Christmas Day passed in a haze, as did the party with Tommaso. My father returned home in the morning only to go out again as evening fell; I did not see him once. Meneghina dressed and polished me appropriately for the party, and Tommaso came to escort me in his gondola.
“You look ravishing,” he said, kissing my hand as I met him in the foyer. He led me down to the dock and into his gondola, where glasses of mulled wine were waiting for us inside.
We had scarcely pulled away from the dock when Tommaso said, albeit good-naturedly, “So I hear that I have a rival.”
I nearly choked on my wine. “You do?” I asked, employing the same innocent look I used on my father. “Whatever do you mean?”
He took a sip from his own glass. “Your mysterious midnight serenade,” he said. “It is the talk of Venice.”
I pulled my features into an astonished expression. “Do you mean to say that you did not send that musician?”
He grinned ruefully. “No, though I wish I had thought of it.”
I slapped him playfully on the arm. “Do not demur for my sake, Don Tommaso. You can admit it to me. I thought it was lovely.”
Tommaso shook his head. “I swear to you, it was not I.”
I furrowed my brow. “Then who could it have been?”
“You would know the answer to that better than I, I should think.”
“Truly, Tommaso, I am at a loss. Here I was all this time thinking that you were behind the whole thing!” I giggled girlishly.
“Hmmm.” His eyes searched my face, looking for truth. He must have found it, for he relaxed. “It should not surprise me. It is too much to hope that I should be your only suitor.” He smiled, his eyes sparkling. “I shall simply have to increase my efforts to capture your heart, then.”
His words set a stream of panic flowing in my stomach. “I suppose you must,” I said, returning his smile.
“I shall begin my endeavors in that regard immediately, then,” he said, taking a small wooden box from beneath one of the cushions and handing it to me. “I have a Christmas gift for you.”
“How kind of you,” I said. I opened the box to find a lovely bracelet nestled on a bed of green silk. It was gold, with emeralds set in a second gold band that twined around it. “Oh, Tommaso, it is beautiful! And it matches my gown exactly!”
He smiled. “It is my good fortune that you chose to wear green tonight,” he said. “Here. Let me.”
I handed him the bracelet and extended my left arm. He carefully clasped it around my wrist and, once the task was complete, did not remove his hands; they were warm and soft against my skin, contrasting with the cold, hard gold of the bracelet. Then, swiftly, he leaned in and kissed me.
I scarcely had time to respond before he drew back, smiling sheepishly. “Forgive me, madonna,” he said. “I found I could not help myself.”
“You have done nothing for which I must forgive you,” I said, leaning back against the cushions and trying to still my pounding heart.
The party was much like the last, except that Tommaso rarely left my side. I confess that his devoted attention went quite to my head, for he was far and away the most handsome of all the men present.
Don and Donna Foscari greeted me warmly, as did Tommaso’s brother and sister-in-law. I spent some time in conversation with Beatrice; she was, I found, an extremely learned and well-read woman.
I also crossed paths once again with Senator Baldovino, who insisted upon speaking to me for upward of ten minutes about his work in the Senate, while sneaking glances at my bosom. I had never been so glad to see Tommaso as when he came to rescue me from the old lecher.
I endured it all in the only way I knew how: with memories of the night before burning brightly in my mind, with the knowledge that the next night I would be with Vivaldi again.
The next day dawned cold and bright and clear: perfect for the first day of Carnevale. When I rose in the morning and went to look out my window, I could see revelers already crowded into boats on the Grand Canal.
Let the debauchery begin, I thought, smiling as I turned away from the window.
* * *
When night finally fell and my father had departed for his own Carnevale engagement, it was time for me to dress and be off. The act of dressing was a bit awkward; as I had no choice but to have Giuseppe help me. The gown I had chosen was a rather anonymous black dress I had not worn in several years; the sort worn by noblewomen on those occasions when they dressed in compliance with the sumptuary laws. It would suit my purposes of disguise well enough. And as I had not worn it for some time, it fit almost scandalously tightly, showing off my figure to the best possible advantage.
“Most of the servants have either left or will be slipping out soon, so we should not need to worry about them,” Giuseppe reported as I pulled out the corset I would need, stockings, the gown, and my mask: a silver half mask covered with black lace and adorned with black feathers and black and silver glass beads. He cast a nervous eye over my woman’s gear.
