MARIETTA THRIVED ON her relationship with Domenico, even though at times it was somewhat tempestuous, for she was as strong-willed as he and never held back from stating her opinion when it differed from his. She guessed that in this she was a complete contrast to Angela, for he frequently looked surprised when she continued an argument he thought he had settled. Their quarrels were fierce and fiery, but never of long duration and always healed in intense lovemaking.
FINALLY, AS SUMMER turned to another autumn and Elena still had not conceived, it was the suggestion of the Marquise de Guérard, who had become acquainted with Elena’s problem through the friendship of their husbands, that she seek medical treatment in Paris. She knew of a doctor there who was gaining wide renown for helping many previously childless women to start a family.
Elena had little faith in doctors. All the foul-tasting concoctions and pills the Venetian physicians had given her had had no effect beyond interrupting her monthly cycle and raising false hopes. Most of all she hated their embarrassing cross-questioning. But Filippo had seized on the idea of her receiving this new treatment. He went to see the Marquise for further information and came away convinced that his wife should go to Paris. There was no question of his being there with her, for the doctor ruled that husbands must stay away from their wives during the treatment, which lasted several months. To Filippo’s annoyance, his mother stubbornly refused to spare Lavinia to be Elena’s traveling companion, which meant he had to find someone else of impeccable character who could be trusted to watch over her during her absence.
Finally he informed Elena that everything had been arranged satisfactorily. “I have had a meeting with the governors of the Pietà. Sister Sylvia cannot be spared, but Sister Giaccomina may accompany you. She is equally conscientious and can be trusted implicitly never to leave your side. The Marquise de Guérard is letting you have her lady’s maid instead of your own, because the woman wishes to return to Paris for family reasons and will also help you to practice and improve your knowledge of the French language on the way. She will have to leave you in Paris, but the convent where you will lodge can find you another maid who is honest and skilled.”
“Nothing appears to have been overlooked,” Elena said without expression. She had learned never to voice an opinion that differed from his out of fear of reprisal, but he had not crushed her inwardly and in her thoughts she railed against his domination.
“You should know that I’m thorough in all details,” he replied complaisantly. “When you reach the mainland the Celano coach will be waiting with an armed escort. The coach cannot take you all the way and you will have to travel by various means of transport, but the escort will be with you until you are safely at the convent. I wish I could have been there to travel part of the way with you but as you know, I must leave for the colony on the Doge’s business eight weeks before your own departure could be arranged.” He took hold of Elena’s arms then, jerking her forward against him as he looked down into her upturned face. “I shall be awaiting your return with high hopes. Don’t disappoint me.” He raised her on tiptoe and his mouth crushed down on hers in threat as well as in passion.
At his request the Signora and Lavinia came to keep Elena company in his absence prior to her departure. For the first time she did not fear her mother-in-law, because she guessed the Signora was as eager as Filippo that the treatment in Paris bear results.
Although she had to spend a certain amount of time with her two visitors, Elena continued to meet her friends and carry on with her normal social routine. And, once again, she was meeting Nicolò, who had returned to Venice.
With Filippo safely abroad, Marietta and Adrianna were able to see Elena off on her journey with Sister Giaccomina. They wished her well and she promised to write. She and the nun waved to them as the craft set off to cross the lagoon.
It was customary for travelers on their own, or in a small party, to keep close to an armed escort for safety along the road. Therefore, a score of people on horseback and in two carriages followed after the Celano coach. Nobody but Elena took any notice of the young man on a black horse who rode in their midst. Sometimes Nicolò spent the night in the same hostelry, and it was an easy matter for Elena to leave the nun snoring in their room while she went to his.
“Don’t go on to Paris,” he urged her once after their lovemaking. “Come to Florence with me. Leave that monster of cruelty, who doesn’t deserve to be your husband. Let us live the rest of our lives together.” He saw her as the other half of himself, loving her almost on a spiritual as well as a physical plane.
“If that were possible,” she answered sadly, tracing the features of his beloved face with gentle fingertips, “I would have gone from Venice with you when you tried to persuade me last time. But responsibilities compel you to reside in Florence and eventually Filippo would hunt me down there. Had we been able to go far away it might have been different. Accept that what you ask can never be.”
“Don’t say that! I would defend you against the whole world.”
She smiled sweetly, deeply touched by his devotion. “Darling Nicolò, let us not think of the future beyond the hours and days and weeks ahead of us before we have to part again.”
It was Sister Giaccomina who struck up a conversation with him one day when it seemed to her he must be lonely traveling on his own. “He is such a pleasant young man and comes from Florence,” she said afterward to Elena. “It’s a city I know so well from my youth. I should like to talk to him about the places I remember, so please be agreeable to him.”
“Naturally I will,” Elena replied with a little laugh of pleasure, “but how is it you know his city? I thought you were Venetian-born.”
“No, my home was near the Ponte Vecchio in Florence when I was young. I fell in love with a man who shared my interest in antique books, but since he was a librarian of humble birth my father would not allow the match. He was about to confine me in the convent of a closed order, but through my mother’s intervention he was persuaded to send me to a more lenient convent in Venice, where I could continue my studies. However, access to the great libraries of Venice was restricted and when the abbess offered me the chance to come to the Pietà, where I would have more freedom, I accepted instantly.”
