She had arrived at the villa only hours before, and already had the house in the peak of activity as she bid them to remove any remnants of Gilberto from the villa, and prepared her bedchamber with the new linens. They had given the room a lovely paint and changed it for her, but it didn’t erase the memories and probably never would. Depressed, she decided she would try and ease her mind with work.

Olive spent the next bit of time going over papers that her Stable Master, Ottavio, kept in her stead… There really wasn’t anything to do once she read it as it was all up to date. She looked around her library and heaved a sigh. Maybe she was just feeling emotional because of the babe(s), who decided to make his or her (or their) presence known in the form of movement.

She pulled the bell pull and Betsy soon arrived. “I have someone coming to possibly buy some of the weapons, please have refreshments readied for his arrival and send him to the library once he arrives. I will be reading until then.”

“Yes, my lady,” said the housekeeper, looking at her with such sympathy in her eyes that Olive looked away. When the older woman left, Olivia grabbed a book and sat down to read.

Giulio Zancani, a "broker of chance" as he called himself, was always an interesting character. He kept his ear to the stones of Venice's walkways and seemed to have always overheard news of a rare good to be sold or some sort of land deal; seemingly always on the profiting end. And when Giulio approached Eberardo about a collection of older Colichemarde's at a villa outside Venice, his interest was piqued. Be it for practical use or a historical conversation piece, the fencing master was always in the market for a fine blade. Thusly, Eberardo set off to locate this trove.

Even in strange locales, Eberardo preferred to travel alone. His time at the House of Fencing was often kept with eager students and fellow esteemed swordsmen and the little time in solitude he had was in reflection in his study or in the bottom of a wine glass. He welcomed every opportunity to be alone outside his quarters, as he was less prone to sink into his vices or into melancholy. The jovial bellowing and near persistent smile are no facade, however, when he retires to his dimly lit quarters, his mind tends to turn equally somber. The sun was warm and air humid, it felt equal parts rejuvenating and stifling. While the sun did not wear down the man, his old mare was feeling the heat.

Unlike other men of his repute and age, Eberardo still chose to ride on horseback to and fro when leaving Venice proper. Although this was a short distance from the lagoons of Venice, his aged equine companion was growing tired. He chose to dismount, noting that he should be close and calming his rasping steed as he walked.

Days previous and over a healthy portion of wine, the broker detailed the location of the villa and sketched out a rough route. He described the burgeoning olive trees and the swathe of land that bordered the other portion of the estate. Eberardo was sure he was correct in his path as the villa that Giulio described was seemingly just ahead.

At a base of young Linden tree, Eberardo hitched his horse and strode towards the villa. As he approached, a woman comparable to his age, made her presence known. Her countenance and garb made Eberardo question whether she was the lady of the house or a housekeeper, but he would greet them either way in custom. At the main gate of the villa, Eberardo paused his forward steps and rendered a bow with a flourish, to the woman. The girth of his large frame stayed remarkably graceful and he smiles genially towards the woman as he recovers from the bow.

"I am Master Eberardo Pirozzi, of Eberardo Pirozzi's House of Fencing. I come at the recommendation of Mister Giulio Zancani. If time is permitting, I hope I am able to peruse what he has described as a fine collection of sword smithing.

It wasn’t long before Betsy allowed the man in and dipped a curtsy, “Welcome Signore Pirozzi. This way please,” She turned to lead him into the house, and chatted along the way. “The mistress is in her library awaiting you and has told me to take you to her. I know nothing of weaponry but I can tell you that there is quite a collection as the former owner of this villa was a collector. Apparently he had no heirs to give anything of value to. It seemed a shame just to let them sit and collect dust, so they have all been looked over and cleaned, and it is Signora’s wish to sell them off and has traveled from Venice upon receiving the missive about the inquiry. As luck would have it, you are going to be the first to look through the collection,” the woman was most certainly not Venetian if her accent gave her away at all, though her name would have also indicated she was from an English speaking country.

