Heirs of Acadia - 03 - The Noble Fugitive (5 page)

She had discovered that Luca had been a military officer in the Milan regiment. Decorated twice for bravery before his twenty-second birthday, he had resigned his commission over a disagreement with his commanding officer. As a result, Luca had been disowned by his family. The di Montellos were minor royalty from Bologna. But Serafina also knew this would be a matter of some contempt in her father’s eyes. As he put it, these days the Bologna magistrates would sell a title for a barrel of smoked Venetian perch.

In their first private conversation, Luca had confessed the real reason he had left the military. He hated the army, he told her. Not because of the discipline or the drills or the danger. Because it had kept him from his one true passion.

Luca di Montello was a sculptor. And a very good one indeed. Good enough for some of his concepts to have been acquired by the Murano glass factories. Good enough to gain a place teaching at Venice’s foremost art institute. Despite the dark rumors regarding his past, there was no questioning his ability. It was even said that Luca di Montello might
soon become one of the youngest artists ever admitted to the Royal Academy.

All the young ladies in Serafina’s art class professed to be in love with him. Tall and dashing, he moved with a buccaneer’s flash and verve. There were rumors within the academy as well. Of an affair with another professor’s wife, or a scandal with a model, or even of a duel avoided when the other man fled Venice. But none of this was substantiated. In class, Luca di Montello was a harsh taskmaster. He criticized forcefully when he felt a student’s work was not acceptable. He was demanding and tended to bark when a kind word might have done better. He was also handsome, strong, and twenty-nine years old.

And he had vowed his love to Serafina.

“How long do we have?” Luca asked.

“Not long enough.” The words sprang out. Serafina’s hand flew to her mouth and her cheeks burned. “What a forward thing to say.”

“No. It was beautiful.” He opened his arms and gripped her so fiercely she could feel the pounding of his heart. Or perhaps it was her own.

They had met surreptitiously numerous times in the cafés and on promenades. They had spoken in the alley behind the art academy and even stolen a few swift embraces. Each occasion had added to a hunger that now left her breathless.

Luca asked again, “How long?”

“Until the sun no longer touches the rooftops.”

“An hour, then.” He stroked her fine hair. “That seems like forever, after waiting this long to see you.”

“And hold you,” she whispered. How could she speak like this? She, who had never before been embraced by a man? Yet the words rose of their own accord.

“And kiss you,” he murmured, raising her chin.

She had known it would be like this. Known and yet not known, for how could she have been certain? She had never kissed anyone before Luca and never kissed him for more than
a brief fiery second. Until now. His embrace was rough and smooth at the same time. He smelled of the charcoal he used for his sketches and of something distinctly male.

When he lifted his mouth from hers, it was to lead her back into the chamber. “What a delightful room. And look, your paintings are here, and these are your etchings. Have I ever seen the one there?”

“Not now, Luca, please. We have only—”

“No, please, just a moment. Why, Serafina, this is exquisite. Who was your model?”

“My mother.”

“The lines are so delicate, the colors delightful. Are her eyes really so blue?”

“Yes. Please—”

“And this one? Who is this drawing of?”

“My half sister.”

“Older or younger?”

“Older. I told you. I am the youngest.”

“Of course. You did tell me. About the three half sisters, one of which is so cruel to you.” He tapped the paper. “What is this one’s name?”

“Gabriella. She hates this drawing.”

“I can see why. It is full of the most remarkable rage. Never would I have thought a young lady like yourself capable of capturing such passion.” He smiled at her. “Remind me never to make you angry.”

“You are about to,” she replied stoutly. “Making me wait for so long, then coming here and risking everything only to go on about stupid drawings.”

“They are not stupid, my love. You have such talent it astonishes me. Nothing about this is stupid.”

“Coming here and whispering like this and placing us in such danger only to talk about what we could discuss in the academy is worse than stupid.”

“Ah. What a lovely pout. I had no idea you could make even a pout look so beautiful.”

His kiss was beyond all she could have imagined. The atmosphere of feverish joy was overwhelming. The excitement of his embrace was intoxicating. But the risk they were taking, and the threat of being discovered, was everywhere. As was the nagging shame she felt over disobeying her parents.

Yet she was in love. Her parents wanted her to remain a child, bound to their will and even to a man she cared nothing for. But true love called to her. And love she would follow. Wherever it took her. Even into the embrace of a man her parents would never accept.

Serafina also felt the pain of having him so near and yet knowing that in less than an hour he would leave. She must go back to being the youngest daughter, the child. This time she was the one who broke off their embrace. She whispered, “Tell me again.”

“I love you.”

She kissed him. “Tell me once more.”

“
Ti amo
.”

“Again.”

“My golden-haired delight, come over here with me.” Gently he guided her over until they were seated upon the edge of her bed.

Serafina knew a line had been crossed in lowering herself down beside him. Another rule broken, after so many others, all in the space of these frantic heartbeats. She felt she should tell him it was wrong, but then everything was wrong here.

Then he spoke the words that had filled her dreams since their first hurried conversation. “Marry me.”

“Yes, oh yes.”

“We will run away together,” he murmured. His hands drew her over until she was seated in his lap. She wanted to resist, and at the same time she could not be close enough to the man she loved. Luca said, “We will find a priest and be together forever as man and wife.”

She clung to him with all her strength. To break away would
be sweetest anguish. Oh, how could she release him back to the shadows and the approaching night?

They kissed once more, then she risked a glance out the balcony window. Serafina gave a small cry.

