Masquerading (Open)

[KiwiD82]

Venice, 17th century.

Raphael listened to the sound of horse hooves on stone as the carriage he was in trundled noisily through the streets of Venice.

Even wealth can't avoid one being jostled about during travel, he mused with a wry grin to himself.

He glanced down at his seat and studied his mask that sat there, looking back up at him. The mask, had it been alive, would have seen a handsome face looking down at it: dark eyes, loose black hair, lightly browned skin.

Raphael did enjoy masquerade balls. As a wealthy merchant, he was a guest at most of the prominent events in the republic, and this one was no different. There were bound to be all manner of important people there: other merchants, members of the aristocracy, diplomats from throughout Europe and beyond. Hopefully some of those diplomats had brought their daughters...

He wondered what sort of event awaited him. Some were stuffy and dull, but others often resulted in all manner of lewd activities between two people - and often more. Those evenings were always his favourites.

"Whoa!" cried the driver and the carriage drew to a gentle stop.

Affixing his mask, he stepped out of the carriage and stood to his full 6ft2in height. He adjusted his red suit slightly around his waist, double checking that his rapier hung from his hip as he did so, then proceeded up the stairs in front of him to the entrance of the marble pillared building that was the evening's venue.

After briefly lifting his mask to the doorman to confirm his identity and that he was indeed invited, Raphael stepped through the large oak doorway as the doors were opened for him.

He immediately found himself on an internal balcony, overlooking the large dance floor below. The warmth of the expansive room washed over him, as did the sounds of chatter from other guests and the music of a string quartet by the far wall. A wide internal stairway acted as a pathway for people moving up or down as they pleased. Internal marble pillars lined one side of the lower room, while a series of doors stood opposite them, leading to small, private exterior balconies which no doubt overlooked one of the city's many canals.

Raphael caught the attention of a passing waiter and took an offered glass of champagne, sipping it quietly as he scanned the room, noting the other masked individuals, hopeful that he might recognise someone or that a pretty lady might make the evening infinitely more interesting.

 

[AnnaChristie]

Raphael scanned the ballroom, his thoughts straying to the erotic possibilities of the evening.
In fact, a pretty lady was about to make his evening more interesting.
Perhaps not in the way to which he was usually accustomed.
Beneath a black velvet half mask, a pair of sharp blue eyes followed Raphael's every move around the glittering salon. She'd been waiting for him....
Not here though, not in the midst of this babbling throng. No, she considered, to truly find what she sought from Raphael , she needed to entice him to a far more secret location. Smiling wolfishly, she summoned a servant and indicated that he was to deliver her note to the tall gentleman in red.......

 

[KiwiD82]

Raphael had worn a red suit with the express intention of being noticed, but he would never have expected to have been recognised while he wore his mask.

He was leaning against the railing of the interior balcony, his glass of champagne half empty, and enjoying a typically flirtatious conversation with a petite brunette in a forest green dress when the servant arrived.

"Mi scusi signore," came the words in such a thick Italian accent that Raphael assumed the widow-peaked man to be a local.

Like the waiters, musicians, and other staff, the servant wore no mask, lest the guests were to accidentally speak with someone below their station. He nodded politely to Raphael's female companion, then held out a note to the man in red.

Raphael took the offered note and was struck by the fact that it had a seal. It had clearly been written prior to his arrival.

He offered the servant the briefest of glimpses as if doing so would reveal the contents of the note, but the older man's face revealed nothing.

Raphael broke the seal and opened the carefully folded piece of paper, his dark eyes studying the message inside.

Signore Idoni,

There is work to be done and I require your assistance.

My servant will lead the way.

~R

By the time Raphael looked up, the servant was already leaving, causing the merchant to smile to himself.

He knows more than he cares to admit, Raphael mused.

After quickly turning to the woman beside him and kissing her hand with a rushed "Addio, bella," Raphael followed the servant out of the room, all the while wondering how the author of the message could know he would be here, and who precisely "R" might be.

 

[AnnaChristie]

Despite his inherited wealth, and his love of dressing in exquisite finery, Raphael Idoni was neither a fool nor a dandy.


There were many who had learned to regret making the assumption that he was either, usually at the point of the rapier Raphael now touched lightly at his side.


He was intrigued enough to follow the heavily set manservant so far, but he was not a man so in need of adventure that he'd allow himself to be led into a trap.


