“Now, Luciana, you know that Carlo will never allow you to accompany him,” said Camilla.
“It is to be an exciting event,” Giana said. “I think all of you would enjoy it.”
She noticed several startled glances. “Ladies,” Mirabella said, “do not travel such distances.”
“But why, ma’am?” Giana asked, equally startled.
Camilla Palli said in a superior voice that was beginning to grate on Giana’s ear, “Really, Miss Van Cleve, I wonder at such a question from you. A lady’s sensibilities would surely forbid such strenuous travel, and there are, of course, the children to be considered.”
“Yes, I suppose there are many considerations,” Giana said.
“Of course Camilla is right,” Mirabella said, glancing toward the clock just to the left of the mantelpiece. “Can you imagine being jostled by all the common people?” She shuddered delicately. “I wonder what the gentlemen can be doing?”
“Smoking their vile cigars and drinking port,” Luciana said matter-of-factly.
“Oh dear,” Mirabella said, stabbling her needle into the swatch of material, “I just missed a stitch.”
“How is your precious little baby, Angela?” Luciana said, disregarding Mirabella. “Angela has been married but a year and a half, my dear,” she explained to Giana. “A little girl this time, but she isn’t repining. I myself had three girls before I gave my husband a boy.”
“Maria can hold her head up now,” Signora Angela Cavour said. “But surely, Luciana, we shouldn’t talk of such things. Miss Van Cleve—Giana—is not yet married.”
“I will be, in September.”
“How marvelous for you,” Mirabella said, her eyes darting again toward the clock. “Oh dear, the gentlemen are taking a long time, aren’t they?”
“Your fiancé is English?” Angela asked in a soft, shy voice.
“Yes, ma’am. He will likely enter my mother’s business.”
“Your mother in business. Surely you are jesting, Giana.” Mirabella’s hand was poised over the tambor frame in awful silence.
“Yes,” Giana said stiffly. “She is quite good—indeed, since my father died, she has increased the Van Cleve holdings substantially.”
“How very odd,” Luciana said, a thick black brow arched.
“A pity she did not marry again,” Camilla said in her pontificating voice. “Imagine a lady involving herself in all that drudgery.”
Giana flushed at the repetition of her own words to her mother. Somehow Camilla made them sound so priggish and offensive.
“She has had many offers, ma’am,” Giana said quietly. “She prefers making her own decisions.”
Luciana’s thin dark brows remained arched. “A lady entirely on her own—I vow it is something I should not like to contemplate. At least she had the good sense to protect you, Giana.”
“What kind of business?” Angela asked quietly.
“The Van Cleve interests are varied, ma’am. Shipping, vineyards, the railroad.” Giana realized she did not know many of the Van Cleve interests. She had never bothered to ask. “Perhaps,” she said tentatively to Luciana, wanting to impress, “Signore Salvado will meet with my mother on railroad business if he goes to London for the exhibition.”
“Carlo meeting with a lady on business? I am afraid not, my dear child. I am afraid my Carlo would as soon meet with the monkeys at the zoo. I am sorry, but he has strong opinions on such things.”
“I wish the gentlemen would finish with their port,” Mirabella said, glancing again at the clock.
“They are likely discussing the political situation,” Camilla said. “Did I tell you, Signorina Van Cleve, that my darling daughter is also to wed? Such an amiable young man, and the scion of an old and distinguished Roman family.”
The fragile Angela said hesitantly, “I have heard it said, Camilla, that Vittorio Cavelli is a rather wild young man.”
“What young man does not enjoy himself before he is wed?” Camilla shrugged. “My dear Cametta has met him, and thinks that her father and I have made a fine choice. He is quite a handsome boy, and well-spoken.”
“Cametta does not know him well, ma’am?” Giana asked, surprised.