9. A Meeting with a Father

CHAPTER 9

A MEETING WITH A FATHER

T en days later, Catania

The rain-slick lava blocks making up the thin streets of Catania didn’t slow Donald’s hurried steps as he made his way to House D’Avalos. He had decided today would be the day he would ask the conte for his daughter’s hand in marriage.

Upon their return from Taormina, they had discovered the conte gone, a servant informing them he would return in a few days. An invitation to a ball hosted by Richard Malgeri, Marchese Montblanc, was waiting for Donald at his lodgings, and he thought it best he secure permission to marry Nicoletta. Perhaps their betrothal could be announced at the marchese’s ball later that evening.

When he arrived at House D’Avalos, he was surprised to see a traveling coach in the courtyard. He recognized the crest on the door—the House of Mancino.

Had Armenia already returned?

From what she had told them when they had traveled to Taormina—she expected to stay for three months—he wondered if something had happened to shorten her trip.

“Is Conte D’Avalos in residence?” he asked when the butler appeared at the door.

“He has returned, but I don’t know if he is taking callers,” the servant said, stepping aside to allow him entrance.

“I can wait,” Donald said, prepared to do so in a parlor. “Is Lady Armenia already back in residence?”

“She is. She arrived late last night,” the butler replied, leading him up the steps. “I did not ask about her travels as she seemed… preoccupied.”

From the servant’s expression and arched brow, Donald had the distinct impression something was wrong. A moment later, raised voices—those of Armenia and her brother—sounded from above when the butler opened the door to the first-floor parlor.

Donald stiffened. “Perhaps… I should call again later,” he murmured.

“Lady Nicoletta is expecting you.”

Heartened to hear it, Donald nodded and made his way to a chair. “I will wait.”

When the butler exited, he left the door open. Donald could clearly hear Armenia scolding her brother. From the words he could make out between her sobs and angry curses, he realized she had indeed returned to Catania earlier than she planned.

“I had no choice,” he heard the conte yell. “The coffers were empty.”

The sound of crashing pottery punctuated Armenia’s response as did a slamming door.

Thinking to simply return the following day, Donald was about to rise to make his way out of the parlor when the conte suddenly appeared.

“Lord D’Avalos. So good of you to see me,” Donald said, quickly coming to his feet to bow.

Enrico nodded. “I did not intend for you to return Nikky to an empty house. I was called away to Roma the day after your departure and only returned last night.”

A trip that had happened that quickly was no doubt due to an emergency. It would have taken over two days by ship. “I hope all is well in Rome?” Donald replied, returning to his chair when the conte took a seat in the adjacent chair.

“It is now,” the conte said. “I have rid myself of a costly property in exchange for a generous price.”

“Ah,” Donald replied. “Then congratulations are in order.”

“ Grazie .” The conte poured a heavy dollop of vermouth into a tumbler and offered it to Donald. “I am surprised you have paid a call on me and not on Nikky,” he said.

Surprised to be offered a drink so early in the day, Donald gingerly took the glass and waited until the conte had poured one for himself. “I wished to speak with you about Lady Nicoletta,” he replied.

“Oh?”

“I wish to ask your permission to marry her,” he said.

The conte didn’t show any surprise at hearing the words. “I am aware you already proposed to her,” he said before taking a sip of his drink.

Donald winced. “I did. In the gardens in Taormina,” he admitted. “I am quite in love with her, my lord, and I believe she loves me.”

“Oh, she does. Or, at least, she thinks she does,” Enrico replied.

Hearing the challenge in the man’s voice, Donald stiffened. “She does, my lord.”

“Tell me, Mr. Slater. Does she know that you are not the heir to the Devonville marquessate?”

Donald straightened in his chair, immediately realizing the conte had learned he was a bastard. Had Armenia told him? “If she knows, it is not because I have mentioned it,” he admitted. “My brother has that honor.”

“Your younger brother,” D’Avalos stated.

“Yes,” Donald acknowledged. “My father was a commander in the British Navy when I was born and did not marry my mother until he completed his service to Crown and country.”

“So you admit you are a bastard?”

He nodded. “I do. I have never denied it. But I can assure you, your daughter will never be in want of anything. She will be most welcome in England?—”

“You planned to take her to England?” D’Avalos asked in disbelief.

Noting the past tense version of the word, Donald stiffened. “If she wishes it,” he replied, wincing when he realized the conte had already made up his mind about him.

Or had he?

“I will think on your question and make my decision soon,” Enrico said before draining his drink. “In the meantime, have you planned to attend Montblanc’s ball this evening? His villa in Via Dei Crociferi is not one to be missed,” he added, referring to a street featuring some of the most beautiful homes in all of Catania.

Donald nodded. “I did receive an invitation. I had hoped for a dance or two with Lady Nicoletta.”

“Very good. We will see you there.”

Realizing he was being dismissed, Donald stood and bowed to the conte. “Until then, my lord.”

While Donald took his leave of House D’Avalos, he was unaware he was being watched.