast was being served the next morning.

‘Buongiorno, Zio.’ Archer bore the effusive greeting as graciously as he had last night after finding his uncle’s contrada, Torre. It hadn’t been far from the town centre, just to the west of where he’d come from. Everyone had known his uncle and it had been easy to find Giacomo among the throng of revellers. Apparently each neighbourhood had been hosting its own celebration.

His uncle had kissed him publicly and spirited him away to his home where a new party commenced as he was introduced in whirlwind fashion to cousins, spouses of cousins and their offspring. There had been neighbours and friends after that, all eager to greet him and kiss him. He’d never been kissed by so many men in his entire life. Archer couldn’t recall the last time his father had kissed him. Had his father ever kissed him?

Archer filled a plate with bread, cheese and fresh strawberries and took a seat at the table where he could look through the arches of the loggia into the street. The loggia was open by design, so that people passing by could wave to his uncle or stop to conduct brief business or even partake of some food. He knew enough from what his mother had told him about her home that the arrangement spoke to the power and position of her family in the contrada. To be seen with Giacomo Ricci was important. It was the sort of news people would share over dinner later in the day.

For now, though, Archer was thankful the loggia was empty and the streets quiet after a boisterous night of festivities. He was still reeling from last evening. His uncle retook his seat. ‘Did you sleep well? I want to take you around the neighbourhood and show you everything, have you meet some people.’ His uncle’s eyes shone with warm pride as he paused, gripping Archer’s hand firmly. ‘I cannot believe you are here at last, my sister’s son, here in my own home.’

Archer felt his throat tighten unexpectedly at the warmth and sincerity of his words. ‘I cannot believe it either. I wish it had been sooner. I promised her I would come.’ These were promises only his brother, Dare, knew about, promises he’d made that last day in his mother’s final hour and not spoken of to anyone, not even Haviland. He and Dare had been with her, all three of them simply waiting, knowing the end was so very close, that all the sunshine, all the open windows letting in the crisp autumn afternoon, couldn’t hold back the inevitable. She was going on without them. They were grown men. They should have been able to handle the reality. But Archer’s own throat had been tight with emotion as it was now.

‘What did you promise her?’ his uncle prompted gently. Archer struggled to find words to tell this man he knew and yet didn’t know. ‘She said, “Promise me you will go to Giacomo, Archer. Go to my home. I think you will find what you’re looking for.”’ He was looking for so much. A father figure who could replace the one his father had become, a place of his own where he could be his own man as opposed to the second son, where he could live his own dreams among the horses.

‘This is a pilgrimage for you?’ Giacomo asked quietly.

‘In part,’ Archer confessed. ‘I come here to honour her, to remember her, to know who she was before she was my mother. But I have also come here for the future, for my future, to see what I can be.’ His mother had not told him explicitly to stay in Siena, but the idea suited him, this concept of striking out on his own and under his own power.

His uncle smiled, his grip on Archer’s hand tightening. ‘The past and future are often intertwined in this way. She was right to send you to us. You are a good son to honour her and you shall be like a son to me.’ Even if the past ten hours weren’t enough to confirm it, Archer knew from years of letters how his uncle and his wife had despaired of any children of their own.

Archer could see now, surrounded by the big brick home of the Riccis, how disappointing it must be for his uncle not to have the home filled with children. His uncle was a well-built man, tall in the tradition of the Riccis, but his temples were greying and his years for child rearing had passed. He was a local statesman now, his days consumed with running the family cloth business and training horses. Archer understood now with vivid clarity how his mother’s last wish had been a gift for him and for her brother. Even facing death, she’d thought about what would be best for the family, for others. He would not fail her.

* * *

Giacomo was smiling now, already planning. ‘There are people I want you to meet, places I want you to see. I’d like to show you around the contrada today if you’re up for it.’

‘I would like that, if it’s not too much trouble. I can show myself around,’ Archer offered. Perhaps there was a chance of running into Elisabeta. But he would like it in other ways too. It would give him time to spend getting to know this uncle of his. The warmth of his uncle’s welcome was overwhelming, the sincerity and emotion of it touched him. It reminded him of his mother, of the warmth she extended to everyone she met. She had been a generous woman in the way that his uncle was a generous man.