How often, Elena thought, do the young take adults for granted, never suspecting what their lives might have been. “How you must have missed your birthplace!”
“I did, but the Lord has been good to me.” She patted Elena’s hand. “Just think of all the children I have mothered at the Pietà. I have loved every one as if each child was my own.”
Elena hugged her. “We’ve loved you too.”
That evening at dinner Sister Giaccomina talked so much to Nicolò, whom she had invited to join their table, that Elena scarcely spoke. But she did not mind. It was enough to watch and listen to him as he answered the nun’s questions. When he promised to get Sister Giaccomina an entrée to some of the renowned libraries of ancient volumes in Paris, the nun struck her hands together in delight.
“How will you manage that, signore?” she asked in happy bewilderment.
“Our ambassador in Paris was acquainted with my late father and I intend to call on him. I am sure he will oblige me for you.”
Elena kept her eyes fixed on her plate. When Sister Giaccomina was with books she forgot time completely. Nicolò was unaware that he had opened the way for the two of them to be together for hours. It troubled her that she could not be honest with Sister Giaccomina, but one day, maybe sooner than later, she would confess and ask her pardon.
By the time Elena reached Paris, she knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that the travel and the foreign food had not been to blame for the queasiness and occasional vomiting she had experienced on the latter part of the long journey. She was both thrilled and terrified to know she was carrying Nicolò’s child. As yet it was possible to keep her secret even from Nicolò, who could stay no longer than three weeks in Paris before leaving for home. He had
spoken of returning to accompany her back to Venice, but despite all her longing for him she could not let that happen. It would complicate everything still further if he should find out she was with child. Somehow she must work out her own future and that of the new life growing within her.
MARIETTA AND ADRIANNA missed Elena. Her first letter from Paris went to Adrianna’s house in the Calle della Madonna and was addressed to both of them. She wrote that Dr. de Bois was a portly little man, whose treatment program required mainly that his patients drink champagne, eat rich food, and enjoy the delights of Paris under suitable guardianship. All his patients were Frenchwomen except for herself and three Englishwomen.
Dr. de Bois, Elena continued, says too many women become so desperate about not having children that they are taut and nervous and cannot relax, but getting them away from all home commitments does wonders for them, and I believe he extends his treatment for as long as his patients wish to stay! He has correspondence from grateful husbands stating that conception took place immediately upon their wives’ return. Everybody takes the doctor very seriously and it is rumored that once the Queen herself consulted him. He never fails to mention the royal children whenever he talks to a new patient. As the meager fare at the convent does not match what he wants me to eat, Sister Giaccomina and I have all our meals other than breakfast at the best places in Paris, which suits her perfectly. I think sometimes that she agreed to come with me because of all she had heard about French food!
She went on to describe Paris as a mainly medieval city with the great avenue of the Champs Elysées sweeping impressively through its center. There were hundreds of shops and the milliners made delectable hats like spun sugar, but there was terrible poverty as well. Starving beggars appeared every day at the door of the convent and were fed from the kitchen. At a nearby village the soldiery had put down most brutally a peaceful demonstration by peasants protesting exorbitant taxes, and there was an air of unrest among the poor that was ignored by the nobility. How different it was from her dear Venice where in Carnival time those from all walks of life could mingle merrily together as could never happen on French soil.
“Perhaps there is some sense in the treatment Elena is following,” Adrianna commented as she folded the letter.
“The doctor sounds like something of a charlatan to me,” Marietta remarked drily.
“Maybe he is,” Adrianna agreed, “but if there are good results for some of his patients, then he can be pardoned. When we send a reply you must tell her your good news. Elena, with her kind heart, would never begrudge your being with child before her.”
Marietta nodded her agreement. Except for wishing the same for Elena, she rejoiced absolutely in her pregnancy. The morning sickness had passed and she knew herself to be securely on the way to producing an heir. She did not have the least doubt that she was going to have a boy. Domenico teased her about being so sure, but he could not disguise the hope that she was right. She was aware that his anticipation was moderated by the disappointments he had suffered with Angela, which in turn explained his concern and constant anxiety that she not become too tired or overwrought.
Finally, one day when he wanted to lift her light needlework box to another table to save her the effort, she laughed, pressing her healthy and swelling young body into his arms.
“Look at me! Can’t you see how strong and fit I am? All will be well. This I promise you.”
He rested his hands on her hips through the layers of her skirts. There was a breadth to them that contrasted with Angela’s well-remembered narrow, small-boned form, and he found himself convinced that this dazzling young wife of his would complete their union with a healthy son.
When he had gone from the room Marietta took from her needlework box the baby garment she was making. Although she threaded a needle she did not begin sewing, but let her hand rest with it in her lap as she meditated. Domenico’s anxiety had revealed only too clearly that Angela was still very much in his mind.
