Night Lover

by Rosanna Leo

  The first guests to appear were the Mortimers. Sir John Mortimer accompanied his wife Lady Mary and their daughter Lady Katherine.

  Katherine Mortimer has always had designs on me. My father has always approved the match but I have never acted on his suggestion to propose to her. Despite the allure of her ample dowry, I have never been able to abide her vicious temper, unwilling to tolerate a woman whose sole occupation is ridiculing others.

  Luckily, she has other prospects.

  Chief among those is Count Ignazio Malanotte, a Venetian nobleman currently visiting the Mortimers. I met him several years ago while in Venice on Grand Tour and have never forgotten our meeting. As a younger man, I never concerned myself with the reputation of my acquaintances and spent much time in Malanotte’s company, whoring and gambling. I knew many of his secrets, and no doubt he’d memorized mine. He had never married, preferring to bed as many harlots as possible. However, every so often, he exhausted his funds and took to courting rich noblewomen. I assumed it was what led him to Mortimer’s door as well.

  A handsome devil, he regularly had women from all walks of life swooning over him. That is, until they discovered his more disturbing proclivities. It was well-known in society that the Italian dabbled in the occult. I’d once heard him described as a satanic priest. I had not believed the rumors until I witnessed some odd behavior. Upon that discovery, my association with him ended.

  I might not be a monk, but I understood when my soul was in danger. And anyone who associated with Malanotte did so at their peril. The man could corrupt a mother abbess.

  I had every confidence Lady Katherine would eventually send him packing. No doubt he amused her with his churlish behavior, but I knew she only entertained him in the hopes of making me jealous. She had used other suitors similarly before.

  “Oh, Dawlish,” Malanotte said, launching into a discussion of our time in Venice. “If only these were the old, glorious days. Back then, we took what we wanted.”

  “If memory serves correctly, you took much more than I did.”

  “Ah,” he said with a laugh. “You were always the epitome of gentility. I prefer the more straightforward approach.”

  I nodded in acknowledgment to the other guests as they arrived, growing more uncomfortable in Malanotte’s presence. After all, I wanted to make a positive impression on Miss Sebastiano, not mortify her with tales of my past misadventures.

  Finally, she arrived. Miss Sebastiano crossed the threshold into the drawing room and I caught my breath. She wore a pale gown ornamented with yellow ribbon across the bodice, one that accentuated her fine figure. Her dark hair fell in curls about her face. She was lovely, even prettier without her dramatic stage makeup. Her only ornamentation was a single bloom in her hair.

  God help me, my body reacted as violently as my heart, bouncing to life.

  She hesitated in the doorway, her gloved hands clutching her reticule, nibbling her lip with clear apprehension. I assumed she was not accustomed to such luxury. Eager to set her at ease, to make her welcome, I crossed the room to meet her, conscious of every set of eyes upon us.

  “Miss Sebastiano, welcome to my home. Welcome to Dawlish Manor.” I bowed. As I arose, I caught the alluring scent of the rose in her hair. Her scent was as intoxicating as her beauty. Everything about the girl claimed my acute attention. For the first time in my life, I felt lost but also at home.

  Her chaperone for the evening was an older lady from the opera troupe, a Signora Giorgio. Miss Sebastiano discreetly explained the old lady was the company seamstress and spoke no English whatsoever. Despite this impediment, Signora Giorgio smiled and nodded, as if she understood every word we spoke. I was able to welcome her in her native tongue, which won for me the lady's good favor.

  I took it upon myself to do the introductions, and brought my two newest Italian guests around to meet the others. Everywhere I looked, admiring male glances landed on Claudia’s figure. I forgot how to breathe, and had to remind myself not to spirit her away from the other men.

  In that moment, jealousy scored my insides. Indeed, any sense of false jealousy I had ever experienced in my life paled in comparison to what I felt watching other men kiss Claudia’s hand.

  I introduced her to Count Ignazio, thinking she’d appreciate seeing one of her countrymen. I could not have been more mistaken. Her countenance turned ashen. In turn, he arched a mischievous eyebrow at her. His seemingly innocent gesture seemed to carry with it a world of significance. Her eyelids fluttered. For a moment, I thought she might swoon, as if she had just caught a glimpse of a ghost.

