Masquerade (25 page)

It was the fashion that when two people were in love they had portraits painted for each other. Sometimes one could sit for hours while a painter rendered a likeness in oils, such were the labours of love.

Angelique brushed a strand of hair away from her face and straightened her back. There had been no portrait from Bastian or even the slightest suggestion that she should have one painted for him, but she had gone ahead and called the painter anyway. She hoped that the portrait would awaken something,
anything
in Bastian.

So far, he had been nothing but distant and cold. No flowers, no love letters, no midnight exchanges of sweet words between his gondola and her balcony. She had barely seen him since the night she had dined with him and his father at the Palazzo Ducale. In fact, she had not seen him for all of January. Was this how love potions worked?

‘Smile for heaven’s sake,’ said the painter.

Angelique blinked and realised that her face had dropped. She transformed her face into a smile. The last thing she wanted was an unflattering portrait. She wanted Bastian to see exactly what he was missing. Prompted by this thought, she sat up straighter and pushed out her chest a little.

‘Stop moving!’ cried the painter, throwing down his brush. He was a tall skinny man with a disproportionate amount of unruly hair. ‘I cannot work like this! I will have my apprentice finish this painting.’

He left the sitting room before Angelique could protest that something as important as this could not be trusted with an apprentice. She remained sitting on the edge of the divan, twisting the pink diamond ring on her finger, which she had removed from her neck for the portrait. She had chosen a gown of pink silk taffeta, the exact shade of pink as the stone in her ring, to remind Bastian of his commitment to her. A small, white lily was pinned to the top of her stomacher, designed to draw the eye to her cleavage.

It felt like a whole hour had passed before the door opened again. A young man with a shy smile entered. He also had unruly hair – it must be a trade requirement, she thought – but on him it was charming.

‘Buongiorno,’ said Angelique.

The painter nodded and sat down in front of the easel. He got to work straight away. Another hour passed, during which Anqelique studied the handsome artist, trying to think of something sophisticated to say.

‘I’m making your job difficult with my fidgeting, mi dispiace,’ she said eventually.

The painter peeked out from behind the canvas. ‘My job is easy with someone as beautiful as you.’

‘What is your name?’ asked Angelique.

‘Dominico.’

Angelique tested the name out in a whisper and smiled. It was a pleasing name.

Dominico went on painting. He never let his eyes linger on Angelique for more than a few seconds before disappearing behind the canvas. Angelique even thought she noticed him blush when their eyes met. It was adorably funny.

‘Do you paint women in the nude?’ she asked, the question surprising even her.

Angelique heard the stool wobble and then there was a crash. She gasped and stood up just in time to see Dominico getting to his feet. He picked up the stool and set it right.

‘Mi dispiace. I shouldn’t have asked, sometimes I’m far too –’

‘No,’ he said, interrupting her. ‘I don’t paint
those
sorts of paintings. When I’m not painting commissioned portraits with my master, I paint landscapes.’ His face had gone crimson.

‘What’s your favourite place to paint in Venice?’ Angelique said, pretending she did not notice his fall.

‘Santa Maria della Salute. The domes of the church come alive at dusk.’ Dominico let his gaze linger on Angelique for a few extra seconds. ‘The man who will receive this painting must really love you.’

Angelique stared at a spot on the wall. For a moment, she forgot Dominico was in the room. ‘It’s not true love. I thought it would be the same, but it’s not.’

‘Is it an arrangement you do not favour?’

Angelique shook her head. At first she had thought that her father’s insistence that Veronica must marry first had scared Bastian off, so she had gone ahead and dealt with that. Veronica had not talked to her since their fight yesterday, but Angelique knew she’d had an effect on her sister. She had sent Bastian a note with the good news, but still no response from him.

Looking up, Angelique realised that Dominico was staring at her, waiting for an answer. ‘No, nothing like that. Forget I said anything.’

‘You deserve someone who loves you.’

I do, thought Angelique.
I do
.

‘The painting is finished now. Come have a look. I think it’s my best portrait so far, though that has more to do with the subject than the artist.’

Although Angelique had been sitting in the same position for hours, she didn’t want to move, she didn’t want the painting to be finished because that meant Dominico would have to leave. She stood up slowly, frantically thinking of a way to prolong the moment. She began to cross the room when an idea came to her.

When she reached Dominico, she pretended to look at the painting with dissatisfaction, when in reality it was perfect. ‘I don’t think you’ve quite captured the colour of my hair correctly,’ she said.

Dominico’s brow furrowed. ‘Oh, I can fix that.’

‘Should I sit beside you . . . for you to see the colour of my hair?’

Angelique pulled over the stool, which had been brought in, along with all the other equipment when the painter arrived that morning. ‘Who knows? Maybe I’ll learn something from watching,’ she added.

For the first few minutes after Angelique had sat down, Dominico seemed not to breathe, but after a while he appeared to relax and became absorbed in the painting. Angelique watched him paint, delicately adding extra touches, here and there. There was such intensity in his gaze, as if nothing else mattered in the world than getting the colour of her hair correct.

