Page 1 of A Courtship in Catania (The Grand Tours of the Aristocracy #1)
CHAPTER 1
AN ENGLISHMAN IN CATANIA
E arly January 1833, Catania, Kingdom of the Two Sicilies
Lifting his face to the bright Sicilian sun, Donald Slater closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He was sure he had never experienced such a glorious day in England, especially not during the month of January. Although most in the city of Catania wore some sort of overcoat when they went out—they no doubt thought the weather on the cool side—Donald had elected to take his exploratory walk without wearing his greatcoat.
The owner of his lodgings in Via Garibaldi, Signore Pietro Caravallo, was used to hosting young men on their Grand Tours. He had drawn a crude map of the city, explaining how Donald could simply use Mount Aetna as his guide. The imposing volcano, which loomed to the north, wasn’t spouting any steam as it had been doing the day before. The continuous white puffs had been a reminder the volcano wasn’t extinct, and Donald wondered how anyone could live in its shadow without the constant worry of it erupting.
The evidence of earlier eruptions could be found everywhere, for everything in Catania seemed to be made of lava. Since an earthquake in 1693 had leveled most of the buildings in the city, the current architecture was mostly Baroque, its lava base covered in plaster and painted in colorful shades befitting the Mediterranean island’s setting. Streets were constructed of large lava bricks, their rectangular shapes fitted tightly together and the result far smoother than their cobblestone counterparts in England. Scattered about the pavements were tiny black particles, evidence that steam wasn’t the only thing Aetna spewed out of its peak.
Near the city’s center, Donald consulted his map and realized he had already come to the green space his host had explained belonged to Ignazio Paternò Castello, prince of Biscari. “You can go there,” Pietro had explained. “Get lost in the labyrinth. He will not mind.”
Donald wasn’t sure why his host had recommended he visit the prince’s property. Garden mazes were quite common in England—his aunt Hannah had even had one planted behind Gisborn Hall, despite his uncle Henry’s protests that it took away part of a field he once used for farming. Uncle Henry, Earl of Gisborn, wouldn’t have denied his countess anything, though, and his four sons teased him about it mercilessly.
Just you wait , he had warned them. When you marry the love of your life, you’ll do anything to keep her happy.
Nathaniel, the oldest, was apparently learning that particular lesson first hand. He had married a young woman from Oxford the year before, and now that she was due to give birth at any moment, Nathan admitted he was at her beck and call.
As Donald made his way in the direction of the prince’s labyrinth, grinning at the reminder of how the Earl and Countess of Gisborn now found excuses to get lost in the tall maze, his attention was suddenly captured by a young woman. She was exiting the labyrinth on the arm of a much older man.
Had anyone happened to notice Donald, they would have seen his mouth open in awe, for she was the most beautiful young woman he had seen in his entire life.
Wearing a stunning silk de Naples gown in deep red and a headdress that appeared as if it was from the Middle Ages, she looked as if she might be the queen of Sicily.
A thought that she might become the queen of his heart didn’t register with Donald at that moment. Nor did his father’s warning about falling in love.
Will Slater, Earl of Bellingham, a former commander in the British Navy, and heir to the Devonville marquessate, had warned him that some woman somewhere would one day take hold of his heart in her small hand and squeeze it until it hurt. Bat it about as if it was her favorite plaything. Kiss it until it was healed and then do it all over again. And you’ll love every minute of it, because that ache in your chest will remind you that you’re alive. That you have someone to live for.
Despite the fact that his father’s words had probably been said about Donald’s mother didn’t make them any easier to hear at the time. After a warning like that, Donald had long ago decided he would guard his heart. Spend his days looking after a stable of horses for Uncle Henry, and spend his nights writing.
What better topic to write about than a young man’s Grand Tour?
So when his father suggested he travel to the Mediterranean when he completed his studies at Oxford, Donald had jumped at the chance.