  The count turned to me, but kept his eyes trained on her. “Signore, I have already had the distinct pleasure of making la signorina's acquaintance in Venezia. I have attended many performances at the opera just to hear her sing. We are…old friends.”

  Feeling a surge of anger, violent enough to make me forget myself, I steered her away from the count. However, Lady Katherine had heard the exchange and approached.

  “A singer?” Lady Katherine's voice dripped with sugary sweetness. “How droll. I shall look forward to the performance.”

  I led Claudia away, but as we moved, I heard Lady Katherine’s loud whisper.

  “Whores, every last one of them.”

  Mortified, I turned to Claudia. Her shoulders thrust back, her back as straight as a rod, she stared ahead and walked next to me. Despite the pride in her carriage, there was no disguising the paleness of her complexion. She had heard the insult as well, and it had hit home. I turned, with the intention of rebuking Lady Katherine but Claudia simply inclined her head.

  “Don’t. Please.”

  “I will not tolerate such insults to my guests.”

  “I have no wish to cause a scene, Mr. Dawlish.” Her smile returned. “We shall ignore mademoiselle’s opinions. I daresay that will upset her most.”

  My heart warmed to see her smile again. “Forgive me for prying. I did not realize you were acquainted with Count Ignazio.”

  “You are friends?”

  “Not particularly. Let us say he simply reminds me of my young and foolish ways. He is a guest of the Mortimers.”

  Did I spy relief in her dark eyes? “He is not my friend either. I simply know him from the opera in Venice. He is a patron.”

  I wondered if the count had made her one of his conquests. She was not rich enough to tempt him into marriage, but surely he had eyes. The notion plagued me the entire night.

  I had no use for all the insipid conversation during the course of the evening. Ladies simpered and posed. Father and his friends drank and made bets. Signora Giorgio nodded, unable to contribute. Through it all, Claudia and I became more acquainted. We somehow managed under the harsh scrutiny of Count Ignazio and Lady Katherine. I wished to God my father had never invited the Mortimer woman, but he insisted on thrusting her at me. While Lady Katherine remained as disagreeable as possible, the count spent a good deal of time staring at Claudia in an apparent quest to make her uncomfortable.

  I wanted to throttle the man.

  As for me, I could not remove my gaze from her. It was all I could do not to reach for her hand under the table.

  Eventually, dinner ended and the ladies withdrew into the drawing room for coffee. As they did so, I threw Miss Sebastiano an encouraging look, knowing she would probably have to endure more of Lady Katherine's barbed comments. It was my intention, therefore, to have a small glass of port with the men and join her as speedily as possible.

  As I left the dining room, my father called out, well on his way to complete intoxication. “There goes my son. He would rather spend time huddling about women's skirts.”

  “You forget, Father, that Miss Sebastiano will be doing us the honor of singing tonight. I simply wish to see if she requires anything.”

  My father walked behind an ornamented screen and relieved himself in the chamber pot there. “Go. Make love to your Venetian filly. See if the lass will sing, and we shall join you. I'm ready for my
game of ecarte at any rate.”

  As I entered the drawing room, Claudia glanced at me, a look of profound relief on her sweet face. I was consumed by guilt, wondering how Lady Katherine had verbally tortured the poor girl.

  “Mr. Dawlish, you have missed our company. Come join our little party. Dear Miss Sebastiano and I have been acquainting ourselves,” she said, a pernicious smile playing on her pale lips. “We have become good friends, have we not, dear?”

  “Indeed, Lady Katherine.”

  “Oh yes, I know all about our dear Claudia now. Did you know, sir, that her father is a baker?” She batted her eyelashes and fanned herself, all the while staring at me pointedly.

  It seemed to me in that moment that Katherine grew ugly. I would never have called her so before this evening. A plain woman, thick around the middle and slightly stooped, she still had her charms. Her blond hair, thick and lustrous, was her pride and joy. Her bright eyes lit up an otherwise unexceptional face. However, it was the harsh lines in that face that made her so irredeemable in my eyes. Every appraising glance, every withering glare, gave proof of her hard heart. I knew the only reason most people tolerated her in society was her immense wealth. If she had been a woman of modest means, she would have been shunned.

