Chapter 4

D ear Diary, Mary said I should go to sleep, but I have far too much energy to even think of slumber. Why were none of the London parties I was ever forced to attend even half as much fun as this was? Perhaps it was because I did not have men vying for my attention there. Well, it was not that attention was not paid, but tonight, I worried that Xander might call Alessandro out. To be fair, while it is flattering to believe that I was the cause of their bickering, I believe that there is a deep-seated hatred between them. I wonder why.

It was quite delightful to have Alessandro flirt with me, even if he might only have been doing so to rile Xander up. And what of Mr Ashby? He really is quite handsome, in a very English way. He certainly seems eager for my company. A charming, attractive young man to escort me around Venice could be a delightful way to get to know the city.

Of course, Xander pales into consideration next to Alessandro. However, I suspect that he is one of those men who flirts as easily as he breathes. I have no illusions that there is any substance behind his words. I imagine that he has some dark, sultry Italian mistress with shiny, ebony ringlets and sparkling, heavily lashed eyes. Tabby Cat would be appalled if she heard me say such a thing – well-brought-up young women are not supposed to know about mistresses.

Rat dragged me away from the men, but Alessandro ended up sitting next to me at dinner – was that by design? I could see Xander shooting darts at him with his eyes through the entire meal. If Alessandro noticed, he certainly did not mention anything. He was a charming dinner companion, witty, intelligent and erudite. He offered to show me some of the sights of Venice. Did I agree to go to St Mark's tomorrow with Xander? I cannot remember exactly where we left that plan now. I do not think that I agreed. However, it would be considered something of a social faux pas to take Alessandro up on his offer when Xander has the prior claim on my time. What do I do? Granny would know exactly the right way of solving this dilemma.

Finally, Melody put away her diary and went to sleep. Her dreams were full of dark-haired men with roguish smiles.

The following morning, Melody woke late. The trip to Venice had been more exhausting than she was willing to acknowledge; it was hard to sleep deeply on trains. Lady Bainbridge's guest room was comfortable and its bed soft and pillowy. Once sleep came for Melody, it was many hours before it relinquished its hold.

Descending the next morning, Melody was led by Rossi to a small dining room where Lady Bainbridge was drinking coffee and breakfasting on a delicious-looking pastry. Rat was seated next to her, eating some cheese and cold meats. As Melody entered the room, they both looked up.

"Did you sleep well, my dear?" Lady Bainbridge asked. Melody nodded. Her hostess continued, "For myself, I am thrilled if I can get four hours of sleep these days. A heavy meal does not help. I should have shown more self-control; I know what those rich sauces do to me. However, I am unable to resist mushroom risotto and the way Venetians cook liver is sublime. In England, liver is rather looked down on as peasant food, but Fegato alla Veneziana has been elevated to the food of the gods. I do wonder if they get terrible heartburn as well."

While Lady Bainbridge spoke, Melody sat across from her and took a pastry from the plate in the middle of the table. While they all looked delicious, one that was shaped almost like a shell caught her eye. It had thin, flaky layers of dough and was filled with a light green cream. Melody had wondered what flavour it was, but biting into it didn't illuminate her – though it was delicious.

Seeing a look of surprise and then confusion cross Melody's face, Lady Bainbridge said, "Pistachio cream. It is heavenly." Melody had to agree. "The pastry itself is called a Sfogliatelle," she explained.

It seemed that coffee was all that was on offer for breakfast. At home, Melody usually drank hot chocolate. Given the choice between a small cup of dark, strong-smelling coffee, apparently called espresso, and a lighter, milkier drink that she was told was caffè latte, she opted for the latter. It was still stronger than Melody would have chosen to drink in England, but with enough sugar and paired with the pastry, it began to grow on her.

Breakfast was a languorous affair. Everyone was tired from the evening before, and there were no firm plans for how to spend their day that needed attending to. Rat attempted to read the local newspaper, hoping to improve his Italian, while Melody and Lady Bainbridge chitchatted about the various guests at the dinner party.

