Chapter 165
So far, Elizabeth’s experiences in Italy had been confined to its large cities, which had thrilled her with their beautiful art, ancient ruins, and—perhaps most of all—wonderful food. But Orvieto and the surrounding countryside introduced her to a different side of Italy, one she suspected was closer to the “real” Italy than the crowded streets of Rome, full of Vespas zigzagging through traffic and tourists crammed together at the Trevi Fountain.
Valentina and her eldest son, Giancarlo, met the Darcys in town, where the driver who had transported them from Rome dropped them off. Valentina greeted them with her now-familiar routine of hugs and kisses for all; Giancarlo kissed Georgiana and Elizabeth on both cheeks and gave William a hearty handshake and a pat on the back.
From the cathedral, they moved out into the street and simply wandered. Elizabeth was charmed by the colorful shops, narrow lanes, and shady terraces. She and Georgiana, accompanied by Valentina, dove into a shop selling hand-painted ceramics; she still needed a few gifts for friends and family. Meanwhile, Giancarlo accompanied William to the Etruscan Museum, which offered artifacts from a civilization that had occupied the area centuries before the Romans.
“Si!” Valentina cried, waving her hands. “You stay with us, out by the vineyard. Or with Graciela in town, and help on their restaurant.”
Elizabeth saw William and Giancarlo approaching. As they drew near, she hear Giancarlo say, “You must come back and see these things.”
“What things?” she asked.
“There’s more Etruscan history here than just the museum,” William explained. “There are underground tunnels and a necropolis at the bottom of the hill. We don’t have time to see them today.”
“More important,” Giancarlo said, “is Ferrari headquarters. William must see where his auto was made. Not in Orvieto, of course.”
“Orvieto wine, it is the best,” Valentina said. “They say often, all of Italy in one bottle.”
They drove down a long lane flanked by tall, slender Italian cypress trees and finally pulled up in front of a large red-roofed villa. The hill rising behind the house was covered in neat rows of grapevines, basking in the sun.
As they emerged from the car, a swarm of humanity descended on them, awash in friendly smiles and excited exclamations. Elizabeth noted William’s harried expression; he looked as though he hoped a trap door would open under his feet. She reached for his hand and squeezed it, offering the most reassuring smile she could muster. Even for her, it was overwhelming: five or six people speaking at once, outstretched hands demanding to be shaken, outstretched arms offering welcoming hugs … and so much more.
She suppressed a giggle when a baby was thrust into William’s arms; he had little choice but to accept the offering. He stood stiffly, holding it almost at arm’s length and looking utterly perplexed. She hurried to his rescue and took the child from him, a pudgy boy with dark curly hair rather like William’s own.
“Such a cute … ragazzo?” she said to the child’s mother. She hadn’t meant for it to sound like a question, but she wasn’t sure if she’d said the right word for “boy,” or had called him a girl or, for that matter, an elephant.
“Si, un ragazzo.” Fortunately, the woman’s warm smile made it clear that she wasn’t offended. She introduced herself, and Elizabeth discovered that this was Graciela, Valentina’s youngest daughter, who with her husband ran a restaurant in town. Graciela retrieved her son and led the way into the garden.
Elizabeth smiled when she saw Georgiana up ahead, in conversation with two teenaged girls who appeared to be only a year or two younger. Next she looked for William, and found him with Giuseppe and Giancarlo, looking over the bottles of wine on the table. Then someone touched her arm, and she turned and saw Nonna Rosa standing there. “Elisabetta, cara,” the woman said.
Elizabeth turned and accepted the offered hug and kiss. “Buongiorno, Nonna,” she replied.
Rosa extended her hand, which Elizabeth took; she found herself being led toward the house. They made their way inside and into the large, rustic kitchen. Valentina was there along with a few women Elizabeth hadn’t met—at least, she didn’t think so—all busily preparing the meal. “Ah, here you are, Elisabetta.” She quickly introduced the other women, all of whom were daughters and daughters-in-law, and invited Elizabeth to sit at the table. “You are a guest; no work for you.”
Valentina translated Elizabeth’s remark, and Rosa’s eyes lit up. “Gnocchi!” she exclaimed. “Si!” She continued to speak in an excited tone, but Elizabeth didn’t understand.
“Mamma says she will show you,” Valentina said. “She will show you to be a great Italian cook.” She offered Elizabeth a crisp white apron.
Elizabeth laughed. “If she can do that, she’s a miracle worker!”
The other women joined in the laughter, even Rosa, who probably hadn’t understood. Elizabeth tied the apron around her waist and joined Rosa at the counter.
