‘Signor Canova, I must thank you for taking such excellent care of my cousin.’
‘Conte del Pietro.’ The sculptor bowed with a flourish. ‘I must commend you on your relative,’ he said, reverting to English. ‘For an Englishwoman, and so young, she shows great understanding of our arts. I hope you intend to show her some of our beautiful city’s other treasures?’
‘Starting tomorrow, signor.’
‘I am sure I have already seen one of the most beautiful,’ Cousin Rebecca said. ‘I am honoured to have heard the history of your Helen of Troy, signor. It is something I shall never forget. Grazie mille.’ She dropped into a low curtsy, flashing the artist a smile which made him blink, frown and peer more closely at her, but Becky’s face was once more a mask as bland as Helen of Troy’s.
‘Cousin,’ Luca said, struggling not to laugh at Canova’s confusion. ‘My mother wishes to introduce you to her friends.’
* * *
With a huge inner sigh of relief, Becky tucked her hand into Luca’s arm and allowed him to lead Cousin Rebecca from the room. ‘Thank you. I am not sure how much longer I could have fooled Signor Canova into thinking I understood more than one word in twenty of what he was saying.’
‘It seemed to me that you were Signor Canova’s perfect audience, Cousin Rebecca,’ Luca replied, his eyes twinkling with merriment. ‘Awestruck by his genius, and struck too dumb to interrupt the flow of his self-aggrandisement.’ He stopped short of the double doors which led to the main salon. ‘Your performance as Cousin Rebecca is extremely impressive. Contessa Albrizzi was so taken in, she worries that my mother intends you for my bride.’
‘Your bride!’ Becky gave a most unladylike snort of laughter. ‘If only she knew.’
‘I suppose it was an obvious leap to make.’
‘Good heavens, why?’
Luca shrugged. ‘While my father was alive, there was no urgent need for me to marry. Now that I am the Conte del Pietro, it is my responsibility to ensure that there is another to follow me. I need a son, therefore I require my mother to find me a wife.’
Becky eyed him in astonishment. ‘You don’t think you would make a better match if you picked your own wife?’
‘It is the way it is done here, for parents to select a suitable bride, particularly for the eldest son. My parents’ marriage was one of contentment. I trust my mother to find me a bride who will suit me equally well.’
Isabel had said as much to Becky only yesterday morning, but the very notion of someone as decided as Luca permitting anyone to make such an important decision for him was unbelievable. What was more, it didn’t sound as if Isabel’s marriage had been particularly contented. She opened her mouth to say as much to Luca, then closed it again. Isabel had confided in her as a friend. Besides, Luca’s marriage—Luca’s future beyond Carnival—was nothing to do with her. ‘We should return to the salon, unless you wish people to speculate further about the possibility of you making a match with your Cousin Rebecca.’
‘You’re right, that would be one complication too many,’ Luca said wryly. ‘Once we have brought Don Sarti to justice, then I will turn my mind to marriage, but until then, I cannot afford to be distracted.’
He had no sooner opened the door than Isabel, who was clearly getting anxious, signalled them to join her. ‘Aunt,’ Cousin Rebecca said contritely, ‘I am so very sorry to have deserted you, but Signor Canova was so fascinating I found it difficult to tear myself away.’
‘He must have been extremely fascinating,’ Isabel replied tartly. ‘It is quite twenty minutes since Luca went in search of you.’
‘Cousin Rebecca was so enthralled, I could not bring myself to cut short her enjoyment. I do beg your pardon, signore,’ Luca said, addressing his mother’s coterie.
‘Ladies,’ Isabel said, ‘may I present my niece. Rebecca my dear, make your curtsy.’ She waited as Becky did so. ‘My friends have been accusing me of keeping your existence a secret, Rebecca.’
‘Indeed, Signorina Wickes, we were most surprised by your arrival. I am Signora Fabbiano, incidentally.’
Becky dropped another curtsy, murmuring that she was delighted to make her acquaintance.
‘Contessa del Pietro has spoken often of her brother’s children.’