  “My father is no longer a baker.” The muscles in Claudia’s face tightened. “He is dead, as is my mother”

  I sat next to her. “I am very sorry for your loss.” Indeed, I wanted to draw her to me, to hold her close and console her. To whisper in her ear that I would shelter her from all the world’s ills.

  Lady Katherine continued to prattle on with little regard for Claudia’s feelings. “How their deaths must have inconvenienced your family. It is fortunate you have an occupation that allows you to make use of your…talents.”

  I ignored Katherine and kept my gaze locked on Claudia. “When did they die?”

  “I have no wish to discuss it here, sir.”

  “Of course, not.”

  Claudia’s eyes grew moist but they expressed her silent thanks. My heart warmed. I would have protected that girl from worse dragons than Katherine Mortimer. I then noticed my father and the other men standing in the doorway. My father’s cynical look indicated he had already had enough of the evening.

  “Miss Sebastiano, I was going to ask you to sing a song for us,” I said in a quiet tone. “However, under the circumstances…you are upset.”

  “No, I promised to sing, and I shall.”

  After a word with our butler, the man invited our guests to relocate to the music room. As I walked with her, I once again caught the scent of the rose in Claudia's hair. If only I could breathe her scent forever.

  Although I offered her the use of our new pianoforte, she expressed her preference for our harpsichord. I could not help but smile. Her eyes lit up as she spied the instrument and its decorative case. Dainty and sweet, it reminded me of her. Signora Giorgio sat at the keyboard. In Italian, Claudia quietly asked her chaperone to play a certain piece. I glanced at the others, who waited politely, with the exception of Lady Katherine who pouted in her seat.

  Lady Katherine leaned over to Lady Mary and whispered. “Oh mother, I do hope this doesn't last long. I shan't abide it. I shan't!”

  Lady Mary regarded her daughter with sympathy. “Not to worry, my pet. I am certain her accomplishments are naught compared to yours.”

  My father stood at the back of the room, arms crossed, and an impatient look on his face. I knew he was anxious to start his card game. I prayed he would not embarrass me, but knew he did not share my love of music. I watched him from the corner of my eyes, noting how his nostrils flared.

  As for Count Ignazio, he made a study of Claudia, his tongue peeking from between his lips. Deliberating on every inch of her, he regarded her as a sailor appraises a strumpet. I was at once insulted for her. So transparent in his profligacy, he reeked of impurity and lewdness. He knew he made Claudia squirm under his gaze, and he loved it. Had the room not been full of guests, I would have called him out then and there.

  Determined not to give him an audience, I turned to her and offered her a smile of encouragement. I held my breath, waiting for the exquisite sound that would soon fill the room. She smiled at me, inhaled deeply, and opened her pretty mouth to sing her first words.

  “Amarilli, mia bella.”

  “Amarilli” by Giulio Caccini. It was one of my favorite pieces and she sang it perfectly, her voice plaintive and soft. I gazed at her, enrapt, feeling the performance was meant just for me. She looked at me as she sang of the love written on her heart. Not her words, I acknowledge, and yet I believed she directed them at me.

  We all showed our appreciation with our applause. Even Lady Katherine could not help but join in once she heard the awed reaction. Claudia's voice would have moved a stone to tears.

  My joy was rudely interrupted by the sound of four terrible, deliberate claps. It was my father at the back of the room. I spun around to face him, infuriated at the insult. Did he mean to be so insolent or was he merely too drunk to know any better?

  My father's voice was low and ambivalent as he spoke. “You have a pretty, little voice madam, but I have no taste for song. You must excuse the gentlemen if we retire to the drawing room. The cards await.”

  Without wasting another second, he turned and left the room. His cronies followed him, leaving the ladies alone and aghast. Lady Katherine cast a triumphant smile in our direction.

  Claudia stood still, white of face. She did not try to hide her tears as they fell. My gut churned and I blamed myself for causing her this terrible suffering by bringing her into the den of vipers that was my home.