“I can’t believe we’ve already been in Italy for a week and a half,” Georgiana said. “And I don’t want to go home tomorrow.” She finished with an exaggerated pout that annoyed and amused William in approximately equal amounts.
“I know,” Elizabeth replied, “but you’ve already missed a lot of school.”
“I’ve been keeping up with my homework.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “You have exams starting next week. Besides, when I told you how much I wanted to see Venice, you said you weren’t interested.”
“That was only because you said how romantic it was, and I kept imagining you and Will kissing and holding hands in a gondola, which was completely gross.”
“That’s absolutely going to happen,” Elizabeth retorted, “so it’s just as well you’re not going with us.” She yawned and rested her head on William’s shoulder.
“Lizzy’s right” he said, belatedly recognizing the need to present a united front. “That’s why we saved Venice till last; you said you’d rather see Florence.”
“I was wrong,” Georgiana grumbled. “Not about Florence, but about not wanting to go to Venice. Or anywhere in Italy, I don’t care where; I just want to stay here.”
“Remember, we’re going to come back over spring break next year,” Elizabeth replied. “Maybe we can spend a few days in Venice then.”
They were making their way back to Rome after a pleasant—if exhausting—day at the vineyard. Georgiana had campaigned to ride the train—as well as the funicular that took them down the hill to the station—on the way back to Rome. “Just one more Italian train before I go home,” she had pleaded, and William hadn’t been able to say no.
He couldn’t help but be touched by the hospitality the family had offered. The entire Rossini family had been present: Valentina and Giuseppe, their three sons and two daughters, along with their spouses and children. They had eaten their meal in the leafy garden, the tables laden to overflowing with plates of delicious food and bottles of excellent wine—wine that had originated from the vines growing on the sun-dappled hillside beyond.
He would never remember all the names, and at times he had felt overwhelmed by the people and their noisy, energetic conversation, conducted in a hodgepodge of English and Italian and amplified by a profusion of dramatic gestures. And every time he had emptied his plate, Nonna Rosa—who sat by his side--insisted that he fill it again, until he was so full he could barely breathe. But it felt good to be connected to these people, especially the two who had known and loved his mother.
An early topic of conversation, one of the few in which he had found much to contribute, had been his concert the night before, which most of the family had attended—even Valentina and Nonna Rosa, this time in seats alongside Elizabeth and Georgiana.
“It was so hard not to laugh when Nonna Rosa kept calling you Guglielmo,” Georgiana said, pursing her lips.
William shrugged. Nonna Rosa had used the name throughout the day, but he hadn’t minded. According to Valentina, Anna had wanted to use the Italian version of his name to show the blending of the two families, but Edmund had refused. William thought it was just as well; he hated to think of the many ways Americans would find to mispronounce the name. Richard alone could probably supply a nonstop stream of humiliating mispronunciations.
Georgiana was still pursuing the subject of his Italianized name. “What do you think Gran will say about it?”
“I guess we’ll find out soon enough,” Elizabeth said. She and William had invited the entire family to their wedding celebration in New York. Some of the younger adults had declined with thanks—on such short notice, there were too many arrangements to make. But others, including Nonna Rosa, Valentina, and Guiseppe, planned to make the trip, with William funding their travel as he had done for the wedding guests in Barbados.
“Georgie, what did you decide about the diary?” he asked.
“Elizabeth and I talked to Aunt Valentina. She said Mamma always had a diary, almost from the time she learned to write. And one time Aunt Valentina found it and read it. Mamma was furious and wouldn’t speak to her or even look at her for a week. She said that she didn’t think Mamma would want us to read it, not even now that she’s gone.”
William nodded. Had it been his private journal, he would have felt the same way, though he hadn’t considered it from his mother’s point of view before.
“So even though we’re all curious, for now I’m going to just put it in Gran’s safe. If that’s okay with you, I mean, Will.”
“Of course,” William replied. “We agreed that since you found the diary, it was your decision.”
It was late by the time they returned to the hotel. Georgiana said goodnight and went to her room to finish packing and get some sleep before her morning flight. William stepped out onto the terrace, which overlooked the rooftops of Rome. He leaned against the ornate wrought-iron railing, studying the lights that spread almost to the horizon. A gentle breeze carried the scent of orange blossoms from a small tree on the terrace. The sounds of the city echoed from a distance.
“Ah, here you are,” Elizabeth said. She joined him at the railing and he wrapped an arm around her waist. “How was today for you?” she asked.
“Mostly good.”
“You looked like you were enjoying yourself, though it was a little too much for you at times, right?”
He nodded and smiled. “You know me so well.”
“Indeed I do. It’s going to be interesting to see how Gran reacts to them, but I hope she gives them a chance. Even though they’re a little noisy, they’re kind, good-hearted people. I liked them a lot, and I think I learned most of the names. Plus a few Italian curse words.”
