10. Secrets Unravel

CHAPTER 10

SECRETS UNRAVEL

M eanwhile, outside the parlor

Nicoletta hurried to the end of the corridor and out of sight from the parlor doors when she realized Donald’s meeting with her father had ended.

She had been surprised when he didn’t ask to see her when he had arrived the hour before. She knew he had come to the house. Knew his plan to ask her father for her hand in marriage.

Had something gone wrong? Had her father denied him?

Once Donald had taken his leave of House D’Avalos, she rushed to a window overlooking the courtyard and watched him as he made his way to the iron gate. Not once did he look back.

When she turned, she gave a start when she discovered her father standing not far behind her. “Father,” she said. “Did he ask permission to marry me?”

“He did,” he acknowledged.

Nicoletta blinked when he didn’t say more. “What did you say to him?”

Enrico merely shrugged. “I told him I would consider his request. He will be at the ball this evening. I shall give him my answer then.”

Exhaling the breath she had been holding, Nicoletta nodded her understanding. “Thank you, Father. I do love him,” she admitted, hoping to reinforce what Donald had told him in their meeting. “And he loves me.”

Chuckling softly, Enrico said, “Ah, young love. I remember it well.” He sobered. “See to it your hair is styled appropriately for the Montblanc ball, and do wear your very best gown.”

Nicoletta’s eyes rounded. “Of course, Father,” she said, her heart racing at the thought that this would be the night her betrothal was announced. Everyone in the aristocracy would be present for the marchese’s ball. He rarely entertained, but when he did, Montblanc spared no expense. There would a quintet playing the dancing music and a midnight supper, the food the finest in all of Catania.

She bobbed a curtsy and hurried off to her room to summon her lady’s maid.

She couldn’t help but feel giddy.

E arlier that morning, while Donald was being led to the parlor

Armenia regarded her brother with narrowed eyes, her hands on her hips and her bearing suggesting the conte was in for a scolding.

“How could you?” she asked in a low voice. “Did you think I would not discover what you’ve done? That Mancino would not tell me what he knew?”

Enrico audibly sighed and waved her into the parlor. “I wondered why you came home early,” he said, returning to the same chair he had occupied whilst Donald had been in his presence.

“I have ended the affaire ,” she said. “He has too many lovers in Naples. Younger lovers,” she said, struggling to keep anger from sounding in her voice. She had known her liaisons with Conte Mancino in Taormina would someday end. She hadn’t expected it to be so soon, though. The conte had been her lover for over a decade. “Besides, I wish to attend Montblanc’s ball this evening.” She inhaled and held the breath a moment, as if preparing for a battle. “Why did you sell the villa in Roma?”

Enrico made his displeasure with her evident. “I had to do it,” he said, his voice tinged with anger. “I had no funds. No way to pay the bills,” he added. “Would you rather live in the streets?”

“But why the villa in Roma? You could have sold this …” she said with contempt, spreading her arms to indicate House D’Avalos. “Roma is our home . Our heritage,” she went on, tears streaming down her face.

Falling into the nearest chair, Enrico huffed. “There is no money here, Armenia. No one wants a two-hundred-and-fifty-year-old villa in the heart of Catania,” he argued. “But in Roma…” He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. “I have funds again. Money to last the rest of my life.”

Her arms hugging her body, Armenia settled onto the velvet settee. “You’re a bastard,” she spat out. “You should have talked with me about it.”

Enrico chuckled, his laugh sounding maniacal. “As it turns out, I am not the bastard.”

Armenia stiffened. “What are you saying?” she asked, her gaze going to the worn Turkish carpet in an effort to control her anger.

“When I was in Roma, I found a copy of the English book about their noble families,” he said. “I looked up Donald Slater and the Devonville marquessate.”

Swallowing hard, his sister finally looked up. “Oh? And what did you discover?”

“What I think you knew all along,” he accused. “That Mr. Slater is nothing more than a mister ,” he spat out. “And will never be a marquess. The boy is a bastard .”

Determined she not cower in his presence, Armenia lifted her chin. “His father has always acknowledged him as his own,” she countered. “You cannot hold those circumstances against him. He is a good man. He loves Nicoletta, and she loves him,” she went on.

Enrico waved a hand dismissively. “Love, love,” he chided. “My Nikky will not be marrying him,” he stated.

Armenia’s eyes rounded. “You won’t,” she said under her breath.

He gave a start. “I won’t what ?”

“Marry her to another.”

“I will,” he stated. “She is to marry Montblanc. No later than the first day of spring,” he claimed. “The betrothal will be announced this evening.”

Knowing her anger might have her evicted from House D’Avalos, Armenia stood and was about to march out of the parlor when she paused. “Does she know that?”

Her brother lifted a shoulder in a careless shrug. “She will when she hears of it this evening.”

For a moment, Armenia thought of what she could do for the young couple. Wondered if she could sneak Nicoletta out of the house and arrange for her and Donald to escape Catania. Put them on a ship headed north.

Practicality gave her pause, though. Where would they go? What would life be like for a couple on the run from an arranged marriage to a powerful marchese?

Could Donald even support a wife? If he could pay for Nicoletta’s passage to England, what sort of life would she have there? Would his family accept her? Would they have a villa of their own? Servants?

Or would she be forced to live the life of a commoner?

Frustration had her fuming in silence before she finally let out a howl. Grabbing the nearest ceramic vase, she hurled it at her brother. He easily ducked the flying pot, but it impacted the edge of the fireplace and shattered. “You bastard !” she cried out.

The rest of Armenia’s curses for her brother went unheard until she reached her bedchamber, at which point she let out another howl of desperation and sank onto her bed as the tears once again fell.