They walked down alleys, across squares and across bridges. He’d lost track of where they were and they headed down narrow alleys that sometimes opened to small squares, and sometimes led to dead ends at the edge of some canal. The architecture was varied and foreign—uniquely Venetian. They got lost in the maze of the city, before reaching the Grand Canal where they had to navigate down the canal to find the Rialto Bridge.
They weren’t going anywhere in particular, just walking down random alleys to see where they went. It felt like a private audience with a city put on display just for them.
Adele’s eyes were caught by the jewelery in a shop window.
“Venice is known for its glass,” he stated.
“My mother had a jewelery box that came from here. I don’t know what happened to it; I think it went with the estate. I thought if I saw something similar, I would get it.”
“Then let’s look inside.” He opened the door for her. He would buy her whatever she wanted. It would please him to, perhaps as an acknowledgement that they had a day where they functioned well together.
Her attention seemed drawn to a silver box with glass covering the top, a flower motif melted into it. He nodded to the clerk, who wrapped the box, before handing it over. Placing it in his pocket, Lysander paid for the trinket.
Adele had turned and was looking at some masks that were lining the wall of the shop. They almost seemed life-like as they stared out from the wall, some of them beautiful, some grotesque.
“It is forbidden to wear those, I believe,” he said. Adele turned to him, her blue eyes seeking his. “Carnival masks.”
“They still sell them.”
“To tourists mostly. The craftsmanship is still appreciated, and if one must go to a masquerade, there is no alternative to a genuine Venetian mask.”
“Do you have one?”
“Yes, somewhere.” They stepped out into the rain again, the sound of it insulating them from the rest of the world.
“Could you imagine if they still had the carnival here?”
“It would be the biggest attraction in the world.”
“I wonder why they stopped it,” she said.
“It was almost a century ago. It was mandatory to wear the masks at one time; one could be arrested for refusing.”
Curiosity and disbelief flittered through her features. “Truly?”
“A strange concept,” he continued, “a time of year when one had to live without one’s identity—in complete anonymity. Poor or rich, all were stripped of their identities—to exist without past or social structures for a time each year—without any consequences.” He’d been told the history of the carnival in great detail when he’d been here before; it had appealed and fascinated him greatly at the time. He’d been young and he’d wished for it to still be done in these streets. “Nothing of what you were mattered when you walked the streets during carnival; you could be anyone, do anything—no matter how hedonistic.” Adele’s attention turned to him. “The structures of marriage didn’t matter, nor the confines of position or office.”
“Then how would one know who one dealt with?”
“One didn’t. The purpose of the masks was to hide it all,” he said. A slight frown flashed through Adele’s features. “Any impulse could be acted upon, if you wanted. And people did, sometimes without discretion—which is why it was outlawed in the end.”
“It seems like madness.”
“Or liberating.” That was how he’d seen it—complete liberation. But he’d been young then, looking for diversion and excitement.
She was watching him as they had stopped in the middle of the street, and she stood there holding her umbrella, looking at him intently. He noted her slightly parted lips and the breaths that fought the tight confines of her corset. He wondered what she would do if she was here during carnival, suspecting that her appetites were more daring that he’d ever expected of her. He wondered how far she would go—if she could be convinced to have intimate relations with a stranger in the streets of Venice?
Clearing his throat, he looked away—dismissing the picture his mind was trying to form for him. “How are your feet?” he asked.
“Truthfully, they are getting a bit sore.”
“Then perhaps we should find our hotel.” She nodded at his suggestion.
It took him a while to orientate himself, but once he did, he knew exactly where the hotel was. She walked ahead of him down the narrow alleys, and now, later in the day, the attraction of the buildings of Venice drew his attention less than the woman walking ahead of him. He watched her straight spine, wisps of her hair escaping their confines and caressing the pale and thin column of her neck, the curve of her back and the swing of her wet skirt when she walked—the complicated woman in front of him—further complicated by the long and unpleasant history between them. Just the idea of her was loaded with resentment and grievances, but if they put that aside and he viewed her abstractly, she was quite lovely.
She turned to see that he was still behind her and smiled, an impulse he’d seen her give to others, but never him. Watching her turn back, content that he was there, her wisps of hair floated on the air. He didn’t even know how long her hair was, as he tried to imagine what she would look like with her hair down, flowing around her slim shoulders. It made him feel heated, but he was soon distracted by their arrival at their hotel.
They entered a sumptuously carpeted hotel and he announced them to a man waiting to attend, who preceded them toward a set of stairs leading up into the building. The hotel was decorated in the same style as the Doge’s Palace, but the themes more related to the history of Venice and less biblical in nature. The hotel was a Palazzo that had been built during the middle ages, owned by a wealthy Italian family he’d met once.
Their trunks had been delivered and their rooms prepared, he was told. The man, in his black velvet jacket, ran through the notable people that would be dining at the hotel that evening, and Lysander recognized a few names. They were shown into two adjoining rooms, and after seeing to Adele, the man retreated with a sharp bow, closing the door behind him, leaving Lysander alone in the completely quiet room.
