They had become firm friends, as she insisted on showing him less-known churches and other corners of Venice where largely undiscovered art treasures could be found. Ormiston was infatuated with her, not least because wherever they went they were accompanied by Buchan and Giugliana's duenna-like spinster cousin. Eventually Giugliana discovered an empty Palladian villa of her uncle's, Buchan was heavily bribed to distract the gaunt spinster cousin, and Ormiston and Giugliana could, at last, meet alone.
It had been a glorious spring and early summer for Ormiston, improving his swordsmanship, mastering the ever-changing light of Venice in paintings and drawings, and spending every possible moment with Giugliana. Their affection for each other deepened as the months passed. When she moved to Lake Guarda, he had followed, discreetly. When the time came for her to attend on yet another relative at the Vatican, she helped organize his route to Rome, making sure he visited Pisa, Siena, and Assisi.
The three months they were parted decided Ormiston that he was in love. She had forbidden him to write, promising that she would make suitable arrangements in Rome for them to continue the intimacy they had shared in Venice. And so she had, taking apartments for him in a palazzo separated from her own only by a secluded back garden. He had kept a diary of his travels, copiously illustrated, which he presented to her on his arrival. His accounts of the places visited were interspersed with odes addressed to his beloved, and all his drawings included somewhere a slender female figure, identifiably dressed in one of Giugliana's splendid gowns or cloaks.
Giugliana was touched by the accuracy of his recall of the details of her wardrobe and their reunion had been passionate but, eventually, the idyll had been drawn to a temporary close. Giugliana's mother insisted on her daughter's company for a visit to her maternal uncle, a person of some eminence at the Bourbon court in Naples, and Giugliana had told him that Ormiston's presence there would be welcome neither to her mother nor her uncle.
“My dearest Ormiston, we shall be resident at court, and only be allowed to meet formally. Although your notorious Lady Hamilton held undisputed sway, it is a very different thing for Italian courtiers and the Naples town and court are the most arrant gossips. Furthermore, my mother will be everywhere. You have not met her,” Giugliana said and smiled sardonically. “She is most intrusive!”
Ormiston resolved that he would use the time of this forced parting to travel home and insist on the annulment promised by his father. Once he was free, he would pay suit to Giugliana. After writing the necessary letters home, and to Henri de Ferrières in Paris, he had sailed to Marseilles from Rome, and made his way to Paris for a month or two before making the final stage of the journey home.
Letters from Henri awaited him at Marseilles, with recommendations for the best route north and what to see on the way. Young de Ferrières would meet him at Macon to introduce him to the delights of several of Burgundy's finest vineyards before the family gathered at their chateau in Auxerre for Christmas. He also warned Ormiston that his mother and her friends were planning a masked ball for Carnival, now that the mourning period for his father was officially over.
“But I fear that her principal motive in all this is to make sure that I meet every eligible girl in Paris. You also must be on your guardâshe has made many acquaintances among the English families here and assures me that you would be a catch for any French girl prepared to tolerate your climate and customs.”
Ormiston had been grateful for the week of having Henri to himself in Burgundy. Buchan, sensing his charge's need for male company of his own age, effaced himself in the evenings, claiming to have been made drowsy by the wines en route and at dinner. The two friends thus strolled out every evening to enjoy the cool December night air before retiring.
The Comte de Ferrières had stories to tell of Paris, where he was entered into his country's diplomatic service, and of the endless efforts made by Talleyrand to reassert the power and influence he had enjoyed in earlier days. Ormiston, of course, had many traveller's tales to unravel, but mainly wished to talk of Giugliana and his plans to marry her. But even now, he could not bring himself to mention his odious marriage and merely expressed concern that his father would manage to foil his plans.
“But are you sure she will have you? I understand her family is notoriously ambitious for her. There are rumors of trying to marry her to some Bourbon princeling in Naples.”
“That is why I must secure my father's agreement before I speak,” said Ormiston fiercely. “I must ensure that my inheritance is intact and safe from the depredations of my degenerate father. Now I am of age, he cannot deny me. But I am sure that Giugliana will remain faithful until I return.”
“If I were you, I should not concern myself so much about the marchesa's feelings as with the plans of her scheming family. They have influence in every court in Italy. Your wealth may be immense, but so is hers. It is power they seek. Her mother is known to be proud of her Medici ancestry and, like Talleyrand, longs to recover the powers of old. Have you met her?”
“I was presented to her in Florence, of course, but Giugliana has managed to avoid coinciding with her since.”
“For good reason, no doubt. I suspect your liaison would never have been allowed to flourish if she had been closer at hand.”
“But we behaved with the utmost discretion!” protested Ormiston.
“Ah,
mon ami
, your mother died when you were young. You do not know at first hand the persistence of scheming and ambitious mothers.”
Christmas in Auxerre had been a revelation to Ormiston. Although Henri was his parents' only child, the de Ferrières' traditional gatherings were numerous, with seemingly endless aunts and uncles and cousins. A party of young cousins had ridden out to meet them as they neared Joigny, and from their boisterous greetings to Henri he realized that informality and high spirits were to be the tone of their sojourn in the country. The dowager countess confirmed this at their first meeting. She was petite, fine-featured, and behind her warm welcome he sensed that her shrewd gray eyes were assessing him keenly.
“Welcome to Joigny,” she said, “and thank you for your many kindnesses to Henri in Vienna. Why, on his return, he could talk of nothing else but your expeditions. We are very informal here, as you can seeâwe come to relax, far away from the concerns of Paris. We do not dress for dinner except, of course, for Christmas Eve, and for church when the townsfolk expect us to make something of a show. Otherwise, the men seem to spend most of the day outdoors, hunting and the like, while in the evenings we make our own entertainment.”