William kissed her forehead. “You’ll have to help me, then. With the names, I mean; I already know most of the curse words.”
“I was so glad that they told us so many stories about your mother.”
“I know. It was great for Georgie.” Valentina had told stories of her sister, and then Rosa—with the help of various volunteer interpreters—had shared tales of Anna as a small girl, and of William’s birth and babyhood.
“It was good for you, too,” she protested. “I saw you brushing away a tear a couple of times, especially when Nonna Rosa brought out the gnocchi.”
William couldn’t deny that. It had tasted exactly as he remembered from his childhood. It was obvious where his mother had learned to prepare it. “But the best part of that was when she told us that you and she made it together.”
Elizabeth beamed at him, clearly proud of herself. “I’m not sure if I can reproduce it at home, but I’m going to try. But back to those stories about your mother—some of them were so sweet. It’s no wonder you got a little emotional.”
“But Mamma could be quite the hellion, too, apparently.”
Elizabeth chuckled and nodded. “A girl—and woman—who knew what she wanted and went after it. It’s a shame she lost some of that moxie after she was married. Though I guess it explains why she was willing to have another child with Edmund in order to protect you. It was the cost of getting what she wanted for you, and she was willing to go almost any lengths.”
He didn’t respond; it was uncomfortable being reminded of his mother’s sacrifice.
“Did you learn anything about the conflict between your mother and Nonna Rosa? I mean, beyond what Sonya told us?”
He shook his head. He hadn’t asked about it, and had been grateful that no one else had brought it up either. Anxious to change the subject, he glanced behind him. “Want to sit at the table for a while and finish that bottle of wine we have in the fridge?”
“More wine? After drinking gallons of it all day?”
“Then how about a little limoncello? We can open the bottle Giancarlo gave me.” In addition to that gift, William’s cousin had insisted on shipping a case of the family’s wine to New York. William had accepted with genuine pleasure; everything he had tasted was of fine quality.
“Limoncello sounds good,” Elizabeth said, “but I have a better idea about where to drink it.” She ran a gentle finger along his neck that raised goosebumps in its wake. “We haven’t tried the jacuzzi yet; we could take our drinks in there.” The penthouse suite had an outdoor hot tub on its expansive terrace. “And since Georgie’s in her room for the night, and the hot tub is on the opposite side of the suite ….”
“It would be clothing optional?” He raised his eyebrows.
Her eyes gleamed in response. “Mr. Darcy, don’t you mean clothing forbidden?”
He drew her into his arms. “Oh, Mrs. Darcy, I like the way you think.”
“This is the furthest we can go,” William said, peering into the security area. “You’ll be on your own now.”
Georgiana rolled her eyes. “I know. I’ll be fine.”
“Aunt Eleanor is going to be waiting for you right outside the security area at JFK. Look for her there; she’ll go down to baggage claim with you.”
“Will, I’m not a kid anymore. I’m sixteen.” They had celebrated her birthday on their first evening in Rome.
“I know, but it’s your first time flying alone.”
“Really, I’ll be fine.” Georgiana heaved a theatrical sigh, but then her expression softened. “You guys, thank you for letting me come on the trip. I’m sure you’d rather have been alone.”
“Without our tour guide?” Elizabeth retorted. “And without my travel buddy all those times when Will was busy? Not a chance.”
“Besides,” William said, “it was important for all of us to meet Nonna Rosa and Valentina’s family.”
“Yeah,” Georgiana replied. “It’s like … well, like a bridge to Mamma, sort of. Like a part of her is alive again.”
“Be careful on the trip, and we’ll see you soon.” William embraced his sister, astonished by her insightful summary of how he felt. It was, indeed, as though a bit of Anna had been restored to him.
Elizabeth wrapped Georgiana in a fierce hug. “Have a good trip, sweetie. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Georgiana whispered. She released Elizabeth and headed toward the security area without a backward glance. William felt a lump in his throat as he watched her go, thinking of the little girl who had somehow turned into a young woman, seemingly overnight.
“She’s never said that to me before,” Elizabeth murmured, and when William turned to look at her, he saw tears shining in her eyes. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, drawing her close as they watched Georgiana make her way along the gauntlet and finally disappear from sight.
Once the monitors confirmed that Georgiana’s flight had departed, they caught a train back to Rome. About an hour later, they were aboard an express train to Venice, seated comfortably in first class. “You know,” Elizabeth said, “this is nice, but second class would have been just fine and a lot cheaper.”
“We can afford it.”
“That doesn’t mean we have to splurge on everything.”
