how long she could continue this way.
‘Are you all right?’ asked a girl with stunning red hair, who was sitting on another settee close by. Beside the girl was an older woman whose gown of ivory matched the walls and furniture of the sitting room. She was asleep, her head tipped forward. Claudia recognised her as one of the Signoras from the level of society her mother strove to gain entry into.
Claudia wiped the tears from her face with the back of her bare hand. ‘Si. No point crying over something I can’t change.’
‘I would suggest some wine,’ said the girl with a soft laugh that made her green eyes dance, ‘but I think my aunt is suffering the effect of too much of it.’ The girl’s words were punctured by a soft snore from her aunt.
‘I’ll be fine. I just need a place to hide,’ said Claudia, looking around the sitting room that was occupied with Signoras deep in whispered exchanges of gossip.
‘Well, this was the best place I could find to hide.’
‘I’m Claudia D’Este. I’ve seen you somewhere . . . Are you the girl who danced with Bastian at my mother’s ball?’
The girl nodded apologetically.
‘I must thank you for that. My mother was furious.’
‘I know,’ said the girl, averting her eyes.
‘What is your name?’
‘Orelia.’
‘So, Orelia, who are you hiding from? Do you have a controlling mother? Or a trouble-making brother?’
Orelia shook her head. ‘A man.’
‘Is he really bothering you? Do you need help?’ said Claudia, her brow creasing in concern. There was something about helping other people that made Claudia feel like she was not completely powerless.
‘No, not really. It’s just . . . awkward,’ she replied.
‘Well, if he does bother you and you get tired of hiding in here, I’m in box 25. You can come keep me company. Though my mother is there, so that’s probably not the best idea. Which box are you in?’
Orelia paused. ‘The Doge’s box.’
‘You’re the guest of Bastian Donato?’
‘Well, one of his guests; I’m accompanied by two . . . friends. They are the reason I had to come, or else I would have declined his invitation.’
‘Bastian might be immature, but he is a good man. He is a dear friend of my brother and he has always been kind to me.’ Claudia’s eyes flicked to the sitting room doors, half expecting her mother to come bursting through. ‘I’d love to stay and talk, but I’d better get going. It was nice to meet you, Orelia.’
‘And you,’ said Orelia. ‘You are nothing like your mother.’
Claudia smiled for the first time that evening.
Angelique was far more observant than normal that evening. It was often said that she would fail to notice if the entire lagoon ran dry. Tonight was different. She noticed even the smallest of details: the way Bastian always held his glass in his right hand and the number of seconds between sips.
All these observations were to serve one purpose. Angelique moved her hand to the side of her white silk gown covered with red rosettes and pushed through the opening in the side seam. She felt around the pocket concealed within the layers of material and sighed with relief when her fingers found the small vial.
With a shudder, Angelique recalled how she had risked her life to acquire the love potion. She did not want to think what might have happened to her in that sotoportego if Signora Quirini had not come along. She could not fail now.
From her observations, she decided that the best time to slip the love potion into Bastian’s drink was when his glass needed refilling. Standing at the balcony beside Bastian, she pretended to watch the opera when in fact she was really watching the contents of Bastian’s glass go down, sip by sip. The problem was, it was happening far too slowly.
A few minutes ago, Orelia had just excused herself to check on Aunt Portia and Angelique knew the best time to strike was when she was not around. The fewer potential witnesses, the
‘Are you all right?’ asked a girl with stunning red hair, who was sitting on another settee close by. Beside the girl was an older woman whose gown of ivory matched the walls and furniture of the sitting room. She was asleep, her head tipped forward. Claudia recognised her as one of the Signoras from the level of society her mother strove to gain entry into.
Claudia wiped the tears from her face with the back of her bare hand. ‘Si. No point crying over something I can’t change.’
‘I would suggest some wine,’ said the girl with a soft laugh that made her green eyes dance, ‘but I think my aunt is suffering the effect of too much of it.’ The girl’s words were punctured by a soft snore from her aunt.
‘I’ll be fine. I just need a place to hide,’ said Claudia, looking around the sitting room that was occupied with Signoras deep in whispered exchanges of gossip.
‘Well, this was the best place I could find to hide.’
‘I’m Claudia D’Este. I’ve seen you somewhere . . . Are you the girl who danced with Bastian at my mother’s ball?’
The girl nodded apologetically.
‘I must thank you for that. My mother was furious.’
‘I know,’ said the girl, averting her eyes.
‘What is your name?’
‘Orelia.’
‘So, Orelia, who are you hiding from? Do you have a controlling mother? Or a trouble-making brother?’
Orelia shook her head. ‘A man.’
‘Is he really bothering you? Do you need help?’ said Claudia, her brow creasing in concern. There was something about helping other people that made Claudia feel like she was not completely powerless.
‘No, not really. It’s just . . . awkward,’ she replied.
‘Well, if he does bother you and you get tired of hiding in here, I’m in box 25. You can come keep me company. Though my mother is there, so that’s probably not the best idea. Which box are you in?’
Orelia paused. ‘The Doge’s box.’
‘You’re the guest of Bastian Donato?’
‘Well, one of his guests; I’m accompanied by two . . . friends. They are the reason I had to come, or else I would have declined his invitation.’
‘Bastian might be immature, but he is a good man. He is a dear friend of my brother and he has always been kind to me.’ Claudia’s eyes flicked to the sitting room doors, half expecting her mother to come bursting through. ‘I’d love to stay and talk, but I’d better get going. It was nice to meet you, Orelia.’
‘And you,’ said Orelia. ‘You are nothing like your mother.’
Claudia smiled for the first time that evening.
Angelique was far more observant than normal that evening. It was often said that she would fail to notice if the entire lagoon ran dry. Tonight was different. She noticed even the smallest of details: the way Bastian always held his glass in his right hand and the number of seconds between sips.
All these observations were to serve one purpose. Angelique moved her hand to the side of her white silk gown covered with red rosettes and pushed through the opening in the side seam. She felt around the pocket concealed within the layers of material and sighed with relief when her fingers found the small vial.
With a shudder, Angelique recalled how she had risked her life to acquire the love potion. She did not want to think what might have happened to her in that sotoportego if Signora Quirini had not come along. She could not fail now.
From her observations, she decided that the best time to slip the love potion into Bastian’s drink was when his glass needed refilling. Standing at the balcony beside Bastian, she pretended to watch the opera when in fact she was really watching the contents of Bastian’s glass go down, sip by sip. The problem was, it was happening far too slowly.
A few minutes ago, Orelia had just excused herself to check on Aunt Portia and Angelique knew the best time to strike was when she was not around. The fewer potential witnesses, the
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