Evening Star (Star Quartet 1)

“Well, my dear Giana,” Daniele asked during their ride back to his villa, “did you enjoy your evening?”

“Yes, of course,” she said, forcing brightness to her voice. She paused a moment, then added, “Do you think Italian ladies are like English ladies, Uncle?”

“In large measure. Did you enjoy their company?”

“Signora Luciana asked me to join them in embroidering an altar cloth.”

“How very interesting, to be sure.”

Giana heard the gentle contempt in his voice, and avoided his eyes.

“As my ersatz niece, and a young English lady of impeccable breeding, you were obviously accepted into their ranks.” As Giana made no reply, Daniele sat back against the squabs and stroked his mustache. He had to remember to ensure that Giana would not be recognized by any of the gentlemen as his niece. A wig, he decided, a blond one, perhaps.

Daniele turned his gaze back to his silent niece. Her evening had not proved to be an entirely pleasant experience. Bless her heart, she must have been profoundly bored, at least he hoped so. She was her mother’s daughter, and her snapping retort had come naturally.

“I liked Angela Cavour,” Giana said, gazing at the darkened stalls that lined the Via di Fiore.

“She is near your age. Such a timid little mouse. But so appealing, is she not? You will undoubtedly see her again. That particular group of ladies is often together. I daresay that you will enjoy many hours in their company. Of course, in the near future you will have more in common with them.”

Giana listened for a moment to the clopping of the horses’ hooves on the cobblestones. “Tell me, Uncle Daniele,” she said, “what are Mother’s plans with Mr. Cook?”

Chapter 5

Giana touched her fingers lightly to the blond curls that fell lazily over her forehead and stared unblinking at the image of a stranger.

“Hold still, signorina,” the maid, Rosana, said in her wheezing voice. She was a plump older woman, dressed always in severe black, wool in winter and cotton in summer, whose upper lip was shadowed with a clump of soft dark hairs. “You have large eyes, and now they are even larger with the kohl. A bit of powder, some pink rouge on your lips, and you are ready.”

“I am hungry,” Giana said with a touch of belligerence when Rosana allowed her to rise.

“Your supper will be taken with the gentlemen,” the maid responded placidly. “It is just as well that your belly is empty when I lace your waist.”

Giana groaned as Rosana jerked on the corset laces. She clutched the armoire door to steady herself, sucked in her breath, and held it. She did not again look into the long mirror until Rosana stood back, obviously pleased with her handiwork.

There was the stranger again. The blond wig was a mass of soft curls framing her face, a face that seemed all eyes. Her soft yellow chiffon gown was tight about her waist and fell from her shoulders in layers of pale cream lace. Giana stared at the white expanse of bosom the corset pushed upward, her face scarlet beneath the white powder.

She felt Rosana’s hands close about her waist and jerked away in embarrassment. “Bene, bene, signorina,” Rosana said complacently. “Your waist is so narrow I can nearly span you.”

Madame Lucienne pushed open the door of the bedchamber and stood studying her charge with a judicious eye. If not for the terror in the girl’s huge eyes, she would have looked as lovely a harlot as one would wish. Lucienne supposed that once she had felt just as Giana did, but it was too long ago for her to capture the elusive feeling. For a moment she was somehow sad that this girl would keep her maidenhead, yet lose her innocence. She quickly quelled her moment of weak

ness, for after all, business was business. She nourished a feeling of impatience and, she admitted to herself, envy for this English girl whose mother was rich enough to provide her everything. Here she was playing nursemaid to a girl who was so stupid as to want to throw away everything on a man, and a fortune hunter at that. Well, the little twit was in for a shock.

“You look passable, Giana,” she said at last. “Come, some gentlemen have already arrived.”

Giana ran her tongue over her painted lips. They felt slippery and tasted of ripe cherries. “But how am I to behave, madame?”

“Flirt with the gentlemen just as you do with your young Englishman. If any of them wish to bed you, I shall simply tell them that your services have already been secured for the night. Daniele will be arriving shortly to take you in hand. You will remember, my girl, that you are not to stand around like a stick. I expect you to be as charming and entertaining as the rest of my girls, else Daniele will be told.” Better not to tell her the rest of it, Lucienne thought, looking at the huge, still-frightened eyes.

She patted her full dark blue brocade skirt, regarded her own bountiful bosom in the mirror, and said, “Come, girl. Gentlemen like to be entertained, and they are never to be kept waiting. Mind, now, you are to mix your English with liberal French and Italian. Daniele does not want to take the chance that you will be recognized as his well-bred English niece.”

Giana followed in Lucienne’s imposing wake through the wide carpeted corridor that gave onto each of the girls’ rooms, and down the winding staircase. She saw a man’s appraising eyes upon her before they even reached the bottom steps. He had just entered the front door, and was standing next to Fusco, Lucienne’s majordomo. He was quite fat and old enough to be her father, with huge side whiskers and wide-spaced dark eyes.

“Ah, my dear Lucienne,” he said, strolling over to them. “If all of your girls are like this lovely chit, you will end up with more lire in the bank than most of your customers.”

“Ah, but I already have, Alfredo,” Lucienne said with light laughter in her voice. She tapped his coat sleeve. “This is my little Helen. Come, Helen, welcome Señor Alfredo Albano. He is visiting Rome from Seville.”

Giana shrank back against Lucienne, so frightened that she could not speak. At last she managed a jerky nod.

“A virgin?” Alfredo asked, his eyes resting upon her breasts.