And he had vowed his love to Serafina.
“How long do we have?” Luca asked.
“Not long enough.” The words sprang out. Serafina’s hand flew to her mouth and her cheeks burned. “What a forward thing to say.”
“No. It was beautiful.” He opened his arms and gripped her so fiercely she could feel the pounding of his heart. Or perhaps it was her own.
They had met surreptitiously numerous times in the cafés and on promenades. They had spoken in the alley behind the art academy and even stolen a few swift embraces. Each occasion had added to a hunger that now left her breathless.
Luca asked again, “How long?”
“Until the sun no longer touches the rooftops.”
“An hour, then.” He stroked her fine hair. “That seems like forever, after waiting this long to see you.”
“And hold you,” she whispered. How could she speak like this? She, who had never before been embraced by a man? Yet the words rose of their own accord.
“And kiss you,” he murmured, raising her chin.
She had known it would be like this. Known and yet not known, for how could she have been certain? She had never kissed anyone before Luca and never kissed him for more than a brief fiery second. Until now. His embrace was rough and smooth at the same time. He smelled of the charcoal he used for his sketches and of something distinctly male.
When he lifted his mouth from hers, it was to lead her back into the chamber. “What a delightful room. And look, your paintings are here, and these are your etchings. Have I ever seen the one there?”
“Not now, Luca, please. We have only—”
“No, please, just a moment. Why, Serafina, this is exquisite. Who was your model?”
“My mother.”
“The lines are so delicate, the colors delightful. Are her eyes really so blue?”
“Yes. Please—”
“And this one? Who is this drawing of?”
“My half sister.”
“Older or younger?”
“Older. I told you. I am the youngest.”
“Of course. You did tell me. About the three half sisters, one of which is so cruel to you.” He tapped the paper. “What is this one’s name?”
“Gabriella. She hates this drawing.”
“I can see why. It is full of the most remarkable rage. Never would I have thought a young lady like yourself capable of capturing such passion.” He smiled at her. “Remind me never to make you angry.”
“You are about to,” she replied stoutly. “Making me wait for so long, then coming here and risking everything only to go on about stupid drawings.”
“They are not stupid, my love. You have such talent it astonishes me. Nothing about this is stupid.”
“Coming here and whispering like this and placing us in such danger only to talk about what we could discuss in the academy is worse than stupid.”
“Ah. What a lovely pout. I had no idea you could make even a pout look so beautiful.”
His kiss was beyond all she could have imagined. The atmosphere of feverish joy was overwhelming. The excitement of his embrace was intoxicating. But the risk they were taking, and the threat of being discovered, was everywhere. As was the nagging shame she felt over disobeying her parents.
Yet she was in love. Her parents wanted her to remain a child, bound to their will and even to a man she cared nothing for. But true love called to her. And love she would follow. Wherever it took her. Even into the embrace of a man her parents would never accept.
Serafina also felt the pain of having him so near and yet knowing that in less than an hour he would leave. She must go back to being the youngest daughter, the child. This time she was the one who broke off their embrace. She whispered, “Tell me again.”
“I love you.”
She kissed him. “Tell me once more.”
“Ti amo.”
“Again.”
“My golden-haired delight, come over here with me.” Gently he guided her over until they were seated upon the edge of her bed.
Serafina knew a line had been crossed in lowering herself down beside him. Another rule broken, after so many others, all in the space of these frantic heartbeats. She felt she should tell him it was wrong, but then everything was wrong here.
Then he spoke the words that had filled her dreams since their first hurried conversation. “Marry me.”
“Yes, oh yes.”
“We will run away together,” he murmured. His hands drew her over until she was seated in his lap. She wanted to resist, and at the same time she could not be close enough to the man she loved. Luca said, “We will find a priest and be together forever as man and wife.”
She clung to him with all her strength. To break away would be sweetest anguish. Oh, how could she release him back to the shadows and the approaching night?
They kissed once more, then she risked a glance out the balcony window. Serafina gave a small cry.
“What is it?”
“It is time.” She wept the words.
“It can’t be.”
“Look. The sun is almost gone.”
“But I’ve just arrived.”
“How can you leave me? How can I bear it when you go?” She felt her heart was breaking.
“Then I’ll come again.”
“But I want you to stay with me now.”
“My darling one—”
The door behind them creaked open. “My child . . . No!”
Serafina landed upon the floor as Luca bolted to his feet. “Signora, I—”
“You monster!”
Serafina cried aloud. The shame was scalding, but what frightened her most was the sight of Luca bounding across the room to the balcony doors. “Don’t leave me!”
Her mother shrilled, “Guards!”
Luca clambered atop the balcony railing. He cast her one final glance. Then he sprang outward and dove into the canal.
Serafina collapsed on the floor like a broken doll.