Finally, hoping to introduce the topic of Alessandro casually, Melody mentioned his name. "Ah, yes, the delicious and charming Conte Foscari. If I were twenty years younger… maybe thirty years younger, oh what I would do." Melody wasn't entirely clear what Lady Bainbridge was intimating she would do but was too polite to ask. The woman continued, "The Foscaris are an old Venetian family, as so many are. However, also like so many, they fell on hard times during the last century. Again, like so many, they accumulated debts, borrowed money from other aristocrats, then failed to pay that back and ended up forfeiting property. Alessandro's father, another very handsome man, had been educated in England, and decided to return to London in order to find himself a rich wife."

Melody was on the edge of her seat; she couldn't wait to hear how this story ended. If she were writing it, the man would marry for money, only to fall in love with his wife after all. She hoped that this was how this story would continue.

"Paolo Foscari was the catch of that Season. While his title wasn't English, his dashing looks more than made up for it. Young women and their scheming mamas threw themselves at him. I personally witnessed some very unseemly behaviour. "

Lady Bainbridge paused, called for another espresso, and selected a Sfogliatelle for herself, sighing as she took her first bite. "Anyway, the lucky maiden who caught Paolo's eye was a Madeleine Grove. She was a rather plain young woman whose father had made a fortune in steel. The father hailed from Newcastle, and so the stench of trade that wafted around the young woman was compounded by a papa who sounded as if he had just walked out of the coal mines. However, there was money. So much money."

The story that Lady Bainbridge told felt very familiar to Melody; not only was she not born of a noble family, but she had begun her life in Whitechapel as an orphaned street waif. She knew that this was often whispered behind hands when she entered the grand salons of London. It was not a secret that Tabby Cat had taken her in when she was a child. The fortune bequeathed to her by the dowager countess certainly mitigated some of her own stench, but never enough to shield her from the low murmur of gossip and condescension.

"Did Paolo Foscari marry Madeleine?" Melody asked, still caught up in the hope of a happy ending.

"He did. He used her money to build back up the fortunes of the title; he even bought back the palazzo, not far from here, that his father had been forced to sell. Madeleine moved to Venice and, by most accounts, was miserable. She gave birth to a daughter and then came an heir, Alessandro. With the title and the family fortune intact, Paolo allowed his wife to return to England to live with her family. Alessandro was then raised as an Englishman, attended Eton and Oxford, and returned to Venice for summers with his father."

"That was quite gracious of Conte Foscari to allow his children to remain with their mother," Rat observed. Such behaviour was not the norm amongst English aristocrats. "Was the law more favourable to mothers in Italy then it was in England then?"

"Not at all. If anything, Italy may be a more patriarchal society. But Paolo Foscari was a good man. He had married Madeleine for her money and had no illusions that she felt any more for him than he did for her. While he did not beat her, he did neglect her, and he felt the guilt of that and let her go."

This was not the heartwarming love story that Melody had been hoping for, and her disappointment showed on her face. "For someone who proclaims herself uninterested in marriage, you become very invested in the romance of other people's unions," Rat said teasingly.

Melody pouted, "Is it so wrong to wish for happy endings even if I believe that mine is unlikely to be found through matrimony?"

"You are young, dear, and it is 1911. A young woman, particularly one with an independent fortune, has options, and that is a wonderful thing. If and when you fall in love, you will make the choice to marry. Again, that you have that choice, unlike so many women before you, is something for which we should all give praise." Lady Bainbridge said these words with a knowing tone to her voice, continuing, "Never discount the power of falling in love, young lady. You will be surprised what you are prepared to do for the right man."

"At this point, I think the right man is whoever is willing to put up with her," Rat joked. Melody stuck her tongue out.

"Children, children," Lady Bainbridge said with an indulgent smile. "I…"

Whatever Lady Bainbridge had been about to say was interrupted by her butler's entrance, his arms full of red roses.

Seeing his employer's raised eyebrows, Rossi explained, "These were delivered for Miss Chesterton. There is a card."

Melody jumped up. "Roses? For me? How romantic. I do wonder who they are from?" Rossi brought over the notecard that had accompanied the flowers, and Melody read it.

"Do not keep us in suspense, dear. Who is your admirer?"

"They are from Xander Ashby, Lady Bainbridge. He writes that it was delightful to meet me last night and he hopes that our tour of St Mark's and the Basilica can go ahead this afternoon. "

Lady Bainbridge did not respond immediately. Instead, she lifted her serviette and dabbed at her mouth. Replacing it in her lap, she said in a tone that seemed to have an undercurrent of caution, "Xander Ashby is a delightful young man."