There was something about the note, though, that had sent a rare rush of excitement through him. It was nothing tangible- it never was with Raphael- it was a feeling, a something. He'd had this instinct only on those occasions when something truly out of the ordinary was about to happen. There had actually been more than a few of those, even in his comparatively young life.


He continued to follow as the man ahead pushed through the raucous crowd, by now becoming a bacchanalia of masked figures in pursuit of their pleasures.

Presently, the manservant paused at the one of the doors, which lead to the small, private exterior balconies.


'Signore?'

He indicated towards a heavy door, beautifully carved with lewd figures of dancing goddess and satyrs. Not unlike the crowd behind them, noted Raphael with amusement. They passed into a sumptuously decorated passage, toward the first in the row of curtained balconies


The curtain was drawn back silently, before either the servant or Raphael could move towards it.

Although the space behind it was softly lit, Raphael could clearly see there was only one figure standing within. There was no space for a hidden ambush there.
Hidden pleasures perhaps, as he knew from previous times he had spent in them, but he saw no immediate threat of being assailed.


What he did see was a tall woman, her face half hidden by her black velvet mask, her satin dress a muted gold that mirrored her hair colour.


'Grazzi Adolfo. Che tutto ' her generous rose coloured lips formed the words in perfectly accented Italian, as she dismissed the servant.

She turned to Raphael. His mask kept his handsome face non committal, but he smiled inwardly as he felt her azure gaze assessing every inch of him. After what seemed a lengthy interval she spoke again, with a soft smile forming on her lovely mouth.


'Signore Idoni. Molto gentile da parte sua......'

Raphael cut her off,
'Your accent is wonderful, bella, and so are you. But what kind of assistance does some lovely aristocratic English lady want from me?
He asked her, in completely flawless English


He silently enjoyed watching the slight narrowing of her delicious lips in reaction to his words. So, this one didn't like to be bested or caught off guard then? He liked that about her already.
She wasn't disconcerted for long, he noticed. He liked that about her, too.


She drew herself up even taller, her eyes almost level with his.


'Oh it's not I who need your assistance Signore Idoni. You could call me a mere messenger, if you so choose'

Her crisp English tones dripped with irony. She paused, weighing him up again, then she continued

' I'm here on the orders of the King of England...'

 

[KiwiD82]

And so it was that the game of cat and mouse had begun. Raphael just wasn't yet sure which of the two roles he was playing.

At the mention of a foreign monarch, he looked over his shoulder to check that the door had been properly closed by the Italian servant - if in fact Adolfo was Italian at all. Identities were rapidly becoming hazy.

Satisfied that he and the English woman were alone, Raphael stepped forward until he stood by the parting of the curtain. Despite wearing a mask on a closed off private balcony, he wasn't sure who else might be watching. His disguise was clearly flawed - the beauty before him had recognised him with ease.

Truth be told, Raphael was as intrigued by the messenger as he was by any information she might carry. Her wearing a mask only added to his curiosity, forcing his gaze to focus on her alert blue eyes and her alluring lips.

He took a brief moment to look her up and down and examine her appearance. He was becoming intoxicated by her perfume but his hand had yet to leave the hilt of his weapon.

"Bella," he started, before remembering his manners. "Milady R, I presume? What could the King of England possibly want from a Venetian merchant?"

He paused for a moment before offering a slight smile and allowing a moment of jest in spite of the seriousness of the situation, opening his hands as if presenting himself - and letting go of his rapier for the first time.

"If he wants the finest lace in the world, then look no further than Raphael Idoni."

 

[AnnaChristie]

She didn't move a muscle in response. Her eyes were icy and her voice in reply was colder still,

'Oh, I believe we can dispense with the 'I am but a simple merchant' charade Signore. Don't you agree? I shall be direct, sir. The Idoni family has guardianship of several.....shall we say... documents. We are aware that they have held them for many generations. It has now become necessary for certain persons to acquire them'


He moved close to her, his masked face mere inches from hers. He breathed in her intoxicating perfume again, and lowered his lips to her ear. As he whispered to her, he grasped her bare white wrist. Tightly.


'And I believe that we can dispense with ordering me like a servant M'lady, Don't you agree?


She was never one to show fear or reaction, and she did not do so now, But she was so aware that the threat in his words was wrapped in the seductive and deep caress of his voice. Her stance gave no indication, but her heart was racing from the sensation of his hard grip on her arm.