By the time they reached the library, which would not take long, Olivia had dozed off. Betsy knew it was a possibility, so she moved quietly to her Mistress’ side and gently touched her arm, “Mistress, your guest has arrived.” When the younger woman stirred and woke, she took in a deep breath.

“Thank you, Betsy.” She slowly unfolded herself and stood, ruddy cheeked and looking quite worn out. Olivia had opted to dress in breeches and a blouse because of her desire to be around her horses for the first time in months when the smell wasn’t as hard to handle, so it didn’t hide the swell of her belly as she moved.

“Signore Pirozzi, the Dowager Baroness Angevine, Signora Olivia Shirley Angevine,” the older woman paused and then gestured toward the old man, “The Master Ederardo Pirozzi of Ederardo Pirozzi’s House of Fencing.”

Olive nodded to Betsy in acknowledgment and murmured, “Thank you, Betsy.” The older woman bobbed a curtsey and went off to see to refreshments.

Then the pretty young widow turned her eyes upon the gentleman who came for her weapons, and she said, “Welcome to Villa L’Olive. It is a pleasure to meet you, Signore. I trust you had an uneventful journey into the country? Please, sit,” she gestured toward the chair on the other side of her desk while she went around to her own seat. “May I offer you refreshments before we proceed? The servants are still preparing the drawing room with the weapons to be sold. It should not take too much longer.”

Eberardo bowed his head slightly, " I will gladly accept your offer. Thank you for your hospitality." He studies her briefly, noting her beauty and the apparent signs of pregnancy. He recalls that she was introduced as a dowager, a widow. And wonders how recent the passing of her husband must have been. He also notes the surname Shirley and, although extremely skilled, slightly accented Italian she spoke. He scratches his beard with a gesture like he's swatting a fly as if to break the brief trance he found himself in. Eberardo quickly returns to the conversation.

"My journey was indeed uneventful. The only noteworthy event was happening upon your villa. You have a beautiful home, m'lady."
He takes a seat in the offered chair, the size of his frame scoots the chair back ever so slightly, but produces a sharp scraping noise.

He chuckles. "Pardon me, it appears my dainty physique is too light for the chair."

She stood and moved to the bell pull to indicate an affirmative on the refreshments, which were brought in within moments. Olive had the tray set on the desk close enough that he could grab from as he pleased. She nodded toward the tray laden with fruit and cheese, along with some little tarts for a sweet tooth. There too was a pot of tea, which she promptly lifted and poured in two cups. “Thank you, Signore, I am slowly making it my own now. My father gave it to me as a wedding gift and I haven’t yet sorted everything to my liking. To be honest, I pay much more attention to my horses than how my house looks, but with circumstance changing some, I’ve had to stay away from the stables and this is a result of my boredom.” Or the need to nest.

It seemed clear that she was a hard worker as opposed to one of those fluffy young girls who sat like china dolls on the settee. When she lifted her hands in gesture, there was at least one callous marring otherwise smooth skin, and the others possibly needed a keen eye to detect. She was also making a dim situation light, or trying to.

“Nonsense, that chair is a sturdy one.” She played into his jest, though her smile was only slight but genuine. Olive descended back into her seat after helping herself to just cream for her tea. She sipped after getting comfortable and then said over the cup, “Tell me of this school of yours.”

He lets out a single chuckle, approving of the woman's wit.
Eberardo grasped one of the offered cups in his meaty paw, bowing his head as a gesture of thanks. He smiles and nods to Olivia, "I do not wish to sound insincere, but your pastries are also excellent as well."

He clears his throat, "The House of Fencing is my pride and joy. The old building has been in use as a school for as long as I've been in Vennice; I founded it." He shifts his weight. "The school offers classes to all walks of life and all skill levels. Some come as a place of respite, others simply use the facility to take up a gentleman's hobby. Whether genuine study is derived from that spectrum, is up to the individual." The smell of a berry tart proved too much temptation for the man to resist and he also grabbed one and took a bite before continuing the dialogue. Chewing and swallowing quickly, with a satisfactory grunt. He continues, "The art of being a swordsman is not simply a martial art, it is a lifestyle and mentality that few truly ever fully embrace."

