Nothing to Lose: The Pocket Watch Chronicles

by Ceci Giltenan

  Humoring her he said. “Fine. I’m a rich man pretending to be average instead of the average man that I am pretending to be rich.”

  “You aren’t average, Ben, but I’ll ignore that statement for a while. I’ll be the daughter of an impoverished nobleman who seeks to marry me to a man of means who can dig us out of debt. So far, he has proposed one old rich man after another, none of whom are acceptable to me. He has grown impatient now and has given me the choice of three men. I am to make my decision tonight. I reluctantly agree, but before I’m introduced to the first of his choices, I meet a young clerk who steals my heart. He, of course, believes he has found a girl who isn’t trying to marry him for his money.”

  “I see where this is going.”

  “Good, we’ll get there faster. You spend the evening avoiding detection from your admirers and I spend the evening avoiding my father.”

  He chuckled. “It sounds like a potential disaster.”

  She grinned. “Oh, it could be. But it’s equally possible that they fall in love, decide to get married, and run away together.”

  “Is this going in your book?”

  “Of course, it is. But it will be fun, don’t you think? More fun than worrying about what other people think of us.”

  “Then I’ll do it. For you and for the benefit of your readers.” And maybe, for a little while, he would be able to pretend that she’d be his forever.

  Her face lit in the bright happy smile that made her even more beautiful than she already was. “It’s a plan then. Are you ready to go?”

  “I am.”

  “Aren’t you bringing your dress clothes to change into?”

  “I don’t think it’s necessary. I am not going to work the entire day. I’ll come back over here in the early afternoon, so I can wash and shave before dressing. I’ll meet you at Zina’s house at the appointed hour.”

  ~ * ~

  By midmorning Benedict realized that he was much more excited about attending the ball with Sara tonight than he liked to admit. He was completely unable to focus, so he left the shipyard earlier than he had planned. He made a slight detour on his way home to purchase a mask.

  He found it no easier to be at home with time on his hands. The silence pressed in on him. He had lived in this house, alone, for years. It had never bothered him before. But over the last three weeks, he hadn’t spent a single moment here alone. He wasn’t sure how he’d manage after she left.

  Finally, the hours ticked by and it was time to go. Bathed, shaved, and dressed in his finest suit, he examined himself in the looking glass. He smiled when he remembered the charade that Sara had suggested that morning. He looked slightly better dressed than the young clerk he would pretend to be, but not as flashy as many men of his standing might. “You’ll do.”

  He rowed the gondola across the lagoon and past the Doge’s palace, until he reached Rio di San Moisè, which led ultimately to Rio de San Luca, and Zina’s home.

  A liveried servant admitted him, showed him to the receiving room, offered him a glass of wine, and informed him that the signora and Miss Wells would be down shortly.

  “Shortly” might have been a bit of an overstatement. It had to have been well over a quarter of an hour and they still hadn’t joined him. To keep from pacing, he had positioned himself by a window that looked out on the canal and counted the gondolas that passed.

  Finally, the door opened behind him. He turned towards it and froze. Sara had just stepped into the room and she was stunning. She wore a breathtaking gown of white and pale gold brocade, cut low enough to reveal the top curve of her breasts. Panniers extended the width of the skirt on both sides. Her black curls had been piled on her head in an intricate arrangement and then powdered. She wore very little make-up, perhaps a touch of color on her lips and cheeks. It pleased him that she didn’t wear one of the little black patches women often wore to conceal a scar or blemish or simply to appear coquettish.

  From behind Sara, an equally beautifully dressed woman who appeared to be in her mid to late thirties said, “It looks like your friend approves.” This could only be Zina Peretti.

  “I certainly do. Sara, you are exquisite.” Benedict made a small bow. “Good evening, Signora. I’m Benedict MacIan.”

  “Yes, Sara has told me a bit about you. She’s very grateful for the help you have given her.”

  “It’s been my pleasure.”

  A slow smile spread across her face. “I’m sure it has.”