Her thoughts drifted back over the past months to her continued exploration of the palace. She had opened a door one morning into a room that the house-plan had failed to mark as his office. Here was an inlaid Boulle desk, walnut bookcases, and chests of documents and papers. She had not crossed the threshold of the deserted room, but had drawn back swiftly. It was as if she had been slapped unexpectedly across the face. She had found the three missing portraits of Angela. Together with one other she had not seen before, they adorned the walls of the office where Domenico could look at them every day while he worked. She had not gone back there again.
Chapter Eleven
WHEN MARIETTA WAS IN HER SEVENTH MONTH, DOMENICO had to leave Venice on an important diplomatic mission to St. Petersburg and could not hope to return before the birth of their child. He was uneasy about having to leave her, but he had no choice. Arrangements had been made for her to have the best of medical care, and Adrianna had promised to be with her at the birth. Domenico had also charged Antonio with the protection of his wife.
When Domenico left, he was still frowning and anxious. Marietta linked her fingers behind his neck. “Stop worrying about me. All I want is for you to finish your diplomatic affairs as soon as possible and return to me with all speed.”
“That is already my intent.” Tenderly he cupped her face in his hands. “I love you, Marietta.”
It was the first time he had spoken those words except in the heat of passion. “I love you too,” she whispered.
Their declaration to each other gave a new meaning to their parting kiss. She wished he had spoken from the heart a bit sooner, for there was much she wanted to say to him. Now it would have to wait until his return.
“Farewell, my love.” He kissed her again. “Take care of yourself at all times.”
She went out onto the colonnaded balcony to watch until his gondola was barely a speck on the horizon. She rested her brow against the cold marble of a column. Domenico had finally discovered that a second love, while not negating the first, can establish itself in its own right.
The pattern of Marietta’s days changed with Domenico away. She curtailed much of her social activity except for meeting informally with friends. Antonio was attentive and visited her daily, often dining with her. Elena’s return to Venice was expected shortly and Filippo was already back. Two more letters had followed the first that Marietta and Adrianna received from Elena, and these were far more subdued, with homesickness easily discerned between the lines.
Antonio, who could not himself contemplate an evening without some diversion, often tried to persuade Marietta to accompany him on his outings. “Don’t stay here by yourself,” he urged one night when Domenico had been away almost a month. “Just for once come out and enjoy yourself.”
She smiled at the way he ignored the houseful of servants. “I’m not exactly alone in the palace. I shall go to bed early with a book.”
“How dull of you!” he teased, his eyes dancing. “I thought you were about to say with a lover.”
She laughed at his jesting. “You’d better be on your way.”
“You’ll be missing a fine time if you don’t come. A party of us is going to a casino.”
It would have been easy enough for her to hide her figure in the swirl of a short satin cape, but the company he kept was often a little wild and that did not appeal to her at the present time.
Antonio set off and met his friends as arranged. At the casino they chatted over a bottle or two of wine and then split up, going to the gaming tables of their choice for bassetta or zechinetta or some other game of chance. Antonio, at a high-stakes table, was winning steadily from one opposing player, whom he realized after a while was Filippo Celano. Although they were both bauta-masked and obeyed the rule of complete silence at the tables, he became aware that somehow his enemy knew him too, which was why the play was so fierce.
Deliberately Antonio made the stakes higher and still he won. People had begun gathering around to watch this phenomenal streak
of luck, and he could tell by the restlessness of his opponent that the notorious Celano temper was soaring. Financially it did not matter in the least to Filippo that he had already lost a small fortune, but the principle of losing in any way to a Torrisi was humiliating and more than he was able to endure. He had been spoiling for another confrontation with the Torrisis, but had not envisioned such a minor conflict or known that it would inflame him as much as a blow across the face.
Once more the cards turned in Antonio’s favor. His eyes danced triumphantly through the eye-holes of his mask as he read the malevolent fury in the glare across the table. By now even the onlookers had guessed who they were, and word flew around that a Torrisi and a Celano were fighting it out over cards. Other tables were deserted as the crowd grew denser around the two antagonists.
When the last of the Celano gold ducats had been passed across the table to Antonio, he pushed the money into one of the leather bags provided by the establishment, then stood up and bowed to his opponent. In a final act of contempt, he tossed back a single gold piece to the Celano.
With a roar Filippo leapt to his feet, knocking his chair aside, and strode out of the gaming salon and out of the casino. Antonio had been left the victor in the field. People applauded, his male friends clapped him on the back, and the women kissed him. Waving his bag of gold triumphantly, he left with his arm round his courtesan’s waist to go with her to her apartment.
Later that night she awoke and stretched lazily like a sleek cat to see him standing by her bed, dressed and ready to leave again. He pulled open the leather bag of his winnings and as he poured all the coins around her where she lay, creating a bed of gold, she sat up with a shriek of greedy delight, scooping the shining money to her bare breasts.
Laughing, he went from her apartment and set off for home. It was still dark, but the candles of the wall-shrines and the occasional flicker of a suspended lamp showed him the way through the maze of calli. Now and again a rat scuttled across his path. He had no fear of attack by thieves. Petty crime was more likely to be committed in crowds. It was graft and fraud and treachery that abounded on the higher social levels.
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