Chapter 4
Never had Serafina’s bedchamber felt so constricting. In truth it was rather a sizeable room. All the upstairs chambers were similarly proportioned, with hand-painted beams running across their high ceilings. But only Serafina and her parents had balconies. Which had been another reason for friction between Gabriella and herself. When Serafina had been born, all the upstairs chambers had been occupied by the older sisters and her parents. Her crib had first been set at the foot of her parents’ bed. When she outgrew the crib, she had then slept briefly in Gabriella’s room. But her sister, who was both very private and extremely possessive, had shrilly objected. So Serafina’s childhood bedchamber had been downstairs in what was now a small parlor. The room possessed two barred windows and overlooked an alley. Gabriella had teased Serafina that her parents did not want her and the bars were meant to keep her caged. Serafina’s mother had overheard her and flown into a rage unlike any Serafina had ever seen.
Until, that is, the day she had discovered Luca in Serafina’s bedchamber.
When the oldest sister had married, Serafina had been granted the prize bedchamber. Gabriella had wailed over how she, being older, should have the choice room. Bettina Gavi had replied that the bedchamber was Serafina’s in partial compensation for how Gabriella had treated her.
Serafina now sat in a high-backed chair with a scrolled leather seat. She gazed around the chamber and wondered if Gabriella would move in once she left.
Because Serafina knew she was leaving. Oh yes. It was only a matter of time.
Today marked the end of the second week since Serafina had been locked inside her room.
The day that Luca had visited her, Serafina’s mother had revealed a scalding rage. How could Serafina have done this? Did she not realize the scandal? The danger? On and on her mother had railed, until her father had returned home. He had been summoned from his business chambers by a house servant. The urgency of the servant’s message had brought him racing from a meeting with the
Austrian prince who served as Venice’s first minister. Serafina’s father had heard Bettina’s tale, then leaned against the doorframe with a fist clenching his chest. His face had gone pale, and he had stared at his daughter in utter horror. Then his cries and accusations had joined with his wife’s.
Serafina had been blistered by her mother’s ire. But her father had shocked her far more. Her father’s title was consiglière. Serafina knew the normal English translation was “counselor.” But another word, perhaps the more correct translation, was “conciliator.” That defined her father perfectly. He lived to conciliate, to bring peace between fractious groups and people. He soothed. He stroked. He counseled. He was, by nature and by profession, a peacemaker.
But not this day.
After Serafina’s parents had grown hoarse, they had left her. But not for long. Serafina’s mother soon returned with two servants. They had shut the slatted balcony shutters normally closed only at night and sealed them with a great storeroom lock. Serafina had silently vowed not to show any emotion nor to speak at all. But the sight of that great padlock clicking into place had reduced her to tears.
“This is no one’s fault but your own.” Her mother’s voice shook as she spoke. “You have sought to live without regard to your family. Now you must learn to live without light.”
But Serafina was not weeping because of the pall cast over her bedchamber. She wept because it would now be so much harder to escape.
When the bedroom door had shut and she was locked inside her darkened room, she had found the strength not to wail in distress only because of the words that echoed through her heart and mind.
Marry me.
Twice each day the upstairs maid brought Serafina food and water and emptied the vessels by her dressing table. Each evening the maid returned and lit a small candle. Occasionally her mother or father came and stood at the door and spoke to her. Gradually over the days their tone grew less irate and more worried.
Serafina counted the hours by the length of the shadows upon the floor and the ringing of Saint Mark’s bell tower. She counted the days by marking a sheet in her sketchpad with drawing charcoal. The shutters had narrow slats, designed to let in air. The room remained mired in gloom, no matter what the hour. There probably was enough light to draw, but her art did not interest Serafina now. She had nothing to read. When the evening candle burned down to nothing, Serafina went to bed. She slept poorly.
The result was not as she would have expected. She did not pine away. Instead, she gradually lost all connection with the life she had known before. Household noises drifted from beyond her locked door. She was mildly pleased to find she did not yearn to join them. But she did listen constantly for any shred of sound upon the balcony. From the boats passing along the canal, she heard the melodious voices of the singing gondoliers and the raucous cries of the floating merchants. Both called to her equally. In her mind, she had already bid the world of her childhood farewell. She dreamed of nothing but Luca.
The fifteenth night since the dreadful scene, Serafina awakened from a fitful sleep. She leaped from her bed before she was fully aware of what she had heard. She ran to the tall glass doors leading to the balcony, closed against the cool night breeze. She flung them open and stood there before the locked shutters, panting so loudly it was impossible to hear anything other than the frantic note of her breath.
When she could manage to whisper, she asked, “Luca?”
The night was utterly still.
“Luca, is that you? My darling, have you come for me?” There was a slight snicker of sound. Nothing more. A hand might have tentatively tried the balcony shutters. “They have locked me in.” She had to struggle not to scream out the words. She wanted to shriek until the voice was torn from her body or the lock broken and the shutters flung back. “Luca, you must bring a tool, a weapon, something.”
There was another hushed hint of noise. So soft it might have been a cat. Then nothing. She stood motionless for a long time before returning to bed. She slept soundly for the first time in two weeks.