  Benedict didn’t quite know what to say to that.

  Zina gave a tinkling laugh at his discomfiture. “Well, my darlings, I think you should go to the ball in my gondola tonight. As handsome a figure as I’m sure you cut wielding an oar, Mr. MacIan, perhaps you’d like to ride with this exquisite creature tonight.”

  “Aren’t you going with us?” asked Sara.

  “I’ll see you there, but I’ll be going with one of my benefactors. He’ll be calling for me here any minute.”

  “Thank you for everything, Zina. I feel like Cinderella.”

  “Well, here’s a bit of advice from your ersatz fairy godmother.” She lowered her voice as if revealing a state secret. “Don’t let Prince Charming out of your sight. He might be eaten alive.”

  Sara laughed.

  “I’m not kidding,” said Zina.

  ~ * ~

  Sara hadn’t quite believed the reflection that stared out at her from Zina’s floor length looking glass. She had never worn anything more stunning in her life. But the awestruck way Ben looked at her made her feel beautiful.

  He helped her into Zina’s gondola. It was larger than Ben’s and the felze was more lavishly appointed. When he was seated beside her, the gondolier pushed off, heading toward the Grand Canal.

  “Your beauty overwhelmed me so, I didn’t even ask the Signora where this ball is being held.”

  “You clean up pretty well yourself. And I guess I was more focused on the fact that I was going to a masquerade ball than where it would be. I suppose the gondolier must know.”

  “Let’s hope so. Otherwise we could float around the canals of Venice all evening.” He grinned. “But now that I’ve said it, I’m not sure that would be a bad thing.”

  They chatted about inconsequential things and donned their masks as they floated down the Grand Canal. Ben helped tie the ribbons of her gold filigree mask and adjusted the three ostrich feathers affixed to one side so they arched jauntily over her hair.

  In turn, she helped tie his mask on. He had opted for a relatively plain black mask instead of the long-nosed mask preferred by most Venetian men. She laughed when he explained, “It’s hard to whisper in a beautiful woman’s ear with a nose like that getting in the way.”

  It seemed like it had been only minutes since they left Zina’s home when the gondolier maneuvered next to a building.

  Ben glanced out the window and stiffened. “The ball is at Palazzo Balbi?”

  Sara frowned. “Is something wrong with that?”

  “No. I mean…well I don’t know. Palazzo Balbi is owned by Joseph Smith, the British Consul to Venice.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “It’s just that Reese Llewellyn is a very wealthy British merchant. It is extremely likely that he’ll been in attendance tonight.”

  Sara felt the color drain from her face. “We shouldn’t go. We’ll ask the gondolier to take us back.”

  Ben caressed her cheek. “Sara, we don’t have to go in. But this is something that you really wanted to do. I don’t want you to regret not taking the opportunity. You are dressed in Venetian-made finery befitting a noblewoman. Your hair is powdered and you will be wearing a mask. I suspect you could come nose to nose with Llewellyn and he wouldn’t recognize you. But the decision is yours.”

  Sara took a deep breath. Ben was right. This might be her only opportunity to ever attend a ball like this one, she wouldn’t squander it. Resolved she said, “Let’s go.”

  Ben nodded decisively and helped her out
of the gondola. When they entered the palazzo, he glanced casually around before leaning next to her ear and whispering, “He doesn’t seem to be here. At least not yet.”

  As guests arrived, they were ushered into the receiving line to be presented to their host and hostess, Consul Smith and his wife, Elizabeth Murray. It was slightly unsettling, and as was her nature, Sara began to fidget. As she looked around nervously, she realized Zina had been right, several women were eyeing Benedict and attempting to garner his attention.

  Ben took her right hand in his and placed his left hand on the small of her back. His casual touch served to calm her jangled nerves.

  “You are causing a stir,” she whispered to him.

  “It isn’t me they’re staring at. It’s you.”

  She had to stifle a laugh. “I’m pretty sure it’s not me. Maybe they think Casanova is hiding under that mask.”