‘No doubt because I wrote to her often of them,’ Luca said. ‘If I have called anywhere home while serving in the Royal Navy, it has been with my uncle, the Admiral, and his family. Indeed, one of my cousins actually served aboard the same ship as me, as my first officer.’
‘This we know,’ Signora Fabbiano said. ‘But of Signorina Wickes...’
‘My sister’s daughter,’ Isabel said. ‘I must say, I find it incredible that I have never mentioned her, but perhaps it is because I so rarely hear from my dear sister, for she lives such a secluded life in the wilds of Wiltshire.’
Which was Becky’s cue to chime in. ‘Dear Papa is a country vicar, and Mama is very much occupied with assisting him in running the parish. She has little time for anything other than good works.’
‘So you are the daughter of a man of the cloth?’ Signora Fabbiano looked suitably unimpressed. ‘You will excuse my asking, Signorina Wickes, but here in Venice we like to understand such matters, it prevents confusion, you see. Your father, then, he is not a rich man?’
‘We are poor as church mice,’ Cousin Rebecca replied, with a shy smile. ‘Were it not for my Aunt Isabel’s overwhelming generosity, I would not even own a gown fit to wear this evening.’
‘Poor as church mice,’ Signora Fabbiano repeated, shaking her head. ‘Poor little Signorina Wickes, you must be finding the luxury of the Palazzo Pietro a real treat.’
‘It is beyond anything I could have imagined,’ Becky replied truthfully.
‘Your aunt was telling us that it is your mother’s intention to find you a husband when you return to England?’
If I returned to England, Becky thought, I’d be much more likely to find myself in the arms of the law than a suitor. If only she could tell Signora Fabbiano this interesting fact, there would be no need for the tale she was instead about to spout. Isabel had warned her that she would be subject to this kind of inquisition, but she hadn’t really believed her. Now she was extremely grateful for her foresight. ‘If I could find a man as wonderful as dear Papa I would be very happy,’ Becky said soulfully.
‘You aspire no higher than a mere clergyman?’
‘It was good enough for Mama,’ Cousin Rebecca said, trying not to grit her teeth, for Signora Fabbiano could not keep the disdain from her voice. ‘I can think of no better example.’
‘You will have no cause to wear such a gown as the Contessa del Pietro has provided you with, in the wilds of... Where did you say it was?’
‘Wiltshire, signora. Perhaps not,’ Cousin Rebecca said, ‘but I am sure I can cut it down to make the most beautiful christening robe.’ Apparently covered in maidenly confusion at having made so immodest a remark, Cousin Rebecca buried her face in her kerchief. Becky was struggling to stay in character. She had no time for these people, they were everything she was not, but it didn’t feel right, deceiving them. They had welcomed her into their company, when, if they knew the truth, they’d cross the road—or the canal—to avoid being contaminated by her.
‘Well, Contessa del Pietro, and what do you make of that? To have brought the chit all this way, to our most sophisticated city. Any spit and polish you apply, which is, I believe, the correct English term, will be quite wasted.’
‘Perhaps,’ Isabel said smoothly, ‘but I will have had the pleasure of my niece’s company while she acquires it. Rebecca is the closest thing I have to a daughter of my own,’ she added.
The warm smile which accompanied this remark served only to make Becky bury her face further in her kerchief, her embarrassment now quite real. Isabel thought she knew her, but she had no idea she was harbouring a gall
ows cheat. Of course, it was ludicrous to imagine that Isabel could ever think of her as a daughter, but she did think of her as a friend. Which they couldn’t be, Becky should have known that. Their friendship, like Cousin Rebecca, was simply an illusion.
‘Si, si...’ Signora Fabianno was nodding. ‘Now I understand. A son, even one so handsome as yours, my dear Isabel, is no substitute for a woman’s company. So you make a long visit to the Contessa, Signorina Wickes?’
‘Cousin Rebecca is with us only until the end of Carnevale,’ Luca intervened, to Becky’s relief. ‘It will be my pleasure to show her our beautiful city, and to rediscover it for myself, through fresh eyes.’
‘Though you will not wish such fresh, innocent eyes, to see too much of Carnevale, Conte del Pietro?’
