Destiny's Bride Page 9
As I told you before, he is so interesting and knows so much about the history and art of his native country that I am learning a great deal I would not have learned in all the guidebooks and histories I could read about Italy.
At the day's end he thanked me profusely for sharing our Christmas with him, kissed my hand in the Continental manner, and invited me to call him "Pietro," since "Signor Orsini" seemed too formal for friends.
I hesitate to do so, especially in front of the little girls who are, after all, his students. But perhaps, when we are in private conversation, it would be all right. What do you think, Mama?
Ever your loving daughter,
Druscilla
February 1884
Dearest Mama,
Randall announced we were to go to Pompeii this week, so I prepared the girls with the story of that fateful city so that they would understand better what we were about to see.
I thought I had prepared myself, too, but it was a fearful experience. Our guide pointed out that the ruts in the street were actually made by the chariot wheels of those who were attempting to escape from the lava flow. What must it have been like on that terrible day when the volcano erupted and poured streams of molten fire through the hills and over the town as people tried to flee? How awful to have one's life snuffed out in a single moment of horror!
I was quite subdued on the trip back. I could only think how suddenly life can end. It didn't matter if the Pompeiians were happy or unhappy that day. In a flash everything was over for them!
Naturally, Alair came to mind and how one day she was vibrantly alive, out riding her beloved horse, and the next she was dead!
We must, I think, enjoy each day, each minute we're alive, and above all be kind and loving to everyone. Life is too short for disagreements and estrangements!
Ever your loving daughter,
Druscilla
March 1884
Dearest Mama,
I know it has been a long time since my last letter. My only excuse is that each day seems to hold more than the last. We have taken several short trips that I can only briefly mention, since description of the beauties of these ancient cities seems inadequate at best.
Still, I would be remiss if I failed to tell you about Rome, the Eternal City! What a profound experience! Pietro—Signor Orsini—has been so gracious to escort me to some of its most famous landmarks, and his knowledge adds such a personal touch. The light in Rome is so different from anything I've ever seen that it is no wonder it inspired so many great works of art! The mellow gold from the dome of St. Peter's Cathedral touches all the buildings, the walls, the pillars with a dreamlike quality. Even the River Tiber seems made of liquid amber.
The Sistine Chapel was beyond my wildest dreams—the scope, the figures, the exquisite detail. And the fact that Michelangelo painted most of it while lying on his back!
We went to Florence again. Some friends of Randall were going, so he wanted us along. This time I got away for an afternoon, since they had brought their governess for their children—a boy and a girl about the same age as Nora and Lally. I went to Uffizi, but it was so crowded with other tourists it was hard to appreciate the pictures.
Randall asked me to dine with them, but I refused, saying I preferred to be with the children. He seemed annoyed, but he doesn't realize that he places me in an awkward position with people who think a governess is little more than a servant. Even though he always introduces me as his children's cousin, I feel more comfortable to retain my independence—and my dignity.
Having said that, you will understand how I feel about the next piece of information. The Elliotts have come to Rome! You remember my telling you of that mother and daughter? Well, they have leased a villa quite near ours, and I assume there will be much visiting and entertaining back and forth.
I know you think I am being uncharitable, Mama, and perhaps I am. I should be more faithful in my daily devotional reading and remind myself frequently of how Paul admonishes us to treat our "enemies." (I'm not sure why I used that word in regard to the Elliotts!)
To turn to a much pleasanter topic, I must tell you of a rare and beautiful experience Pietro made possible. One day as he was leaving after our Italian lesson, he asked if I would like to see the Colosseum.
"Oh, yes, indeed!" I replied. "It is the one place all Christians count as the most important building in Rome—the place where Christian martyrs died for their faith."
At this, Pietro looked somewhat embarrassed. Then he corrected me very gently, "Actually, the martyrs did not perish in the Colosseum. This was the arena where entertainment for the Caesars was held—the great spectacles, the circuses, the gladiator fights, chariot races—"
So much for pietistic pronouncements from the uninformed!
Well, Mama, needless to say, it was an unprecedented experience. The Colosseum is huge, having a seating capacity of over five thousand people at one time. It makes all you have read of the history of that period come alive.
I must stop for now. God bless and keep you, dearest. Give my love to Aunt Nell, and to the Camerons when you see them and Aunt Garnet, too, if she's visiting in Mayfield.
Ever your loving daughter,
Druscilla
chapter
12
WHAT I DIDN'T CONFIDE to Mama in my last letter to her were the true circumstances of my visit to the Colosseum. And of course I wouldn't dream of telling her what happened upon my arrival back at Villa Florabella!
Properly chastened by Pietro's greater knowledge of early Christian history, I was a little taken aback when I realized we would be visiting the ancient ruin together.
"There is a full moon this week, Signorina Dru," he told me happily. "It is one of the loveliest sights possibly in the world."
Perhaps it was rash to accept his invitation, perhaps even improper, but I was already committed. He would call for me at nine the following evening. I had many second thoughts, as well as some fluttery misgivings. On the other hand, it would hurt Pietro's feelings if I made some flimsy excuse now.
