Larcenous Lady (8 page)

They all hurried forward to admire the piece. Deirdre stared at the most beautiful pearl she had ever seen. It was as Mrs. Sutton had described it, an inch long, about half an inch at the widest part. The pearl had a rosy glow against its black velvet setting. The top of the teardrop was encased in a gold cap, with a hook attached for hanging on a chain.

“It’s beautiful!” she gasped. It struck her at once how well the piece would suit statuesque Elvira and how gaudy it would look on little Lucy.

They went inside, where the jeweler recognized the Suttons from their morning call. Signor Cerboni did a brisk business with tourists and spoke English fairly fluently. He got the pearl from the window and set it on the counter. It was the duchess’s bony fingers that reached out to take it up.

“This is mighty handsome,” she declared, and stuck the pearl between her teeth to test its authenticity. It grated as a pearl should, but one compliment was more than she had meant to utter. “Very smooth on the teeth,” she said doubtfully.

“There is no doubt of its authenticity,” Signor Cerboni declared. “I got it directly from the Rusconi estate. The pearl’s history is well known. It was given to Lucrezia Borgia by her bridegroom, who bought it from her father, the pope, in 1493. It is a great bargain, ladies. The only reason it is going at such a price is that pearls are not in the highest fashion in Italy.”

The duchess pried at the setting. “Odd they would set such a valuable pearl in tin,” she said.

“It is eighteen-carat gold, signora!” the jeweler exclaimed. These English eccentrics!

“You may call me Duchessa.”

Signor Cerboni looked at her tattered gloves on the counter and smiled blandly.

“It’s a pretty enough trinket, for five hundred pounds.” The duchess shrugged.

“The price is one thousand,” Mrs. Sutton reminded her.

“Surely you jest! A thousand pounds for this spurious thing, mounted in tin. You must be mad, Meggie.”

“The price is not open to bargaining,” the jeweler said, and snatched the pearl from the duchess, before she got it pried loose from its moorings entirely.

“I’ll take it,” Mrs. Sutton said. “Could you deliver it to the Léon Bianco for me? I don’t like to carry a thousand pounds in the streets. You will accept English gold coins, I presume?”

“But certainly, signora. I shall have it delivered tomorrow morning, if that suits you?”

Deirdre nudged Elvira’s elbow. “Lucy’s present,” she whispered, and Elvira spoke to her mother.

The duchess stepped back and spoke to Deirdre in accents of disgust. “I could have got a couple of hundred pounds knocked off the price if Mrs. Sutton had her wits about her. These new nabobs spoil shopping for the rest of us.”

At the end of this speech, the door opened and a very elegant lady entered the shop. Deirdre had never seen anyone so lovely in her life. The woman looked like a Dresden doll, small in stature but perfect in every proportion. Beneath her fashionable bonnet, a wave of jet black hair sat on a high forehead. Her skin was pale and translucent, every feature finely drawn. The eyes in particular were magnificent. Great, dark eyes, wide-set, fringed with long lashes.

Signor Cerboni looked up and exclaimed, “Ah, Contessa!” There was some rapid Italian conversation in which Deirdre understood only the word “
diamante.’’
The contessa had a lovely musical voice, soft as a dove’s.

Charney saw no reason why a duchess should wait on the pleasure of a mere countess and elbowed the lady aside. “You have the address, sir? Léon Bianco, on the Grand Canal.”

The beautiful contessa turned and smiled at her grace. “Then we are neighbors!” she exclaimed in a prettily accented voice, and offered a small hand gloved in blue kid to match her gown. “I live just across the canal.”

“You speak English!” her grace said, allowing a small smile to reveal her yellowing teeth. “The Duchess of Charney, and this is my niece, Miss Gower. These are the Suttons,” she added, with a nod to the rest of the party.

It seemed impossible the contessa’s eyes could grow any larger, but they widened in astonishment. “It is impossible!” she exclaimed delightedly. “Not Deirdre Gower and her aunt! But I have been hearing about you ladies for two days now!”

“I daresay word of our coming has preceded us,” the duchess allowed. She was finding the contessa a respectable person, possibly one who threw lavish dinner parties and balls. “I don’t believe I caught the name—”

“Forgive me! Surprise has robbed me of my manners. I am Contessa Ginnasi.”

Deirdre stared in dismay. This couldn’t possibly be the wife of the late Lord Belami’s friend. Contessa Ginnasi should be a lady in her sixties. She had a dreadful premonition where the contessa had heard of them. Dick! And he was staying with this sinfully beautiful lady. A young, beautiful lady, married to some old relic. She knew now where Dick was, and why he hadn’t bothered trying to find her.