Walking to the window, Lysander looked down on the gray and rainy Grand Canal. The raindrops pitting the surface of the water across the stretch of the canal.
Pulling off his wet jacket and trousers, he hung them up on a clothes hanger on a hook in the wardrobe where his other clothes had already been hung. It was a few hours until they’d dine downstairs in the restaurant—hours to rest and recover. He was slightly chilled from the day spent in the rain, but not distressingly so.
Watching the rain streaking down the window pane, he lay down on the bed for a while, but he wasn’t tired enough to sleep. He tried turning his thoughts to the days ahead, put they kept turning back to the day that was. It had been the strangest day he’d ever had, walking around Venice in pouring rain with a woman who had effectively enchanted him—one he couldn’t touch. Lying on the bed, he listened to the rain and the ticking of a clock somewhere in the room. His thoughts turned again to his companion, who was safely consigned to her room, behind the wall in front of him. He wondered what she was doing.
Sighing, he put his arm back behind his head and considered her. She’d found pleasure walking around the streets of Venice; he’d indulged her and they had spent an unusual day together. He couldn’t quite figure her out—too innocent for a villain, too guilty for an innocent. He didn’t quite know what lay behind the cool, reserved exterior, but he did get glimpses of it.
He had wondered again what she would do if she was free from identity and consequences. There was no escaping that fact that those two things were of supreme importance, particularly in their dealings together. She was the faithless wife, the one who had embarrassed him, abused his trust, lied by omission—not to mention the impact on his life when he’d married her. He was probably going to have to divorce her; her notoriety in London amongst his peers left him with few opt
ions. It wasn’t something he wanted to think about, but there were few solutions to the problems she had created.
But for a moment earlier that day, he’d wanted her. Heady desire had suffused him and it still warmed his blood now. He wasn’t immune to the romance and the challenge of this city—the underlying hedonism that this city seemed to recall. He almost wished the carnival was still occurring, filling the city’s streets with its possibilities, festivities and atmosphere of anything being possible, without consequence and underlying meaning—just the immediate and most superficial of desires. If it were, he could seek her out in this magical city and explore this unbidden attraction—without all the baggage and implications of their circumstances. She was in essence the one woman he couldn’t have, and at the same time, the one he should be spending his desires with—if it hadn’t been for all that had gone before.
But the madness of the city flowed in his blood, heating him. Sighing, he closed his fists, letting his fingers stroke the insides of his palms. He desperately wanted to touch.
His thoughts returned to the promise of the carnival, where he would seek her through the streets, find her. He imagined their ragged breaths as they found a quiet alley, where he could lift her skirts and she would reveal the deeper nature of her, their lovemaking echoing off the witnessing walls.
This mind’s eye shifted, to her walking toward him, wanting him—offering herself. His hands ached to touch, hold the side of her hips as she rode him. Groaning, he placed his wrist over his eyes in an attempt to block the images out. He had the legal right to knock on the door that adjoined their rooms, but the moral obligation not to. Only the carnival would free him from those obligations and let him exorcise this desire that had been awakened in him.
Perhaps this city brought on a madness that filled his mind with thoughts he shouldn’t have and his body with urges he mustn’t have. It would pass. Tomorrow they would be on their way, traveling north, back to London.
Chapter 14
The train left Venice station early the next morning. Adele had left Lysander to organise the details and the hotel had been helpful and efficient in moving their trunks to the train, and into their respective compartments. Adele felt her heart sink as the train moved away from the station; she was going home and she didn’t really have any positive feelings about it.
It was still raining and the skies were grey, reflecting her mood perfectly. She was sorry to leave Venice; she’d only had a day to discover it, and it had been a day spent in the company of Lysander—which was unprecedented and not as difficult as she’d expected. It was a place that put ideas in one’s head—a place of excitement and possibilities—a place to be explored with a husband; a true husband—a lover. There had been moments when the reality of their situation had snuck away, but it would always come crashing back—the disaster that was their marriage.
She was done thinking of the disappointment of her marriage; she’d spent years doing that and it had achieved her nothing but heartbreak. But equally, thinking of the future was just as fraught. There was only the present, as there had been yesterday, and today, Europe was passing in front of her—the repetitive clacking of the wheels, lulling her mind as it passed.
If she gave into her fears, the day would turn morose, which served no purpose; she was in Lysander’s power—he would decide her fate. Once she knew, she could plan—try to salvage something of her life.
A knock on the door distracted her and an attendant stood on the other side. “Lord Warburton wishes to know if you will join him for tea,” the smartly uniformed young man said.
“I will find him,” Adele confirmed, closing the door with a nod to the young man. Turning back to her compartment, she wondered if there were any preparations she needed to do, but she couldn’t think of them. She could have said no, but she felt that perhaps it was best to be agreeable to her husband during the time they were together. She didn’t want any more strain between them than necessary; things were bad enough as it was. She would endure whatever was to come, and she would do it with grace.