His uncle waved an adamant hand in the air. ‘No, no, it’s not any trouble. You are one of us. Everyone must understand that.’ Archer nodded graciously. His mother had warned him, had she not? In an Italian family, one was never alone, never ‘forced’ to make one’s way on one’s own. His uncle was not done with his plans. ‘Perhaps tomorrow, we can ride out to the country and see the horses. It is why you’ve come, isn’t it? Your mother mentioned you loved the animals in all of her letters.’

Archer smiled. Ah, this would be easier than he could have hoped. His uncle understood. ‘It is. I am interested in the Palio. I want to be part of it.’

Giacomo beamed and laughed out loud. ‘And so you will! I am the capitano this year,’ he said proudly. Archer felt the man study him for moment, dark eyes assessing. ‘Maybe I could appoint you as one of my mangini.’ He nodded as if the decision was made. ‘Yes, you would do nicely and it would give you a chance to learn about the race.’

The mangini were supporters of the capitano, his lieutenants in seeing his commands carried out. Archer knew it was a position of honour, but it was not what he’d hoped for himself. Archer leaned forward, holding his uncle’s eyes, amber-brown like his own, in all seriousness. ‘The honour would be mine. I will serve the contrada however I may, but I had hoped to offer myself to you as a rider.’ Surely his mother had mentioned his skills in that regard if she’d mentioned him in the letters that had been exchanged over the years.

‘A fantino?’ his uncle asked before shaking his head. ‘It is not possible. The riders are not from the contradas, or even from Siena.’ He gave another wave of his hand. ‘It makes it too difficult to arrange the partiti. It simply isn’t how it is done.’ Perhaps he saw Archer’s disappointment. He gave a gentle smile. ‘Everyone in the contrada is part of the Palio and you will be too, you will see. I will need you as a mangini, someone to help me with the Palio arrangements.’ He nodded, affirming his satisfaction over the arrangement.

It was not what Archer had wanted. He’d come all this way to ride in the Palio. He’d given up Haviland’s wedding to make the journey on time. But his uncle was done with the subject for the moment. He sat back in his seat. ‘You have your mother’s eyes, the Ricci eyes, and her chin.’ His tone softened and lowered. ‘My sister, your mother, was a beautiful woman. She stole hearts wherever she went, your father’s included, and his was not an easy one to steal. But he saw her and it was all over for him. I remember that summer as if it were yesterday; the grand English earl had come to Siena for the races to see the Italian champions, and he went home with a wife, the most beautiful woman in Tuscany.’

He gave a nostalgic sigh. ‘It was a heady summer, watching Vittoria in the throes of her courtship. It was a time full of victories and romance, and now the earl’s son has returned.’ He smiled benevolently at Archer. ‘Perhaps we will find you a wife too? Someone worthy of a Ricci, no?’

Archer tried to refuse politely. ‘My path is unclear to me. I don’t know that I’d be much of a catch at the moment.’ He didn’t need his aunt and the troops of his newly introduced female cousins matchmaking for him. Marriage was the last thing he wanted. He’d just gained his freedom, he didn’t need a wife. And yet his reckless conduct in the alley last night suggested he needed something. Had last night been about sowing wild oats, or had it been about a desire to make a connection?

His uncle drummed his fingers on the table, a knowing gleam in his eye. ‘Young men all think they know what they need. I know, I was a young man once too. That’s why young men have female relatives. Women can see what a man needs better than he can himself.’ His eyes moved to Archer’s empty plate. ‘If you’re finished eating, let us be off.

‘Have I completely overwhelmed you?’ Giacomo asked as they stepped out into the street and the sun.

Archer laughed, shading his eyes and appreciating the easy camaraderie that flowed between him and his uncle. He’d missed his friends during this last leg of the journey, even Nolan’s goading and endless wagers. It was good to be back among people he could trust. ‘You mean despite the fact that you’ve tried to get me married off in less than a day? And you’ve appointed me to be a mangini? Overwhelmed hardly begins to describe it. I am overcome with your generosity.’

‘That doesn’t please you?’ Giacomo asked as they turned towards the contrada’s central piazza.

‘It does please me, it’s just that I had hoped to ride,’ Archer confessed. He would be honest with his uncle. The sooner his uncle learned he was determined and wouldn’t accept no for an answer, the better. ‘Although I understand to be a mangini is a great honour,’ he added, not wanting to appear insulting.

