Chapter 164
William Darcy was having a great day.
No, better than great. Fantastic. He beamed at his reflection in the dressing room mirror and adjusted his white bow tie.
The trip to Italy had so far been a triumph in every respect. In Milan, he had performed to sold-out houses and widespread acclaim. He had received practically a hero’s welcome at the first rehearsal with the orchestra here in Rome and was to take the stage with them for the first of two sold-out concerts in just a few minutes.
But even more than that …. Still smiling, he glanced at the wedding ring on his finger.
He had traveled with Elizabeth before—not regularly, but often enough to appreciate the difference her presence made. But the pride welling up in his chest when he had introduced her to the conductor as his wife was something new, a moment captured in his heart that he would never forget.
To his surprise, Georgiana’s presence had enriched their travel experience. Although he had readily agreed when Elizabeth suggested taking Georgiana to Italy, inwardly he had worried that her presence would be a deterrent to romance. But Georgiana had proved to be more discerning, and more tactful, than he had expected.
Not only that, but as their self-appointed tour guide, Georgiana had planned enjoyable itineraries at each of their destinations. She had an uncanny knack for choosing sights that would interest him most and then arranging for the trio to visit those during his limited free time. When he was busy with rehearsals and meetings, her presence relieved any guilt he might have felt for leaving Elizabeth on her own; the two were clearly having a marvelous time together. The growing affection between the pair provided him with yet another source of delight.
After the weekend in Milan, they had moved on to Florence. Since his only obligation in that city was a few hours of solo practice each day, he had been able to accompany Elizabeth and Georgiana all over the city, drinking in the art treasures found in every museum and adorning every church. Elizabeth had been especially entranced by Michelangelo’s David, and he had to admit that the statue, presiding over its stately alcove at the Accademia, had exceeded his expectations as well. Later that night, she had told him that if Michelangelo had wanted a truly perfect male model, he should have waited for William Darcy to come to town. He emitted a soft groan as he remembered how her hands and lips had embarked on a leisurely path over his body, exploring the contours of his form.
Yes, it had been a nearly perfect trip so far. And now they were in Rome, and his first concert was about to start. And after that ….
William’s smile faded. After that.
Though he hadn’t admitted it when Elizabeth suggested contacting his Italian relatives, William would have preferred to avoid meeting them. His mother had spoken of his grandmother only once, when he had asked about their family in Italy. “We don’t need them, and we especially don’t need her,” Anna had replied. “It’s just the two of us now.” And there were other reasons as well, reasons he preferred not to contemplate.
But tomorrow, several members of the family were to attend his concert, and on Sunday, a large gathering was planned at his aunt’s home near Orvieto, a hill town about an hour from Rome.
A knock on his dressing room door interrupted his reverie. “Mr. Darcy, they’re ready for you.”
William inspected himself in the mirror, adjusted his bow tie once more, and tugged at his tailcoat. As he followed the symphony intern down the hall to the stage entrance, he glanced at his left hand and noticed the gleam of his wedding ring. It’ll be fine. I’m not alone anymore.
Elizabeth doubted that she would ever grow tired of watching William on stage. He had mesmerized her from the first time she had seen him when, as a gawky teenager at Interlochen, she had snuck into every performance he had given. But of course it was different now. She sat, hands clasped in her lap, watching the man she loved—her man—share his extraordinary gift. He hadn’t played Brahms’ Piano Concerto #21 in years, and had admitted that the delicate interplay with the orchestra—often with the piano in a secondary role, as in the third movement he was playing now—hadn’t appealed to him in the past. But tonight he seemed to enjoy the lyrical collaboration, even smiling during a passage where he contributed little more than a series of grace notes, spaced well apart, while the orchestra took the lead.
The rollicking fourth movement returned the piano to a featured role. In contrast to the stormy Rachmaninoff that was his signature piece, the music that swirled around the hall had an almost playful air. It built to a bravura finale as William’s fingers flew over the keys with abandon. When he jumped to his feet at the conclusion and shook the conductor’s hand with an almost gleeful air, Elizabeth felt a lump form in her throat.
He finally left the stage after two encores and additional curtain calls. Elizabeth smiled at Georgiana. “Wasn’t he wonderful?”
“Well, yeah, of course he was good, but he always is. You know that; you’ve seen him perform lots of times.”
“But not the Brahms #2. I’ve heard him practicing it, but this was the first time I’d seen him perform it. And, besides, he was different tonight. I know I’m gushing like a fangirl, and I know you don’t understand. It’s okay.”
Georgiana shrugged. “Whatever.”
Elizabeth wished she could explain, but it was impossible. To watch your husband of barely two weeks enthrall a crowd, to know that when he touched his hands to his heart, it was for you, and to see him so full of utter joy—no, Georgiana couldn’t possibly understand. At least Elizabeth had kept herself from crying this time, unlike in Milan.
“Does he want us to go backstage?” Georgiana asked.
“Yes; he said he’d give our names to the guard.” Elizabeth led the way, and when they reached the backstage area, Georgiana addressed the guard in halting Italian. He waved them through with a response neither could understand.