  “Andiamo, Signora Giorgio,” Claudia said to her companion. “Mr. Dawlish, thank you very much for your hospitality, but we must leave. If you would be so good as to call for our cloaks.”

  I followed them to the front hall, desperate for her not to go. “Please allow me to explain.”

  “Signore.” She turned about to face me, her face wet with tears. “I will not remain another moment. I would rather be with my uncivilized colleagues at the opera.” The footmen opened the door and she ran down the front steps with Signora Giorgio in tow.

  I had to stop her. I said the first thing that entered my head. “Your rendition of the Caccini was beautiful, perfect.” Dear God, had I no better words?

  As much as I sounded like a simpleton, my statement caught her attention. Signora Giorgio was already in the carriage, but Claudia turned to look at me, her eyes bright with apparent wonder. “Why did you bring me here?”

  I walked down the steps to join her next to the carriage. “Because, cara mia, since hearing you sing for the first time, since meeting you, I have done nothing but think of you. My only coherent thoughts involve finding ways to see you. You have bewitched me.”

  Her gaze softened and her lips quivered.

  Emboldened, I dared to touch her hand. “Miss Sebastiano, if you leave here hating me, I will be the most miserable man alive.”

  She looked down at my hand as it pressed hers. “I know not what to say.”

  “Say that you will see me again. It is all I ask.”

  We stood there for several moments, joined at the hands. Her dark eyes gazed into mine, transfixing me. When she finally spoke, she said the words I most longed to hear.

  “Very well, then. Come to the opera tomorrow.”

  June 8, 1820

  On my way out of the house the next day, I encountered my father. He lay in the drawing room, resting on the settee, a hand over his head. No doubt in the exact position he’d fallen the night before. I smirked, knowing he paid dearly for his Bacchanalia. I did not escape his notice, however.

  “Here, Hugh,” he croaked as he attempted to sit up on the settee.

  I raised my voice, receiving a perverse satisfaction when he flinched. “Father, you were unforgivably rude to Miss Sebastiano. She left here in tears.”

  “No doubt you were able to comfort her.”
<
br />   “How dare…”

  “Look, Hugh, I don’t care if you want to associate with vagrants, actors and artistes. Make love to a thousand sopranos if you will. Indeed, you'll be more of a man for it. However, I will have you show more affection to Lady Katherine. You need to start producing sons, and she is a perfect match. You ought to act before that dago Malanotte does.”

  “There is no way I will ever marry Katherine Mortimer.”

  “I know, I know. She has the temperament of a harpy. Believe me, I can barely tolerate her myself. However, she has a huge inheritance. Besides, all you have to do is wed her and bed her. Once she is with child, please yourself. Keep your opera tart on the side, if you will.”

  “Do not disparage Miss Sebastiano so,” I countered, my face hot with anger. “If you find Lady Katherine’s fortune enticing, perhaps you ought to make her a proposal yourself. As master of Dawlish Manor, I am certain she would find you more appetizing than I.”

  His face turned the color of beets. “How dare you suggest it? No other woman can ever take your mother’s place. That saintly lady died granting you life, and you would do well to remember it.”

  “How could I possibly forget, Father? You have seen fit to remind me almost every day for the last thirty years.”

  “Do you think it has been easy, raising a boy on my own?” His eyes darkened as he traveled the murky path of his memories. “Every single time I look at you, I see her face.”

  “Well, then, it is a wonder you don’t despise me less.”

  He did not dispute the charge. He merely turned from me and staggered off, no doubt in search of spirits more potent than my dead mother’s ghost.

  God forgive me, I hated him just as much as he hated me.

  After the opera, I made my way to Claudia’s dressing room, pushing past racks of stale costumes and powdered wigs. I knocked on her door.

  “Entrate,” she called from inside the room.

  When I opened the door, she turned to me, her eyes lit up with a smile. Signora Giorgio stood behind her. She had obviously just finished helping her dress. Claudia's face was scrubbed free of her heavy makeup and her hair was tied up in bands. She wore a creamy, gauze gown, and appeared as dark and ethereal as the moon goddess.