She'd been told all about him of course. That his real activities were very far from those of the Venetian merchants of his family name and lineage. She'd been warned that he could be dangerous, under the cover of his fine clothes and the smiling veneer of a wealthy man of business.


What no advance words had prepared her for was the powerful, animal presence of the man himself. As she prepared sharp words of protest, she assessed him more closely. The sheer breadth of his shoulders and the luxuriant hair that flowed down over them. His black eyes, their pupils flecked with a hint of green.

She knew then, in that moment, that she wanted him

Those dark, deep eyes held hers, it seemed to her, in silent mockery.
He knew.

 

[KiwiD82]

The well-spoken woman's hard gaze was stronger than Raphael had expected, but she had clearly done her homework, and that alone was worth respecting.

So she knows about the manuscript, he pondered, before thinking on his feet just enough to call her bluff.

At least, he hoped it was a bluff.

When he'd taken hold of her wrist, he'd felt something like a bolt of lightning go through him, though he tried to remain stoic and not give himself away. Likewise to the feeling of her small wrist in his grip, the soft skin so tempting to caress...

It was her pulse that ultimately revealed her inner reactions. Her face showed nothing but he could feel the blood pumping to her wrist.

Is that fear? he wondered. Or is it desire?

In reality, he had only an inkling as to who she was. But loosely educated guesses were his only option if he was to wrestle control of the situation from the words coming out of her delicious lips.

"Milady R," he began, before changing his words to remind her she was in Venice and not London. "Bella, must we be so oppositional? I'm sure we must be able to come to some sort of mutually beneficial agreement."

He paused to let her take in what he was saying, then loosened his grip on her wrist, holding it gently and letting his thumb run across the smooth skin.

"If you wish to know my identity, you need only remove my mask, no?"

 

[AnnaChristie]

She could hear the supressed laughter in his voice as his hand continued to caress the inside of her arm.


He was mocking her.


She felt furious at this man, but she was equally angry at herself. How could she have fumbled this meeting so badly and so very quickly?


She had earned great renown in certain circles for always being cool headed and sure footed. There were few so blessed with her skill for extracting information and ensuring that it reached the right ears. When she set to her work, she was charm personified. It was a rare man who realised just how much he had divulged, or the huge implications of what he had confided in her. Not until it was far too late for them.

By then, she'd have moved on the next individual who had something needed by a certain Chief Minister to his Majesty- and often by His Majesty Himself. She would once more employ the weapon of her radiant smile, the one that had earned Lady Rose Cavendish her codename- Rayonnante.


She was accustomed to disarming men swiftly. Old, young, ugly, handsome- it made little difference to her.

Her priority was to tease out their weak spot as rapidly as possible, and then to exploit it with as much elan and seduction as was necessary. Once her work was complete, and the target had given up their secrets- she would swiftly exit.


But to her confusion, this one- this Italian -had immediately and expertly disarmed her. She didn't like it.


Very well, Signore Idoni, she thought, recovering both her wits and her breath, let's play this game your way.

She moved her free hand up, running her fingers through his long dark hair and pressing her body closer to his.

To her great satisfaction she could feel him immediately hardening, in response.


'Oh but I've already seen your face Signore, it's really rather handsome...' her voice purred back at him.



For once, outrageous flattery and complete truth met in her words.

 

[KiwiD82]

She certainly knew how to get a man's attention. Even while still masked, her beauty was like a flame among which a male moth would willingly experience oblivion as long as he felt heat in the process.

But it was only when she touched his hair, pressed herself against him, and teased him with her words that he became sure of her identity.

Cavendish, he mentally stated to himself.

He knew she could feel his body responding but that didn't bother him at all. He was, after all, but a mere mortal in the presence of a veritable goddess.

"Bella Rose," he whispered, one masked guest to another. "Your reputation precedes you, but it doesn't do you justice."

Raphael raised a hand, caressing one of her cheeks behind the mask, the soft skin warm and flushed. Then he pushed her gently backwards, stepping fully inside the curtain for the first time as the material closed behind them.

Now completely in private, the Italian let his hands drift down her sides, holding her gently about the waist, then resting on her hips which he used to gently turn her around to face the view of canals and lamplights beyond.

"Venezia is beautiful by night, wouldn't you agree, Miss Rose?" he asked, deliberately dropping her noble title.

