by Royce, Ruby
Six
Teatro della Scala, Milan, June 28th,1823
It was to be Gioachino Rossini's „La Donna del Lago", the melodramatic opera based on Sir Walter Scott's "The Lady of the Lake." It was the story of a woman whose love had almost caused a war.
Actually, it's the story of a crazy girl who, crossing a lake in a boat to get to her one true love, falls into the arms of the king, who falls in love with her. She, on the other hand, is engaged to a third man whom she does not love, so what is there to do but sing about it for two hours and a half?
Francesco had been at the premiere in Naples four years earlier and was not keen on seeing the number again. But since he was in Milan and all of his friends were going, he had conceded to their biddings and accompanied them. After all, it was the Scala, good singing was to be expected and if not, he could amuse himself by watching the guests.
The Prince was lounging comfortably against a balustrade, chatting nonsense with his friend Conte Giancarlo Giabiconi. Giabiconi was recounting a hunting adventure to some detail and Francesco kept interspersing appreciative noises after every second sentence or so, when he saw the Surrey party enter the foyer.
The Duchess came in first.
She was wearing an emerald green grown of Italian making with a revealing neckline and matching jewellery. Her hair was braided and pinned up, creating the vision of a crown. She was followed by Clara in a white dress and a much simpler coiffure, as befitted her status.
My little Chiara. She's grown up! She's certainly going to get married soon. But to whom? Nobody is worthy of her!?
Everyone in the hall was appraising the unknown beauties and the envy of enumerable southern ladies hovered in the air like a poisonous cloud.
Right they are. He himself had always taken a strong preference to blondes.
Then something strange occurred.
He could not explain it then, nor would he ever be able to explain it in the future.
A very small and dark haired girl in a light blue dress walked briskly through the foyer and joined the Surrey ladies.
Francesco felt an onslaught of dizziness. His stomach churned violently.
He looked away and shook his head.
The dizziness was gone.
He turned back, saw the blondes, saw the brunette and— there it was again!
"Madonna Santa!" the Count cried. "Francesco! Are you not listening? Are you not well?"
"No, no, I am fine. Forgive me, Giancarlo, I need to welcome some acquaintances of mine."
Clara spotted the Prince first and smiled broadly. "There's Frankie!" she announced happily to the others.
The Duchess looked up and gave a nod of recognition.
The dark haired female in the blue dress lifted her head as well and huge turquoise eyes opened like magnificent orchid blossoms.
Good God! It's that dreadful Miss… Miss.. Err… Parker! Has she looked this…"je-ne-sais-quoi"… before? All I remember is a tomato with hair, but she is… she is… what is she?
It annoyed him that he could not find a suitable adjective for Miss Parker, in fact, all of a sudden the very presence, yes somehow the sheer existence of Miss Parker annoyed him savagely.
What was she doing here with the elegant blondes? She had no business trolling behind them, ruining the handsome picture they made. She, with her dark curls, stern face and that piercing gaze! She looked right into his soul, he was sure of it! Abominable person!
But she was very pretty, he had to admit, if one liked brunettes, which he most definitely did not!
Actually, looking closely, she's more than pretty, isn't she, she's so… hmmm… what?… appetising? Yes, one must say that she does look appetising! Like a blueberry parfait. A poisonous blueberry parfait most likely.
Again, the orchid eyes turned on him.
He shuddered!
Somebody save me! That blue dwarf wants to murder me!
"Cousin!" The Duchess held out her hand to be kissed.
"I dare say you are the most beautiful women in all of Europe, dear Eugenia, and I fear your are endangered of having your wonderful neck cut by some Signora's hair pin tonight!"
"You are impossible!"
"Good evening to you, Frankie," Clara said, smiling ravishingly. He kissed her hand too.
"You look like a proper English Lady, Freckles."
"Don't call me that, please." She pulled a face.
"Don't pull a face in public, Clara" the Duchess admonished.
"You sound like the Earl."
"Oh well, if that's all, huh, Freckles?" She winked.
