The contessa did not look like a lonesome old woman to Arabella. She was splendidly gowned in ivory satin, her black hair pulled high on her head in a fashionable topknot, with curling tendrils falling down her neck. A lovely diamond necklace lay against her bosom. Arabella wondered if her father’s cargoes paid for it.
“It is my pleasure, contessa,” Arabella said in a smooth voice, touching her fingers to the woman’s outstretched hand. “You have a lovely home,” she added, looking about the parlor with its creamy white furnishings. “The fireplace is exquisite.”
“Yes, I admire Italian marble. There is nothing to rival it in all the world, I think. But I forget my manners, Lady Arabella. Will you not accompany me to the dining room? Luigi has prepared us a small meal that I hope will please you.”
Arabella nodded and followed the contessa from the parlor across a nar
row hallway into a sunlit room filled with yellow roses.
“How lovely,” Arabella said.
“Yes, it is,” the contessa agreed. “I trust you like a cold shrimp-and-scallop salad, Lady Arabella.” She paused a moment, then added on a pained smile, “As I get older, I find I cannot afford to indulge in heavy luncheons.”
“But you are as slender as a girl,” Arabella said, diverted.
Again Giovanna felt a tug of liking for the earl’s daughter. “Thank you,” she said, and seated herself across from her guest.
“You are enjoying your stay in Naples, madam?”
“Ah, yes,” Giovanna said. “The king and queen are very kind.”
She placed slight emphasis on the “king,” enough for Arabella to wonder if the contessa was mocking her. She sipped the white wine placed before her, and decided it was time for her to become a bit more worldly. She gave the contessa a disconcertingly brilliant smile. “The king and queen are indeed charming. But I must tell you that I prefer some of the younger gentlemen in the court. They are much more exciting, I think.”
“Oh?” Giovanna asked.
“Indeed,” Arabella continued, feigning a sophistication that would have made her father and brother stare at her as if she were a raree-show. “There is one gentleman who is ever so frightening, but withal, he makes me feel very much like a woman.”
Giovanna smiled. “You are drawn to dangerous young men, signorina?”
“Oh yes,” Arabella said. “The comte in particular I find terribly attractive.”
“The comte?”
“The Comte de la Valle, madam,” Arabella said, lowering her voice. “He is French, you know, and so very ah, charmant, and manly.” There, contessa, Arabella thought, sipping more of the fruity wine. Now what do you think of me?
Giovanna felt such a surge of anger that a small shrimp fell from her fork onto the white tablecloth. The little fool, baiting me, she thought.
“Yes,” Giovanna said, smiling. “I myself find the comte to my liking. He is particularly gallant in the bedchamber.”
Arabella couldn’t prevent the slight quiver of shock that widened her eyes.
Such a child you are, my lady, Giovanna thought, repressing a laugh.
“I would imagine so,” Arabella said after a long moment. Get hold of yourself, you fool.
Giovanna leaned forward. “But not so seductive a lover as some other men I have known. More wine, child?”
Arabella gladly accepted another glass, for she had the feeling that she was no longer in control of the situation. She drank deeply.
“Thank you, contessa,” she said.
Giovanna sat back in her chair and gazed pensively into her wine glass. “I remember one gentleman who could make me limp with his passion. I was much younger then, as was he, of course.”
“He was your husband, contessa?” Arabella asked.
“No. My husband was already dead, thank the Lord.”
“Oh.”