Oriana sat in a chair next to Lady Ferreira, well aware of the speculative looks she was receiving from the matrons about them. It wasn’t only that Lady Ferreira had appeared in public without her mourning garb. No, she was being watched because of her attire, too. Oriana raised her chin, determined not to flinch under their regard. She fixed her eyes on the center of the room, where a small group danced to the music of an eight-piece orchestra, Genoveva Carvalho among them.
Oriana watched the younger woman for a moment. Miss Carvalho was, without any question, a graceful dancer. It was a skill Oriana didn’t have herself—her wide feet were made for swimming, not dancing. Lady Carvalho sat a few seats away and occasionally leaned close to speak to Lady Ferreira, so Oriana suspected she could snag the younger woman’s arm when she came back to her mother’s side after the set of dances.
Unfortunately, after that set ended, another gentleman arrived to sweep Miss Carvalho back onto the dance floor before Oriana had a chance to catch the younger woman’s eye. She would have to bide her time. She glanced around the ballroom and saw Duilio near the far wall, chattering away at the corpulent Count of Viana, who wasn’t making much effort to hide his boredom with his conversational companion. Duilio’s hand—the one not holding a champagne glass—was waving in a slow circle as he talked, a sure sign that he was rambling on endlessly about nothing. It was a particular talent of his, one which served to convince many people that he had nothing other than feathers in his head. And how was he explaining the bruises on his cheekbone and jaw? She guessed the explanation involved walking into a wall. Or a tree—that would be more colorful.
For one second, Duilio’s eyes met hers across the ballroom, and he winked. The count didn’t seem to notice. Oriana hid a smile behind one hand.
The rustle of fabric warned her, and she glanced up to see the black-draped form of Lady Pereira de Santos approaching. The lady gestured to the empty chair next to Oriana. “May I sit down, Miss Paredes?”
There was no point in fighting this. “Of course, my lady.”
The lady settled gracefully, half turning in the seat to face Oriana. Evidently they were going to have a conversation. “I’m grateful, Miss Paredes,” the lady said softly. “I know you’ve no reason to like me, but I hope we can get along.”
She hadn’t expected the woman to say that. Think it, perhaps, but not say it. “I would like that, my lady, for my father’s sake. And my sister’s. She thinks very highly of you and your daughter.”
The lady smiled. “Dear Marina. She does tend to pitch her entire heart into things, doesn’t she?”
Oriana choked back the laugh that threatened to spill out. Clearly Lady Pereira de Santos knew Marina well. “I’m afraid so.”
The lady shifted on the dainty chair and gazed out at the dance floor. Her tall daughter Ana stood to one side of a gaggle of girls, ignored as always. “Tell me, Miss Paredes. Should we be concerned about this young man Marina has decided to idolize?”
Oriana almost balked at the lady’s interference. But if she was going back to the islands, who would watch over Marina but her father and this woman? She could tell the woman a great deal about Joaquim, but settled for saying, “He’s a good man, my lady. There’s no need to be concerned.”
“Ah,” the lady said. “He’s asked to escort her to Mass on Sunday.”
Oriana glanced over at Duilio, who was now boring another gentleman—Mr. Remigio. It would never have occurred to Duilio to escort her to Mass, which said a great deal about the difference between him and his cousin—no, his half brother. And about her as well, she supposed. “Marina will enjoy that.”
“I believe so.” The lady twitched one of the folds of her heavy black skirt. “You are looking particularly well tonight, Miss Paredes. Do you not dance?”
“I’m afraid not, my lady,” she said. “In truth I’ve only come to speak to someone, and then we’ll leave.”
The lady surveyed the dance floor again. “To whom?”
“Miss Carvalho,” Oriana admitted, gesturing toward the dance floor with her chin. “A personal matter.”
“I see. After this dance, shall I fetch her for you?” The lady leaned closer. “Because otherwise I suspect she’ll avoid you all night.”
Oriana had to admit she was right. “That would be very helpful, my lady.”
The lady touched Oriana’s knee with gloved fingers. “I’ll bring her back this way, and you can join us.”
Oriana watched the lady rise and walk around the edge of the dance floor. Everything tonight would cause gossip. Now she’d been singled out by the daughter of a duke, and planned to converse with a young woman above her station. At least Lady Pereira de Santos would bring Miss Carvalho to her, which would make it seem less like she was hunting the other woman. Oriana folded her hands in her lap and tried very hard not to attract any more notice.