  He shook his head. “Not a chance. He’s being held in the prison at the Doge’s palace.”

  “Really?” Sara knew Casanova was a public figure in the eighteenth century and that he had lived at least part of his life in Venice, but she wasn’t sure of when that was exactly. “Why is he in prison?”

  Ben chuckled. “I believe he was charged with an affront to religion and common decency. But tell me, lovely Sara, how is it you know about Giacomo Casanova?”

  “Let’s just say his reputation made the history books…and romance novels.”

  “Indeed? I would not have imagined that.”

  They had finally reached the front of the line and were presented as Mr. Benedict MacIan and Miss Sara Wells. Pleasantries were exchanged briefly before they were absorbed into the crowd at the ball.

  They found a spot near a window from which they could watch the dancers. Somehow, Sara had always found the idea of formal court dances very romantic. They were precise ceremonious dances that were meant to mirror the proper, restrained courtship procedures of the day. Presented with them now, she found them dull.

  Ben said, “I’m sorry, I’ve never really learned to dance.”

  “Don’t worry, unless they start a country-western line dance, I can’t join in either. And honestly, I think watching paint dry might be more engaging.”

  He laughed. “Then we must find other entertainment.”

  And at that moment, the magic began.

  He leaned closer to her ear and whispered “My lady, I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”

  She frowned. “Excuse me?”

  “I said, I don’t think we’ve been introduced. My name is Ben and I am definitely not the disillusioned eldest son of an extremely affluent merchant. I’m just an ordinary man. I work as a humble clerk to Signore Maximus Importanti.”

  She grinned broadly. He was playing the game she’d proposed. “Signore Maximus Importanti?”

  “Yes. And while he is a very important man, I am not.”

  “Well then, I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.” She curtsied. “My name is Sara Senza Soldi, and frankly I’m just trying to avoid my father, il Duca Senza Soldi.”

  He laughed richly. “Really? The Duke of No Money?”

  In all seriousness she answered, “Yes, have you met him?”

  Ben made a valiant attempt to stop laughing. “No, I don’t suppose I have. But, why, dear lady, are you trying to avoid your father?”

  “Because he is seeking a betrothal for me.”

  “You are certainly of an age to marry. Why do you wish to avoid it?”

  “He has given me an ultimatum. I must decide between one of three men tonight. But I can’t.”

  “You can’t decide? Perhaps I may offer you some assistance. Describe for me the best quality of each of your suitors.”

  “No, you misunderstand me. I don’t want to marry any of them.”

  “Still, if you must, perhaps together we can discern who the best candidate is.”

  She gave a melodramatic sigh. “I suppose it must be done.”

  “Clearly. So, enumerate their best qualities for me, please.”

  Sara thought for a moment. “Hmmm. This is difficult. Where to start? Tell me, Signore, how do you believe great wisdom is attained?”

  Ben shrugged. “I would say wisdom comes with age. It is a product of experience.”

  “Well then, I suppose the best thing that can be said for Signore Antico—”

  “Mr. Old?”

  “Yes, Signore Antico. His best quality is that he has had many opportunities to gain wisdom. Many, many, many, many opportunities. His dear friend, Signore Methuselah, can attest to that.”

  Ben laughed again.

  She continued. “And then there is…uh…Signore Parsimonioso.”

  “Mr. Thrifty?”

  She nodded. “Yes. He has amassed a great fortune.”

  “There are worse things than being married to a rich man.”

  “I suppose so…”

  “Tell me, Sara, how has Signore Parsimonioso managed to build such wealth. Are his gains from dishonest sources?” He folded his arms on his chest.

  She shook her head. “Oh, no. His riches come from a perfectly legal, time honored, proven method.”

  Ben nodded sagely. “I see, so he inherited it.”

  Sara laughed outright. “Indeed, and has never spent a single soldo on anyone but himself. For example, one evening we were dining together and he selected a bottle of wine—an excellent vintage. He poured a drop of water into his own glass before filling it with wine.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with that. Some people believe a drop of water brings out some of the more subtle flavors in a glass of fine wine.”