“Very well,” I said, turning to retrieve my cloak from the wardrobe. “I do not see why you cannot return to Antonio’s house to fetch me at, say, dawn—it is Carnevale, after all.”
Giuseppe did not answer. I frowned and turned to face him. “Giuseppe?”
The word all but died in my throat as I saw him staring, openmouthed, at the door to my bedchamber. At Meneghina, who had just walked in, carrying a basket of freshly laundered linens.
Her face was frozen in surprise as she took in the clothing on the bed and the damning words she had certainly overheard.
“By the Virgin,” I swore under my breath. This would be the ruin of us all.
Giuseppe, thankfully, came to his senses and took command of the situation. “How much did you hear?” he demanded, taking a step toward her.
“I…” Meneghina looked wildly back and forth between Giuseppe and me. “Madonna said you … you should return to fetch her at dawn, from—”
A small noise escaped my throat, and I sank down onto the bed, feeling faint. She had heard enough. Enough to tell my father, enough to have him put together the whole sordid picture.
“And how much will it take for you to hold your tongue?” Giuseppe asked.
My head snapped up at this. Giuseppe’s gaze was focused, hard, on Meneghina.
“I do not understand,” she said, glancing at me.
“How much must I pay you,” I said, finding my voice, “for you to swear that you will tell no one what you heard, least of all my father?”
“Oh, madonna.” Meneghina put the laundry down and took a hesitant step toward me. “You need pay me nothing; I will not tell a soul, I swear—”
“And can I trust you with my skin? With my life?” I demanded. “I have heard you gossip many a time, Meneghina. You know, I am sure, what my father would do to me if—”
“I would never betray you!” she said, her large brown eyes shining fiercely. “How could you think I would do such a thing?”
“Because you will lose your position if Don d’Amato finds out you kept such a secret from him,” Giuseppe pointed out coldly.
“Even so,” Meneghina said. “I … oh, madonna, I must confess. I have known for some weeks now that you have been leaving the house in secret, and I … well, I assumed you have been going to a lover.”
She looked back and forth between the two of us for confirmation, and apparently took our silence as such.
“I have not said anything to anyone—I would never!—because…” She hesitated. “Well, because I am happy for you, madonna!” she declared. “You have seemed so happy, and after the way your father has treated you all your life—” She clapped a hand over her mouth and immediately dropped a curtsy. “Mi scusi, madonna.”
A small smile stole over my face. “You have nothing for which to apologize, Meneghina, I assure you.”
“Thank you, madonna,” she said, looking relieved. “All I meant to say was that you deserve to be happy. To choose for yourself.”
For a moment I was humiliated, that my own maid should pity me. Yet then the simple truth of her words struck me: You deserve to be happy. To choose for yourself.
“Thank you, Meneghina,” I said finally. “As you are here, you may as well help me dress for Carnevale, and spare poor Giuseppe the indignity.”
Giuseppe looked as though he wanted to protest—strenuously—but did not say anything.
“Wait just outside for me, Giuseppe,” I said. “I shall not be long.”
He frowned, but left quickly to wait in the sitting room.
Meneghina hesitantly crossed the room to me, and I turned my back to her so she could unlace my day dress. “You can trust me, madonna,” she said softly. “I swear it, on the Holy Virgin.”
“I do not know that I deserve such devotion,” I said. “But I thank you, and can only hope that I may repay you one day.”
She laced me into my corset, then my dress, as she had done hundreds of times before; but this time was different. Now we were confidantes, coconspirators—more like friends than maid and mistress. She did not ply me with questions, but seemed to trust I would tell her my secrets if and when I chose.
I could see her smile in the mirror as she finished lacing the gown. “You look ravishing, madonna,” she said. “I do not know this man of yours, but I should think he will be quite pleased. Now, sit,” she said, “and I will pin up your hair quickly.”
She used pins set with diamonds that had been a Christmas gift from my father, and then tied on my mask. When she was finished, she placed both hands on my shoulders and leaned in close, so that her face appeared in the mirror beside my own, bright with excitement.
“Now go, madonna,” she said. “And happy Carnevale.”
I rose from my seat and drew her into a brief embrace. “Thank you,” I whispered again into her ear.