The gondolier assured her that her new guide would look after her and that when she had eaten he would conduct her to another gondola. Thanking him, she paid the not-too-exorbitant price he charged, and then left the steps with the beggar. She felt a moment’s trepidation, for she did not know where she was going, but soon the uncertainty vanished as once again the magic of Venice folded over her. They walked up a narrow, busy street where there were stalls with colorful awnings, selling everything from stewed pears to grilled fish. Women sat on their doorsteps chattering loudly to one another as they peeled vegetables or mended garments, and there were children excitedly playing skittles down an alley. On the buildings that overlooked the street, there were strange carved heads. They had been much in evidence since she had left the hotel that morning, and now they seemed to watch her progress still, their lips drawn back in a snarl which should have been menacing and ferocious, but which in Venice was nothing of the sort.
At last her guide led her into a small square, one side of which seemed to be entirely taken up by an eating house. It was crowded and obviously very popular with the Venetians. The beggar ushered her into a seat, accepted the coin she gave him, and then retreated to a shady corner at the far end of the square to wait for her. She sat there a little uncertainly, glancing at the several dishes being consumed at other tables. She did not recognize any of them and so felt a little foolish as a smiling serving girl appeared by her side. Taking a deep breath, Laura pointed at the next table where a well-to-do gentleman was eating something with obvious relish. The girl beamed and nodded, and a short while later a bowl was placed before Laura. It contained a dubious-looking piece of meat floating in what appeared to be a thin black soup. Her appetite dwindled as she stared at it.
“Fraulein,
I do not think you will enjoy what you have ordered.”
She knew the voice even before she looked up into the hussar’s dark eyes. He stood there with his hands on his slender hips, his pelisse swinging as he placed one shining, spurred boot on a chair and leaned forward, smiling down at her. How could it possibly be coincidence that brought him to this very place at the same time as her? She believed in coincidence, but after her experience in the hotel that morning, she doubted very much that this was any such thing. It seemed only too likely that he had been following her, and as she looked up into his dark eyes she knew that her suspicion was correct. She felt cold suddenly, and more than a little frightened.
He glanced at the bowl. “It will not be to your English taste, I think.”
“Why?”
“It is called
calamari
—squid cooked in its own ink.”
Horrified, she pushed the bowl away.
He smiled. “Permit me to order anew for you,
Fraulein.”
“Certainly not, sir! We have not been introduced and I know absolutely nothing about you.” Her words sounded prim and proper, but the last thing she wanted was to strike up any sort of acquaintance with this unnerving man.
“Ah, etiquette,” he murmured. “Then I shall put matters right by introducing myself. Baron Frederick von Marienfeld of the Radetzky Regiment in the service of the Emperor of Austria.” He bowed smartly and clicked his heels together.
How she wished he would go away. He was forcing himself upon her and she was uncertain of how to handle the situation. For the first time since leaving England she really wished she had a companion, but she did not, and he was waiting for her to reply. She felt cornered, and loathed herself, and him, when she meekly gave in to the pressure he was putting upon her. “My name is Miss Milbanke, sir.”
He drew her hand to his lips. “I am charmed to make your acquaintance, Miss Milbanke. And now, I shall order something a little more palatable for you.” Without waiting for her reply, he sat down, snapping his fingers at the serving girl.
“I
—I’m not hungry, sir,” said Laura lamely.
“Nonsense, you came here to eat,
Fräulein,
and eat you shall. Besides, propriety will not be offended by my assistance, Miss Milbanke. After all, we are allies, are we not?”
“Allies?”
“England and Austria.”
“Oh. Yes.”
“And so I will consider it a privilege if you allow me to order your luncheon for you.” He spoke briefly to the maid, who did not smile at him as she had smiled at Laura.
Glancing around, Laura noticed for the first time how suddenly quiet the square was. The crowd of Venetians had vanished, including her beggar guide, and she was now quite alone with the baron. The golden alyssum tumbling over a nearby wall stirred audibly in the breeze, birds sang in the garden behind the eating house, and the sounds of Venice continued beyond the square
—but at Fontelli’s everything was horribly quiet.