With her back to him, Raphael stepped gently into her, the hardness she'd felt against her front was now pressing against her slender and perfectly formed backside.

One arm snaked slowly around her waist as he dropped his head to her shoulder and gently kissed it softly, allowing his eyes to trace her neckline, eventually resting his gaze upon the quickening rises and falls of her pale white flesh.

"This is a beautiful dress, Bella," he continued, before reminding her that the game was still in play. "I hope it wasn't too expensive..."

 

[AnnaChristie]

It was no good, Rose mused, this one was going to cause her far too much trouble.
Her work had brought her into the closest proximity to some very dark and dangerous men. She hadn't felt that all consuming rush of desire for them though.

The way he was toying with her name, his blatant showing off that he knew her identity. She didn't know if she loved or hated that.....

And now he was using his physical strength and showing some overfamiliarity with her body.
Was that a threat he'd just made, or an insult ? Was he implying things about how someone like her paid for expensive gowns?

No , this was no good at all, she considered again. She wouldn't risk it with this one- he was far too practiced a seducer. She'd leave it to the Chief Minister- and his thugs- to get what they needed from this man.

 

[AnnaChristie]

She turned abruptly, facing him head on and looking him directly in the eye.

'Signore, some things are, as you say, expensive- and yes, some things have too high a price. I've delivered my message, you know what we want. I shall leave you now, to consider ..'

At that, the Lady Rose Cavendish exited the balcony, the evening, Venice ..and Raphael's life......

He sighed, what a great shame. He felt almost disconsolate.
Until he remembered the young petite brunette in the other room.

Ah well, there was always new fish to be caught in the canals of Venice, he shrugged. Just as it ever was.

 

[KiwiD82]

Raphael was stunned.

No, it was bigger than that. He was shocked.

Had he misread Lady R so appallingly? Had what he'd perceived to be desire actually been fear?

Her abrupt change of mood, her complete rejection, her hasty exit...it had all caught him completely off guard.

Perhaps, he pondered, this was all a game to her.

Raphael took a few moments to capitalise on his solitude, quietly studying the canals below and the lamps beyond. And then, after regaining his composure, he allowed himself a muted chuckle at his own expense.

It was cat and mouse, he realised as he left the private balcony and returned to the warmth of the main room, and I was the mouse.

 

[AnnaChristie]

Meanwhile, in a gondola heading to a remote location, Lady Rose Cavendish laughed wickedly to herself.

What was it that one of her old mentors had always told her?
To know how to dissimulate is the knowledge of kings.

Yes, that was it. Or as she preferred to paraphrase it- 'Always keep them wondering'

And then, she was gone.
Swallowed up into the inky black Venetian waters.

 

[Pandora6]

The elaborately painted, jeweled, and feathered Carnivale masque shattered to pieces on Raphael's doorstep as Beatrice raised her hand to knock. She was weary. Of life, of parties, of wealth, of politics, of the world.

Beatrice stood on Raphael's door steep in Venice hundreds of miles from her villa in Rome. He was her last chance. She longed for the quiet and solace of the nunnery near the villa, that had been her plan for refuge if the city's politics had required it. But, the assassination of her husband by a rival faction had turned even the convent against her. Raphael was her husband's brother. "Surely, he would have pity on her and offer her refuge," she told herself. The villa was in ruins. Her husband's accounts, ships, and warehouses had been seized. All she had in the world was the pearl encrusted ball gown that set off her rose gold skin and caramel hair and the precious stones of the masque that were now scattered over Raphael's portico.

Beatrice had met Raphael only once, at her wedding. She had met his brother in Lucerne while they were both on holiday. Beatrice's father was an influential German politician and merchant who traded in olive oil and silks with Raphael's family. They fell in love amongst mountains, lakes and the long summer evenings of their parents' parties. Now all she had of him were the blood stains that spattered her gown. Beatrice had had no time to contact her family. As they'd left the ball, her husband turning at the call of his name, the rival pulled off his mask and thrust his dagger into her husband's chest while she was still holding his hand. Her one ally, Cardinal Verranzano, had shoved her into his carriage and ordered his driver to Venice post haste, or she would have been dead by now too. Her husband's blood pouring down the steps of Cardinal Verranzo's Palazzo and into Rome's sewage filled streets was the last image of Rome Beatrice held.