They were a party of over thirty, six of Henri's uncles and aunts with their spouses and children. Buchan was in constant demand to sketch family groups and produce likenesses, or to give useful hints to those who wished to improve their drawing skills. Several hunting expeditions were organized and the evenings sped by in music-making and occasionally more noisy games of charades. Despite his position as nominal head of the family, Henri was a great favorite with all his cousins, who were also determined to make a pet of his English friend.
Ormiston wished he could have belonged to such a large, uninhibited family. And he was strengthened in his resolve to escape the lonely vastness of the home where he had spent his neglected childhood. From time to time, he caught Henri watching him anxiously, but determined he would control his moods and deny himself the urge to ride madly through the woods to expunge his rage and resentment as he had used to do in Austria. Once the odious business in England was cleared up he would be free to return to Giugliana. He was sure he could persuade her to disentangle herself from her family's schemes. They would raise a large family, and one day, perhaps, he would convince her that they should return to England and set about turning Hatherley into a home such as this, ringing with happy laughter and companionship.
But late at night, alone in his room, sitting over the embers of the fire, he wondered whether he would really ever be able to induce Giugliana to leave her beloved Italy, with its bright sunshine, and her sense of being descended from one of the greatest families of art collectors that Europe had ever known. After nearly three years in Italy, he had to admit how pleasant it was to be once again in a northern country, rising early to hunt over fields shrouded in mists. But perhaps she would consent to France ... and he would fall asleep musing on possible futures for them both.
One morning he rode out alone with Buchan.
“I have been thinking, my lord.”
“Yes, Peter.”
“Would you be thinking of returning to Paris with the family, sir? I understand you are bound to be in Paris for the dowager's grand ball, but that is not till mid-February, six weeks away.”
“Quite so. I understand there is a great deal to see in Paris, but after these days in the country, I am not sure I am ready to return so soon to city salons.”
“Well m'lord, I have been reading up in the library, and it seems there are a good many places we could profitably visit before rejoining your friends in the capital.”
“Buchan, you are a splendid fellow. What do you have in mind?”
Buchan revealed a well-worked-out itinerary that would encompass the ruined abbey at Vézelay, the great cathedral at Bourges, as well as the remains of the once-glorious chateaux of the Loire before reaching Paris via Tours and Chartres. That evening Ormiston drew Henri aside and asked his opinion.
“In all honesty, it would suit me admirably. My days in Paris are damnably taken up, and my mother and I were wondering how best we should be able to entertain you, as she will be fearfully occupied with this wretched ball. And your
succés
in Paris will be guaranteed if you can express opinions about some of the glories of French architecture, which many of our aspiring dancing partners have not so much as heard of, let alone visited. Now, how do you wish to travel?”
The next few days were taken up in planning Ormiston's excursion, since all the uncles and aunts had favorite sights, or recommendations for especially comfortable inns. In the end it was decided that the bulk of Ormiston's luggage would travel to Paris with the family and that he and Buchan would travel light on horseback, accompanied by Sylvestre, one of the family's most trusted groomsmen.
While the excursion itself had proved a fascinating diversion, the news that awaited Ormiston in Paris had cast him down. Waiting for him at the Hotel des Ferrières was a letter from Giugliana, a cool dispatch informing him of the forthcoming nuptials of the Marchesa di Podenza to il Principe Vergara, with no personal message at all. At first, the viscount had read and reread the note in disbelief, pacing his chamber and driving his Italian valet to distraction as the man attempted to prepare Ormiston for dinner. But as the evening wore on, he found himself astonished by how little he really seemed to mind about Giugliana's cynical defection. A little wounded by the formality of her letter, yes, but he did not feel so devastated as love lyrics and stage dramas would have him believe he ought to have felt. He slept well, and woke the next morning somewhat at a loose end, but otherwise in reasonably resigned humor.
Thus it was that Ormiston now found himself on his second morning in Paris, accompanying his friend's mother on her morning ride. The dowager Comtesse de Ferrières was busy pointing out who lived where and who was who. Their progress was stately, as the countess had many friends to greet or salute. Ormiston was increasingly bewildered as the roll call of those due to attend the ball on the following day was enumerated. Vast as the de Ferrières mansion might be, he could not imagine it accommodating such a crush.
As he had been warned, the dowager countess was obviously of the opinion that he must make a show in Parisian society. He noticed she was stressing the eligibility of the daughters and giving him what were, no doubt, invaluable hints on their interests, their pedigrees, and their fortunes. No doubt she was scheming. He suspected that she might already have earmarked him for some unsuspecting ingénue. Why the deuce were people so intent on marrying him off without consulting his desires? First his father's insistence on that absurd marriage before he had left England. Now Henri's well-meaning but busybody mother. He could not resist the temptation to tease.
“And which of all these beautiful and accomplished
mesdemoiselles
have you earmarked for my poor, unsuspecting friend?”
“Dear Lord Ormiston, you cannot think me such a goose as to tell you! Henri thinks I am a scheming
vieille dame
, but although I may have my favorites, it would be foolish for me to make this clear to Henri. His father and I were blessed with great happiness. I just wish him to see the best, and to make
une choix sage
âhow do you say, a wise choice.”
“And what of me, Madame la Comtesse? Do you not have someone in mind?”
“I do not think I would presume. A little
oiseau
has whispered that your heart is unsuitably engaged in Italy. But no doubt your own people at home are awaiting your return in order to show you the exquisitely eligible beauties of London.”