Page 22 of The Royal Governess
“Gosh, how old were you when she, you know, died?” Lexi’s forthright manner could irritate me. But not today. I wanted to know too.
“About four.” His voice thickened.
The poor boy had only had a mother for four years. How difficult for Marco and hard for the little boy who ended up with a stern-faced grandmother.
The room definitely had a feminine feel to it. But it also held a lot of hurt and isolation. Why had Marco stuck his wife up here?
“Look at this.” Lexi motioned me to the window. “You can see everything from here.”
“Just about.” Gregorio came up behind us. “There’s the stable.”
When I glanced down, my breath caught in my throat. Heights had always terrified me, and I grabbed the window ledge with both hands. “The scenery is spectacular. Are those vineyards off in the distance?”
“Yes, we are known for our wine. Well, and our olives. Maybe someday we can visit the vineyard.”
“I would like that.” When I’d done my research, the vineyards and wine had been mentioned. Turning away from the rolling hills that stretched forever, I took a breath. “Have you ever used the fireplace?” The huge stone opening was stained dark from smoke.
“I haven’t used it. But it’s been used.” Gregorio carried a strange sadness in his voice. “It gets cold up here.”
Anger simmered behind my eyes. How dare Marco isolate that young mother up here. “Why didn't your mother live downstairs?”
Outside, a brisk wind kicked up, rattling the mullioned windowpanes. I could only imagine how frightening that would sound at night. “She wanted to be alone.” Then Gregorio’s face brightened. “Want to see the dungeon?”
“Yes, yes.” Clapping her hands together, Lexi turned from the window. “What fun!”
Fun?“Where is it?” My head was reeling.
Mouth gaping, Gregorio looked at me as if I’d just fallen off a turnip truck. “In a castle the dungeon is always in the basement.”
Lexi and I exchanged a look. Trepidation slowed my steps as we followed Gregorio out of the room. He locked up and tucked the key away. Gregorio seemed so sad as we followed him down those forbidding stone steps. Why had he brought us up here? The room seemed so personal and he hardly knew us.
Maybe Marco would answer my questions. But I would have to phrase them very carefully.
When we exited at the foot of the steps, there stood his grandmother. I nearly jumped out of my shoes. Her forbidding look was enough to give me nightmares.
“Gregorio, what are you doing?” Although her question was pointed, her voice was soft. Ama obviously cared very much for her grandson.
Hands fumbling in his pockets, Gregorio shifted in his boots. My heart went out to him.
“He was just giving us a tour,” Lexi offered breezily, eyes circling between Gregorio and his grandmother. “Great view from up there.”
That was my girl. Always ready with an answer, even though the question wasn’t intended for her.
“I see.” But Ama continued to focus on her grandson. “Have you had lunch?”
“We've been in class, Nonna.” Suddenly, Gregorio became very interested in the portraits that stretched along the wall on the first floor. “This was a typical fourteenth century study of the countryside.”
To my astonishment, he rambled on, spewing some pretty impressive information. The boy definitely had a leg up on art history. To my relief, Ama drifted away. As soon as she’d disappeared down the corridor, he cut the monologue and crooked a finger. “Come.”
We followed tight on his heels. This boy knew every secret corridor in the place. “Was all that fourteenth century stuff true…about the painting?” I had to ask.
“Most of it. Reginaldo, one of the tutors, was really into art.” Shuffling along, he led us to another elevator in the back. By that time, I had no idea where we were.
“But he wasn’t American,” Gregorio continued, lifting a shoulder. “You know. No connections at Harvard. No friends in high place, my father says.”
“Oh, but I…” No way did I want Marco to think I had influence at the university.
“Isn’t this amazing?” Lexi squeezed my arm.