Walking down the aisle of the train, she felt her way along the wooden paneling as the train lurched every once in a while. The dining car was lively, with a table at each window. She spotted Lysander sitting by one of the tables, wearing a dark-gray suit of impeccable tailoring. He always dressed well—not perhaps in the latest trends, but with consistent and undeniable taste. He was looking out the window; she could see his eyes skip as the train moved along.
Greeting him, she sat down at his table. “It is a shame that the rain obscures the view,” she said. He didn’t respond, but turned to the waiter to request a cup for her. The waiter came and poured a cup for her from the silver teapot.
“We’ll be leaving Italy tomorrow, I believe,” he said once the waiter had left. Somberly, Adele nodded. Each country they left seemed to take her further away from the life she’d run to and closer to the one she’d run from.
“Perhaps the weather will clear up as we head northward,” she said with a thin smile. A plate of small sandwiches was placed in front of them, but Lysander didn’t take any, instead returned his gaze to the window.
Adele hadn’t known about his summer in Venice. It must have been before she’d met him. He’d been young then—arrogant and confident. He’d changed over the years; his youth had still clung to him when she’d first met him, but he’d developed into a man over the years; the change obvious each time she’d seen him. The angry scowl never changed. It had been gone the previous day, but it was back now. The conversation equally strained.
“What were your plans in Australia?” he finally asked.
“Just to teach, I suppose. I hadn’t thought much further.” The silence stretched. His lips pursed and his eyes narrowed for a bit, then looked away. “Where else did you go when you traveled, the summer you went to Venice?”
“France and Austria, as well as Italy—Venice, Florence, Pompeii and Rome.”
“It must have been an exciting summer,” she said. She’d never been anywhere until Mr Ellingwood took her halfway around the world, on the most exciting adventure of her life. This trip back to Europe, would by default, be the second most exciting. She couldn’t even imagine spending a summer exploring Florence, Pompeii and Rome. She felt pure envy at the freedom he’d had in his youth compared to her.
“It was, I suppose.”
“Will we be stopping anywhere else on the way?” she asked hopefully.
“No,” he confirmed and Adele’s hope sank. “You seem to be quite an enthusiastic traveler.”
“I suppose I am. It is something I have learnt recently about myself.”
“What else have you learnt?”
“That I am a half-decent teacher.”
“Did you enjoy teaching?”
“I did. The children were wonderful.” Adele’s thoughts clouded over. It seemed their conversations tended to draw uncomfortable memories, no matter what they discussed. She had adored teaching children; having wanted her own for years now. She’d had mixed feelings on the topic when she’d been with Samson, as her children would be disadvantaged due to their situation, but she’d still been sad when her bleed came after Samson’s death, finally closing the door on a child resulting from their lovemaking. That was another thing she had learnt about herself—her passionate nature and how she blossomed in the care of a tender man.
She noticed Lysander watching her, breaking through her musings. She tried to smile, but it came out too tight to be convincing.
“My aunt will be glad to see you,” he finally said.
“It will be nice to see her,” Adele said brightly, shifting her thoughts to a less confronting topic; although she wasn’t sure how she would be received by Isobel. “Then again, she might not be so welcoming anymore.”
“She blames everything squarely on me,” Lysander said dryly. “She thinks I’m a right plod as a husband.”
Adele smiled into her cup of tea. Isobel had never held back on
her judgement of her nephew’s behavior, even when Adele tried to make excuses for him. But her sympathy might have waned now, considering the actions Adele had taken.
“I am sorry my actions caused you embarrassment,” she said. “In all that happened, I never purposefully tried to embarrass you. When ... ,” she didn’t say his name, because she knew Lysander tensed when she referred to him, “... died, I thought it would be best that I did so as well, releasing us both from this marriage. I thought it was the best thing.”
The muscles in Lysander’s cheek tensed and he looked away. He was so difficult to read sometimes. It was hard to judge what would offend him and what didn’t. She couldn’t always pick his reactions, and she had no idea how he would react to the present conversation. Even more confusingly, he seemed to not react at all.
“Perhaps you are not the best to judge such,” he said sharply, after a while.
“How could it be anything but?” she asked, growing more heated, and Lysander gave her a warning look. She looked around to see if they were being observed. “For me there wasn’t a choice.”
“Are you telling me you had no choice in abandoning your marriage and running off with a man not your husband?”
“It was no longer an option staying.”
“Don’t be so melodramatic. You make do. I made do.”
“You abandoned our marriage the day after our wedding,” she hissed. As she stared, she saw icy anger wash away the heated anger in him. “We never had a marriage. We had some pretense of a marriage; a terrible and cruel one.”
His features softened a bit. “I did not purposefully try to be cruel. Admittedly, there were a few points when we were first married, when I was and I apologize for that. But on the whole, it was not my intent. You must understand that this marriage was not something I wanted.”
“You made that abundantly clear.”
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