Francesco laughed. "You're certainly not in a position to behave matronly, dear Eugenia! How old are you? Twenty?"
The Duchess raised her chin. "Yes, since December."
Miss Parker curtsied to the Prince and he acknowledged her greeting with a shrug. "How do you do, Miss Parker, I hope your foot is better?"
She looked up again. Not the orchids! NOT THE ORCHIDS, I BEG OF YOU!
"Thank you, Your Royal Highness, my foot is fine." The orchids glowed.
"Ah. So! Aha! I am happy to hear it. — Eugenia, where are the egregious Lords Darlington and Lackerby anyway? And where is my most beloved cousin, His Grace the Sulk of Dreary, pardon me, the Duke of Surrey?" He grinned at his own jest, happy to have found his footing again.
Clara and the Duchess made fake noises of shock, only Miss Parker sniffed with indignation, orchids scrutinising him menacingly.
He chose not to look at her ever again, if possible.
Then looked at her once more, just to be sure, and asserted that this had been the very last time, indeed.
Which it was not.
His gaze was almost painfully drawn back to her whenever he attempted to tear himself away.
There was something magnetic about her, something dreadfully compelling and to tell the truth, he wanted to throttle her for it. How did she permit herself to come here, to his opera house and disturb his royal peace? He had suffered enough for a lifetime and had deserved his share of serenity! There was no room for turquoise-eyed girls in his life, not even for one as small as Miss Parker. He felt her presence so acutely, it made him want to scream! Yes, Francesco abhorred the woman like he had never abhorred anyone before, not his cousin Dominic, not his parents, not even Napoleon, may he rot in his grave. He considered throwing her off the balcony, when his train of thought was interrupted.
"Cousin? Did you hear me?"
"What?" He was actually surprised to be standing in the Milan opera house.
The Duchess frowned. "I said my husband was in Bergamo with the other gentlemen and I asked where you were seated."
"Oh, yes, you did. I'm in the royal box. Would you care to join me?"
"Yes!" cried Clara and Eugenia in unison.
"NO!" cried Miss Parker far too loudly.
"No?" Clara took hold Miss Parker's hand in concern. "But it would be marvellous!"
Miss Parker blinked. "I beg your pardon! I thought his Royal Highness had inquired whether we objected to sitting in the royal box."
Santo Cielo! She's fast! I will have to stay as far away from her as possible if I don't want to be intellectually harpooned! I think I will have to go back to Germany tomorrow. Nice peaceful blondes, good beer…
They reached the royal box and Francesco introduced the ladies to his own party; the Conte Giabiconi, Conte and Contessa Fiorini, Barone and Baronessa Senna, Giulia Cremonese, Anselmo Colonna and Ludwig von Hohenstein, a friend from Francesco's days in Germany.
The first notes of the overture sounded through the theatre.
Conversations were rapidly hushed and the lights were dimmed. Miss Parker was right in front of the Prince and her perfume wafted into his nostrils. Much to his displeasure, he liked it. Lilies of the valley… and something else. What was it? It was really quite wonderful but he could not place it.
He involuntarily leaned forward to get a better sniff.
Lilies of the valley and…? I have to get closer.
He dared to lean forward until he was only a hand's width from Miss Parker. Her creamy shoulders were softly illuminated by the stage lights and Francesco felt a tingling sensation in his loins. Yes, his royal staff was most certainly trying to rise. His heart was beating faster too. I can just imagine what her skin would taste like if I kissed her neck. If I put my hands around her slim waist and pulled her against me. — No, wait! I really don't like that chit of a girl, I should not be having these sensations, I most certainly do NOT want to kiss her, I want to kill her. She makes me feel uncomfortable and insufficient and silly. Oh, but her scent is really most alluring, and there is something stirringly erotic in her orchid eyes and her lips must have been painted by the great Botticelli, they should be kissed over and over, only not by me.
Well, if they have to be kissed, why not by me? I don't really like the idea of anybody else doing it. Good Lord, I think I really want to kiss her! How did that happen?