‘Indeed not,’ Luca said, seemingly quite affronted.
‘And you will not, I hope, devote yourself exclusively to your cousin. Charming as you are I am sure, Signorina Wickes, you will understand that the Conte del Pietro requires more worldly company. And there is plenty to be had of it at Carnevale, is that not so, signor?’
‘Signora Fabianno! If you please, no more in front of my niece.’
‘Your pardon, Isabel. Perhaps your niece would like to meet Aurora? My eldest daughter,’ she added, smiling at Luca, ‘and I must say, without prejudice, one of the most beautiful of Venice’s maidens. I am sure she would be delighted to join you on some of your sightseeing trips. You will find her most agreeable, Conte del Pietro.’
Chapter Six
The next morning, Luca informed Becky that he intended to make good on his promise to take her sightseeing. It was a beautiful winter’s day, with a bright sun shining in a cloudless sky. Happy to permit Chiara to select an appropriate outfit, Becky wore a white muslin day gown with long sleeves and a small plain collar. Three layers of petticoats, the maid insisted, would provide the necessary protection against the cold, and Becky knew better than to disagree. The dusky-pink velvet half pelisse had a double row of buttons, a military-style cap, half-boots and gloves to match. With her hair gathered at her nape in a deceptively simple chignon, and a pretty but most impractical reticule that was big enough only to hold her kerchief dangling from her wrist, Becky barely recognised herself.
‘The colour suits Signorina Wickes very well,’ Chiara said, angling the cap at a jauntier angle. ‘You look as if you belong here.’
‘Grazie,’ Becky said, smiling to herself. ‘That is a bigger compliment than you realise.’
Luca was waiting for her on the small quay outside the palazzo, looking very piratical in a short black cloak, black breeches and highly polished black boots, his hair blowing about his face in the breeze, for he wore no hat. ‘Cousin Rebecca,’ he said with a formal bow, ‘I am delighted that you could join me.’
She was surprised to see that this gondola had no cabin, and was therefore completely open to the elements. Following him on to the bobbing craft, Becky was even more surprised when Luca picked up the long oar and took up position at the stern.
‘I told the gondolier that his services were not required. Do not fear,’ he said, untying the ropes and beginning to row them out on to the Grand Canal. ‘I ended my naval career as the captain of a frigate, but I discovered my love of the sea here in Venice. I have been piloting gondolas since I was a boy.’
‘I’m simply glad that I don’t have to play Cousin Rebecca, since we are alone.’ She had to twist her neck to speak to him, seated as she was at the rear of the gondola, facing in the direction in which Luca was rowing. Clutching the side of the narrow boat, Becky clambered over to the other seat, facing Luca. ‘Speaking of being alone, I hope you are not planning to take Signora Fabianno up on her offer to foist her daughter on us, not if she is anything like her mother.’
Luca laughed. ‘Were you as shocked as Cousin Rebecca appeared to be, by Signora Fabianno’s questions? I warned you that we Venetians do not find the subjects of money or marital prospects vulgar.’
‘‘I think we made it perfectly clear that Cousin Rebecca is not a contender for the position of Contessa del Pietro at any rate.’
Luca smiled wryly, concentrating on steering their gondola further out into the canal. ‘My mother tells me that she has already received any number of social invitations which include you.’
‘Do I have to go, Luca? I know it’s what we agreed, but last night, it felt wrong deceiving all those people.’
‘Wrong? A necessary but harmless deception which cost them nothing.’
She frowned down at her hands, as if they could help her divine how much to say without giving herself away. ‘If they knew me, the real me, I mean, they wouldn’t allow me to step over their thresholds. I’m not your cousin.’
‘But it did not occur to any of them that you are not. You played the part to perfection.’
‘People see what they want to see, Luca.’
‘Accept the compliment, Becky. I could not have imagined a more accomplished performance.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Are you really so unhappy playing that part?’