He wondered what she would think of the ornate suite he had reserved—with Sonya’s help, of course—at the Gritti Palace in Venice, offering expansive views of the Grand Canal. “It’s our honeymoon,” he said. “Splurging is part of the fun.”
“Our honeymoon. Right.” She took his hand. “It’s funny. Maybe because we had so little time at Pemberley, and then we had Georgie with us, it hasn’t felt like a honeymoon until now. It’s as though everything that’s happened so far has been the prelude, and now our life together is really starting.”
He smiled and squeezed her hand. She sighed and leaned back in her seat, closing her eyes. “I hope Venice is as romantic as I think it’s going to be.”
“I’m sure it will be. I liked the image of us kissing in a gondola.”
“Like I told Georgie, that’s definitely going to happen.” She rested her head on his shoulder, her eyes still closed. “Anyway, as long as we’re together, it’s going to be perfect.”
William gazed out the window at the Italian countryside flying past while Elizabeth slept beside him. How much has changed in the past year! He still remembered the morning of his trip to San Francisco for Charles’s failed wedding. He had been so miserable that day—sick, lonely, and disconnected from the world. But then he had met the green-eyed girl on his flight from New York, the most challenging, frustrating—and wonderful—woman he had ever known. And now she was his wife, his lover, his friend, his confidante … everything he had wished for.
Where would I be without her? It was a question he had no desire—and, fortunately, no need—to contemplate. She had taught him to live in a wider world than the restrictive bubble of his upbringing. She had shown him the joy and fulfillment that came from mutual trust and honesty; his heart and soul were safe in her care, as hers were with him. With her at his side, he had regained his health, made new friends, and acquired a new family. And in his concerts on this trip, he had begun to discover new—and exciting—facets of himself as a performer. He couldn’t remember a time when his future had looked brighter. I am a lucky man.
With a contented sigh, he wrapped his arm around his wife’s shoulders. She stirred slightly, nestling closer. “I love you, Lizzy,” he whispered, and she sighed in response. He closed his eyes and, utterly at peace with the world, drifted off to sleep.
You know how there’s always music over the closing credits of a film? Well, what you’re about to read is essentially the closing credits for AUS. My suggested music: Chopin’s Piano Concerto #1, 2nd movement (hear Artur Rubinstein play it on Youtube, or hear Martha Argerich play it on Spotify).
It’s bittersweet to finish the story. I feel a sense of accomplishment, and more than a little relief. But on the other hand, I’ve been living with these characters in my head for more than eighteen years, and it’s going to take some time to let them go. I still remember “meeting” them in March of 2003 while sitting in a chilly arena in Washington, DC, with a spiral notebook on my lap, creating their character profiles between performances at the World Figure Skating Championships.
I plan to follow up with two epilogues. The first will be set about five years into their marriage—probably on their fifth anniversary. The second will be set much further in the future. I was also asked to write one in the present day; however, I’m inclined not to do that. This story has been a refuge from COVID for me and for some of you as well; I don’t think I want to admit the virus into AUS’s universe.
I’m not sure of the schedule for these, but it’ll probably be at least a couple of months before you see anything. I’ll announce the posts on Facebook and will post them here and on A Happy Alternative, as with the story chapters.
Before I go, I need to acknowledge the many people who helped me along the way. I’ve been collecting this list for almost two decades. But even before that, thank you, readers, for taking this journey with me, whether you’ve been around since 2003 or just discovered the story. We’re all busy, and this story is long; for you to choose to spend so much time with my characters is a compliment of the highest order. My community of readers has been a precious and unexpected gift, and it’s a part of the experience that will remain with me always.
Please take a minute or two to read the list of acknowledgements. If you enjoyed the story, these people deserve your applause for their help, and some of you will find your names there.
Also, I’d love to hear from you before we say goodbye, even if you’ve never commented before … in fact, especially if you haven’t. I know it may seem uncomfortable to try to think of something to say. But you’ve read almost 700,000 words that I’ve written, obsessed over, and finally posted with my fingers crossed. Believe me, it was often uncomfortable, sending my work out there to be judged by many pairs of eyes—yet as the saying goes, I lived to tell the tale. So if you enjoyed the story, would you be willing to take a minute to let me know? It doesn’t have to be lengthy or involved, and it would mean so much to me to know that you were out there all along.
If you started the Chopin playing as I suggested, it’s probably still going on. And in that case, I’m going to leave you in peace to enjoy the rest of it.
I’d love to read your comments this one last time! You have several ways to comment:
- On the AUS comment thread on A Happy Assembly, a JA fanfic site; we have a great community of readers there who have been reading (or rereading) the story together since mid-June.
- On the AUS Facebook page
- On my Facebook page