Lady Ferreira smiled, patted Oriana’s knee, and softly said, “Everything will be fine.”
Oriana nodded gratefully at her. Lady Ana had joined her mother and, when the dancing stopped, the duo somehow managed to be right next to Miss Carvalho and her young partner. Lady Pereira de Santos engaged the young man in conversation, and a few seconds later he was leading Lady Ana—who stood half a hand taller than him—onto the dance floor. Lady Pereira de Santos chatted with Miss Carvalho as they headed back toward where Lady Carvalho sat. Oriana rose and began threading around the side of the dance floor toward them. She could tell the moment when, as the music began again, Genoveva Carvalho saw her coming. The girl flinched, but Lady Pereira de Santos kept her hand on the younger woman’s arm.
“Miss Paredes,” the lady said as Oriana neared. “You should take my place. I feel the need to sit down.”
“Of course, my lady,” Oriana said. She indicated to Miss Carvalho that they should walk on and, after a few steps, Lady Pereira de Santos wandered off to where the matrons were gathered. Oriana walked at Miss Carvalho’s side in an uncomfortable silence. As she’d hoped, Miss Carvalho was too well bred to make any fuss in public, so they strolled around the end of the dance floor where Oriana spotted a pair of balconies, hidden behind heavy draperies. “Would you be willing to step out onto the balcony with me? Only for a moment.”
“Certainly,” Miss Carvalho said hesitantly.
Oriana drew aside the draperies, opened the glass door, and stepped out onto the balcony, the younger woman trailing her. These balconies faced out onto the Street of Flowers, and the smell of the damp cobbles filled Oriana’s nose. It was chilly, but she didn’t think they would be there long. When the draperies fell back, concealing them from the dancers, Oriana turned to her companion. “I need to speak with you about Mr. Ferreira.”
* * *
Duilio watched Oriana walk along the edge of the ballroom with Miss Carvalho. He slipped farther back from the edge of the dance floor, hoping their conversation wouldn’t cause too much of a stir. He’d spoken to a few gentlemen, boring them adequately to drive them away. Fortunately he was alone now. He took a sip of his wine, leaned back against the wall, and nearly leapt out of his skin when a voice spoke by his ear.
“I’m glad I caught you,” the infante said in a low voice.
Duilio turned to face his previously unseen companion. The infante was dressed in clothes more suited to a casual dinner than this ball. “God above. What are you doing here, Raimundo?”
“Better keep your voice down,” the infante said, smirking at his surprise. “People can’t see us, but if we’re overheard it would raise questions as to why the empty corner is talking.”
Duilio shook his head in disgust. Yes, he’d been correct about the infante’s talent. It was like the Lady’s. Making certain to keep his voice quiet, he asked, “You’re related to her, aren’t you?”
The infante, his eyes on the few dancers in the center of the room, smiled. “You mean my aunt? Yes. I wondered how long it would take you.”
That helped explain how the Lady and her associates had come to be serving the infante. “What are you doing here?” Duilio asked again.
“In truth, I wasn’t planning on coming, but since I’d left the palace anyway, it seemed expedient.”
The infante had a gift for talking yet leaving out anything meaningful. He would make an excellent politician. “Why leave the palace?”
The infante glanced at him. “My brother left. Middle of the afternoon on a Tuesday. He never leaves the palace, so I had to wonder why. But I lost his carriage and don’t know where he went. Thought I would make the best of it and come to the ball.”
He made it sound as if he did this weekly, randomly visiting balls and spying on the guests. Perhaps he does. “How did you know the Simões family was hosting a ball?”
“I read the newspapers,” the infante said with a shrug. “Have you given any thought to my request?”
Duilio sighed softly, watching as Miss Carvalho accompanied Oriana out onto a curtained-off balcony. That would raise eyebrows, but it was all the privacy they would be able to manage here tonight. “I discussed it with Miss Paredes. She needs to return to her people’s islands. I honestly don’t know how long we’ll need to remain there, so I cannot commit myself.”
“Ah,” the infante said. “My uncle told me to expect that response when he and I discussed your future.”
Now I am being baited. “Your uncle?”
“Miguel Gaspar.”
Duilio decided he wasn’t going to parrot the man any longer. He’d already guessed that the infante and the Lady had to be related, given the similarity between their gifts. She must be the infante’s aunt, and Inspector Gaspar his uncle by marriage. The infante wanted him to know that. “I see. I assume they, and Anjos as well, work directly for you.”