“What is it?”

“It is time.” She wept the words.

“It can’t be.”

“Look. The sun is almost gone.”

“But I’ve just arrived.”

“How can you leave me? How can I bear it when you go?” She felt her heart was breaking.

“Then I’ll come again.”

“But I want you to stay with me
now
.”

“My darling one—”

The door behind them creaked open. “My child . . .
No!
”

Serafina landed upon the floor as Luca bolted to his feet. “Signora, I—”

“You
monster!
”

Serafina cried aloud. The shame was scalding, but what frightened her most was the sight of Luca bounding across the room to the balcony doors. “Don’t leave me!”

Her mother shrilled, “Guards!”

Luca clambered atop the balcony railing. He cast her one final glance. Then he sprang outward and dove into the canal.

Serafina collapsed on the floor like a broken doll.

Chapter 4

Never had Serafina’s bedchamber felt so constricting. In truth it was rather a sizeable room. All the upstairs chambers were similarly proportioned, with hand-painted beams running across their high ceilings. But only Serafina and her parents had balconies. Which had been another reason for friction between Gabriella and herself. When Serafina had been born, all the upstairs chambers had been occupied by the older sisters and her parents. Her crib had first been set at the foot of her parents’ bed. When she outgrew the crib, she had then slept briefly in Gabriella’s room. But her sister, who was both very private and extremely possessive, had shrilly objected. So Serafina’s childhood bedchamber had been downstairs in what was now a small parlor. The room possessed two barred windows and overlooked an alley. Gabriella had teased Serafina that her parents did not want her and the bars were meant to keep her caged. Serafina’s mother had overheard her and flown into a rage unlike any Serafina had ever seen.

Until, that is, the day she had discovered Luca in Serafina’s bedchamber.

When the oldest sister had married, Serafina had been granted the prize bedchamber. Gabriella had wailed over how she, being older, should have the choice room. Bettina Gavi had replied that the bedchamber was Serafina’s in partial compensation for how Gabriella had treated her.

Serafina now sat in a high-backed chair with a scrolled leather seat. She gazed around the chamber and wondered if Gabriella would move in once she left.

Because Serafina knew she was leaving. Oh yes. It was only a matter of time.

Today marked the end of the second week since Serafina had been locked inside her room.

The day that Luca had visited her, Serafina’s mother had
revealed a scalding rage. How
could
Serafina have
done
this? Did she not realize the
scandal?
The
danger?
On and on her mother had railed, until her father had returned home. He had been summoned from his business chambers by a house servant. The urgency of the servant’s message had brought him racing from a meeting with the Austrian prince who served as Venice’s first minister. Serafina’s father had heard Bettina’s tale, then leaned against the doorframe with a fist clenching his chest. His face had gone pale, and he had stared at his daughter in utter horror. Then his cries and accusations had joined with his wife’s.

Serafina had been blistered by her mother’s ire. But her father had shocked her far more. Her father’s title was consiglière. Serafina knew the normal English translation was “counselor.” But another word, perhaps the more correct translation, was “conciliator.” That defined her father perfectly. He lived to conciliate, to bring peace between fractious groups and people. He soothed. He stroked. He counseled. He was, by nature and by profession, a peacemaker.

But not this day.

After Serafina’s parents had grown hoarse, they had left her. But not for long. Serafina’s mother soon returned with two servants. They had shut the slatted balcony shutters normally closed only at night and sealed them with a great storeroom lock. Serafina had silently vowed not to show any emotion nor to speak at all. But the sight of that great padlock clicking into place had reduced her to tears.

“This is no one’s fault but your own.” Her mother’s voice shook as she spoke. “You have sought to live without regard to your family. Now you must learn to live without light.”

But Serafina was not weeping because of the pall cast over her bedchamber. She wept because it would now be so much harder to escape.

When the bedroom door had shut and she was locked inside her darkened room, she had found the strength not
to wail in distress only because of the words that echoed through her heart and mind.

Marry me
.

Twice each day the upstairs maid brought Serafina food and water and emptied the vessels by her dressing table. Each evening the maid returned and lit a small candle. Occasionally her mother or father came and stood at the door and spoke to her. Gradually over the days their tone grew less irate and more worried.

Serafina counted the hours by the length of the shadows upon the floor and the ringing of Saint Mark’s bell tower. She counted the days by marking a sheet in her sketchpad with drawing charcoal. The shutters had narrow slats, designed to let in air. The room remained mired in gloom, no matter what the hour. There probably was enough light to draw, but her art did not interest Serafina now. She had nothing to read. When the evening candle burned down to nothing, Serafina went to bed. She slept poorly.

The result was not as she would have expected. She did not pine away. Instead, she gradually lost all connection with the life she had known before. Household noises drifted from beyond her locked door. She was mildly pleased to find she did not yearn to join them. But she did listen constantly for any shred of sound upon the balcony. From the boats passing along the canal, she heard the melodious voices of the singing gondoliers and the raucous cries of the floating merchants. Both called to her equally. In her mind, she had already bid the world of her childhood farewell. She dreamed of nothing but Luca.

The fifteenth night since the dreadful scene, Serafina awakened from a fitful sleep. She leaped from her bed before she was fully aware of what she had heard. She ran to the tall glass doors leading to the balcony, closed against the cool night breeze. She flung them open and stood there before the
locked shutters, panting so loudly it was impossible to hear anything other than the frantic note of her breath.

When she could manage to whisper, she asked, “Luca?”