He waves his hand and chuckles. "I am no philosopher, but I do love the art and I seek to preserve its history. As such, fine blades from all periods are something I collect."

Olivia listened as he spoke of this school of his, head tilting some to indicate her attentiveness toward him. An idea was forming in her mind as she remembered that she’d asked Gilberto to train her men; to be their captain so her guards were strong and sure. As a businesswoman as well as a noble, something she hadn’t previously thought of, it would be prudent to have good, strong guards to protect her estate as well as her. With her being pregnant and expecting her babe in less than half of a year, she had the child to protect too and his or her father could not be there to do so because of his own circumstances.

She pondered for a time, seemingly lost in thought for several moments after he was through speaking, and she gently settled her cup onto the saucer. “Signore Pirozzi,” she began, not hesitating, “I have a proposition for you that occurred to me just moments ago. While I am a businesswoman, I am also… alone. The man who was asked to train my guards to be better fighters has left, and good riddance to his sorry hide… Which means that I am in need of the type of services you have to offer,” she paused and nudged the tray closer to the man when he seemed particularly interested in the delicious tarts her cook provided.

“Would you be interested in a trade? Your services for all of those weapons my servants and I unearthed, some of which are quite interesting and have been appraised for their antiquity to be worth a great deal of money? And to sweeten the deal, I would also provide you with one of my thoroughbred stallions specifically trained for battle. Of course, I want my guards to be less green behind the ears with their skills; the one in charge of teaching them was far too hot headed to be a good teacher. Got himself shot in his face during a duel,” she finished, spreading her fingers over the rich oak that her desk was built from. “I cannot tolerate such insolence. My men need discipline.”

Eberardo ears perk up at the mention of both the swords and a stallion. The proposition just got this much more sweeter. Not only would he be gaining the swords and a new horse, but he'd have an opportunity to build more rapport with the foreign gentry and rich who called Venice their homes; pending he could whip her louts of a security force into shape.

He sets the cup of tea down and turns to her, breathing in deeply before letting his lungs empty slowly. He extends a hand. "Madame, we are in accord. I accept the terms of this arrangement, but I will inform you that it will not be myself who will take this charge personally. I will, of course, supervise, but I have someone in mind who will be suited for this task."

He clears his throat. "His name is Signore Leone Clavelli, he was a former Austrian Dragoon Officer and one versed in the art of warring and the blade. He is, or was, a nobleman of Lombardy. I trust him as a confidante and friend. If this is acceptable, I will gladly present the man to you within the week."

She, being as petite as she was, had to stand slightly to reach his hand, which she clasped almost as strong as a young man with a sure grip, and gave one little shake before falling to the desk again. “Then we have a deal.” As she was about to reseat herself, her butler entered and said in his nasally, haughty voice as any good butler would, “The weapons are ready for your inspection, Signora.” She gave a nod in his direction; he bowed to both of them and took his leave.

When the old man brought up a man who would fit the job description, the name seemed familiar to her and she tilted her head. “I think I know of the man you speak of, but I cannot be sure.” In fact, it was only a few months since the ball where he had been that she was married to Pierre and her life was upended, bringing her to her current state another four or so months later. Any name would more than likely slip her mind after all of that chaos.

“Come now, let’s see what I have to offer.” She straightened and waited for him to stand. Assuming he followed her, she led him from the library and to the room adjacent, a cozy parlor that was currently host of a grand pile of weaponry… Olive had not exaggerated the size of the collection, nor the fact that there were some weapons that one would see in the middle ages, perhaps. “I believe the owner prior to my family was a collector of things, and his wife’s taste in décor was gauche to say the least. If you take a look around you, I have integrated a great deal of the things I have found into my décor. I am not interested in weaponry, however, which is why you are here.”

She picked up a rather lethal looking flail, handling it carefully despite her aversion to such an object. The woman turned to him and offered the weapon to him.