The baron removed his red shako and leaned back in his chair, smiling a little at her apprehension on seeing how deserted the square now was. “I am not welcome in this city, and neither are any of my countrymen. The people of Venice are fools, are they not? With Austria as their overlord they are more prosperous than they have been in centuries.”
“The conquered never love their conquerors, sir.”
“It does not concern me what they think or why they think it. They are of no consequence to me.”
How arrogant he was, more arrogant even than Sir Nicholas Grenville, and that was saying a great deal! Was it to be her fate here in Venice to take her meals with disagreeable companions?
The silent serving girl brought the baron’s order, which included a bottle of Tokay wine. He smiled at Laura. “I trust, Miss Milbanke, that you like
risi e bisi.
It is rice sprinkled with vegetables and ham and Fontelli prepares it most excellently.” He poured the wine and then commenced to eat his meal.
“Do you like Venetian food, Baron?” she asked.
“It is passable. As is the wine, although it cannot compare with our hock.”
“No, of course not.”
He looked sharply at her, rightly suspecting her of sarcasm, but she met him with a bland, disinterested expression through which he could not see and which would have silenced a lesser man. The rice dish looked delicious and the wine was cold enough to chill its glass, but the last thing she was going to do was give him the satisfaction of seeing her enjoy what he had rudely insisted upon ordering. She did not want his company or his strange notion of chivalry; she found him conceited and swaggering and objectionable. Normally she would have left him in no doubt at all of her feelings, as she had done that morning with Sir Nicholas, but there was something about the Austrian that cowed her just a little, an air of menace of which she was constantly conscious.
He was aware that she had not begun to eat, but for the moment he chose to ignore it. “I have only recently returned from a visit to England, Miss Milbanke,” he said conversationally. “A town called Taunton. Do you know it all?”
“No. I come from Sussex.”
“Taunton is most charming.”
“Indeed?”
“You are not eating your luncheon, Miss Milbanke. You English have no idea how to enjoy your food.”
“Maybe that is because we are not renowned for our cuisine, sir.”
“Perhaps. You excel at roast beef and plum pudding, but beyond that…
.
” He shrugged. “Some good Austrian food would fatten you up.”
“I have no wish to be fattened.”
“No, maybe that is because you are perfect as you are.” He spoke this last softly and his eyes glittered as he raised his glass to her. His gaze moved slowly over the low neckline of her gown and in such a way as to make her feel he could see right through the delicate sprigged muslin.
She flushed, wishing more and more that he would take the hint that he was not welcome. But he obviously had no intention of seeing what she made no attempt to disguise.
“Such a tiny appetite cannot be healthy, Miss Milbanke.”
“I did tell you that I wasn’t hungry,” she reminded him.
“Ah, yes. So you did.” His eyes were half closed now and a smile played coolly around his lips. “Tell me, Miss Milbanke, are you well acquainted with Sir Nicholas Grenville?”
She stared at him, taken aback by the change of subject. “And how would that concern you, sir?” she asked.
“It was merely a pleasantry, Miss Milbanke, please do not think that I am prying.”
But that is exactly what you are doing!
she thought, but she did not say aloud. Deliberately she did not answer his question, thus forcing him to either drop the subject of Sir Nicholas Grenville, or to contradict his own words about prying by asking her again. A flame of anger burned in his intense eyes for a moment at her stubborn silence, but then it had gone and he was smiling again.
“Will you dine with me tonight, Miss Milbanke?”
“I
—I cannot, Baron, for I have already accepted an invitation to dine with Sir Nicholas,” she said swiftly, willing herself to meet his gaze as if she spoke only the truth.
“Then I must concede victory to Sir Nicholas. For the moment,” he said smoothly.
She stood, determined to bring the meal to a close.
“May I be of any further assistance to you?” he asked. “I could procure a gondola for you perhaps…?”
“Yes,” she said quickly, “yes, that would be most kind of you.”