She shuddered as she looked at the shards of pottery, paint and gems on the tiles at her feet. The shattered Carnivale masque had been Raphael's gift to her at the wedding. His comment was cryptic - "In case you ever come to Venice for an adventure, Cara…." It had felt a little dangerous, and more than a little inappropriate for a wedding gift, but how could Beatrice refuse his earnestness and those piercing blue eyes? Would he remember? It had been at least ten years since the wedding.

Beatrice took a deep breath. Here was her adventure whether she asked for it or not. She thought of her plan for the nunnery, and let it go with the broken mask. It was not who she was anyway. With that, she let the heavily worked bronze knocker on Raphael's door fall, announcing her presence in Venice.

 

[Pandora6]

Beatrice sighed with impatience as the valletto showed her into a small but sunny drawing room overlooking a canal. "Signore Idoni is indisposed until this evening Signora but you may wait here until then if you are who you say you are," Paolo, Raphael's man, informed her. Beatrice knew from the mask and red jacket on the table in the entrance that Raphael's indisposition most likely meant he was sleeping off whatever debauche he'd entertained the previous night.

"Wake him for me! It's very important that I see him as soon as possible." Beatrice commanded. She was used to ordering Alsfonso's valletto around and expected Paolo to obey her given her class and status. He gazed at her with bruised unwilling eyes.

"It is not possible, Signora. Signore Idoni will see you after 5:00 PM." Paolo informed her in an almost whisper of voice that was full of command none the less. And with that, he turned and left the room closing the double doors behind him. Beatrice could have sworn she heard a lock slide into the bolt, but the sound was subtle.

"So they don't trust me or they don't believe me or both," she muttered to herself as she stared out the window. The bright sunlight amplified Alfonso's blood splattered all over her dress. Knowing that she would be waiting almost seven hours for Raphael to dane to see her now that she'd forced a time from Paolo, she stripped off the gown. It was ruined. She might as well start cutting off the 1,000 pearls that embellished it. They might buy part of her room and board.

Beatrice pulled at the too tightly laced corset after casting her bodice aside. It was never meant to be worn for the four days it taken the carriage to fly from Rome to Venice. The 500 mile journey left Beatrice raw in every sense of the word. She could use a bath and walk and very long rest. Without further considering it, she took her small sewing scissors from her travel bag and snipped the laces. At least she'd be a day or two without one before the Cardinal forwarded her things.

The loose sleeveless lace camicia under the corset was exquisite in its fine silk workmanship and mesmerizing in its teasing transparency. Her dark rose nipples peeked and hinted through the embroidery without ever being truly revealed. Alfonso demanded that everything she wore be exceptional and exceptionally made so that no one might question his family's power and success in Rome. Enjoying her body's freedom enormously, Beatrice untied the heavy skirt of the gown and the underlying slips and stepped out of them. "It will make my work much easier to have it off." The pantaloons that covered her waist and legs were the same enticing lace. Allowing just hints of what lay underneath. Her silk stockings were held above her knees with pearl encrusted garters. She'd need Raphael to release from her husband's jealous folly and the last restraint from her prior life - the chastity belt Alfonso insisted on for all public events where Beatrice might stray from his side and have contact with other men. She hoped that Raphael did not share such rigid disciplinary attitudes as his brother.

It was at that moment that Paolo opened the double doors unexpectedly. Beatrice turned in shock at his entrance. She'd been so lost in her own thoughts and the miseries of travel that she hadn't heard the subtle click of the lock being released.

"Signora," Paolo gazed at her state of undress with scorn, "I only thought you might be hungry and also wish to wash." He turned on his heel and dismissed her as servant girls hurried placed a dish of cheese and fruit, an urn of water, bowl and linen cloth, and a glass and bottle of chilled white wine on the table without looking at her. They quickly followed the valletto out of the room. The lock turned more decidedly this time.

Beatrice contemplated the items on the table. She washed as much as she could with the water and linen cloth and set it on the floor near the door. She nibbled on a piece of cheese and sipped the wine, but really she wasn't hungry. The cushioned and pillow strewn divano under the sunny window called to her to lie down amongst its soft pillows. She thought of the work she'd set out to do on her gown.

