Page 11 of The Royal Governess
Confidence surged through me, probably the result of a night’s sleep. Hand gripping the banister, I made my way down the eternal staircase. By the time I reached the bottom, I knew that yes, Lexi was right. There were one hundred and thirty blasted stairs. The hallway where we’d had dinner might be a good place to start my expedition. I wanted to know more about this castle and the family.
The dining room sat empty. Now that I wasn't concentrating on the people seated at the table, I could scan the walls more closely. Holy macaroni, this place could be a museum. Although I loved art museums and visited them whenever Lexi and I did travel outside Pittsburgh, which wasn’t frequent, I’d never seen any of these paintings.
But I didn’t have time to study them. I had to make good use of my time while no one was around. Unfortunately, some of the rooms were locked. Traveling down the hallway, I tried every one. Finally, I came to a door that opened with a noisy creaking. Frozen, I scanned the hall. No one. Quickly, I stepped inside. Walls of books met me, their musty smell tickling my nose. Looked like I’d found the library. The books were housed to the ceiling. A very tall ladder on wheels made reaching the top levels possible, not that I would ever try it.
Across the back, stretched a long table with spindle backed chairs and reading lamps. The studious atmosphere was broken up by pairs of comfortable chairs. Picturing Marco sitting here reading one of these books stretched my imagination. Did the man ever smile? But the stable boy had, and laughter had warmed his eyes. Had I imagined all that?
As in the dining room, the windows were long and deep and rose to a pointed arch. Despite the comfortable chairs and side tables, this was not a cozy place. And after I’d sneezed the third time, definitely not a place for our classes.
Leaving the library, I proceeded down the hall. Luckily, more of the rooms opened to me when I twisted the large, heavily enscripted knob. Each room had a gigantic fireplace where you could practically roast a pig or a person. Now, that last thought conjured up a medieval picture I had to shut down fast. How modern was Marco Napolitano? His clothing suggested another era, the sleeves ballooning, caught in tight cuffs. And poor Gregorio seemed to wear the same antiquated garb. My heart went out to the teenager growing up in what basically felt like a time warp.
After peeking into four or five rooms which looked the same, I had a feel for the place. The furniture might be different but the décor was mostly creams, ochres and rusty browns––peaceful but not energizing. In addition to priceless antique furniture, each room was hung with paintings––the kind found in history books.
Then I bumbled into a room with a pool table like none I’d ever seen before. My employer probably called this game billiards. Running my fingers over the weathered green surface, I pictured men in period dress, puffing on cigars as they wielded cues racked along the wall. I took one from the rack. The cue was inlaid, much like some of the tables. Feeling the weight, I put the cue back.
If Gregorio and I could spend some time here, I might get to know him better. The stilted meal last night had given me a neck ache. I’d never get to know him under the eyes of his father and grandmother. The poor kid was probably kept on a short leash. Chuckling under my breath, I twirled out of the billiard room and ran smack into His Greatness.
I gasped. Marco frowned, his dark eyes making my empty stomach spiral. “Did you find what you were looking for, Profesora?”
“Yes–yes, thank you.” I’d become a stuttering fool. “I'm really not looking for anything. Just trying to get the lay of the land.”
His frown deepened. “Lay of the land,” he repeated with suspicion, as if I’d just suggested something illicit.
I was snooping. “Your home––that is, your castle––is so beautiful. I hope you don't mind my looking around. You know, so I can decide on the best room to hold class.”
“I've instructed the staff to lock up the silver.” Said without even the hint of a smile.
“Oh, I wouldn’t…” Then I caught it. The golden glint deep in his brown eyes. It took my breath away. So he was teasing?
With that he took off down the hall. And yes, he looked very nice in those breeches. His period wardrobe could stay. “Have you eaten?”
The mere mention of food set my stomach growling. “Not yet.” I stumbled after him.
“Breakfast is served between seven and eight. Didn’t my mother give you that information?” He threw me a sidelong glance. I nearly tripped on the Oriental rug.
This wasn't the time to throw his mother under the bus. “Maybe I missed it. Yesterday is a blur in my mind.” But not the part about the stable. No, that was firmly embedded in my memory. I ran a hand over my wayward bangs and demure ponytail.
By this time, we’d reached the dining room. Shy sunlight fell into the chamber from the long windows. So much for a home that looked out onto a pleasant scene. These rooms were designed to withstand a siege. The french doors swathed in sheers were probably a later addition.
His Greatness swept a hand toward a buffet that would have fed Attila and his entire army. “Let me know if this does not…meet your expectations.”
I could hardly wait to begin.
Taking a plate, he began working his way down the buffet. I did the same. Bacon was heaped onto grilled tomatoes. Potatoes had been replaced by what looked like orzo. The fresh greens were a must. Had to get my vitamin D. Eggs were done in multiple ways. I chose the soft-boiled egg cup just for the novelty of it. The cup was porcelain, painted with delicate blue forget-me-knots.
By the time I turned from the feast, Marco had seated himself and snapped open his linen napkin. At his elbow was a copy of theWall Street Journal. The paper crackled when he folded it into a neat, easily read column. “So, this morning you will start the lessons, no?”
“Yes.” I tapped my egg with a spoon until I could lift off the top. My mother would have been proud of me. “Do you have a room that is a little, um, cozier than the library? I found it by accident this morning.”
Marco was munching on bacon. A bit of oil at the corner of his lips distracted me. I nearly drove a fork through my left hand. “After breakfast, I will show you the nursery.”
“This castle has a nursery?”
He blotted his lips. Sanity returned. “Of course. After all, we had children. I am proof, no?” That naughty twinkle sparked again in his eyes. And this time there was no mistake. Good thing I was eating a soft-boiled egg. Any other food would have caught in my throat.
So he was going to become my guide. I wasn't exactly thrilled, except his mother had obviously left out things. “Wonderful. Terrific.”
I was cutting broccoli into edible bites when he said, “Am I mistaken? Did you not tell me you had a son?”