‘Ah, I know the feeling. I would have loved to have ridden but it isn’t how it’s done for the Palio,’ his uncle commiserated. ‘The fantini don’t come from the contradas themselves. It’s no matter.’ Giacomo shrugged. ‘If Torre wins, you will still be a hero.’ He gave a mischievous wink. ‘The women will go crazy for you since you were part of the negotiation team that helped us win.’

They came out of the street into the piazza with its fountain. It was busier here, people starting to go about their daily errands. Although, Giacomo informed him, that wouldn’t last too long once the afternoon heat peaked. Everyone would retreat behind shuttered windows into cool stucco rooms for siestas. ‘My favourite part of the day with your zia.’ He gave Archer a knowing look. ‘In the evening everyone will come out again for strolling, la passegiatta, do you know it?’

He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Everyone strolls within their neighbourhood or in their allied neighbourhood.’ He pointed to a banner hanging on the wall of one of the tall buildings surrounding the piazza. It depicted an elephant in the foreground, a tall tower in the back, done in crimson. ‘That’s our symbol. We are Torre, the Tower.’

‘Does neighbourhood matter so much?’ Archer asked, thinking of Elisabeta and the neighbourhood he’d wandered into last night before finding his uncle.

Giacomo threw back his head and laughed. ‘The contrada is everything if you are Sienese. You are born into the neighbourhood. If you ask anyone who they are, they’ll tell you their neighbourhood first, city second. If you know someone’s neighbourhood, you know everything about them; who their allies are, what they do; most of us in Torre are in the wool trade. You know where they live, you know who their enemies are.’

‘Enemies? Really?’

‘Oh, yes.’ Giacomo was in earnest. They strolled the perimeter of the fountain, stopping occasionally to greet people and exchange a little news. ‘Valdimonte’s enemy is the Nicchio Contrada, Aquila’s enemy is Pantera and so on. Our enemy is Oca, which is rumoured to be striking an alliance with Pantera. Pantera won the July Palio.’

Archer did his best to follow Giacomo’s conversation. It was a lot to take in, especially in a second language. English families and English neighbourhoods were far simpler entities by contrast. He wondered which neighbourhood he’d stumbled into last night? Would that make Elisabeta an ally or an enemy? ‘Do contradas ever intermarry?’

Giacomo gave him a keen look. ‘Of course, but during the Palio, husbands and wives often separate and go home to their own neighbourhoods.’ He grinned and wagged a finger at Archer. ‘You will learn. It’s the contrada above all else. My Bettina, though, your zia, was the old priore’s daughter so we are never separated.’ There was no mistaking the pride in Giacomo’s voice in having married a Torre woman. This was a new world indeed, his mother’s world, Archer reminded himself. She’d grown up in the contrada.

Giacomo clapped him on the back. ‘Do you have your eye on a pretty signorina already? Perhaps you refused my help because you have spied a pretty girl for yourself?’

Archer was tempted to tell him about Elisabeta, but thought better of it. If she had been from an enemy contrada it would only make trouble if he pursued her. Anyway, he wasn’t looking for a permanent relationship. But that didn’t stop him from thinking about her as they stepped into a few shops to meet some of the family’s especial friends. Was Elisabeta out in her neighbourhood doing errands? Talking with shopkeepers? Was she with friends? Another man?

Had he merely been an escape for her? Maybe he’d merely been part of a fantasy or the madness of the summer night? She’d not wanted to be followed. There were only so many reasons for that; none of them suggested she was unattached and free to make her own decisions. He should let it be and accept it for what it was: a few glorious moments. Yet, the thoughts persisted. Where was she? What was she doing? Archer chuckled to himself. He knew already he couldn’t just let it go. Against his better judgement, he was going to find her.

* * *

She was picking petals off a rose like a silly school girl. ‘He loves me, he loves me not.’ The foolishness made her laugh. Elisabeta snipped the roses and put them in her basket. To be honest, love had nothing to do with it. All right, then, she amended: he lusts me, he lusts me not. Even here in her uncle’s garden in the full light of day, thoughts of last night managed to bring a blush to her cheeks and a heat to her body that had nothing to do with the sun. Those thoughts made her want.

More.

Of him.

Pleasure once tasted was proving to be a potent elixir with a power, she suspected, to addict. Once was not enough. What a lovely addiction that would be. What an unexpected one. When she’d sought out her stranger, she’d not expected this wanting as a consequence. He was to remain a stranger, a man to whom she had no ties. But she’d come away with a name and a longing to have him again. Already, she was wondering if that name would be enough to find him. Over breakfast she’d reasoned an English name couldn’t be terribly hard to find among all of these Italian names. Nor was Siena so big that she wouldn’t be apt to run into him if she went to the city centre often enough. Surely, those odds would be in her favour if she chose to exercise them.