She pushed the window behind the sofa open and took in the myriad of Venetian smells that sauntered into the room from hot house flowers on a balcony to her left to the musky dampness of the old water of the canal itself. Nestling among the pillows, Beatrice started cutting the tiny pearls from her dress, reliving her husband's death with each spot of blood she scratched from them with her fingernail. A tear rolled down her cheek and she looked out the window into the Venice morning and gave herself up the loss she'd held inside for the grueling trip here. Her tears were for her husband's life, yes, but also for the loss of her children who were now Alfonso's rivals wards. And, her tears were for herself. She was in political asylum at the mercy of a brother-in-law she'd known in more halcyon days beside the cool blue of Lake Lucern.

 

[KiwiD82]

The warmth and light of the late morning sun cast itself into the master bedroom. Bleary eyes opened as Raphael stirred in his four-poster bed and sat up, unaware that it was the sound of smashing pottery that had awoken him.

The more regular sounds and smells of a day already underway wafted in through the window. Raphael sat up, then climbed out of bed to stretch, and as he did so, he reflected on the night before.

It had all started so promisingly with an unexpected visit from Lady Rose Cavendish. But that had been an all too brief encounter in which she referred to certain documents that he didn't want to be public knowledge.

Raphael's recollection of the previous evening was interrupted when he checked that the manuscript was still securely in its hiding place in a small and thin locked chest under the bed. Confident that it was where it should be, he returned to remembering the previous night, with the petite brunette and the intimate noises she made...

Raphael's daydreaming was abruptly ended by the rap of knuckles on his door.

"Signor Idoni," came Paolo's familiar voice. "There is a visitor here for you. A lady..."

"Who is it?" Raphael replied through the door.

Surely not the brunette? he wondered out of curiosity.

"She calls herself Signora Beatrice Idoni. Is she related, Signore?"

Raphael froze when he heard her name. He hadn't seen Beatrice since his brother Alfonso's wedding in Switzerland. Raphael had often thought that such a country was much too cold to enjoy, but the bride had been a very welcome sense of warmth. If he could say anything to compliment his brother, it was that he had somehow married the most beautiful woman in all of Europe. Raphael had been extremely jealous back then, and, he only now realised, he still was.

But that had been a long time ago; more years than he wished to admit.

She may have changed since then, he mused. And why is she here, presumably without Alfonso?

Raphael paused for only a moment more, then called to his doorman.

"Paolo, please tell Signora Idoni that I will see her in half an hour. I still have to dress and wash."

The wealthy merchant began to ready himself, before quickly adding: "And make sure she is treated as though she were a queen. I insist that she receives the very best of Venetian hospitality."

 

[Pandora6]

Paolo’s lip curled is disgust as walked out of Raphael’s suite. The household ran smoothly because there were no women involved at any level but the very lowest. He considered whether he should move Signora Idoni to the larger drawing room to please his master. He grimaced as the state of first drawing clothing, garments, ladies underthings, handkerchiefs, bits and pieces, discarded, tossed and strewn everywhere. He’d planned on using the hot late afternoon siesta time to nurse his languishing hangover from the night before, not to supervise the silly housemaids cleaning of, not one, but two, drawing rooms. His head pulsed more as he thought of it. She’d be fine where she was, he decided.

As he moved across the upper balcony to his quarters for a nip to take the edge off, one of the housemaids frantically scurried up to him. “You are wanted at the door, Maggiordomo.” He snarled, “Who is it now?” Two unexpected visitors at the front door before noon really was uncivilized by Venetian standards during Carnivale.

“’Scuzi, Maggiordomo. Giani, Signora Idoni’s valletto from Rome,” she groveled.

“Giani? So quickly?” Paolo pushed passed the cowering girl and dashed down the stairs to commotion in the atrio. Giani, Paolo’s brother, and apparently Signora Idoni’s valletto, was staggering under the weight of carved wooden chest. His coach driver and two hired hands each bore similar chests. All of them wore black bands of mourning around their upper right arms.

“Giani? Mio fratello! What are you doing in Venezia?” Paolo greeted his brother as he lifted the heavy chest out of Giani’s hands and placed it into a recess on one side of the lofty foyer. “Since when are you valletto to a Signora?”

“Paolo! My brother! Don Alfonso is dead. Killed by the Simoneti family on the footsteps of Cardinal Veranzanno’s palazzo as he was leaving the Carnivale ball. His house is seized. His children are wards! The Cardinal bid me pack what I could come here as quickly as I could for Signora Idoni’s sake.” Giani thrust Signora Idoni’s smaller iron jewelry chest into Paolo’s hands, and waved a thick creamy packet of paper sealed in the Cardinal’s signature red wax veined with gold dust. “My life could be at stake too.”