William answered their knock on his dressing room door and greeted both with a hug and a kiss. Elizabeth was quick to congratulate him on his performance; she had noticed that no matter how enthusiastic the audience’s ovation, he waited for her praise with an endearing degree of nervous anticipation.
“Can we go out for a late-night walk?” Georgiana asked. “The monuments and fountains and stuff are lit up at night and it’s supposed to be really beautiful.”
“A walk sounds good,” William said. “But I need to go back to the hotel first and change.”
Elizabeth nodded. “Same here. I’m not wearing good walking shoes right now, and neither are you, Georgie.”
They left the dressing room together, passing down the hallway. The guard was engaged in an animated debate in rapid-fire Italian with three concertgoers who clearly wanted to be admitted to the backstage area. Suddenly, one of them exclaimed, “Eccolo!” and pointed at William.
A tall woman with short, graying hair rushed forward, ignoring the guard’s attempt to stop her. William spread his arms sideways in a protective gesture obviously intended to keep Elizabeth and Georgiana behind him and safe. “William Darcy, il mio nipotino!” She shook her head and waved both hands in the air. “Spiacente. I should be in English. My dear nephew!”
Elizabeth glanced at Georgiana, whose eyes were fastened on the woman with astonishment. Seeing both of the Darcy siblings frozen in place, Elizabeth stepped forward. “You must be Signora Rossini? William’s and Georgie’s aunt?”
“Si!” The woman peered around William at Georgiana. “Ah, Anna’s ragazza! Siamo felicissimi!”
“Buona sera,” Georgiana said, very softly.
“Buona sera.” Coming from William, it sounded like a question. He extended his hand, but Valentina ignored it and enveloped him in an embrace that left a lipstick smear on his cheek.
Elizabeth coughed to cover a snicker; the gobsmacked expression on William’s face was hilarious. But before she could speak, Valentina turned to her. “And of course, you are la sposa, the bride!” Valentina’s next hug—complete with a lipstick-laden kiss—was for Elizabeth.
Although Elizabeth could read Georgiana’s “please don’t touch me” body language, Valentina either ignored it or didn’t notice, and soon Georgiana had lipstick on her cheek as well.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Elizabeth said, “but we weren’t expecting to see you till tomorrow’s concert.”
“Si, si, but Mamma, she insisted. She could not wait.” Valentina glanced back at a fragile, white-haired woman several steps away, clinging to the arm of a man Elizabeth suspected was Signor Rossini. Valentina, with an air of effortless command, led the way toward her. As they approached, Elizabeth could see tears in the elderly woman’s eyes.
“I miei nipotini,”2 the woman murmured in a husky voice, her eyes embracing them.
“This is your grandmother, Nonna Rosa,” Valentina said gently. Elizabeth was struck by the irony: one grandmother named Rose, and another named Rosa.
Georgiana and William nodded and said, “Buona sera, Nonna,” almost in unison.
Rosa released the supportive arm of Signor Rossini and took three tentative steps forward. She held out her arms in entreaty. To Elizabeth’s astonishment, Georgiana was the fastest to respond. She stepped into her grandmother’s arms, enfolding her in a wordless embrace. When at last they released each other, the cheeks of both were damp with tears.
William stepped forward next, his expression impenetrable. He extended a hand rather than accepting the offered embrace. Elizabeth had sensed hesitation, and perhaps something deeper, in his manner ever since they had planned to meet his family, but he hadn’t confided in her yet. Had he worried, like Georgiana, that they would reject Anna’s children because Anna had rejected them? And yet he had proof in front of him that they welcomed him with literal open arms.
After a brief but awkward pause, Rosa took his hand in both of hers. She spoke to him, a long sentence that Elizabeth didn’t understand. She glanced at Georgiana, who shrugged and shook her head. Valentina said, “Mamma says that you played wonderful. She is proud, and Anna would be proud also, molto orgogliosa.”
“Grazie, Nonna,” William replied, nodding at his grandmother, his expression grave.
Elizabeth broke the uncomfortable silence that followed by stepping forward herself. “Nonna Rosa, io sono Elizabeth. Io sono ….” She winced. “I’m sorry; I don’t know how to say that I’m William’s wife.”
Valentina provided the translation, though Elizabeth sensed that Rosa had understood her. Rosa reached out and cupped Elizabeth’s cheek. “Bella, cara,” she whispered, her voice clogged with obvious emotion. She opened her arms again. Elizabeth stepped forward willingly and embraced Rosa, who felt even more fragile than she looked. As Elizabeth stepped back, Rosa nodded at her. “Domani, cara. E domenica, a Orvieto.”
“Si,” Valentina added. “We see you tomorrow. And Sunday, in Orvieto. At our vineyard. We will all be there, the whole family.”
The Italian trio—including Signor Rossini, who had stood back, observing the scene in silence—turned and departed. Once they were out of sight, William led the way to the stage entrance, where their car and driver waited to take them back to the hotel.
Long past midnight, Elizabeth lay beside William, listening to his breathing. She sensed that, although he was awake, he was trying to feign sleep. In addition, their lovemaking hadn’t been as fulfilling as usual; he had seemed distracted, as though going through the motions, driven more by habit than desire. Finally, she rolled onto her side and faced him. “I know you’re awake.”