The children were sound asleep, with Rosalba knitting in the next room, when I slipped out of the house and down to the gates to await Pietro's arrival. I worried that he had spent more money than he could afford to hire a carriage, but it was too late to fret about that.
Randall was out for the evening—to the Elliotts' I think—although I certainly did not question him about his plans when he came up to say good-night to Nora and Lally, since I was unwilling to discuss my own.
To see the Colosseum by moonlight surpassed anything I have yet experienced. Seen in the mysterious, silvery light, its vastness was almost overpowering. Looking down the pyramided rows into the cavernous depths, I was thrust back in space and time—imagining the roar of the crowds, the thunder of racing horses' hooves, the pulsing frenzy of the crowds!
We stayed there much longer than I realized. Pietro, always sensitive, had remained a little apart from me as I had sat on one of the stones high above the amphitheater, deeply moved by my experience. So many thoughts rushed through my head as I recalled what had taken place in this spot—all the lives of all the people who had come there as spectators, all the history these crumbling stones had witnessed. Whether or not the martyrdom of the saints had actually occurred within these walls, the beginnings of Christianity were vitally linked to this place.
We were both quiet as we rode back to the villa. The moon had risen high by the time we reached the gates, the tall cypress trees casting elongated shadows upon the stucco walls surrounding the villa.
"Let me out here, Pietro," I said as he reined the horse. "And thank you so much—gratia—"
Pietro turned toward me, the moon illuminating the contours of his handsome face, obscuring the dark eyes. Before I knew what was happening, he took my hand and pressed it against his cheek, murmuring something in Italian. I could understand only one phrase: "Cara mia."
I drew in my breath as Pietro turned my hand over and kiss
ed my palm. The feel of his lips sent a shiver all through me, and I drew it gently away.
"Have I offended?" he asked. "I meant only to convey how much I care for you— It gives me such happiness just to be with you."
"Oh, Pietro—Signor Orsini, you mustn't—"
"Forgive me. I could not help myself. If I have offended—"
"No, it's not that, it's—" I stumbled over my words, not knowing what to say. "I must go in now. It is very late." I was breathless, confused. This was something I had not expected, though perhaps I should not have been so hopelessly naïve.
He got out, came around the other side, and gently helped me down. "Mia—Dru—" he began, and I rushed to halt any further declarations.
"I must hurry now. Thank you again. We'll see you on Monday for lessons." With that, I pushed through the gate and hurried along the shadowy tree-lined road and into the garden.
Even though the night was warm, I was shivering. This had been a highly emotional evening—my almost spiritual experience at the Colosseum, then the unexpected scene with Pietro. How would this change things? I hoped it would not make our lesson times together uncomfortable. I had not allowed him to continue whatever he might have wanted to say, for I wasn't sure I was ready to hear more.
So intent was I upon my own turbulent emotions that I was halfway up the terrace steps on my way into the house when a tall figure blocked my way.
"Well, Miss Montrose, what brings you out in the moonlight? A late errand, or a rendezvous with a lover?"
Startled, I nearly stumbled and a strong hand grasped my elbow to steady me. It was Randall. I could not see his face in the shadows so I couldn't tell if he were angry or amused. His voice was tinged with the sarcasm I'd noticed so often—sometimes directed at himself, sometimes at others.
"Oh, sir!" I gasped. "Neither! I mean, I have just been—" I stopped then as a fearful possibility struck me. "The children? Lally and Nora, they are—nothing is wrong?"
"Not at all, Miss Montrose. They're sleeping like angels, with the watchful Rosalba at their bedside. I did not mean to imply you were remiss in your duties. I went up earlier to discuss an idea with you and was surprised to be told you were out for the evening."
I had regained some of my composure now and was relieved that everything was as it should be. So I could ask more calmly, "And that is? Your idea, sir?" I hoped to bypass any explanation about where I had been and with whom. But Randall was not that easily diverted.
"It is something we can take up at another time," he said brusquely and walked along with me toward the doors leading inside, holding one open for me.
"And did you have a pleasant evening?" he asked.
In a way, his curiosity rather amused me.
We walked through the foyer and, at the stairway leading to the second floor, I paused. One hand resting on the broad marble balustrade, I replied, "Yes, very," then added, "I hope yours was pleasant, as well."
Randall's dark eyes flashed, and I saw the tensing of his strong jaw. At the same time I could not help thinking how splendid he looked in his evening clothes.
"Well, it wasn't!" he retorted. "Another evening of twiddle-twaddle, inane gossip, and shallow conversation!"
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"Well, it's no concern of yours. No more than what you do with your free time is mine," he growled.
His vehemence surprised me. I was under the impression that the social whirl was something he thoroughly relished. In fact, his reply so astonished me that I blurted out the next thought that came into my head. "I'm sorry . . . especially since I have just had the most remarkable experience. I have just seen the Colosseum by moonlight."
Randall's frown only deepened. "Not alone, I assume, not by the bedazzled expression on your face. I suppose you saw it with that Italian tutor I was foolish enough to engage."