Suddenly he did not plot how to throw her over the balcony anymore, but to throw her down to the ground and undress her, spread her legs and mount her. He could vividly picture her turquoise eyes, brimming with desire as he would enter her hitherto untouched body. How would it feel when her virginal flesh surrounded him? He imagined her crying out his name when he broke her. How she would be his alone! He closed his eyes and drew in more of her magical scent.
Unfortunately it is a condition of the human body not only to inhale, but to exhale as well.
"Flora…" It came out of him before he even knew it.
She could not possibly have heard him, could she? It had been just a whisper and the orchestra was playing a resounding forte, but when Francesco's hot breath touched Miss Parker's naked skin, she shivered and straightened abruptly.
The metal clasps in her hair hit hard against the Prince's face.
It all went very fast from there.
He howled, Miss Parker shrieked and the audience screamed.
The lights went on.
Francesco found himself and his splendid white uniform covered in blood.
"Maledetta strega!" he spat.
This little fay has lulled my senses with a devilish concoction!
Soon his vision was impaired by more blood running into his eyes and across his face.
"What? What happened?" The succubus called Miss Parker whimpered.
"Un'attentato! Un'attentato! Assassins!" Somebody shouted from the pit. "L'Arciduca! Hanno ucciso l'Arciduca! Un'attentato! They have assassinated the Archduke! They have killed him!"
Francesco's guards, who had kept at a discreet distance so far, were in the box at once and soldiers were storming the pit, sabres drawn.
"Fermi! Stop!" Francesco screamed as general havoc threatened to break out. "Sto bene, sto bene! I'm fine! Keep on playing, nothing's happened!"
"You don't say…" the Duchess remarked sardonically.
She was right. The Prince was in agony. His face hurt like hell.
Clara was on him. "Frankie! Frankie, stay calm, we will help you! Flora is very wise, she will know what to do!"
"No! Non lei, non lei, Chiara mia, tu mi aiuti e nessun altro, hai capito?" He spoke Italian to Clara, not wanting Miss Parker to understand him, telling his cousin he did not want the wicked sprite anywhere near him.
"I didn't mean to— I wasn't— He— What does maledetta strega mean? " Francesco heard Miss Parker's shaky voice as he was carefully led towards the exit by Clara and a guardsmen.
"Oh," Ludwig von Hohenstein responded readily, "I belief it means ackurrset vitch."
"Accursed Vitch? You mean, accursed witch?"
"Yes, as I said, ackurrset vitch."
"Oh, no, I never…" The girl was sobbing now.
Suddenly Francesco wanted to turn around and tell her he had not meant it, that he was sorry, that… I don't know, something!
He did try to turn but he hit his face again. This time it was an iron helmet.
His lights went out.
Seven
Palazzo Sforza, Flora's Chamber, evening of June 29th, 1823
Had it really happened?
Had it really, really, really happened?
Had she really bloodied a royal prince's handsome face? Well, if it still was handsome after her clasps had cut him open in at least three places.
Good God, she could be hanged for it!
Or maybe not, she had not done it on purpose. But did that even matter, here, in a country ruled by Karlsburgs?
"I've never known anybody to be such a jinx." Eugenia St. Yves was gently stroking Flora's curls.
"How did you stay so calm when all hell broke lose last night?" Flora asked her friend.
She had spent the entire day in bed, feigning to be ill.
"I grew up on a battlefield," Gigi said.
"Oh, right," Flora moaned. "I remember. Your mother was following your father wherever he went, with you in tow. How in love she must have been."
"Very much, I believe."
"Eugenia also has to deal with me every day," Dominic St. Yves said from the door. "She has iron nerves."
Surrey! Where did he come from? He must have sneaked up on us, that dreadful man!
"Dominic!" Gigi goggled at her — Flora had to confess it — incredibly gorgeous husband, as if she saw him for the first time.
Almost as gorgeous as the Prince. Almost.