“Yes, they do. I dined with Gaspar earlier, which is how I knew you were coming here. I assume your Miss Paredes has personal concerns to iron out, related to her exile? But my understanding is that exiles can’t return there,” the infante said. “They are, essentially, dead.”
Ambassador Alvaro must have divulged that. “That seems to be the case.”
“I might be able to help, then,” the infante said. “But we can discuss that later.”
How could the infante help Oriana? Duilio took another sip of champagne, wishing the man wouldn’t talk rings around him. “So you have your answer,” he said. “Is that all you came for?”
* * *
Genoveva Carvalho looked as if she knew what Oriana intended to say, her eyes downcast. “Miss Paredes, I’m not unaware that . . . that he prefers you to me. And I do understand how men are. I . . . I know that men will . . .” She gazed down at the darkened street below, where a puddle of light from the streetlamp made the wet cobbles glisten.
Oriana had seen this girl face down Paolo Silva, so she was surprised by Miss Carvalho’s tentativeness. “Yes?”
Miss Carvalho took a deep breath. “I know men have . . . other women. If he were to marry me, I wouldn’t interfere between you . . .”
A flush of anger heated Oriana’s body. She forced her hands to stay on the railing. Her nails were too short now to do much damage anyway. “Do not say another word.”
Miss Carvalho’s head lifted, eyes wide. She’d clearly heard the threat in her voice.
“If this were my home,” Oriana said tightly, “I would have the right to rip your eyes out for intimating you mean to steal my mate.” That wasn’t exactly true—he wasn’t her mate yet—but Miss Carvalho couldn’t know that.
“Mate?” Miss Carvalho repeated weakly.
“Yes, he belongs to me.” Oriana blew out a slow breath, trying to calm herself. Although Miss Carvalho already knew Oriana was a sereia, the girl was obviously unaware of the offense her suggestion would have sparked within sereia culture. “Courtship runs differently among my people, but have no doubt that he is mine.”
“You’ve married? I didn’t . . . I didn’t know. I . . .” Miss Carvalho’s mouth fell open, as if she’d just realized what she’d implied.
Oriana swallowed her ire. Miss Carvalho’s incorrect assumption wasn’t entirely her fault. In human society, marriage was the observable sanction of a relationship. Without it, everyone would always assume Duilio kept her as his mistress. Oriana hadn’t made her claim on Duilio clear in human terms. No, she hadn’t made a claim on him at all, had she? She licked her lips.
She needed to resolve that. As soon as possible.
She gazed down at the younger woman, and said gently, “He has asked me to marry him, Miss Carvalho, and it will be done as soon as we can make the necessary arrangements.”
“Oh,” Miss Carvalho said softly. “I hadn’t seen any announcement in the papers, so I assumed . . .”
She would have to take care of that as well. “We’ve been busy, Miss Carvalho.”
Miss Carvalho turned her gaze back down to the wet street, where two people now stood in the streetlamp’s glow. “You must despise me.”
Oriana sighed. “No, Miss Carvalho. Social convention prevents him from being clear about his intentions toward me, making it easy for you to misunderstand. At least you had the sense to pursue him, when most women in society don’t recognize his true quality.”
“Too late, though.” Miss Carvalho laughed bitterly. “I always see the truth too late.”
Oriana felt a surge of compassion for the young woman. How many things had she not seen until it was far too late? The truth about her sister? About her father? Even Duilio. It had taken her time to trust him. She touched Miss Carvalho’s gloved hand where it lay on the railing. “We all make that mistake. Wait for a man who holds you first in his heart, Miss Carvalho.”
The younger woman sniffed. “I don’t have that luxury,” she said. “I need to marry before . . .” She pressed the back of her hand to her lips, holding in a sob.
Oriana felt her shoulders slump. Now she felt cruel. She’d made the younger woman cry. Then again, if Miss Carvalho had hoped to marry Duilio just to protect herself from scandal, she deserved no better. “Are you with child?” Oriana asked bluntly.
Miss Carvalho’s face rose, her brows drawn together. “No! Why would you . . . ?”
“Because when a young woman rushes to find a husband,” Oriana said patiently, “it’s usually because she’s with child.”
Miss Carvalho let out a choked laugh. “That’s what my mother did,” she said. “I’m never going to make that mistake. But he says he’ll expose me, and Father doesn’t want the scandal. If I don’t marry quickly, he’s going to force me to enter a convent. He says it’s for my own good, but I don’t want that.”