  “Perhaps, but then he poured a drop of wine into my glass before filling it with water.”

  It looked as if Ben was struggling not to laugh. “Hmm. I can see how that might be a problem. What about the third man?”

  “That would be Signore Idiota.”

  “Oh dear. That doesn’t sound promising. I hesitate to ask but, what is his best quality?”

  She smiled. “He’s very funny. He makes me laugh.”

  “A sense of humor is a wonderful thing. Maybe he is the man for you.”

  “No. You see, I don’t think he actually intends to be funny, but it’s hard not to laugh at the things he does.”

  “Give me an example.”

  She grinned. This was going to be fun. All she had to do was recycle Daphne jokes. “Well, about three months ago someone told him that most accidents occur at home.”

  “So, what did he do?”

  “What could he do? He moved.”

  Ben chuckled.

  “Then there’s the time I told him that we probably shouldn’t be married because I’m a year older than he is. He said, ‘that isn’t a problem, we can wait until next year.’”

  Ben chuckled again. “I see what you mean.”

  “There is one good thing though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “If I need a break from him, I just give him a piece of paper with ‘turn the page over’ written on both sides. It occupies him for hours.”

  Ben guffawed.

  This was fun. Sara imagined a similar scene in her book. One in which Rafe laughed and teased with Kyra. That was the kind of scene she found most romantic, and loved to write, but had never actually experienced. You’re experiencing it now, said a little voice within her.

  They continued to play the game for perhaps three quarters of an hour, Ben asking questions and Sara painting an absolutely dreadful picture of her three fictitious suitors. Ben ruled out Signore Parsimonioso almost immediately. “He loves his money first and best, so it is the mistress he loves best. It’s highly unlikely he’ll squander it away gambling or pour it lavishly on a courtesan. But he will guard it jealously from you as well. You will live like a pauper and that would be tragic.”

  Next Ben considered Signore Idiota. “He may be a fool, but there could be advantages to that. For if you marry him, by necessity you will have complete contr
ol over the household for to put him in charge of anything more challenging that dressing himself would be imprudent. Not to mention that having laughter in one’s life is a very good thing.”

  Yes, a very good thing indeed. Sara nodded. “I see your points, but I fear for the children we would have. Because in my experience when a man is a fool, more often than not, his son is a bigger fool. No, I think Signore Antico is the one I must choose.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Ben. “Being married to a man that old is likely to be pure misery.”

  “I’m certain it will be. But on the bright side, it won’t be for long. He’s already got one foot in the grave and the other one is slipping.”

  He laughed. “Nevertheless, it would be a crime to marry you to the old geezer for even a day. Maybe we should see if your father would consider a fourth suitor.”

  “Pray tell, who?”

  He cocked his head to one side. “Me.”

  Yes, please. How wonderful would it be to be married to him? But she couldn’t. She had to go back, didn’t she? She tried to push the thought of marrying Ben out of her mind. Focus on the novel, that’s why you’re here. This scene would be an absolutely perfect point in the book for Rafe to kiss Kyra for the first time.

  As if he had read her mind, Ben slipped one hand behind her neck and, caressing her cheek with the other, he kissed her softly, then nipped at her lower lip.

  She opened her mouth to him.

  Ben emitted a soft groan, pulled her closer, and deepened the kiss.

  She melted into him. Ben’s kiss was warm and soft, yet demanding. The ballroom became a dim blur of sound and color, too far away to matter. The only real things in her world were his arms around her and his lips on hers. She had longed to be in Ben’s arms and for him to kiss her. Truthfully, she had longed for a kiss like this her whole life.

  And in that moment Sara knew she’d been fooling herself. This trip to the past, this soul exchange, was never meant to be about a romance novel. Her soul had travelled through time because this is where her soulmate was.

  When their lips parted, Ben rested his forehead against hers. “Sara. I have tried. I swear to you I have, but I’m failing miserably.”