Page 80 of Tempted By the English Marquis
But he wasn’t Italian, and nor was he a member of Rome’s elite. Enzo would gain little power by agreeing to let Serafina marry an Englishman. There was also the weighty issue of him not being Catholic.
Perhaps I am coming at this the wrong way. She doesn’t have to marry Signore Magri. No one is going to put a pistol to her head if she says no. What about if she simply leaves?
The notion of eloping, while the stuff of romance, was inherently dangerous. Angry fathers tended to view such things in a poor light. Added to that was the fact that he was hundreds of miles away from home in a foreign country where he didn’t speak the language.
And the people who run the main shipping company between here and London are the very same people who we would be fleeing from.
He was going to have to find a way to speak to Enzo. Make him understand that Serafina’s happiness was important. And that her future lay not with some aged patrician, but with him.
The guards at the front door of Palazzo Lazio greeted him with their sharp halberds and challenging cries. Gideon stood his ground, shaking his head when they laughed at their own jest and opened the door for him.
He had barely made it inside and was still crossing the ornate foyer when Augusta suddenly appeared at the end of the next gallery. “Oh, thank heavens, you have returned,” she said.
Heart thumping hard in his chest, Gideon made his way over to his sister. It took all of his self-control to maintain an air of mild interest. Panicking wouldn’t solve anything.
“Good afternoon, G. How are things?”
Damn. She looks worried about something. I hope it’s not Serafina.
He moved closer, taking her by the hand. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Mama. She has returned home early from Tivoli. When I asked her why, she became quite upset; I’ve never seen her cry like that before. She wouldn’t talk to me—said only you could possibly understand.”
The duchess’s timing couldn’t have been worse. Gideon was torn between his mother and the woman he loved. “Is Mama in her room?”
“Yes. I left her a short while ago. Then I went to sit with Serafina. She is feeling much better than she was last night.”
Thank heavens she made it back.
“If you see Serafina, please give her my best regards. It’s good to know she is on the mend.”
Right then, there was little he could do about Serafina. They were in the palace and the rules regarding their conduct toward one another applied. There wouldn’t be any further opportunities for private moments or even a brushing of fingers. Not until he had managed to speak to Enzo and get him to understand that his daughter wanted a different life from the one her father had chosen.
Upstairs, Gideon made his way to his mother’s private rooms. She had been given a generous suite with a private sitting room, as well as a balcony which overlooked the gardens.
Reaching the door, he knocked, then waited. As far as he was concerned, the same rules applied here as they did at Mowbray House. No Kembal offspring ever entered their parents’ rooms without permission.
The duchess opened the door. For the first time since Gideon had arrived in Rome, his mother appeared less sure of herself. She, too, had been crying—her eyes bore the tell-tale puffiness of a solid session of weeping. Gideon gritted his teeth. Lady Anne rarely wept, and for her to look as disheveled and sad as she did, things must be bad.
“Mama,” he ventured.
They might have been at war, but this moment called for him to be the caring, loving son she needed. The duchess ushered him into the room, then closed and locked the door.
“Have a seat. Would you like some tea? I had the kitchens make up a pot a little while ago. It should still be warm enough.”
Gideon shook his head. “No, thank you. I have developed a bit of a taste for coffee since I arrived.”Amongst other things.
The duchess sat on the sofa which was close to the open French doors. The afternoon sun streamed in, warming the room. It really was a pleasant place. He could almost understand his mother’s reluctance to leave.
After picking up one of the chairs from the breakfast table which sat in the nook to one side of the balcony, Gideon carried it over then set it down a little way back from where his mother sat. He wanted to be close but not have her feeling as if he was standing over her.
“I thought you were going to be away at Tivoli with your gentleman friend until the end of the week,” he said, lowering himself into the chair.
There was no point in messing about with words. His mother had never been one for tiptoeing around delicate matters. She was more concerned with problems and how they could be solved.
“Signore Arosio is many things, but a gentleman he is not.”
Cold dread gripped tightly at Gideon’s chest. What had happened to his mother? Images of him firing a pistol at this man’s heart leapt into his mind. Family honor would have to be defended.
