Page 59 of The Vagabond Viscount
“I love the simple blend of cheese and pepper,” replied Flynn.
When the owner of the café brought them both coffee, Flynn dug his hand into his coat pocket and handed the man some coins.“Per te, amico mio.”
The man accepted the money with a smile. He pointed at Flynn’s greatcoat, and Flynn nodded.“Sì, è un cappotto migliore dell’altro.”
Augusta sat back in her seat and stared at Flynn’s coat. Her eyes narrowed. The coat was strangely familiar. Then the penny finally dropped. “Did Gideon give you that?”
“Yes, your brother did. And he also gave me a generous amount of money, along with the promise that he would fund my ticket home to England.” His gaze dropped to his bowl, and Augusta sensed he was both relieved and humbled by Gideon’s gift.
Flynn picked up his fork and with skilled precision quickly wrapped the strands of cheesy sauce-coated pasta around it. He smiled at it as he brought it to his mouth.
The mere thought of how much Flynn must have suffered over the past year had Augusta lowering her head. She feared she would burst into tears in the café and make a fool of herself. God bless kindhearted Gideon. He must have seen Flynn was in need and immediately offered his help. As always, her brother was generous to a fault.
Thank god Gideon came to Rome.
There was every chance that without Gideon and their rather fortuitous visit to the tailor yesterday, she might never have found Flynn while in Rome. Ignorant of just how close he was to where she was staying, she would have got on the boat back to England.
And without Gideon’s money, Flynn may never have made it home.
“I don’t want to think what might have happened if you hadn’t visited the tailor’s shop. We may have all passed like ships in the night.” Emotion weighed heavy in her voice.
Flynn reached across the table and took Augusta by the hand. “But we did find each other. And while I know this is all a bit too much to take in… because I know it is for me, there is one simple truth. Augusta, my love, we are here. You and I have got our miracle. Let’s enjoy this moment in the knowledge that we have many more moments like this one to come.” His eyes shone with love and hope. It was a beautiful thing to behold, and it had her blinking hard.
He was always looking on the bright side of things. In the long months that he had been missing, she had given thought to the way Flynn had always behaved. In the painful days of grief, it had occurred to her that his happy disposition had probably been a means to protect himself from the world. A way to force down the painful humiliation he had lived with on a daily basis as the Vagabond Viscount.
She owed it to him to share his positivity. They had been given this wonderful second chance; she should grab it with both hands and push all thoughts of regrets away.
And now he would be coming home with them.
He grinned at her. “I think this coat looks better on me than it does your brother. I can say that because he can’t take it back.”
“What did you do for a coat before now?” she asked.
Flynn played with his fork and spaghetti, twirling the thin pasta around. He nodded at Augusta’s untouched plate. “Eat it before it goes cold. You don’t want to leave any as the owner’s wife might take offense.”
Her eyes went wide, and she turned to peer over her shoulder. Behind the small counter stood a buxom, dark-haired woman. She wore the same no-nonsense expression that the duchess did whenever she was holding court. It spoke of not tolerating fools.
Fearful of disappointing the café owner, Augusta set to her enormous bowl of glossy pasta with unrestrained enthusiasm. It was good. Really good. She considered it better than what the master chef at Palazzo Lazio regularly served up, not that she ever planned to mention it to anyone. The servants at the palace had been especially kind to her during her long stay, so any form of criticism would be ungracious on her part.
Flynn brushed his hand over the soft wool of his finely cut greatcoat. “I do have a coat. It was given to me by one of the priests at a monastery in Pisa. I spent some time there recovering from—” His voice faltered for a moment. “My travels.”
Augusta wanted to ask about what had happened to him but sensed that now wasn’t the right time. And if the way Flynn spoke in brief snatches of information was anything to go by, he was also reluctant to go into matters at this juncture.
Leave it be. In time, the truth will come. Enjoy this meal. And that the man who you love is alive.
“This garment is, of course, a far superior one. Whoever had owned my other coat before it came into my possession had subjected it to the rough of the Italian countryside. The back of it was more patches and repairs than actual coat. Even my skillful repairs wouldn’t have seen it last another northern winter.”
He brushed his hand over the top of his hair. “And this coat goes nicely with my new haircut and freshly shaven face. To be honest, I feel like a man reborn. Before Gideon gave me this along with a princely sum of money, I looked more like a beggar than an English noble.”
His words had August dropping her fork on her plate. It made a loud clattering noise, and heads at several of the nearby tables turned in her direction.
“What’s wrong?”
Augusta leaned forward. “Did you attend the Easter Sunday service at Saint Peter’s?”
His brows furrowed in obvious confusion. “Yes, I did. Why do you ask?”
The man she had seen in the tattered coat and scruffy hair. Could it have been Flynn? She had been a matter of a yard or so away from him, and she hadn’t had a clue. “On Easter Sunday morning, Serafina and I walked over Ponte Sant’Angelo with all the other pilgrims. I was searching the crowd for you, like I have done every day since you disappeared. On the way, I spotted a man with long brown hair wearing a coat which had seen better days. I didn’t get a look at his face, but from where I was, he looked like a beggar. Could that have been you?”