He sighed. “I can’t sleep.”
“What’s wrong?” She propped her head up on an elbow and leaned toward him. A weak shaft of light from a nearby window gave her at least a shadowy view of his face.
He closed his eyes and was silent for a time that was undoubtedly much shorter than it seemed. She was about to speak again, convinced that he wasn’t going to respond, when he sighed and sat up, propping his pillow behind his head. “I’ve been avoiding talking about this.”
She sat up as well and took his hand. “Tell me.”
“I lied to you about something, a long time ago.”
That wasn’t what she had expected to hear. “Oh. I thought this probably had to do with your grandmother. You were pretty cool with her and I could tell something was bothering you.”
“It is about her.” He paused. “A while ago, I don’t remember exactly when, you asked me about Mamma’s family. I told you that my grandmother wrote to me when Mamma died, but that I didn’t remember if I answered.”
Elizabeth considered skipping to the punch line, since she already knew where this was headed, but she held herself back to let William tell the story.
“That wasn’t true,” he continued. “I remember quite well that I didn’t answer her.”
“I know,” Elizabeth said gently. “Sonya told me. For heaven’s sake, you were a grief-stricken fifteen-year-old who’d never met the woman.”
“That’s how I’ve always rationalized it. I buried myself in my music and ignored everything else.”
“And you’re upset about not telling me the truth? I appreciate that you’re keeping our promise to be honest, but it’s okay, really. It’s not as though you told me that you did write to her.”
He shook his head. “Sonya didn’t tell you the rest?”
“The rest?”
“Nonna didn’t write just once. I don’t remember anymore how many letters she sent, but I think it was at least five. And she called, too—well, probably not her, but someone from Italy called the house two or three times and left messages. Mrs. Reynolds could never quite understand the names but she got the phone number. I was spending almost all my time at Juilliard, so I was never around when they called. I just pretended the calls hadn’t come in.”
“Eventually the calls and letters stopped?”
He nodded, pressing his lips together.
“Okay, so it would have been much better if you’d written or called. I’m sure they were concerned about you and that’s why they kept trying.” She nestled closer, resting her head on his shoulder. “But your mother never encouraged you to think well of your grandmother, right?”
“In fact, she told me that we didn’t need her family, and especially not her mother.”
“So you might have considered it disloyal to re-establish a connection.”
“But what about Georgie?” The words, full of pain, seemed torn from his throat.
“I don’t understand.”
“Ever since we contacted them before this trip, I’ve been thinking what it might have meant to Georgie, to have her mother’s family in her life. Maybe she wouldn’t have felt so disconnected and alone. Maybe ….” He licked his lips and averted his eyes.
“Maybe she wouldn’t have shoplifted, or gotten mixed up with Wickham?”
He nodded, biting his lip.
“My poor boy,” Elizabeth said. She sat forward and took his face in her hands, forcing him to meet her earnest gaze. “You are better at self-torture than anyone I know. You were fifteen, your mother had just died, and your father … in some ways, he was worse than not having a father at all. You were doing the best you could to put the pieces of your life back together. I can see why a bunch of family you’d never met, located thousands of miles away, would have seemed like a complication you couldn’t handle.”
He stared at her in silence, and she saw the taut lines around his eyes begin to soften. She released her hold on his face but continued to speak in as authoritative a tone as she could. “Would it have been polite to write back? Of course, and you know that. I assume you’ll apologize the next time we see Nonna, though for some reason—and correct me if I’m wrong—I get the feeling she’s not holding a grudge.”
He nodded, his gaze dropping to study the blanket. She could see a ghost of a smile on his face.
“Would you and Georgie have benefited from contact with the family? Possibly. If nothing else, they could have shared stories about your mother that might have been a comfort. But would that have turned Georgie’s life around? Let’s be serious. You would have gone to Italy, what, for a couple of weeks every summer? If your schedule permitted it? And I can’t imagine Gran inviting them to come to New York on a regular basis.”
He sighed. “That’s true.”
“So I have a suggestion. Let’s look forward instead of backward, okay? Obviously they’d love to get to know you and Georgie better, and I know Georgie feels the same way about them. If you agree, let’s work on that instead of making yourself miserable by playing ‘woulda, coulda, shoulda’.”
He drew her over to sit on top of him and wrapped her in his arms. “What would I do without you?”
“Fortunately, you never have to find out.”
“I’m sorry about earlier.”
“Earlier?”
“When we made love. I couldn’t stop thinking about the past, and I wasn’t … fully engaged in what I was doing. I think you could tell.”
She smiled. “Yes, I could. But I’m more than happy to give you a do-over, right now.”
His grin left her in no doubt of his agreement.
—
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Continuing the “hotel suite porn” from the last chapter, here’s the penthouse suite from Rome. Unfortunately, there’s only the one photo and the virtual tour is very hard to use, but the description will give you a good idea: https://www.baglionihotels.com/rooms/roman-penthouse-family-suite-luxury-apartment/.