The Ornaments of Love

by G A Dazio

  Seated beside the woman, Veronica had become a celebrity in her own right, a benefactress of the ridiculous and luxurious adoration her aunt inspired. It was enough reason to stand for it all, at least for a few hours.

  Throughout the night, long after the concert had finished, the sounds of the violins carried on in Veronica’s mind as she was introduced to young gentlemen, all of whom possessed bodies that still moved slightly to the melodies.

  It was a different universe, this place she was in, and it seemed she had become a different woman. She felt sensations that would have been incomprehensible only a few days before. A certain arrogance infected her, smothering any chance left of pretending that no change in her had taken effect, that she wasn’t the reason the young men stared so faithfully from behind their father’s shoulders. Veronica felt the satisfaction of knowing that it was she who had caused the air to stir, that there would be nothing to keep her from happiness now.

  It was vulgar arrogance, to be certain, but what of it?

  As the party progressed into its fourth segment, a time when socialization took on the form of chatter devoid of introductions, Marcelina left Veronica’s side for a moment to speak privately with the parents of the young Dídac Adriá de Ferrero y Martell, a young man of eighteen and of good height with rich blond hair and sharp green eyes that dared the whole world to ignore them. Those eyes—very French, some might say—seemed almost artificial in the way they caught the light and remained wide under his boyish brow. He had lips that were full, but not awkwardly so. They were, however, very chapped, and Veronica could not help but notice him lick at them in agony more than once.

  The Marquesa noticed her niece’s fascination.

  Alone then, caught in an ocean of faces where only the boy’s eyes cut through, he had distinguished himself among the overgrown garden of smiles with his slight scowl. He seemed to have carved a path for her through this fog unknowingly, guiding her to him with his eyes. Veronica did not know if it was right that she should speak to him there in the main hall among others or wait until her aunt and his parents could make arrangements to speak in a more private manner. The question didn’t linger long on her thoughts before she proceeded to approach him, never really having decided to do it, but simply speaking unconsciously, startling him.

  “Did you enjoy the music this evening, señor?” she asked, feeling the urge to smirk at her own assertiveness. “I did not see you at the opera or in the hall.”

  “Oh, no... I did... I mean, I was in the hall,” he said.

  “And you enjoyed it?” she asked again, allowing another awkward beat to pass.

  “Oh, yes, I did, most certainly,” he breathed all at once, stopping himself to repose. “I don’t attend the opera unless my parents insist... I don’t have an ear for it, yet... I thought the singing was very beautiful.”

  He was absolutely silent after this, giving leave to several more moments of awkward hesitation.

  Veronica realized he might pass out if she forced him to speak again. And if he weren’t so damned beautiful, she might be inclined to wait for this conversation to go somewhere on its own. But who knew how old she might be before that day ever arrived? she mused.

  “You don’t care for music, then? You don’t enjoy the operas? How do you spend your time? Do you play sports… read?” This was all absurd really, unleashing this heavy stream of questions. However did she arrive in such a predicament? Walking up to a young man she did not know, striking up a conversation from nowhere; her mother would die to see her now, she thought. And what he must think of her!

  “I’ve read a great deal in my father’s library,” he was quick to respond after a measured silence. “I do like the operas... I prefer to read the librettos, the old stories they’re borrowed from. I find more enjoyment in them. I like the operas... I just don’t like going to the operas... with everyone there...”

  Dídac smiled painfully at the girl. He was at a loss to explain himself further and knew himself to be the perfect fool in that moment. He exhaled at his own ridiculous manner of speaking and smiled again, immediately retracting from the sharp pain of his parched lips that were almost bleeding.

  “Your lips,” she said, reaching forward to touch them, startling him again with the unconventionality of her directness.

  “Yes, they are terrible,” he said, reaching up to them, barely touching her hand. “I don’t know why this always happens to me in the summer. I almost never experience it when it becomes cold. It’s ridiculous, really.”

  “I have a soothing cream which might help some.” Veronica immediately turned to her servant girl, who was never far behind, whispering for her to run and retrieve the black jar of cream from her vanity.

  When she’d gone, and left the two, Veronica told Dídac that she understood his fascination with literature. “I’ve spent my whole life, it seems, with my nose in a book. My mother is not a reader, but she has always been fond of the quiet it brought her,” Veronica quipped, smiling.

  Dídac winced again from the large smile that appeared without forethought. “I’m certain I’ve heard my parents complain of just the opposite in me.”

  Within moments, the young girl retuned to Veronica and presented her with the ointment.

  “Here,” Veronica said, “let me.” The girl reached her finger to his face and slowly applied the cream to his rough lips, gently rubbing the ointment back and forth, feeling the hairs on her arm rise at the sweet sensation of his exhaled breath on to the back of her hand.

  It did not occur to Veronica how improper it was for her to behave this way, and worse, in this crowded room. She did not even think to look around her at the stares now coming from the ladies all around the pair. The thought of delicate convention seemed lost on the girl, and she was unconcerned with how she was supposed to behave.

  The young man had stopped himself from withdrawing from her unexpected touch, and when she was done, he smiled, feeling his lips soft and wet from the cream.