Yes was the straight answer. But she’d accepted The Procurer’s offer, she couldn’t renege on it now. Besides, it wasn’t only a case of her fee. Luca had not mentioned his father’s murder since the day after her arrival, when he’d told her the story behind his plan, but the pain must lurk, just beneath the surface, carefully tethered. Did he let it loose when he was alone? Did he cry out as she had done, in the days after she’d discovered Jack’s perfidy? She couldn’t imagine it, somehow. Recalling her own bitter tears now made her cringe inwardly. Jack had hurt her, but how much deeper was the hurt Luca nursed deep within him? How little she knew of him despite the many hours they’d spent together.
‘Forget I mentioned it,’ Becky said. ‘What matters is that we’ve taken the first step. I know how much it means to you.’
His face tightened. ‘Grazie,’ he said, and the simple word quashed all her qualms.
He had pushed his cloak back over one shoulder, where it fluttered behind him in the breeze. Balanced on the narrow stern, his booted legs braced, both hands on the oar, using an almost circular motion to propel and steer the craft seemingly effortlessly, she could only imagine the strength of his shoulders and arms, the muscles rippling with the effort. The sunlight flickered over the chestnut highlights in his hair. The air smelt so sweet, the motion of the boat was soothing.
‘Who taught you how to—Is it called rowing when there is only the one oar?’
‘Si. It was one of my father’s gondoliers who taught me when I was perhaps seven or eight. Not in a gondola like this, but in a much smaller one, and not so grand. There is no other way to get around in Venice, so many of the footpaths end in blind alleys, or they are flooded at high tide.’
‘What about your father, could he row?’
‘Yes, but it was beneath the dignity of the Conte del Pietro to break sweat.’
‘You are the Conte del Pietro now.’
Luca grinned. ‘Not today. Today, I am simply a Venetian showing his beautiful city to a beautiful lady. And there on the left is one of our most beautiful palazzos and one of the oldest. It is known as the Ca’ d’Oro.’
‘The Golden House?’ Becky hazarded, though she could see no trace of gold on the ornate exterior.
Luca nodded. ‘Home to the Contorini family until the Republic fell. They were the pre-eminent family in Venice until then. Even more powerful than my own. The doge of Venice was effectively the city’s prince. You will see his palace facing out to the Lido, where the Grand Canal enters the lagoon.’
Becky gazed around her in wonder. ‘Are all these buildings palazzos?’
‘Not all of them are so grand inside as out,’ Luca replied. ‘Many are falling into ruin and some even into the canal. And not all are so comfortable to live in as the Palazzo Pietro either. Many of the most
venerable Venetian families have become too poor to maintain them.’
‘Though they look so very beautiful from here.’
‘But as you very well know, appearances, especially here in Venice, can be deceptive. This is the Ponte de Rialto we are passing under.’
The elaborate, covered stone bridge spanned the canal at a sharp bend, rows of shops lining the arches. They travelled on, following another bend in the canal, and the waters changed from turquoise to sea green as the canal became wider and the breeze stronger. Becky listened as Luca pointed out churches and palaces, but there were so many of them, each more awe-inspiring than the next, that she felt quite dazed. Finally, the gondola came to the end of the Grand Canal and the vista opened to one of islands, the Lido in the distance and the sparkling blue of the lagoon. She shifted to the forward-facing seat at Luca’s feet to better drink in the view.
‘The Giardini Reali,’ Luca said, pointing to the first large green space that she had seen in the city, gondolas vying for berthing spaces on the jetty which faced it. ‘Built by Napoleon, to compensate us for all that he looted, perhaps.’
But Becky’s gaze had already moved on to the elegant tower of the Campanile San Marco, which she had seen from the rooftop of the Palazzo Pietro, and the spectacle of Venice’s most splendid square.
‘The piazetta,’ Luca told her, holding the gondola steady to allow her a better view. ‘The Doge’s Palace is there on the other side, and the Piazza San Marco leads off the piazetta, with the church...’
‘I can see the domes. My goodness, there are so many people here.’
‘Wait until Carnevale. This is nothing. I think our street theatre will put anything you have experienced in London or Brighton to shame. The volo della colombina, for example, the flight of the dove, where a man dressed as an angel sails down a rope from the campanile to the palace.’
His Rags-to-Riches Contessa Page 10