By the time she’d wandered out to the garden to pick flowers, the issue was no longer a question of finding him, but a question of did she truly want to? Her curiosity said yes. It was her curiosity that had driven her to distraction this morning with its questions filling her mind: Where was he now? What was he doing? Had he woken to thoughts of her? Had he dreamt of her? Did he too regret their veiled identities?

Then again, perhaps it was better to wonder than to know. The pleasure he’d offered might only have been the luck of the night, the work of the stars and summer magic. Surely such pleasure was not commonplace? It most certainly didn’t happen all the time. She’d lived her entire marriage without it and she would likely live through another without it, proof enough that Archer’s pleasures could not be conjured on a whim nor by just any man or woman. It would be a shame to have him again only to be disappointed by the ordinary nature of their lovemaking. Better to let him become memory.

‘Cousin! There you are. I’ve been calling for you.’ Giuliano came striding down the path, playful mischief sparking in his dark eyes. ‘Have we been daydreaming over our handsome stranger?’ he teased. ‘You were quick to disappear last night.’

She gave Giuliano a saucy grin in return, her good spirits making her reckless. ‘I told you I’d have him.’

Giuliano leaned in close, a grin on his face. ‘And did you? Have him?’

Elisabeta gave him a light punch on the arm. ‘You’re wicked. Besides, a lady never tells.’ She paused and gave him a considering look. ‘What of the lovely Widow Rossi? Did you have her?’

Giuliano groaned and had the good grace to look down at the ground. ‘Point taken.’ But a moment later any penitence he felt over probing into her personal affairs had vanished. ‘Will you see him again?’

Elisabeta shrugged and moved on to a new collection of flowers, trying to keep her actions nonchalant. She did not want to give too much away to Giuliano. He was reckless and there was no telling what he might do. ‘Of course not. We didn’t exchange enough information for that.’

Giuliano followed her, far too astute in the games of amore to take her response as a direct or even accurate answer. His voice was low now, his tone compelling. ‘But would you? If you could?’

Elisabeta fixed her cousin with a cool stare, trying to keep her pulse from racing. ‘What do you know?’

‘There’s an Englishman in town. There was word of it when I ran my errands this morning. He’s the nephew of Giacomo Ricci, the horse trainer who lives in Torre.’

The information was better than a name and it was worse. She could find him, she knew who his people were and where. But it didn’t help her cause. Her eyes held Giuliano’s and a silent message passed between them. Both of them were serious now. Love stopped being a game once the contradas were involved.

She could go to Archer. But did she dare? Beside her, Giuliano gave a short nod. ‘It’s probably best your answer is no.’ The Oca contrada’s sworn enemy was Torre and while that might not matter to her uncle, it would matter to her future husband’s contrada.

‘Then why did you tell me? I do not think of you as generally unkind,’ Elisabeta scolded quietly. Perhaps it was far crueller to know she could not have him. It was not like Giuliano to tease meanly.

He ducked his head. ‘Forgive me. Last night you said you were desirous of avoiding your engagement. I thought only to give you a choice, Cousin.’

‘Your father would never forgive me.’ Elisabeta played idly with the stems of the flowers in her basket.

‘My father need not know,’ Giuliano countered. ‘You have done your duty for the family in marrying Lorenzo. You may even do it again in another marriage very soon, but in the interim, perhaps you owe yourself some pleasure?’ The argument was so very compelling, maybe because it was the same argument she’d made with herself. To hear it validated by another made it all the more persuasive.

‘No one can know,’ Elisabeta said out loud, more to herself than to Giuliano, but it was Giuliano who replied.

‘He is English. He is not one of us. He will leave. He will be a thousand miles away. While you think it over, say you’ll come with me to see the horses for the August Palio. Father wants me to go out to the farm tomorrow.’

Elisabeta barely heard the invitation. She was too focused on the unspoken rationale. No one will ever know. Suddenly the risk seemed minimal against all that stood to be gained. Only two questions remained: Did she dare? What would she risk to see Archer again? And perhaps more importantly, what did it mean to her and why? What had started out as a spontaneous dare had taken on something much deeper and more significant if she cared to explore it.