He stood, tossing some coins on to the table and putting on his shako.
The walk back to the canal seemed endless, with the baron determined to conduct a conversation with her. She answered in monosyllables. Drat the man, why did he not take the hint? His skin must be thicker than an elephant’s!
At last she was free of him. The gondola nudged out into the canal and she looked back at him as he stood on the steps where people thronged the merchandise stalls on the quayside. She sat back beneath the felze with a sigh of relief. But what could she do now? She had got herself into a tiresome fix and somehow must now contrive to sit with the odious Sir Nicholas this evening. But how? She could not be certain that she would automatically be taken to the same table again
—she could not even be certain that Sir Nicholas would take his dinner at the hotel!
Her problem seemed all the more insurmountable when she and Sir Nicholas happened to arrive back at the Hotel Contarini at the same time. He disembarked from his gondola without giving her a glance, even though she knew perfectly well that he was aware of her presence. He seemed preoccupied, however, and she noticed that the account book was under his arm as he went into the hotel. She could not forgive him, though, no matter how preoccupied he was. What a truly disagreeable fellow he was, quite the most rude and infuriating of men! Why, oh
why
had she been foolish enough to fib about dining with him? She could have invented something a little more easy to carry out, but instead she had resorted to this, and now must face the consequences. At all costs she wished to avoid the baron, whose company was just a little more unpleasant than Sir Nicholas’s. Yes, Sir Nicholas Grenville was definitely the lesser of two evils as far as she was concerned.
Entering the hotel, she heard the band beginning to tune up in the dining room, and as she glanced in she saw that the
maître d’hôtel
was there too. There was nothing for it but to brazenly ask him to see that she was seated at Sir Nicholas’s table that evening and to then cross her fingers that that gentleman decided to take his meal there! She knew that she was blushing as she asked, and she knew too that the
maître d’hôtel
quite obviously thought she was pursuing her handsome countryman, but she did not really care what he thought. The object of the exercise was to convince the baron that she had been speaking the truth. The
maître d’hôtel
beamed and nodded. But of
course
she could sit with Sir Nicholas, nothing could be simpler to arrange…
.
Or more hateful, she thought as she climbed the grand staircase.
The chandeliers in the bedchamber glittered as Laura dressed for dinner. Outside it was quite dark and the room was warmed by charcoal burning in a little terracotta stove. With a sigh of relief she lowered her arms after painstakingly putting in the last little artificial flower in the carefully pinned curls piled high at the back of her head. Ringlets twisted down from the curls, and she surveyed herself in the mirror. Her arms ached. Enjoying the services of the maid at Hazeldon Court, she had not realized how very hard it was to achieve a fashionable evening coiffure. But she looked well enough now, and certainly no one would know she had labored this past hour to look as she now did!
She got up from the dressing table and shook out the skirts of her pale blue silk gown. The crossover bodice was trimmed with dark red and green embroidery, as was the hem, and the petal-shaped sleeves were tied with dainty golden strings that trembled against her naked arms. It was a gown she was very proud of, for it was very fine indeed, quite elegant and costly enough to grace the dining room of the Hotel Contarini. She pulled on her long white gloves. She didn’t really know why she had taken such pains with her appearance tonight; it wasn’t as if she was ever likely to impress Sir Nicholas, but somehow she had felt that she must look her best.
Outside, the satin waters of the Grand Canal shone in the darkness, and the lights of the palaces were reflected brightly on its surface. The bell of the church of San Giovanni de Rialto had long since sounded sundown. It was time to face the dining room. For a moment she was chickenhearted. She could avoid all this by meekly taking her meal in her room. But that would be to give in, something she could not do.
The
maître d’hôtel
smiled knowingly at her as she entered the dining room, where the tables were again completely full and the band was striving even harder to drown all conversation.
A flicker of annoyance crossed Sir Nicholas’s handsome face as she took her seat opposite him, and he made a very poor show of getting to his feet. “Good evening, Miss
—er, Milbanke.”