‘What do you think of it now?’ he asked.

Angelique pretended to look over it with a critical eye. ‘It’s good but . . . the background is a bit dark.’

Dominico looked at the painting for a long moment. ‘You’re right,’ he said and set to work mixing lighter shades of the background colours.

Angelique watched him, waiting for those brief moments when he would look at her from the corner of his eye. ‘Can I give it a try?’ she said, batting her eyelashes to help her case.

‘Um . . . of course.’

Angelique plucked the paintbrush from Dominico’s fingers.

‘Try finishing off that area,’ he said.

Bitting her lip, Angelique applied a stroke of white paint to the area. The first part of her stroke was strong, but towards the end she had wobbled and went over into another area.

‘I think you’ll need a few more lessons,’ said Dominico, with a screwed up face.

Angelique jabbed the paintbrush in his direction. It hit his hand and left a white smear across the back of it. Dominico looked at his hand and smiled mischievously. In one swift movement, he picked up another paintbrush loaded with pink paint and swished it across the tip of her nose.

She cried out in mock irritation and swiped at Dominico. He dodged her paintbrush and she missed him. She did not miss the painting. A long pink line cut across the middle.

Angelique gasped. ‘Mi dispiace!’

‘It’s fine,’ said Dominico, gently taking her hand and unpeeling her fingers from the handle of the paintbrush. ‘I can fix it.’ He was looking at her, not at the painting. He was close enough to kiss her.

The door behind them opened and Dominico’s master entered the sitting room. He looked at the two of them, or rather the tiny space between them. His eyes then flicked to the painting. ‘What have you done to my masterpiece?’

Claudia sat herself up against the head of her bed and waited for the spell of dizziness to come over her. It didn’t. After days of being confined to her bed, this was the first time she had been able to sit up without feeling as though she was going to pass out or vomit. It was also the first time Claudia had felt like eating something.

She considered calling Francesca to bring her a tray of broth and crusty bread. The doctor had ordered Claudia not to get out of bed, but that was several days ago. She decided that it would do her good to visit the kitchen herself. Slowly, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and tested her steadiness. She lifted herself up and let her crumpled chemise fall to her knees.

The servants had not yet lit the candles in the chandeliers, so the portego was dark and cold. Claudia slowly took the staircase to the piano nobile and was about to continue down to the kitchen when a shaft of light escaping from beneath the library door caught her attention.

As she got closer, she heard two familiar voices. It was in her blood not to pass by without listening. She crept over to the door and pressed her ear against the wood, but the voices were too muffled to understand clearly.

Ignoring her protesting stomach, Claudia slowly turned the door handle. She eased the door open soundlessly, courtesy of her mother’s instruction that the servants oil the hinges regularly.

Through the narrow gap in the door, she saw her brother paging through a book near the bookshelf. Her mother was sitting at her father’s desk. ‘Enough with the pleasantries, what is it you need my help with?’ she asked in a tone that suggested interest more than concern.

Marco closed the book. ‘Bastian.’

‘You’ll need to be more specific.’

‘Bastian and I made a bet that he could not make a particular woman fall in love with him by the end of Carnevale. If he succeeds, I owe him 50,000 ducats. If –’

‘Why am I not aware that you have 50,000 ducats?’ interrupted their mother, her voice cutting through Marco’s like a knife.

‘Because I don’t; I just said I did.’

‘And if Bastian does
not
succeed?’

Marco smiled. ‘Then he will do whatever it takes to get his father to admit our family into the Golden Book.’

Signora D’Este walked over and laid a hand on her son’s cheek. She moved her hand down Macro’s face and suddenly gripped him by the jaw. She pulled his face closer. ‘You’re as foolish as your father.’

She let go and Marco rubbed his jaw. ‘What? I thought you would be proud. I am sure to win. This is Bastian Donato. He doesn’t even wear the same dress-coat more than a few times, let alone pursue the same woman more than once.’

‘It doesn’t matter how high your chances of winning are, betting or gambling – whatever you call it – is a game for the weak. If you want something, you make sure nothing gets in the way.’

‘That’s why I’m asking for your assistance.’ Marco’s voice sounded wounded. ‘It’s almost the end of Carnevale and he’s in love with her. I’ve never seen him this way. He’s not interested in other women. Yesterday, he stared off into space, huffing and puffing like a furnace as he wrote poems about her fingernails! And if Bastian has managed to fall in love, then she must certainly love him!’

Signora D’Este said nothing, her silence somehow filled with more anger and disapproval than her words.

‘This could be our family’s chance to finally be admitted in the Golden Book,’ said Marco. ‘I’m sure he hasn’t lain with her yet, so there is still a chance Bastian could lose. We need to somehow keep them apart until the end of Carnevale, or discredit him in her eyes so she will not lay with him.’