Wasn’t that the usual punishment for a girl pregnant out of wedlock? Oriana found this conversation more confusing by the moment. “Who’s going to expose you?”
“The man who . . . the man my mother . . .”
Oh, now I understand. Too scandalous for a girl of Miss Carvalho’s good breeding to say aloud. “Your true father?”
Miss Carvalho nodded jerkily. “He’s been following me about, watching me. He wants . . . he wants me to . . .”
Oriana’s eyes slid past their hands to where the couple in the streetlamp’s light argued. It wasn’t two women, Oriana realized abruptly, but a woman and a priest, his wide-brimmed hat hiding his features. The woman walked a couple of steps past him and turned back, snapping off a few indistinct words with an angry shake of her finger.
Oriana instinctively grabbed Miss Carvalho’s arm and hauled her back to the shadows of the small balcony. The younger woman gasped in fright, and hid her face with one hand.
“Quiet!” Oriana hissed. What was making her heart race? She squinted down at the couple, trying to place what had set off her wary reaction. The woman’s clothing was dark and austere, her hat plain. She could be a widow or perhaps a lady’s maid or . . .
The woman glanced up toward the window where they stood, revealing a handsome face with strong dark brows.
Oriana felt the urge to hurt someone swell back through her senses. She let go of Miss Carvalho, shoved the draperies out of her way and ran inside, cutting straight across the ballroom floor.
* * *
“No, I primarily came to apologize to you,” the infante said. “I find that you’re less useful to me in this particular guise.”
Duilio chased that around in his head for a second. “Apologize for what, Your Highness?”
The infante chuckled. “I had Anjos . . .”
Cries of protest sounded from the dance floor. Duilio turned in time to see Oriana shoving her way through the dancers. She ran out of the ballroom and toward the stairwell.
Cursing, Duilio shoved his wineglass into the infante’s hand and dashed after her around the edge of the dancing.
Oh, God! We are going to be in every newspaper in the city in the morning.
But it was too late to pretend insouciance, not when he was pushing through the crowd about the ballroom’s door. Duilio reached the stairwell in time to see Oriana run across the marble floor of the foyer and shove on the front door. A footman jogged to intercept her. Duilio bolted down the stairs, shouting at the footman to stay back. He reached Oriana just as she managed to haul the heavy door open.
She barely even spared him a glance. Holding her skirts high with one hand, she ran down the steps and into the wet street toward a spot where a lamp spread its light in the darkness. She peered up the street and then down. “Damn! She was here, Duilio. She was right here.”
He didn’t need to ask. She had to mean Maria Melo. “Did she see you?”
Oriana looked at him for the first time. “Yes. I think so.”
“She must have run, then.” He surveyed the traffic. Pedestrians always moved along the Street of Flowers at night, but most preferred to wait for the tram, especially if the cobbles were wet and tricky. There were a handful of carriages coming and going, but nothing out of the ordinary. “No telling where she went. What was she doing out here this time of night?”
Oriana still held up the hem of her skirt. “She was talking to a man. A priest. He wore a cassock.”
And the back of a cassock wouldn’t tell them anything. Then again, what would a priest be doing out at this hour talking with Mrs. Melo? “A plain cassock? Black or brown?”
Oriana shook her head. “I wasn’t looking at him.”
No, of course not. Duilio pursed his lips, and then scowled as the rain started up again—a quick, heavy downpour. He grabbed Oriana’s arm and drew her toward the house.
“I can’t go back in there,” she protested. “They must all think I’m mad.”
Since she’d been talking with Miss Carvalho, the gossips would surely think that young woman had said something to overset Oriana. His running after her would probably confirm that in their eyes. It would be the scandal of the month. Well, perhaps two weeks. “I’ll send for the carriage. We can wait in the foyer.”
He led her up the stairs and inside the house again. Her hair had partially come down in her flight from the ballroom, her braid loosened from its pins. The hem of her lovely gown was marred with grit from the street. And they were both of them rather wet now. Duilio beckoned over one of the footmen and asked him to summon their driver. As the footman left, Duilio saw his mother descending the stairs in a stately fashion on their host’s arm, lending a belated touch of decorum to their sensational retreat from the Simões ball.
Duilio turned back to Oriana, who was trying to shake some of the grit off her hem. “You’re sure it was her?”
Oriana’s eyes lifted to meet his. “Absolutely.”