  “Thank you,” he beamed at the sensation.

  “You’re very welcome,” she replied simply, returning the small crystal jar to her maid.

  From the other side of the room, the gaze of her aunt and his parents immediately caught her off guard, and she lowered her eyes out of habit.

  Marcelina had watched the whole thing and marveled at how Veronica had naturally done something so simple, something no other girl in the room, indeed the whole city, would have had the courage or intelligence to do. It was something so seemingly sweet that his mother, Doña de Ferrero, remarked upon it at once in Marcelina’s ear, the woman’s words spoken without the slightest sarcasm. The woman found this girl’s actions to be perfectly charming.

  Veronica thought that the remainder of the evening was trivial and unexpectedly long. None of the older gentlemen to whom she was introduced seemed to have the vaguest idea of what had happened to her earlier with Dídac. They were all awkward gestures and boring conversations about things as far away from her life as possible. Afterward, she would remember these older men and cringe for them, feeling a vile sense of shame for them that they would try so hard to impress beyond their abilities.

  Aside from the violins, Veronica could only remember the sensation of Dídac’s breath upon her hand. She thought he might remember the feel of her fingers pressed to his lips, and it was this thought that sent her joy into an inescapably sweet agitation.

  Before Veronica went to sleep that night, Marcelina came to her with word that the Ferreros had invited them both to their home for dinner two days from now.

  Chapter Twelve

  The hundred little reminders that had crossed the Marquesa’s lips over the past forty-eight hours produced not the slightest worry in Veronica. They were quite unable to make their way into her heart. Still, the girl made a genuine note of each one. Her reminders were of behavior methods so finely tuned that her aunt might very well have been a mistress in a finishing school. The Marquesa’s fervor became a living meme
nto of Veronica’s former convent life, though she laughed at the idea of her aunt in a nun’s habit. But all of it was unnecessary because Veronica had changed beyond repair. The awkward little child was simply no more and left in her wake was a young woman who had not the patience for apprehensive thoughts of accidents or failure.

  Still, riding in the Marquesa’s carriage to the Ferrero estate, it was beyond the woman’s control not to go on and on about every conceivable position the girl might find herself in, once within her hostess’s doors.

  “And be sure that you ask his mother about her gardens. She is ferociously jealous of our estate, despite how much grander her garden is. Be sure to remark more than once how it is the most beautiful thing you have ever seen. That’s important.”

  Veronica stifled the inclination to roll her eyes on this fourth occasion when she must be reminded about the woman’s rose bushes.

  “And don’t forget the woman will be scrutinizing you from the moment you arrive. I’ve no doubt she has gone out of her way to find out everything about you that she can. And though she’s had only the last two days, you can be sure she knows everything about your background. God only knows what she’s heard! God knows what the servant’s gossip has been, what they might believe of you! We must make every effort to receive each misinformed query without a hint of disturbance. She will be like a lion, this woman, and you must be sure that she does not find a single reason to strike too hard.”

  Veronica mentally felt a blow when she imagined Doña de Ferrero striking her with questions. She shuddered slightly. Yes, indeed, she did feel as if the woman's questions would be striking and began to envisage the features of her face infused with a feline structure.

  “Oh, but listen to me, I am too excited for you.” Marcelina stopped herself. “And you don’t let any of this worry you! I don’t even know who you are anymore,” Marcelina said, smiling at the girl’s focused calm.

  “Everything is fine, Tia. Everything will go well. None of this matters, really. There is no way that tonight will not go well. If they don’t like me, then the next house will. Just sit back and breathe,” she replied confidently.

  Marcelina looked at her with false devastation. “You think this will all be so easy?” she said coyly. “Perhaps I have praised you too highly? This will be one of the great performances of my life. No, do not misunderstand me: any mother would be out of her right mind not to adore you. But let’s face the truth, you are not Barcelonan, you are not Catalonian, and your western accent is unavoidable when you attempt to speak Catalan. You can rest assured that this woman will mention it more than once, regardless of the efforts I will make to drive around that fact.

  “Underlying all of this,” she continued, “I suspect what is most important to her is not finding the most perfectly suited girl for her son, but rather jumping on the opportunity to merge with my family. It would be a major coup, I should think, to find a way to be joined not just in friendship but in blood to this house. I’ve little doubt that everything in question is relying on my husband’s name.

  “But this should be of no importance to you, my dear. The woman will like you no matter what you do or how you behave. And I don’t want to mislead you with all of this foolish talk. The only thing important tonight is that you make certain you approve of this boy.” The Marquesa let her shoulders relax and fell back slightly into the carriage seat with a heavy sigh. “In addition to this damned woman’s gardens!”

  Veronica laughed riotously, affecting a joy that the Marquesa was genuinely happy to sit beside.

  “But do tell me again,” asked the woman, “do you really think this boy has feelings for you?”

  “I don’t know why you ask me that, Tia! I’m certain of no such thing. I spoke to him for not ten minutes. He may see me again and not give me a second thought. All I am certain of is that the other gentlemen I was introduced to were not even slightly interested in me, or rather I should say that their interest was in themselves and how much I appreciated them. Dídac was genuinely unhappy when you arrived with the next man, when you forced him to say good night. I could see it in his eyes.”