A Grand Tour. The trip of a lifetime. The opportunity to see first-hand the places he had learned about in school. Walk in the footsteps of famous philosophers and rulers. Gaze upon Greek temples and Roman ruins. Marvel at pyramids. Breathe the same air as those who had lived centuries ago.
He was also discovering the places of the past had a present populated by peoples both modern and old-fashioned.
The Italian aristocracy might best fall into the latter category. Although he had met a number of their members during his tour, Donald had never seen a more beautiful young woman. The fact that she was clinging to the arm of a much older man at first annoyed him.
The hint of jealousy had Donald experiencing surprise.
When she acknowledged his existence with a nod of her head, Donald quickly removed his top hat and bowed deeply. When she offered her hand—ungloved—he bestowed a kiss on the back of it rather than simply brushing his lips over her soft knuckles. Her fingers, long and lean, ended in fingernails of perfect ovals. They bent slightly to grip his hand, as if she didn’t want him to let go.
That simple touch had him mesmerized. Her reaction—he was sure a frisson had passed through and up her arm—caused her to inhale softly. She dipped a curtsy and let go of the older man’s arm to introduce herself.
“S ono la Signora Nicoletta D’Avalos, e questo è mio padre, il Conte Enrico D’Avalos ,” she said as her head angled toward the man. I am Lady Nicoletta D’Avalos, and this is my father, Conte Enrico D’Avalos .
Donald understood her Italian well enough to feel a wave of relief. The older gentleman, her father, was an aristocrat, although Donald also knew they no longer held much in the way of power in the Bourbon-controlled country. But why had she been the one to make the introduction rather than her father?
He knew she understood his response when he said, “ Donald Slater. Sono lieto di fare la tua conoscenza .”
I am pleased to make your acquaintance.
What she did next had Donald blinking in alarm. She waved off her father and took his arm as if they were long lost friends.
“ Mi porterai in cima, no? La vista è magnifica ,” she said as if she was used to giving orders.
You will take me to the top. The view is magnificent.
Donald looked to the Conte D’Avalos for permission, but the man had already sauntered off with another, even older aristocrat, their heads bent in quiet conversation.
“ Sì, ” he murmured, stunned he had been singled out for her attentions. He led them in the direction she indicated.
“ Non ti ho visto prima qui, ” she said as they made their way to the highest point of the beautifully kept gardens.
I have not seen you here before .
“ Sono appena arrivato, da Syracusa ,” Donald replied.
I’ve only just arrived. From Syracuse .
“ Ma tu non sei di lì, sicuramente ,” she countered.
But you are not from there, surely.
He grinned. “ Io sono dall’Inghilterra .”
I am from England. “Oxfordshire.”
Her face lit up as if a thousand candles had been set aflame around her. The sun was no doubt the culprit, but Donald didn’t consider it the source of her glowing complexion.
“Then you must allow me to practice my English,” she stated, a smile lighting her face even more than the sun was doing.
Something deep in Donald’s chest seemed to contract. As a result, he struggled to breathe, and not only because they had been climbing stairs that took them to the highest part of the prince’s property. “You know how to speak English?” he asked in surprise.
“I am still learning,” she replied, holding up a hand to shield her eyes from the afternoon sun. Her headdress did nothing to protect her face from the bright rays, but perhaps her olive-toned complexion didn’t require it. “Will you correct me when I misspeak?”
Donald nodded. “If you wish.” They turned around, and he inhaled softly. From the top of the labyrinth, located in the middle of the city of Catania, he had an unfettered view of Mount Aetna to the north. All around him, the Baroque buildings, many in need of a new coat of plaster, housed the diverse population of Catania in their upper stories, while shops and offices occupied their ground level. To the east was the Mediterranean, it’s water a shade of blue he had never seen before.
“It is bellisimo , is it not?” Nicoletta asked, her attention on him rather than on the view.
Donald turned to regard her with a grin. “Not as beautiful as you, but... sí .” The words were out of his mouth before he could censor them, and he could feel the flush of red creep up his neck to color his cheeks. As a sandy-blonde-haired, blue-eyed Englishman, he feared she would note his embarrassment and tease him.