Paolo followed Giani out under the portico for the remaining cases and bags. "What do you mean?" he prodded, "you are only the valletto."

"Paolo, the Idoni family had their fingers in a lot Roman politics. There is no "Golden Republic" as in Venice. Alphonso chose the wrong opinion one too many times. Having a German wife did not help. the Holy Roman Emperor is not always a friend of the Pope."

Paolo grimaced again. Politics made his head hurt on the best of days. It was throbbing now with the exertion of the heavy boxes, the unanticipated activity of the morning, and the growing heat of the day, and Giani's distressing and complicated news. He needed a drink and a siesta. His ankle twisted on a broken shard of painted pottery as he lugged a fabric covered box into the atrio. The string of expletives was worthy of a party canal rats paddling alongside the house to his left than of his position of as head butler.

"Rapidimante! Clean it up, girl!" he bellowed at the house girl who was lingering at the base of the stairs. "pick every tiny piece up and put it in a bag for the Signora." Paolo bent, picked up the offending shard that had caused his ankle to twist and pocketed the piece and the sizable jewel it contained.

"Fuck!" he muttered and lifted the lid of the nearest box. He snagged a black ruffled something from it and stalked towards the door of the lesser drawing room, fumbling for his key.

Beatrice was seated on the coach amid cream silk, embroidered lace, pillows and pearls. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair was mussed. Her eyes were bright and dewy. She looked exactly like a bowl of lush summer peaches, ripe, round, sweet, gold and pink, lush and curving. The room was overly hot and stuffy. Nothing could have annoyed Paolo more. He tossed the black thing at her.

"Signore Raphael will see you momentarily," he told her. "Make yourself presentable as appropriate for a widow in mourning."

"Of course. Gratzi, Paolo." she demurred, sorting the black fabric into some sort of long over dress which quickly covered the embroidery and revealing pantaloons and rendered her dewy ripeness into faded pallor. Paolo was pleased with the immediate dimming effect of the dress and made a mental note that black was definitely not Signora Idoni's color. He would have to do something about her immediate familiarity with his name later.

He scooped the bits and pieces of her discarded attire into his arms and strode out of the room leaving the door open for his master's imminent entrance.

 

[KiwiD82]

Raphael hadn't planned to take long to get ready, but he also wanted to look his best for Beatrice - especially as it had been a decade since he'd last seen her and this was his only opportunity for a second first impression.

After a quick bath, Raphael applied some scented lotions to his skin, then got dressed. He'd always enjoyed wearing bright and vibrant colours, but he doubted that Beatrice being in Venice without Alfonso was a sign of good news, so he opted for a doublet with more muted tones: cream with a golden inlay.

Satisfied that he was as ready as he could be, Raphael set off for the larger drawing room, where he expected to find Beatrice. Instead, he found only clutter and mess.

Paolo was supposed to have cleaned this yesterday, he pondered. I shall have to speak to him.

The younger Idoni brother was halfway towards the smaller drawing room when he heard a commotion outside. Servants were rushing back and forth but nobody approached him directly, so he decided Paolo likely had everything under control.

Whatever it was, he would have to deal with it later. Beatrice was his priority.

As it was, he was somewhat distracted when he arrived at the room where the Germanic beauty waited, but the sight of her put everything instantly into perspective.

If she had been a shy but beautiful edelweiß bud in Lucerne, then she had truly blossomed in Rome.

"Beatrice!" he exclaimed with a wide smile and open arms. "My beloved sister-in-law, you look even more beautiful than I remember."

It was true. Yes, her hair was messed up, and it was clear she had been on a tiring journey, but time had not been unkind to her in any way whatsoever.

"What brings you to Venezia in such a rush?"

 

[Pandora6]

Beatrice flushed at the way Raphael drew her name out slowly, syllable by syllable, as if he were tasting not just the sounds but her. He hadn't changed a bit… in appearance or personality. Still a lothario and a scamp she could tell.