My indignation rose as quickly as the color stained my cheeks. But I drew myself up in my most dignified manner and replied coolly, "If there is nothing else you wish to discuss, I'll say good-night."
Immediately Randall's attitude changed. "I beg your pardon, Miss Montrose. My remark was entirely uncalled-for. My apology. I repeat, your private life is your own, and it was out of line to question it in any way." He stepped forward, then halted. "I am in your debt for the excellent way you have taken over the care of Nora and Lally. You are very important to them and—" he hesitated before adding— "and to me."
With a slight bow, he said, "Good night, Miss Montrose," and walked in the direction of the grand salon, leaving me both shaken and bewildered.
chapter
13
IN THE WEEKS that followed that incident, it seemed that Randall's attitude toward me changed subtly. He was pleasant and much less moody when he visited our wing of the villa, and he stayed longer, showing an interest in the girls' progress to an extent I had not noticed before. He asked questions, not always directly concerned with the children—questions about my own childhood, my education at Cameron Hall. He seemed especially interested in those phases of my upbringing that dealt with the traditional training of a Southern lady.
While I found myself intrigued by his complex personality, I realized again that such fascination held danger. Sometimes, lulled by a rare glimpse of a gender side, I would entertain a fantasy that our relationship could be something more than employer and employee. Then, just as suddenly, there would be that flash of lightning-quick temper, his mood as dark as storm clouds, and any hope I had of knowing what lay beneath the surface of the man vanished.
I never allowed myself to fantasize long, however—never asked myself the question that hovered in my heart.
To be realistic about any foolish thoughts about Randall, I had only to observe what was going on around me. The Elliotts were very much in evidence that spring. Invitations flowed between the two villas.
Whenever Peggy and her formidable mother were visiting, Randall always brought them, either to the schoolroom or out to the garden where I was with the children. It was here I could see clearly the net the beautiful young woman and her mother were weaving about Randall.
I tried to be reserved but pleasant, all the while seething inside over their condescending manner toward me. I noticed Randall did not enter into their conversation with Nora and Lally, just stood there a little apart, smiling to himself. Could not he see what they were doing? Trying to win the hearts of these innocent little things, pretending an interest in what they were saying? It infuriated me even as I chastised myself for being critical.
One such day, watching a performance of such proportion by the Elliotts that it could have almost been a satirical play, I happened to glance at Randall. Was I mistaken, or did his eyelid close in a furtive wink when he caught my eye?
Of course, I could not be sure. But from that moment I began to suspect that the Elliotts' motives might be more transparent to him than I had at first imagined.
Still, the morning horseback rides continued, as well as the afternoon sight-seeing tours, the teas, the dinners, the fetes and opera-going. Whether he enjoyed it all or not—as he had indicated that night when he met me coming home from the Colosseum—he continued to go.
In the meantime, my friendship with Pietro developed and deepened. It became a very special kind of bond. In our walks and talks I had learned more of his family background, and how even though their politics were sharply opposed, Pietro loved his father and missed the close family ties. Poverty was new to him, and I empathized with his struggles, having known it firsthand myself.
We had much in common and delighted in the things we shared, never mentioning the wide differences that separated us.
Pietro was an incomparable companion. His English was nearly flawless, for he had studied it at the University and, since I needed practice in Italian, we conversed in both languages. He had a love of art and a knowledge about the famous painters, their works, and their lives. To visit a gallery with him was an unforgettable experience. Since the girls took na
ps or rested during the hottest part of the day, I often took that time to go with Pietro to some of the places they would not have particularly enjoyed.
Soon it became a weekly outing for the two of us. My memories of Rome are all linked to those afternoons—strolling in the Borghese Gardens, climbing the Spanish Steps to visit the golden church with its double towers, tossing coins into the magnificent Trevi Fountain, and laughing with the crowd as the little boys jumped in searching for them while watchful constables gave chase.
Pietro, like all Italians, loved music. Of course, he could not afford to go to the opera now, but he would tell me the plots of all Verdi's great ones, and hum the arias. Whatever we did together was complete enjoyment.
When the summer heat became intense, Randall announced we would spend the next six weeks in Switzerland. I was always amazed at how rich people have all the details of traveling arranged for them. They merely decide and everything is taken care of—the train reservations, the packing, the managing of all the small annoyances of moving from one residence to another. The actual transportation is carried out with greatest ease and comfort.
Soon we were in a first-class compartment moving along the breathtaking vistas of the Italian Alps, then finally merging into the fairy-tale land of crystal lakes, the sheer beauty of glistening snowpeaked mountains, flower-filled meadows, cerulean blue skies.
When I had told Pietro we would be gone for over a month, he seemed upset. It was the first time since our midnight viewing of the Colosseum that he took my hand, covered it with kisses, and then said, "I shall miss you very much, cam mia. I will be lost without you."
When I tried to withdraw my hand, he clasped it firmly, looked deeply into my eyes, and spoke in his soft, musical voice. "Have you ever wondered, Dru, why you came to Italy? Why we happened to meet? Have you not a clear vision of destiny?"