"I am sensing there is a ‘but'," Rat observed.

"Indeed."

"Foscari made a jab last night about Ashby having neither fortune nor title. Is that your concern?"

"As I said, a delightful young man. My understanding is that his father pulled whatever strings he's still connected enough to pull to get Xander assigned to the consulate here. It is never easy being raised to a lifestyle that one is unable to maintain. Mr Ashby's father was heir to an earldom, and he spent and gambled whatever independent resources he had freely under the assumption that he was to inherit a fortune. Unfortunately for him his elderly uncle, the current earl, remarried late in life and finally produced an heir and a spare. By this time, Mr Ashby senior's resources were almost entirely depleted, and all the sons have had to find themselves careers."

"I still do not understand what your concern is, Lady Bainbridge," Melody said. "Do you believe he is a fortune hunter?"

"That is certainly one possibility," Lady Bainbridge acknowledged. She added quickly, "Not that you are not charming, my dear. Of course, a young man would desire to know you better. How can I say this delicately? Perhaps it is better to be blunt: despite the circumstances of your own birth, you have been raised in the household of an earl and are now a very wealthy woman. I would hope that, if you choose to marry, you might aim higher than Xander Ashby. There, I've said it."

Melody laughed, "I can assure you that I have no intention of marrying Xander Ashby. Or, indeed, anyone. It is just a tour of St Mark's, nothing more."

"Yes, well, in my experience, these things always start as no matter and often develop into something more. However, I have done my duty and warned you. "

Dear Diary, whatever should I make of Xander's invitation and Lady Bainbridge's warning? Having finished breakfast, I returned to my bedroom to consider what to do. I would very much like to have a tour of St Mark's by someone who is familiar with Venice. It is not like Rat knows any more than I do, and Lady Bainbridge does not seem as if she is up to wandering Venice for hours. Of course, there is Alessandro's invitation to show me Venice. However, that was rather vague and he was not the one who sent me a dozen red roses this morning.

As Melody wrote this, she looked up at the roses now in a vase on her dressing table. It really was a wonderfully romantic thing to do. It wasn't her fault if she secretly wished a different man had sent them.

Diary, I have made a decision: I will accept Xander Ashby's offer. It is 1911, and I am an independent woman. Mary will accompany us, of course, for propriety's sake. However, accepting this offer means nothing more than that. If Mr Ashby harbours any romantic illusions, then that is not my problem. Anyway, there is nothing wrong with a little light flirtation. After all, I could do with the practice. I have no intention of being overwhelmed by the romance of Venice and accepting an offer essentially to use my fortune to prop up the Ashby estate.

Satisfied with her decision, Melody wrote a pretty little note of acceptance and asked Mary to ensure it was delivered to Xander Ashby.

Raising her eyebrows, Mary said tartly, "I hope you know what you're doing, Miss Melody."

"Oh Mary, you are such a worrywart. Mr Ashby is charming. He has graciously offered to be a tour guide. Why would I not accept?"

"Because he sent the invitation with a dozen red roses, and I think you know that the offer has more to it."

Melody pouted. Wasn't the whole point of this European trip to escape the strictures of London's aristocratic society? Finally, to spread her wings and learn to fly away from Tabby Cat's worrying eye and Wolfie's stern one? Even Granny, who understood her better than anyone, nevertheless was unable to shrug off fully the norms of the society she had spent ninety years being formed by – as much as she would vehemently deny such a sentiment, claiming that she formed it, rather than the other way around. Perhaps in London Melody would not have accepted such an overtly romantic gesture from a man she had no interest in, but this was not London.

Reforming the pout into the stubborn, wilful stare that Mary knew all too well, Melody replied, "And what if it does? Of course, you will be accompanying us." Melody paused, then said evilly, "Unless that is, your qualms about the outing mean that you refuse to be part of it. In which case, I will go alone with Xander."

Mary just shook her head. Her charge was perfectly aware that she would never refuse her anything, out of love, duty and an abiding sense of responsibility.

"Now, we must go through all the clothes that you have unpacked. If this is to be my first foray into Venice, I must be sure to look my best." Even as she said these words, Melody tried to ignore the thought that she was concerned about her outfit just in case they ran into Alessandro. She hated to think that she might be the kind of young woman who made eyes at one man while on the arm of another. Hating to think it didn't lessen the reality of her most secret desires.