Flora sat up. "Are there news? How is he?"
"Yes, there are news. A messenger from Castello Maggiore brought a letter from Francis. He's thanking my sister and my wife very much for their assistance, bla bla bla. You can deduce accordingly that, much to my displeasure, he's still alive. You should have aimed your clasps more precisely, Miss Parker, you know… sideways." He imitated the movement with his own head. "And stick him with the pointy end."
"My clasps were round!" Nothing about me?
"Never leave the house unarmed, Miss Parker. — Could I borrow my wife from you for a few hours? It's getting late and I have things to discuss with her."
"I'm coming right away, Dominic," Gigi said, "but there's something I need to discuss with Flora too. It won't take long."
The Duke's dark eyes narrowed. "Are you plotting, pirate girl?"
"No," Gigi murmured, strangely looking at her feet. "I'll be with you shortly, Your Grace."
"Hurry up."
"Yes, Your Grace. Now, please leave us!"
He chuckled in a way only Dominic St. Yves could chuckle and left the two girls alone.
"What is it, Gigi?" Flora asked.
The blonde girl bit her lip and took Flora's hands in hers. "Flora, I…"
"Yes?"
"I…" Gigi blushed.
Flora smirked. "If it's what I think it is, then it won't come as a surprise to anybody, in fact, if it's what I think it is, and I think it really is, it's rather surprising it has taken you so long. All things considered."
"Yes, I…"
"You're expecting."
"YES! HUSH! BE QUIET!" Gigi screeched so loudly even His Royal Highness Prince Francis of Karlsburg must have heard it in his castle two miles away. She beamed at Flora. "Surrey doesn't know yet!"
"I had gathered as much."
"I wrote to my mother as soon as I was certain, but now I want to tell him! Oh, Flora, I'm scared! What will he say? Will he be happy? It'll soon start to show. If I don't tell him, he may think I've gained weight. I wouldn't want him to think I turn into a cow as I grow older."
Flora patted Gigi's arm. "Of course he will be happy and he'd find out sooner or later, you know. They do come out."
"Yes, they do, don't they? I think they do…" the beautiful young Duchess gazed at Flora with vacant eyes.
The last time Flora had seen her friend looking like that, she had just married the Duke and had been in a state of complete idiocy. Flora remembered very well how Eugenia and Dominic had been staring at one another night and day in disbelief, until the whole of Britain was sick of them.
"Run off you silly goose," Flora co
mmanded. "And tell him!"
Gigi stood up and pulled her shoulders back. "Yes, but I will do it with grace and composure. I'm the daughter of a great commander and I am the Duchess of Surrey, I will not be intimidated by a man who—"
"Go A-WAY!"
She did.
Flora poured herself a glass of wine from the decanter on her bedside cabinet. She opened her diary and inspected her last entry. She resolved that it could not stay the way it was and went ahead to change it.
I saw the Prince (Italian: il principe - attention: it is not the same as the English word "prince". For Italians Francesco would officially be l'arciduca, which ranks higher than "principe", for the latin "princeps" only means "the first" whereas the word "dux" means "leader") tonight (Italian: stasera)… and broke his nose (Italian: il naso)
June 29th
But I did not mean to!!! I was sitting completely still when, without a warning, he sighed my name! Right next to my ear! He did it! I did not imagine it! I swear by the life of my mother and father that it truly happened!
Why did he sigh my name? Why does a man sigh a woman's name into her ear? He cannot possibly… I can't even write it. No. I probably dropped something, or my hair was coming apart and he, being casual as Princes are said to be, called me by my first name. There is nothing even remotely romantic involved.
It was his darling "Freckles" he wanted when he was bleeding all over his imperial uniform.
The uniform! Oh, it suited him marvellously…
Mamma mia, in the opera, when he stood there at the top of the staircase (Italian: la scala), he was like a mirage! His bronzed skin - which he must have acquired from swimming au naturel as the French might say - the deep blue eyes observing me with such severity… I still shudder when I think of it!