“So nice to meet you, Contessa,” Deirdre said, with a cool jerk of a curtsy. “We really ought to be going now, Auntie.”

The contessa placed her hand on the duchess’s sleeve, a thing not normally tolerated, but permitted on this occasion. “Do wait, just a moment. I have such a surprise for you!” she smiled, revealing teeth like a set of matched pearls.

“We can allow you a moment,” the duchess decided, while she scurried around in her mind for what the surprise could be. “I say, are you some relation to old Conte Ginnasi, who was politicking in England eons ago? Don’t tell me he’s still alive! Is he coming to meet you?”

“My dear Guy seldom goes out,” the contessa said.

“You are the conte’s daughter-in-law, are you?” the duchess asked, trying to figure out a reasonable relationship.

“Ah, no, I am Guy’s wife. We married five years ago when the old contessa passed away.” The contessa flashed a glance to the door. Her face lit up like the sun. “Here we are! Not the conte, you see, but the baron!” With a dramatic gesture of her arm, she welcomed Belami into the shop.

Any hope or doubt that Dick had planned this meeting vanished when Deirdre looked at his shocked face. He looked as guilty as a poacher caught with his bag jiggling. His eyes darted first to Deirdre, then to the contessa, to the duchess. He wished the floor could open up and swallow him.

“
Mio
Belami,” the contessa said, and went forward to take his hand. “See who I have found for you!”

“Good day, Lord Belami,” Deirdre said, and turned purposefully to her aunt. She fully expected to see Charney on her high horse, but it was no such a thing.

That sly old dame was ransacking her mind to figure out what was afoot here. Ginnasi—-of course, that was where Dick had planned to batten himself and Deirdre in Venice! Obviously he was staying at the Palazzo Ginnasi—free. These palazzi were enormous buildings. Two more guests, herself and Deirdre, would never be noticed. The Suttons were well enough for traveling companions, but it was time to dispense with them. That Belami was obviously the contessa’s lover was no impediment. It would open up Deirdre’s eyes once and for all to what kind of a rake he was.

“Nice to see you again, Belami,” the duchess said, and offered her hand.

Dick reached out and shook it as one in a trance. What was going on here? No abuse? No insults? No stalking out of the shop? “Sorry I missed you in Paris, your grace,” he said.

“We didn’t stay a minute. So chilly—we much prefer Italy. One does get tired of the racket of hotels though.”

“Have you been here long?” Dick asked, darting a quick glance to Deirdre.

As half a day seemed rather short to have tired of their hotel the duchess said, “We have been on the road forever. Hotels are all alike. Where are you putting up, Belami?”

“The contessa was kind enough to offer me rack and manger,” Dick said. He was beginning to understand his function now. He was to ease the skint’s path into Carlotta’s home.

Deirdre stiffened like a frozen reed at this news. “Let us go now, Auntie,” she said.

“We must get together soon,” the duchess said to Contessa Ginnasi. “Do come to our hotel for dinner. I should so like to see the dear conte again. Ah, but he doesn’t go out, you said.”

“You must come to us,” the contessa answered. “Come tonight!”

Deirdre felt such a rage she could no longer stand still. She strode toward the door and met Pronto Pilgrim coming in.

Pronto looked from Deirdre to the rest of the group. “Oh, oh! Fat’s in the fire now,” he muttered into his collar.

“Mr. Pilgrim,” Deirdre said stiffly.

“G’day, Deirdre. No point cutting up stiff at me. I ain’t the one arranged this business. See you’ve met Carlotta. Quite the dasher, ain’t she?”

“Is that her name?”

“Must be. It’s what everybody calls her. How’s Charney taking to Dick’s following you here?”

“Following me?” she asked with an angry glare. “I’m not the one brought him here. It’s that—Carlotta.”

“No such thing,” Pronto said, but just as the conversation was beginning to get interesting, he spotted Elvira and drifted off on wings of love.

“Miss Sutton,” he said, and bowed most ungracefully. “Here I am, at your service, ma’am. Like you said—fate.”

Elvira smiled condescendingly. “Mr. Pilgrim, isn’t it?”

“Of course it’s me!” he answered. Pretty cool, and him scrambling over mountains to meet her. But he noticed she was smiling and his heart softened. “You’re bamming me, you sly rascal. When can I call on you, Miss Sutton?”

