21 • A Gentle Hand

Background color
Font
Font size
Line height

"Matteo!"

"Axel," he said with a pleasant nod to him. "Do sit down, both of you." He nodded to two footmen and they seated us, facing one another.

"I am so glad you're here," Georgie, who was sitting beside me, whispered.

I smiled. "So am I, Georgie. Had a good sleep?"

She looked dreamy again. "I did." She sighed happily and then took a bite of her fillet mignon.

"Did all of you have a prosperous rest?" Matteo said aloud from the head of the table. I was four long seats away from him.

He asked everyone but me of how their days were. It had been a few minutes now. Amidst of it all, Matteo D'Onofrio was looking at me the whole time. It was not in a creepy kind of way, though. There was something in the way he looked at me that did't make him seem like someone worthy to be afraid of.

When we caught each other's eye, I would be the one to look away first. But for one moment, as we began to look at each other again, I held his gaze. His eyes were warm and friendly. There was a twinkle in them that made me feel very welcome and comfortable. I also noticed that, shockingly enough, we had the same eye colour. It was strange, for I thought that I was the only one with strange penetrating, olivine cat-like eyes.

I couldn't get a good look at the colour of his peridot depths better, because the candlelit chandeliers were mixing with his the colour of his eyes, so I couldn't get a good check. He smiled at me. I gave back a small, chagrined smile, then I looked away and sat down on my half finished plate of sixteenth-century food which ooked and tasted exquisite, by the way.

"Let us go on to the last course: an Italian gelato!" Matteo said pleasantly. He gestured to his servants and nine servings of authentic gelato appeared on our table in an exquisite crystal cup with sapphires on the stem of each of our glasses.

I kept on looking at it, but never dipping the dessert spoon into the gelato. I didn't know why I didn't want to eat it. The others did not seem to notice my lack of appetite on the dessert, so I just sat there and watched them. Everyone was conversing.

Okay, so not everyone. Roman was silently eating his food, Axel was busy shovelling all the gelato from his cup, and Gabriel was eating silently like Roman, but kept looking at me with cold eyes every now and then.

I sighed. I had to fix things between Gabriel and I. With Roman? I didn't think so.

Matteo talked to everyone, and like I have said, but me. Even if Roman was always grim, and always responded to Matteo's queries in monotone syllables, he was fine with that. The only thing was, even though Roman wasn't into conversation much, he had this glimmer in his amber eyes that made it seem like he actually enjoyed talking to the Italian fellow. Which was very surprising to me.

"It is good to see you all again," Matteo remarked gladly, his Italian accent rolling on his tongue, looking at everyone at the table with scintillating peridot eyes.

He continued not talking to me for the rest of the night.

|||||

"East wing, east wing, east wing..." I muttered to no one in particular. I was having a hard time looking for my "bedchamber," what with being inside a gigantic mediaeval castle and all.

"Excuse me!" I called out to a young-looking, blond footman walking across the end of the hall, holding a vase in his white-gloved hands.

The man turned around, startled, as he saw me coming near him. "Yes...m-my lady?" he stammered in a British accent, still a bit shocked at the moment.

"Could you...er...show me the east wing, third door on the right showing the green meadows through the..." What did Georgie say that Matteo bade her to tell me regarding the location of my guest bedroom?

Augh. You know, why didn't I simply ask Mario to help me? Georgie wanted to get out of the house and do a little "stroll" real early at nighttime, while Matteo was too busy in his study doing work, since he was the duke, like his work still existed in this century.

I cleared my throat. "The...Venetian windows? Yes," I said, remembering now, "it's a view of the green meadows through the Venetian windows, passing the east-wing hall. Please?"

Still, the man looked shocked. In the books I read, servants in the past were not allowed to converse with guests or their employers. This was so new to him. "Yes, my lady," the footman replied obediently, bowing slightly to me. I am not used to this at all.

He started to walk ahead of me. I was trailing behind. We kept on walking, passing rooms in each corridor. God, it was like a maze in here. An elevator would do good, but apparently, Matteo wanted everything as it was before. The silence was unbearable, so I started to ask him a question.

"So," I started, "where're you taking that vase?" I asked, nodding to the ornament he was cradling in his arms. It was a magnificent white and gold vase that would surely catch a king's eye.

The man hesitated. "It's for your room, my lady."

I raised a brow. "My room?"

"Of cou-yes," he stammered.

"Oh," I said. "That's pretty cool. The vase is beautiful."

He hesitated. "Yes, it is, my lady," he replied, nodding slightly. He glanced at me, and looked back ahead. "His grace the duke wants to put it in your room."

"Oh." I blinked. "Why?"

I could tell and see that he was debating in his mind whether he should talk to me or not, and what he was supposed to do. Servants before weren't used to conversing with guests or employers, as I've said.

He gulped. Poor fellow. "It is not for me to tell, my lady."

Right. They were not allowed to gossip either. Hmm. Well, it's not even gossip, but whatever. "Okay, I won't force you," I said gently. I switched topics and looked at the vase he was holding with awestricken admiration. "Say, that vase sure looks brand new. Where did the duke buy it?"

The man glanced at the vase in his arms and at me, uncomfortably. "This is not new, my lady," he said carefully. "This vase is about five hundred years of age. It was given by King Ferdinand of Aragon in 1496."