Her quick smile faded at the last question. She offered her hands to him and he took them and joined her on the sofa. The human contact was too much. Tears cascaded down her cheeks as she looked up into Raphael's eyes and choked out Alfonso's death at the hands of Pietro Simoneti. She tried to compose herself as she spoke but seeing Raphael brought back too many memories and the strains of the past few days crashed heavily down on her.

 

[KiwiD82]

Raphael squeezed the pretty Prussian's hands in an effort to comfort her as he digested the news.

His brother was dead.

Theirs was a bitter rivalry that had lasted for years. They were frequently disagreeing with and trying to outdo each other. But Raphael would find no joy in this.

He gently pulled Beatrice into his embrace, wrapping his arms around her shaking body as she cried, then rested his chin atop her head.

He could feel his heart racing as he contemplated the situation, questions flying around his head and demanding answers.

He bit his lip, but that wasn't enough to prevent a single tear from escaping down his cheek, only to be lost somewhere in her hair.

Raphael didn't say anything for several minutes. On the one hand, he didn't know what to say - and on the other, he knew there was no need to say anything at all.

It was only when one of his maid servants burst into the room, then stopped still - clearly she hadn't expected anyone else to be in the room - that Raphael snapped out of the quiet, strangely comfortable moment.

After receiving a silent nod from her master, the maid servant continued into the room, placing down the shards of the Carnivale mask Raphael had given Beatrice as a wedding gift. Its former owner recognised it instantly.

"My dear Beatrice," he whispered, "I will keep you safe. It is Carnivale - I will keep you hidden. Please...tell me what you need of me and it is yours."

 

[Pandora6]

In Raphael's arms, the past rushed back with force and emotion that surprised Beatrice after ten long years of being Alfonso's wife. The might-have-beens had Raphael been the older son and Alfonso less competitive and she less of a prize mingled with the rich spiced scent of his freshly trimmed beard and newly cleaned clothing. She became all too aware of her own hastened journey, scanty washing, and mostly missing clothing.

"I need some time, Raphael." she said quickly, "I haven't heard from my family in months. Rumors are widespread of plague, famine and war in Germany. I'm not sure I can go home. And, if I can't, I would need to impose upon your hospitality long enough to mourn your brother and for you to find a suitable man who might take a widow with risky political connections as his wife."

Beatrice drew herself up and out his arms, trying to seem brave. The devastating and impossible reality of her social position left her at Raphael's mercy. She had no money of her own. Her husband's fortune was in the hands of his arch enemy. If her family was dead, she, as a married daughter, was entitled to inherit nothing. She was at Raphael's mercy truly. She only hoped he remembered a small portion of the tenderness and feeling he once had for her, even if she'd been forbidden to return it.

At this moment, Paolo entered the room with her jewel chest. He delivered directly to Raphael without even a glance in Beatrice's direction. "Of course," she thought, "even he understands my position is possibly the lowest one of all in this household, and certainly my possessions are all now Raphael's."

She looked down and fingered the shards of the broken mask, the edges of the black robe falling slightly open, as her hands moved down and away from her body. "I need time and to reinvent myself." she muttered, beginning to piece to the puzzle of the shards together into the semblance of a face.

Raphael caught a glimpse of resilient determination and ivory embroidered lace as the woman next to him changed from a resigned and vulnerable signora to a formable and calculating donna forte whose wits would be a challenge to match.

 

[KiwiD82]

Seeing Beatrice's tears pained Raphael. Her whole world was falling apart and he had no intention of adding to her misery.

"Beatrice," he spoke, his voice barely more than a whisper. "If it is time you need, then you shall have it. Write your family. Find out if the rumours are true."

Raphael pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and began to dab at the wetness around her eyes. It may have seemed a somewhat brazen act, but even after a ten year absence following the briefest of acquaintances, the young merchant felt comfortable in doing so. And besides, his well deserved reputation as a lothario did not make him cold hearted - he was hurting for her, even while he had yet to fully process the news himself.

Paolo entered and handed the chest to his master. Raphael simply nodded at his cold but efficient servant, then waited until he was once again alone with the Germanic beauty, at which point he placed the chest on the couch between them.

"Milady, you are here as my guest, not my prisoner. This belongs to you."

Looking down at the shards of the Carnivale mask, the younger Idoni brother offered a weak smile.

"I gave this to you as a wedding gift," he continued, extending a hand to join hers as they began to piece the shattered mask together as he hoped they might similarly reconstruct her life. "Truth be told, I'm surprised you held onto it."