“You should really say good day to Mama and my sister first,” she pointed out, and led him forward. They showed him Elvira’s pearl. “I want Lucy to have one just like mine.”

“That’s sweet of you,” Pronto said, much impressed at her kindness. “Didn’t realize your mama was a nabob.”

“She isn’t,” Elvira teased. “Her uncle was a nabob and left her his fortune when he died.”

Pronto frowned. He already knew winning Elvira would be difficult. If she was an heiress into the bargain, it’d be impossible. What he had to do was snap her up fast, before she went home where all the fortune hunters would be hounding her. As he looked at her tall, beautiful body, her full breasts, and noble face, he knew she was worth every effort.

“Sorry to hear it,” he said.

“He died a year ago. We’re not in mourning.”

“Didn’t mean that. Hope you don’t take the notion I’m after your money. I cared for you before you told me.”

Elvira’s throaty laugh echoed in his ear. “You are too ridiculous, Mr. Pilgrim. I never for one moment thought of you as a fortune hunter. Why you strike me as a gentleman who doesn’t have to worry about money.”

“Matter of fact, I do own an abbey,” he remembered, and looked hopefully for approval. It certainly looked like approval, or interest at least, shining in Elvira’s eyes.

“There you are then.” Elvira smiled. “You own an abbey; I own the pearl. And the rest of the world may whistle for envy.’’

“So when may I call on you?” he asked.

“Why don’t you come around to the Léon Bianco later?”

“I’ll be there,” he promised. Inching his way behind Mrs. Sutton for privacy, he lifted Elvira’s hand and kissed her fingers. A fine, sturdy paw the girl had. Nearly as big as his own, only long and artistic, whereas his was short and pudgy.

There were sounds of leave-taking across the shop. Pronto went reluctantly forward, feeling he ought to greet Charney.
“Bonjouro, “
he said, and made a leg.

“Mr. Pilgrim. Still tagging along with Belami, eh? How are you liking Europe?”

“They’ve got dandy sewers in Paris,” he told her. He was right—her eyes were exactly like the sewer rats’.

The duchess suspected this was a joke. She never connived at jokes and ignored it. She gathered up the Suttons and left.

“The contessa has invited Deirdre and myself to dinner this evening,” she announced. “We shall be seeing a good deal of the contessa and her set. As you mentioned this morning, you will find your own friends. I fear these upstart Italian nobles take themselves very seriously. I hinted that you and the girls might accept an invitation as well, but the contessa didn’t take me up on it.”

“We certainly don’t expect to glide into society on your coattails, Duchess,” Mrs. Sutton said, as friendly as ever. Really, the woman was better than a gift.

They went on to a few other shops, but for Deirdre the day was destroyed. She had found Dick at last, only to find him involved with a woman so beautiful there was no hope of winning him back. He had been stiff and unfriendly and, worst of all, he looked palpably guilty. She dreaded the ordeal of dinner at the Palazzo Ginnasi worse than a trip to the tooth-drawer. And like a bad tooth, the pain refused to go away.

Chapter Six

While Deirdre fretted and got dressed in her best blue gown that showed off her shoulders, the duchess was chirping merrily. With careful flattery and encouragement, the contessa would be made to see the benefit of harboring an English duchess under her roof for an indefinite period. Connections would be made that greatly reduced the cost of further travel: carriages provided free, noble doors opened to her in Naples and Rome. She dashed a note off to Fernvale, urging her bailiff to find an occupant for the estate on a six-month lease, renewable. This done, she turned to her niece.

“Bring along a shawl, Deirdre. It will be chilly in the gondola, and drafty as bedemmed at the palazzo.”

Deirdre picked up her silver-spangled shawl that wouldn’t keep off the breath from a gnat, but it looked good. The Ginnasi gondola was waiting for them at the landing. In the starry dusk of twilight, they were whisked across the Grand Canal to the left bank and a little north to the palazzo, nestled in beside the Accademia. The Palazzo Ginnasi was a fairly ugly old stone building of great antiquity. Moss climbed a few feet up its walls. The duchess took one look and was struck with the notion that she would pay not to stay there, and that was saying a good deal. Her joints would seize up entirely in those moist drafts.

But when the footman led her up the walk from the landing to an entrance on the north side, she observed that the breezes, while damp, were really not at all chilly. Once in the palazzo, she discovered a delightful surprise—fireplaces, which had been absent in Italian hotels. The heat from them mingling with the moisture created a balminess similar to a conservatory, an atmosphere in which not only plants but also octogenarians might thrive.