But she didn’t.
In fact, she tittered as a blush of peach colored her cheeks. “So bold,” she remarked, her ornately painted fan fluttering open. She fanned her face a few times.
Donald’s eyes rounded. Perhaps he had been too daring with his comment. “I merely spoke the truth,” he replied, deciding it best he simply own the comment. It was a compliment, after all, and if the young lady didn’t take it as such, then she was the one in error.
“Am I beautiful enough for you to... consider... accepting an invitation to a ball?” she asked in her heavily-accented English. Her occasional pauses indicated she was struggling to remember the correct words.
“Of course,” he replied. “But your beauty would not be a requirement for me to attend a ball,” he added. “I do like to dance.”
This bit of news seemed to have Nicoletta D’Avalos even more intrigued. “You do?”
He nodded, hoping she didn’t expect him to give her a demonstration right then and there. Despite the richness of the prince’s gardens, there was no music by which to dance.
“Then you must attend our ball. Tomorrow night at House D’Avalos,” she insisted. “It is not far from here. Your driver will know it,” she added, obviously unaware that he had walked to the prince’s property from his lodgings near the center of the city.
He nodded. “What time are your guests arriving?”
“You must not come before eight o’clock in the evening,” she replied. “But not after ten o’clock, or I shall not have any dances left on my card.”
He grinned at hearing her edict. Apparently balls in Sicily were much the same as they were in England. “May I reserve a waltz with you now?” he asked, deciding it couldn’t hurt to ask.
Her eyes rounded. “You are bold, Signore Slater,” she accused, although from the way she grinned at him, Donald knew she didn’t mind one bit.
“Something tells me you would not wish me to be otherwise.”
She dipped her head, her headdress bobbing with her move. “Do you find me so?”
Donald chuckled softly. “I admit I was surprised by your introduction. Is it usual for young ladies to give their names to strangers so readily?”
Nicoletta turned to face the Mediterranean as she audibly sighed. “It is true we have not met before, but you are hardly a stranger.”
“What’s this?” he asked, his gaze going from the blue waters to regard her with suspicion.
She lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “My aunt received word of your arrival to Sicily several months ago. We have been hoping you would include Catania in your itinerary.”
About to ask the identity of her aunt—he was sure he hadn’t met her during his travels—Donald was prevented from doing so when a shout sounded from down below.
Scanning the grounds, he discovered Conte Enrico D’Avalos waving at them.
“Oh, I must go,” Nicoletta said on a sigh.
“I’ll escort you down, my lady,” Donald said, offering his arm.
“And you will come to the ball?”
He nodded. “Are you quite sure it’s acceptable that I do so? I shouldn’t wish to show up uninvited.”
“ I am inviting you. If I did not, I would suffer a scolding from Armenia. She is anxious to meet you,” she explained.
“Armenia... she is your aunt?” he asked, not recognizing the name.
“Indeed,” Nicoletta replied as they made their way to where her father waited next to a town coach. “May we drop you at your lodgings?”
Not ready to return to his rooms, Donald shook his head. “I have more to see, my lady, but I thank you for the offer.” He took her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “I will see you tomorrow evening. Before nine o’clock, I expect.”
“Do not keep me waiting,” she ordered before allowing a groom to help her into the town coach. Her father had already stepped into the equipage, acknowledging Donald with a nod before he did so.
Donald couldn’t help the chuckle that erupted. “Yes, my lady,” he replied at the same moment the groom shut the door.
Stepping back, he watched as the servant hopped up and onto the back of the coach, hanging on with one hand as the horses were set into motion.
Lifting a gloved hand to wave, Donald watched the coach until it merged into the traffic of the busy street. He was fairly certain Nicoletta was spying on him from a window, so he made sure to remain in place until the coach was no longer visible.
“Bossy little thing, she is,” he murmured before he made his way in the opposite direction. “Bossy but damned beautiful.”