Rake Most Likely To Thrill. Bronwyn Scott

      ‘La famiglia è la patria del cuore! Family is the country of your heart. Of course you’ve come.’ Giacomo Ricci rose from his chair and came to embrace Archer, kissing him on both cheeks the moment Archer entered the loggia where a late breakfast was being served the next morning.

      ‘Buongiorno, Zio.’ Archer bore the effusive greeting as graciously as he had last night after finding his uncle’s contrada, Torre. It hadn’t been far from the town centre, just to the west of where he’d come from. Everyone had known his uncle and it had been easy to find Giacomo among the throng of revellers. Apparently each neighbourhood had been hosting its own celebration.

      His uncle had kissed him publicly and spirited him away to his home where a new party commenced as he was introduced in whirlwind fashion to cousins, spouses of cousins and their offspring. There had been neighbours and friends after that, all eager to greet him and kiss him. He’d never been kissed by so many men in his entire life. Archer couldn’t recall the last time his father had kissed him. Had his father ever kissed him?

      Archer filled a plate with bread, cheese and fresh strawberries and took a seat at the table where he could look through the arches of the loggia into the street. The loggia was open by design, so that people passing by could wave to his uncle or stop to conduct brief business or even partake of some food. He knew enough from what his mother had told him about her home that the arrangement spoke to the power and position of her family in the contrada. To be seen with Giacomo Ricci was important. It was the sort of news people would share over dinner later in the day.

      For now, though, Archer was thankful the loggia was empty and the streets quiet after a boisterous night of festivities. He was still reeling from last evening. His uncle retook his seat. ‘Did you sleep well? I want to take you around the neighbourhood and show you everything, have you meet some people.’ His uncle’s eyes shone with warm pride as he paused, gripping Archer’s hand firmly. ‘I cannot believe you are here at last, my sister’s son, here in my own home.’

      Archer felt his throat tighten unexpectedly at the warmth and sincerity of his words. ‘I cannot believe it either. I wish it had been sooner. I promised her I would come.’ These were promises only his brother, Dare, knew about, promises he’d made that last day in his mother’s final hour and not spoken of to anyone, not even Haviland. He and Dare had been with her, all three of them simply waiting, knowing the end was so very close, that all the sunshine, all the open windows letting in the crisp autumn afternoon, couldn’t hold back the inevitable. She was going on without them. They were grown men. They should have been able to handle the reality. But Archer’s own throat had been tight with emotion as it was now.

      ‘What did you promise her?’ his uncle prompted gently. Archer struggled to find words to tell this man he knew and yet didn’t know. ‘She said, “Promise me you will go to Giacomo, Archer. Go to my home. I think you will find what you’re looking for.”’ He was looking for so much. A father figure who could replace the one his father had become, a place of his own where he could be his own man as opposed to the second son, where he could live his own dreams among the horses.

      ‘This is a pilgrimage for you?’ Giacomo asked quietly.

      ‘In part,’ Archer confessed. ‘I come here to honour her, to remember her, to know who she was before she was my mother. But I have also come here for the future, for my future, to see what I can be.’ His mother had not told him explicitly to stay in Siena, but the idea suited him, this concept of striking out on his own and under his own power.

      His uncle smiled, his grip on Archer’s hand tightening. ‘The past and future are often intertwined in this way. She was right to send you to us. You are a good son to honour her and you shall be like a son to me.’ Even if the past ten hours weren’t enough to confirm it, Archer knew from years of letters how his uncle and his wife had despaired of any children of their own.

      Archer could see now, surrounded by the big brick home of the Riccis, how disappointing it must be for his uncle not to have the home filled with children. His uncle was a well-built man, tall in the tradition of the Riccis, but his temples were greying and his years for child rearing had passed. He was a local statesman now, his days consumed with running the family cloth business and training horses. Archer understood now with vivid clarity how his mother’s last wish had been a gift for him and for her brother. Even facing death, she’d thought about what would be best for the family, for others. He would not fail her.

      * * *

      Giacomo was smiling now, already planning. ‘There are people I want you to meet, places I want you to see. I’d like to show you around the contrada today if you’re up for it.’

      ‘I would like that, if it’s not too much trouble. I can show myself around,’ Archer offered. Perhaps there was a chance of running into Elisabeta. But he would like it in other ways too. It would give him time to spend getting to know this uncle of his. The warmth of his uncle’s welcome was overwhelming, the sincerity and emotion of it touched him. It reminded him of his mother, of the warmth she extended to everyone she met. She had been a generous woman in the way that his uncle was a generous man.

      His uncle waved an adamant hand in the air. ‘No, no, it’s not any trouble. You are one of us. Everyone must understand that.’ Archer nodded graciously. His mother had warned him, had she not? In an Italian family, one was never alone, never ‘forced’ to make one’s way on one’s own. His uncle was not done with his plans. ‘Perhaps tomorrow, we can ride out to the country and see the horses. It is why you’ve come, isn’t it? Your mother mentioned you loved the animals in all of her letters.’

      Archer smiled. Ah, this would be easier than he could have hoped. His uncle understood. ‘It is. I am interested in the Palio. I want to be part of it.’

      Giacomo beamed and laughed out loud. ‘And so you will! I am the capitano this year,’ he said proudly. Archer felt the man study him for moment, dark eyes assessing. ‘Maybe I could appoint you as one of my mangini.’ He nodded as if the decision was made. ‘Yes, you would do nicely and it would give you a chance to learn about the race.’

      The mangini were supporters of the capitano, his lieutenants in seeing his commands carried out. Archer knew it was a position of honour, but it was not what he’d hoped for himself. Archer leaned forward, holding his uncle’s eyes, amber-brown like his own, in all seriousness. ‘The honour would be mine. I will serve the contrada however I may, but I had hoped to offer myself to you as a rider.’ Surely his mother had mentioned his skills in that regard if she’d mentioned him in the letters that had been exchanged over the years.

      ‘A fantino?’ his uncle asked before shaking his head. ‘It is not possible. The riders are not from the contradas, or even from Siena.’ He gave another wave of his hand. ‘It makes it too difficult to arrange the partiti. It simply isn’t how it is done.’ Perhaps he saw Archer’s disappointment. He gave a gentle smile. ‘Everyone in the contrada is part of the Palio and you will be too, you will see. I will need you as a mangini, someone to help me with the Palio arrangements.’ He nodded, affirming his satisfaction over the arrangement.

      It was not what Archer had wanted. He’d come all this way to ride in the Palio. He’d given up Haviland’s wedding to make the journey on time. But his uncle was done with the subject for the moment. He sat back in his seat. ‘You have your mother’s eyes, the Ricci eyes, and her chin.’ His tone softened and lowered. ‘My sister, your mother, was a beautiful woman. She stole hearts wherever she went, your father’s included, and his was not an easy one to steal. But he saw her and it was all over for him. I remember that summer as if it were yesterday; the grand English earl had come to Siena for the races to see the Italian champions, and he went home with a wife, the most beautiful woman in Tuscany.’

      He gave a nostalgic sigh. ‘It was a heady summer, watching Vittoria in the throes of her courtship. It was a time full of victories and romance, and now the earl’s son has returned.’ He smiled benevolently at Archer. ‘Perhaps we will find you a wife too? Someone worthy of a