‘I’m going to ask you two questions. Is the woman Orelia Rosetti? And is Bastian in love with her so much that he would give away his freedom to save hers?’

‘Si, it is Orelia, and si, I believe he will do anything for her.’

‘Perfect. His love for Orelia will be his undoing.’

‘What do you know?’

Claudia listened as her mother told Marco about an event that happened nineteen years ago and Orelia’s relationship to the woman who had cursed all of Serenissima.

‘Why have I never heard of this before?’ asked Marco.

Signora D’Este waved her hand. ‘No one speaks of her or the event. Superstition places a lot of power in a name and a memory.’

‘I always knew Orelia was hiding something,’ said Marco. ‘But I didn’t imagine it would be this enormous.’

‘You can’t even begin to imagine the magnitude. The Council of Ten may have excused her family for her crimes, but they won’t excuse her daughter. She will be too great a threat to their authority, even if she is as fearsome as a mouse.’

‘There’s no way Bastian can win the bet if Orelia is arrested. Have you reported it to The Lion’s Mouth already?’ Marco asked.

‘That was my original intention. I had even written the accusation. But that would only have served part of my purpose. It would only get rid of Orelia. With this information, we can make Bastian do
anything
.’

‘What more do you want from him?’

‘It is not enough for our family name just to be admitted into the Golden Book. That would just make us nobles through money. Our position has to be cemented through marriage into the aristocracy – Bastian’s marriage to Claudia.’

Claudia felt dizzy and reached out a hand to steady herself. A ringing filled her ears and her vision went blurry. The fact that there was no food in her stomach was the only thing that kept her from vomiting. Despite her mother’s tireless efforts, Claudia had convinced herself that this could never happen. Marco was right. She was just a naive girl.

‘What about Claudia? Does she know?’

‘No, but she will do as she is told.’

Claudia walked around the perimeter of the storage room. There were so many memories that this room inspired – it was here that Filippo had first professed his love for her – but the only thing Claudia could think about at that moment was her mother.

Her hatred for the woman who had borne her had not lessened since the night before; it had grown. Claudia felt like screaming, but she took a deep breath and pushed her hair away from her face. The last thing she wanted was for Filippo to walk in and see her in a rage.

It had been difficult pretending that nothing was wrong at breakfast. Claudia had planned on staying in bed – in truth, she had not been feeling well again – but her mother had heard from a servant that Claudia had been out of bed last night and took this as a sign of Claudia’s return to full health. That meant a morning of dress-fittings and dance lessons. Claudia had gritted her teeth and bared it all with a smile. It was easier without Marco around. He had been strangely absent all morning, even missing his several hours of morning toilette. Claudia didn’t know if she would have been able to contain her anger if she had seen her brother. If her plan was to work, she had to pretend that she was the same unknowing girl before her shocking discovery the night before.

Her plan was simple: leave Venice. In doing so, she would save them all. She would be free to be with Filippo, and Bastian wouldn’t have to marry her against his will. The only person who would not benefit from this arrangement was her father. She had thought about him all night, about what might happen to him if she left. But before sunrise, as she had stared at the ceiling, she had remembered what he made her promise:
If you ever find love, don’t let it go.

But where was Filippo, her love? Claudia had been waiting for half an hour. The family’s gondolas were all docked, so he was not out ferrying anyone. He was also not in the andron or the other storage rooms; Claudia had checked several times. She didn’t want to consider the terrible thought that something might have happened to him.

A few minutes later, Filippo appeared in the doorway, smiling as always. Claudia ran to him and collapsed against his chest. His strong arms encircled her. ‘What’s wrong? Are you hurt?’

It took a few moments before Claudia found the strength to answer. She tilted her head up and looked at Filippo directly, unblinkingly. ‘I’m going to be married.’

‘Married? Who –?’

‘Bastian Donato,’ said Claudia, pulling away and pacing to the other side of the small room. ‘It’s what my mother has always wanted and now she has found a way to make it happen.’

Filippo grabbed Claudia’s hand and held it so tightly she felt he would never let go. ‘We need to leave Venice. I could not bear to see you marry anyone else.’

Claudia nodded eagerly. ‘Let’s leave tonight.’

‘I think we should plan it carefully, so things do not go wrong. Your mother won’t have you married within a week.’

‘What is there to plan?’ said Claudia, trying to contain her frustration.

‘We need to think about where we will go and what we will do when we get there,’ said Filippo, running a hand through his hair. ‘I know a man who might be able to offer me a job. He’s a visiting French banker. He joked about needing a new stablehand and how I would be perfect for the job. I may be able to convince him to employ me.’

‘Really? That’s perfect. I’ve always wanted to live in France.’

‘The problem is: I don’t know where he is staying. I don’t even know his name. It may take me a few days to find him.’

‘Then I’ll arrange a secret passage to the mainland for the last night of Carnevale. The festivities will provide a good cover for us to leave unnoticed.’

Filippo cupped her face in his hands. ‘I love you, my Claudia.’