The next afternoon, just after the churches of Venice struck three, her mother unlocked the door and entered. “May we have a moment together?”
Had it been any other day, Serafina might have remained silent. But today she was filled with the impatience of a prisoner awaiting release. “Do I have any choice?”
The words clearly shocked her mother. She drew back a moment. “You can ask me to leave if you prefer.”
Serafina studied her hands. “It does not matter whether you stay or you go.”
“How can you speak to me in such a manner?”
She did not raise her eyes. “How can you keep your own daughter imprisoned like this?”
“What else are we to do with you?” Her mother shut and locked the door, then crossed the room. She sat in the empty chair. On the table between them was the morning tray with its half-eaten meal. “You are not eating enough.”
“When am I to be released?”
“Nothing has been decided.”
“What is it you want from me?”
“Want? What do I want?” Her mother collected herself. “No. I promised myself I would not grow angry again. Tell me this, daughter. What is it you want?”
“That should be simple enough.”
Even in the half light she saw her mother tense. “No.”
But today, this time, it was not enough to silence her. “I want to marry Luca.”
“No. A thousand times, no!”
“Then do not ask me again.”
“You dare use this tone with your mother?”
“You asked the question. I have given you my only answer. I want to marry Luca. You refuse—”
“You will never see him again! Never! Do you hear me! I and your father forbid it!” Bettina’s anger turned the simple twisting of her hem into a fiery gesture. “Have you learned nothing in this time?”
Serafina chose silence. What good would it do to speak further? Luca would come for her. If not, she would escape. There was nothing else for her but this. No other life except with him.
But for her mother, the silence was the most irritating response she could have made. Bettina’s footsteps rang angrily across the floor. “I had hoped, prayed for an apology. You think I like treating you this way?”
Her mother fumbled the key from her pocket. She found it necessary to use both hands to fit it into the door lock. “All I ask for is respect. Respect for me, your father, your heritage. A sign that you are willing to obey us. Some indication that you have grown up enough to be trusted. . . .”
Her mother slammed the door upon her unfinished thought. The lock clicked back into place. Serafina sat and listened to the footsteps echo off into the distance. She returned her thoughts back to the one core issue.
Escape.
The days stretched on with Serafina remaining locked inside the shadows, mostly alone. Her parents visited her every few days—sometimes separately, other times together. Toward the end of the third week, Serafina realized that her best hope of escape was by convincing her parents that she was over the infatuation. That she could be trusted.
But she was not good at subterfuge. Her mother had always been capable of seeing through her when she lied. Serafina tried it anyway. She claimed that she wanted to become the dutiful daughter once more. But before she had finished speaking, Serafina’s mother broke down and sobbed. Her father held Bettina and stared at his daughter. His expression suggested he had no idea who his daughter had become. He did not say another word as he drew his weeping wife from the room. And again locked his daughter inside.
That night Serafina became convinced of the problem. It was her parents’ age. If they had ever known what it was like to be in love, they had forgotten. They couldn’t help themselves. It happened with the years. She saw that now.
Serafina stared up at the dark ceiling and saw Luca’s face smiling at her. Some obstacle must prevent him from coming for her. She was c
ertain of this. But a new worry gnawed at her. How long would he wait for her? How long before he would give up and accept that they could never be together? For herself, she knew she would wait forever. She had discovered love and knew there would never be another for her. But Luca was older. Did this mean he might find another? Serafina knew all too well how the other girls in their art class had yearned for him. Would he give in to their entreaties? Would he forget her? Serafina touched her own forehead, wondering if perhaps she had a fever.
Toward the end of yet another sleepless night, she had an idea. One that held promise of escape. Finally.
She rose from her bed and began making preparations.
Because she had neither quill nor proper paper, Serafina wrote using her finest charcoal drawing pencil. She wrote upon half a sheet of drawing paper, which was coarse and very thick. She finished writing just as the house was coming awake around her. As she folded the letter, Serafina realized that she was signing away her life in Venice. She wondered at how little this seemed to concern her.
She knew she should be filled with remorse over the distress she was causing her beloved parents. And now she was preparing to sever connections to the only city she had ever known. She loved Venice. This water-borne realm was the only place she had ever imagined calling home. And her family was the finest in the whole world. Yet here she was, giving it all up without a backward glance.
Serafina considered this as she used the remnant of the previous evening’s candle to seal the letter. Her parents had decided to put themselves and their home and even this city on one side of love’s divide. On the other side stood Luca. She had been forced to choose.
In truth, there was no choice at all.
The upstairs maid, Carla, unlocked her door. Serafina had come to know the difference between the sound her mother made inserting the key and that of the maid. Carla was more hesitant, as though she had to resist the urge to knock. Carla was eighteen years old and had been in service to the family since she was thirteen. In a sense, she and Serafina had grown up together.
Heirs of Acadia - 03 - The Noble Fugitive Page 4