  There was a light about the girl as she spoke of this, Marcelina thought, which was all too brilliant to be ignored. And her heart rested assured that her myriad of fears for the girl were useless or unnecessary. The child was already infatuated with Dídac, and it seemed so clear to the woman now that she exhaled in anguish for doting on all this so savagely.

  Riding through the estate grounds, Veronica realized she would not have to worry about paying manufactured compliments to the Ferreros over their gardens, for they truly took her breath away. Multitudes of only the finest flowers in supernatural bloom surrounded her from the moment she stepped out of the carriage. It was all magnificent, these gardens with their stone arches and marble statues, a meeting of Roman gods and Catholic saints in a landscape truly worthy of them. All of the colors and fragrances immediately became intoxicating. Veronica couldn’t help but think she had fallen into some painted masterpiece from which she should never want to leave.

  Doña de Ferrero came alone from the house to greet them both. The petite beauty was dressed in brilliant turquoise satin with only moderate jewelry, but the effect was one of unassuming elegance. This woman had seen to it her armor would be as disarming as it was impenetrable.

  The first words came from Marcelina who held out her arms in greeting, in the same dramatic fashion as her adversary.

  “My dear, we’re so glad you invited us. Each time I’m here, the beauty takes my breath away. Don’t you think so, Veronica?”

  “Oh, you flatter me too much,” Doña de Ferrero insisted gracefully and looked intently toward the girl who was still transfixed by the view of the terraced levels of color that swept up around them to the entryway of the house.

  With an almost solemn serenity, Veronica turned to her hostess and said, “No, but you’re mistaken, Doña de Ferrero. It’s more breathtaking than could ever be described.”

  The girl’s words came with an unmistakable air of sincerity, as the sparkle in one’s eyes that could not possibly be believed to signify a lie. It was this purity of evocation that peeled the first layer of Doña de Ferrero’s armor off. In fact, it might have been said that after the lovely woman’s immediate embrace of the girl, all of her armor had immediately been rendered unnecessary.

  Marcelina observed all of this carefully.

  “Won’t you please call me Francesca, my dear?” the woman said, bringing the girl’s arm into her own as she turned to guide the three of them into the house. “I am so glad that you could be with us tonight. My son has done nothing but speak of your kindness to him at the Marquesa’s ball the other night. We have both been so eager to have you come here.”

  “You’re much too kind,” Veronica responded with an honest blush.

  “You will sit by me this evening so that we may talk, hmm? There is so much that I want to know about you, dear.”

  Francesca’s words were honest, Marcelina thought, and she wondered if she might have misjudged just how easily this night might progress. She observed the two of them walking arm in arm together before her into the house thinking that, surely, it won’t be so painless as this.

  “Dears, you must come with me to my salon for an hour or so before the men arrive from their errands in the city.”

  “Oh, your husband and sons are not at home?” the Marquesa asked with a gay tone, hoping not to be misinterpreted.

  “No, I told them they really must allow me some time with this beautiful young girl alone, to get to know her, of course, before they have their chance to take up all her attentions.”

  “And just how is your husband feeling, Francesca? He mentioned he might be coming down with a cold at the party the other night.”

  “Yes, he was not feeling at all well when we left for the opera that night, but the party managed to lift his spirits, and the next morning it seemed that all he really needed was some rest.
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  “But you must tell me now, dear, what did you think of the ball?” Francesca whispered to Veronica. “Everyone I spoke to thought it such a fine event. The Gorgos and the Tallos both confessed to me that the only place where they ever seem to enjoy the new concertos is at your parties. You know, they never go to the opera anymore, unless decorum calls for it,” she whispered secretively, just loud enough for her aunt to hear as well. “They seemed so genuinely thrilled to be invited again this year.”

  “Yes, well, both families were very good to my late husband and I before he died. I will always keep them close to me. Perhaps closer than they might imagine.”

  “Oh, but how wonderful, dear,” said Francesca, turning to let the Marquesa see her eyes.

  It was a response that seemed genuine yet was received as quite unexpected by Marcelina. That this woman was behaving so intimately with her, so concerned by her tone, and that all of it was so truly honest by her measure, confused Marcelina more than it put her to ease.

  “Do tell me, my darling,” Francesca went on with the girl, “what did you think of your aunt’s ball? I understand it was the first one you have ever been allowed to attend. And how wonderful for you! Your first ball! Tell me, child, what were your impressions?”

  Veronica easily gave herself to this woman, and all the warmth that Doña de Ferrero exuded. It was an unexpected comfort, placing her at such ease that she lent herself to answer as freely and honestly as possible.

  “I was so terribly frightened at the opera. The thought of coming home from the performance and being allowed to attend was a bit overwhelming, at first. But when I saw all of the beautiful ladies smiling at me as Tia brought me downstairs... I forgot my fears. I had such an incredible time. Though I had been looking forward to it for ages, during the days leading up to it, I was certain that I’d be too nervous to enjoy it. But then I heard the beautiful violins. They sounded so different in the house than they do at the opera, and the sound of them put me at ease for the duration of the night.”