I tripped on my footing. "Five hundred...What?"

The footman looked certainly amused. Well, at least he didn't have to act all weird on me like I was some kind of psychotic chick. "1496," he repeated.

"Jeez..." I breathed.

I could have sworn the guy choked a laugh.

After nearly fifteen minutes of walking and searching for my guest room, the young footman stopped to a halt in front of a dark mahogany door with a gleaming golden knob. The man opened it for me, his chin held high, and as I stepped inside the room, my mouth hung open at the very sight of it.

I stood there mesmerised on the threshold, my gaze roving longingly over the magnificent white satin coverlet on the bed splashed with flowers of white, cream and sunny yellow embroidered in gold. A dainty settee was covered in matching coverlet. There were delicate porcelain vases that were filled with flowers of lilies, tulips, and roses. There was a beautiful, elegant writing desk and a vanity table painted in white.

The footman placed King Ferdinand's ancient vase on my sidetable, replacing the other vase filled with flowers. He then placed the one with flowers on a table to one end corner of the room.

"Are you sure this is the right room I'll be staying in?" I asked incredulously.

"Yes, my lady."

"It's so, well, fragile for me. I might break something here. Couldn't you at least tell Matteo to let me stay in a much less fragile room?" I pleaded.

"It is his grace's order, my lady. It is his wish to see you in comfort," the man said. And with a bow, he was gone.

I sighed and sat on the bed, helpless. If it was Matteo's wish for me to stay here, then I guess I had no choice at all.

Completely desperate to do something, I stood up and walked fifty-three steps (yes, fifty-three, believe it or not) to the window. I stood there, awestricken as I was, staring at the view in front of me. I couldn't believe my eyes as I saw the green meadows in front of my room. As my eyes roved over at it in longing desperation to go there -- maybe tomorrow -- I saw something strange inside my mind. I also felt a flash of heat in my eyes, knowing that the colour of my olivine eyes were turning emerald green.

A flash of petticoats swirling on a lush, green field. Two ladies, one little girl of no more than a mere six-year-old, and a young woman, whose face could not be identified, but could easily be described as exquisitely beautiful. They were being chased playfully by a tall, broad-shouldered man with narrow hips and long muscular legs, dressed elegantly in dark blue. The two young ladies were laughing with unabashed mirth, their lips wide open, screaming and laughing. The sun shined even brighter, and I caught a glimpse of the three heads. The man had cropped red hair, and the two ladies had shining red-gold hair. Titian. A family of exquisite beauty. They were so happy and so full of life.

But who were they? I lunged back a bit, my head giving a little swirl. I looked one more time at the green meadows. I glared at the magnificent snowy landscape. Nothing seemed familiar to me. I shrugged the thought away.

I turned around and walked back to the massive bed. I sat on the edge and my eyes gazed everywhere inside the room. My scanning stopped as I saw Ferdinand of Aragon's magnificent white and gold vase perched on top of the silkwood table. I scrunched my brows together, then stood up and went near it. My head tilted to the side. I touched the rim of the ancient vase, and I felt something again. Saw something.

"My dear girl," said a man sitting regally on a throne, a Spanish-inflected tone in every word he said, "I would like you and my good friends, your parents, to have this beautiful vase."

He snapped his fingers, and the double-doors were opened by two liveried men. There were two men carrying a large, exquisite white and gold vase, their faces showing no expressions whatsoever. All the elegant people at one of Europe's most glamorous court craned their necks to look at what the king of Spain brought for the lady of about sixteen and her two beautiful parents. The two men bowed to their sovereign.

"A beautiful gift for a beautiful young lady," the king said, gesturing to the magnificent vase. "Made especially for you, querida."

"We hope you like it, young Countess Claremont," Queen Isabella of Castile said gently, smiling at the beautiful girl in front of them, her parents smiling proudly behind her left.

The titian-haired exotic beauty -- as she seemed to be, even if I couldn't see her face, and I saw only below her small, but full and round rosebud lips -- executed a curtsy fit for a princess to the two great and brave monarchs of Spain. "I thank you, your majesties," she said gratefully, her voice unidentified for it was inflected with a mix of Italian and British and Spanish. It was a surprisingly attractive accent.

I couldn't see her face or her parents'. She didn't seem familiar at all. It was strange that I was seeing these things. Especially when I was seeing the pasts of people that I didn't know at all, and those of the fifteenth century.

Hmmm...

I wondered who they were and why I was seeing these things. I furrowed my brows but nothing came up, still. "It's probably nothing. Maybe I'm just too tired," I mumbled, sighing and lying on the bed completely. Which was true. I was pretty tired, from the trip and because of the problems falling into my life every day. With a sigh, I pulled the coverlet back, took my shoes off, and practically bounced on the bed, pulling back the thick duvet to keep me warm. My eyes were getting heavier by the second and, with me not minding, I let it close and have my good sleep.

I thought I heard the door open and footsteps silently walking on the carpeted floor, but I stopped thinking about it. My mind was getting the best of me again. I only groaned.

Then, I felt a hand reach lightly on my forehead, its fingers threading into my hair, while whispering gently, tenderly, "Venise..."

But I was too tired and sleepy to care who he was.

You are reading the story above: TeenFic.Net