Page 44 of The Vagabond Viscount
She met Serafina downstairs in the foyer. The moment their gazes met, her friend drew Augusta to one side. “What’s wrong? You seem upset?”
Augusta glanced over at the guards standing either side of the door. She had been told that they couldn’t speak a word of English, but over the months that she had been living at Palazzo Lazio, she had begun to have her doubts. There were times when she had said something to either her mother or Serafina in English, and she could have sworn the guards were not only listening, but they understood her every word.
“It’s nothing. Mama is just in one of her moods. Again.”
Serafina gave a brief nod. Like everyone else in the palace, she had borne witness to the Duchess of Mowbray and her various moods. Between Lady Anne and Serafina’s own mother, Donna Francesca, the two women had a stranglehold on displays of haughty outrage.
“Are you sure?” pressed Serafina.
Her friend knew her all too well. Days when Augusta’s worry and grief over Viscount Cadnam were at their worst, she was the one who sought to offer comfort. The afternoons where the two of them sat quietly reading in one of the palace’s sunlit rooms were precious—they helped keep her grief at bay. When the time came that she and Lady Anne did finally leave for England, Serafina would be the one thing Augusta would miss the most.
“Yes, just a little disagreement with my mother. Nothing to worry about. Are we still heading to the Easter sermon at Saint Peter’s?”
“Of course. Then we are going to find some food and wine, and while away the rest of the day until the fireworks this evening,” replied Serafina. As her gaze drifted to the bodyguards who were standing waiting, a sly smile crept to her lips. “I had a private word with them earlier, and after I made the offer of a small bribe, they said they would be willing to accidentally lose us later in the afternoon.”
Not long after she and the duchess had arrived in Rome, Augusta’s mother had agreed to let her daughter wander the streets of Rome with her friend, just as long as they had the armed palace bodyguards following them. The halberd-bearing guards provided a similar protection service to the one that the Mowbray House footmen did in London, but to Augusta’s disappointment, they refused to carry packages or open doors. And while it was good to have the protection of the guards whenever they were out in the city, their constant presence was stifling at times.
In the cool Easter morning sunshine, Augusta wrapped her hooded cloak around her shoulders and tied it at her throat. It would take them close to an hour to make their way up Via della Pilotta and cross over the River Tiber via the Ponte Sant’Angelo bridge, but once they joined the throng of Easter pilgrims, the respectful head covering would be essential.
She might not be Catholic, but in the city which stood at the center of the Roman Catholic world, she was more than willing to observe the Easter religious customs.
The bodyguards remained at a respectful distance, waiting while the two young women made ready to leave. Augusta was grateful that Serafina took great care to make sure her protectors were well out of earshot whenever the two of them wished to share a private conversation.
“How are you this morning? I mean, after yesterday’s news,” asked Augusta.
Serafina shrugged. “I don’t actually know how I feel. Discovering that I am to be married off to a much older man came as quite a shock. But the fact that my mother opposes the union is probably what worries me the most. Donna Francesca has stood silent while my father arranged other marriages for my older siblings. I have never heard her use the language she did with him yesterday as I left my father’s office.”
Serafina was shortly to be betrothed to one of her father’s business connections, a man old enough to be her grandfather. Donna Francesca was apparently not happy with this arrangement. Rumors of the heated argument between the contessa and Enzo de Luca had spread rapidly through Palazzo Lazio yesterday.
“What a fine pair we two make. Your mother standing up to your father, while mine seems determined to avoid going home to see my papa,” replied Augusta.
“Things are changing. And I fear not for the better. Both our lives seem destined for great upheaval in the near future,” sighed Serafina. Augusta noted the dark rings under her friend’s eyes but held back from making mention of them. It was clear Serafina hadn’t slept well last night.
Can you blame her? The man she is going to marry is ancient.
Unlike Serafina, she would be granted a say in whom she eventually wed. Augusta glanced at the ring on her right hand. It was the ring Flynn had gifted to her just before he raced out of Hyde Park and embarked on his mission to confront his father. The small gold and ruby band had once held the promise of a happy future, of a life with the viscount. Her fingertip skimmed over the delicate gem.
Oh, Flynn. You would have loved Rome.
She really ought to stop wearing it but hadn’t yet found the courage to do so. She’d promised herself that the day she left to go home to England, she would take it off her finger and put it somewhere safe. Treasure it as a memory of him. Of a life lost far too young.
The shuffle of feet followed by the not-so-subtle tapping of the dull end of halberds on cobbled paving had them both turning in the direction of the Palazzo Lazio bodyguards. They were getting impatient.
Serafina’s fingers brushed the ring as she softly laid her hand over Augusta’s. Her friend knew the painful story behind the jewel.
“We had better go, Augusta. Rome is going to be a crush of people, and it will take time to make our way over to Saint Peter's. I don’t want to get on the bad side of the bodyguards today. Not when they have agreed to conveniently turn the other way, just as we run off to meet up with our friends for this evening.”
Augusta nodded.
I will miss you terribly when it comes time for me to leave for England.
Serafina was right. Time wasn’t standing still. Soon they would be separated. Serafina would be married, while she would return to London and her family. To her own uncertain future.
ChapterTwenty-Five
It wasn’t long after they had left Palazzo Lazio that the girls found themselves swept up and carried along in a crush of people. Augusta and Serafina joined hands as the crowd moved as one. If they lost each other now, it would take them hours to reconnect.
The ancient Ponte Sant’Angelo was the only way to cross the River Tiber in this part of Rome, and everyone seemed to be headed toward it.
