Page 19 of The Lady's Guide to Well-Endowed Dukes
“Ladies.” He gave a chivalrous bow and doffed his hat. “I see you’re headed into town. If you’d welcome my company, itwould be a pleasure to escort you. I know something of Italian architecture.”
Very smooth, thought Estela. One might think he’d been waiting to intercept them at the appropriate moment. He looked a little tired, but handsome in his sand-colored linen suit, paired with a simple cream tie and matching kerchief.
She wasn’t sure what he was playing at, but it irked her. He might have joined them at dinner if he wished to continue a cordial association. Instead, he’d left her wondering and waiting, growing increasingly disappointed.
Now she’d be obliged to be nothing but polite while nursing her annoyance. She folded her map closed and was about to let him know that he needn’t bother. However, both Oona and Margaret were expressing their delight, and the matter was settled.
Exactly as Estela had planned herself, he led them to thePiazza del Duomo, where the warmly-hued cathedral bore customary stripes and a high-arched central entranceway, flanked by ornately-framed doors upon either side.
Estela was not averse to visiting sacred buildings, but she did hope Lord Rockley wasn’t going to be a bore, making them spend hours inside and inundating them with facts no one wanted to hear.
Crossing the square, they came first to a large and surprisingly intricate fountain, which deserved some moments of regard.
“TheFontana di Orione—widely regarded as the most beautiful in Italy,” pronounced Lord Rockley. “It was designed by Angelo Montorsoli, who studied under Michelangelo himself. The piece was commissioned to celebrate the completion of the city’s first aqueduct; hence the four reclining figures from whose amphorae water flows into the lower basins. They embody the rivers Nile, Tiber and Ebro, as well as the local Camaro, whichfeeds the fountain itself. Most of the other figures follow the theme, in portraying dolphins, sea monsters, naiads and so on.”
Estela made as if to conceal a yawn. For whatever reason, Lord Rockley had clearly set about memorizing his guidebook.
Oona was peering at the figures—all very much naked and without so much as a fig leaf perching on their manly parts. She adjusted her spectacles. “It baffles me, if such works are modelled on some masculine ideal, why the sculptors make the membrum virile so tiny one can hardly see it. I’ve been led to believe the male anatomy is somewhat more imposing.”
“Oona!” Margaret exclaimed, blushing to the roots of her silvered hair.
Estela framed her features with as much seriousness as she could muster. “I’ve often wondered the same. What do you say, Lord Rockley? Do they fear sending women into a frenzy or a faint?”
To his credit, any shock seemed to have shifted to amusement. “Men tend to underestimate a woman’s strength. I can hardly believe that a mere statue, however well-turned, would affect the female population adversely.”
“Quite right,” Oona went on. “I’ve always thought it unfair, since the female form is portrayed so abundantly in art. Far more satisfying to behold.”
Lord Rockley cleared his throat. “Orion stands proudly at the top, as the mythical founder of Messina—the son of the sea-god Poseidon and Euryale, daughter of Minos, who ruled Crete.”
“I thought Hermes and Poseidon joined Zeus in relieving themselves on a bull-hide, and then buried it, from which Orion sprang forth magically.” Estela had been quite keen on Greek mythology in her younger years. “In fact, doesn’t his name derive fromourios—meaning urine!”
“Ororos,meaning mountain,” Lord Rockley countered.
Estela recalled Orion as a rather unsavory character, who’d committed at least one assault upon some maiden or other. She wracked her memory. “Is he the one who boasted of having such hunting prowess that he could kill all the beasts of the earth?”
“He is,” Lord Rockley admitted. “Quite justifiably, Gaia sent a scorpion to put an end to that notion. They were both then placed in the stars, as opposing constellations. One sets as the other rises.”
“Hmmm.” Estela turned away. “I think Orion has had enough of our time. Shall we move on?”
They spent the next hour inside the cool, marble interior of theBasilica Cattedrale di Santa Maria Assunta. Estela did not consider herself a proponent of any organized religion, disliking dogma for its own sake. There was something immensely calming, however, about the great space within the cathedral. They moved quietly between the columns, looking into archways housing statues of the apostles. They marveled at the mosaics in the left apse, and the right. They gazed reverentially into the dome at the center of the transept.
Estela noticed Lord Rockley light a candle upon the votive stand. He bowed his head, and she wondered whom he might be praying for. His brother, perhaps.
Soon after, it was he who realized, before Estela herself, that Oona and Margaret were flagging.
Ushering them back across the piazza toward a charming restaurant, he secured them a table beneath a wide parasol.
When the waiter hurried over, Rockley ordered for them in Italian far more fluent than Estela’s own.
“As we must hydrate, I’ve requested a jug of orange juice.” He turned to the older ladies. “Some say the Sicilian fruit are the best in all the world, thanks to the climate and fertile soil. Also, a carafe of Marsala wine to accompanyarancini, and the specialty of the house—Caponata di Melanzane. It was once a dish of onlythe nobility, made with expensive lampuga fish, but the people made it their own, by substituting eggplant. The result is even better, in my opinion, with just the right amount of sour and sweet.”
Estela settled back, feeling strangely contented. Despite her confident ability to navigate the ordering of lunch, there was something rather pleasant in allowing Rockley to take charge. It did not escape her notice that Margaret and Oona thought so too.
The meal proceeded in friendly fashion, with Rockley encouraging her godmothers to speak of their home. Before long, they were regaling him with stories of Estela’s childhood. Most did not place her in the most flattering light, since she’d largely run amok. However, Rockley egged them on, seeming to enjoy hearing of her wayward youth.
“We must end with thecannoli—crisp outside and soft within.” Rockley rose. “This place is famous for adding fruit to the rich ricotta. Excuse me. I’ll look at all they have and order a selection for us.”
As soon as he was gone, Oona and Margaret shared beaming smiles.
