The Contessa's Vendetta (40 page)

I watched Dario with scorn as he
smiled, nodded, and tapped his extravagantly shoed foot to the lively music. I leaned over. “Are you enjoying the play?”

His expression was
jovial. “It’s hilarious isn’t it? The husband is so funny!”

“The
betrayed spouse is always made fun of,” I remarked, smiling coldly. “Why bother to get married if one knows they will be held in contempt and made a fool of?”

He glanced at me. “
Surely you cannot be angry. This sort of thing happens only in theatre, not in real life.”

“Plays,
carissimo
, are intended to mimic real life, but I hope there are exceptions, and that all spouses are not fools.”

He smiled and returned his
attention back to the antics of the actors on the stage.

I toyed with the flowers he had given me and said no more as my mood turned sullen.

“You seem awfully bored or unhappy, or both,” one of Dario’s friends commented to me as we left the theatre. “Is something the matter?”

I forced a smile. “Me? If I seemed bored in your company, I apologize, for it would
be most ungrateful of me.”

He sighed.
Although he was young and naive, he seemed to be an intellectual and more thoughtful than most men were. “That sounded almost like a compliment,” he said, looking straight at me with his clear, candid eyes. “Yet I think your courtesy is contrived.”

I looked at him in surprise. “Contrived? Forgive me. I do not understand.”

He regarded me steadily. “What I mean to say is that you do not seem to like men. Certainly, you compliment us and try to be sociable, but I sense you bear an inherent dislike for us and are skeptical of our motives. Why, I suspect you even think we are all hypocrites.”

I laughed a little coldly. “
You assume much about me. Your words place me in a very awkward position. Were I to tell you my real feelings—”

He interrupted me with a touch of his hand on my arm. “You would say we are all guilty of treachery. Ah,
contessa, we men have indeed many faults.” He paused, and his brilliant eyes softened. “You have my sincerest wishes that your marriage will be a very long and happy one.”

I did not know how to respond and
did not even thank him for the wish. Rather, it angered me that he had successfully scoured my innermost thoughts with such accuracy. Was my acting that terrible? I glanced at him as we walked on, gathering my thoughts.

“Marriage
itself is a farce,” I said harshly. “The play has shown us how it will be. In a few days, Dario shall play the part of the chief buffoon; in other words, the husband.” And at this, I burst out laughing.

My companion
’s mouth fell open and he looked aghast, almost frightened. An expression of aversion turned his face bitter. I did not care. Why should I?

Our conversation suddenly ended for we had reached the theatre’s outer vestibule. My carriage was
already drawn up at the entrance and Dario helped me step into it. Once I was seated, he stood next to his two friends at the door, and wished me a
felicissima notte
, a most happy night. I put my jeweled hand through the open carriage window. He stooped to kiss it lightly. Withdrawing it quickly, I selected a white gardenia from my bouquet and handed it to him with a bewitching smile.

Then my glittering carriage dashed away in a whirl and clatter of prancing hoofs and rapid wheels. I
looked back. Dario stood alone beneath the theatre’s portico, a press of people still pouring out, holding the gardenia in his hand.

After a moment, I
turned back around, recollected myself, and pitched the bouquet at my feet, savagely crushing it beneath the heal of my embroidered slipper. A nauseating, penetrating odor rose from the slain petals. Where had I inhaled such a cloying aroma before? And then I remembered. Beatrice Cardano had worn a gardenia in her corsage at the dinner party. It had been pinned to her gown when she lay dying. I hurled the thrashed bouquet out of the window.

As the carriage brought me closer to home, the s
treets were full of festivity and music, but I paid little attention to it. Rather, I looked out my window up at the quiet sky dotted with its countless luminous stars. I was vaguely aware of mandolins resounding from somewhere nearby, but my spirit was numb to enjoy the delicate tones. My mind, always heightened, always alert, was now completely exhausted. My body ached, and when I arrived home, all I could do was change into my night clothes, and fling myself on my bed. I fell into the deep sleep of a woman weary unto death.

All
things come to those who wait. This, I knew well, and I had waited for a very long time. The time for vengeance finally arrived. The slow wheel of time had finally brought me to this day – the day before my strange wedding - the eve of my remarriage to my own husband.

All the preparations were made
and nothing was left undone. The marriage ceremony was to be quiet and private, but it would be followed by a grand supper and a masked ball with one hundred and fifty friends, acquaintances, and members of the nobility. I spared no expense for this, my last performance in my brilliant career as the successful Contessa Giulia Corona. Everything that art, taste, and luxury could buy was included for this dazzling ball. After this, the dark curtain would fall on my completed drama, never to rise again.

And no
w, in the afternoon of this, my final act, I sat alone with my husband in the drawing-room of Villa Mancini, discussing several issues pertaining to the festivities the next day. The long windows were open. The warm spring sunlight lay like a veil of gold on the tender green grass. Birds sung for joy and flitted from branch to branch, hovering above their nests then soaring with perfect liberty into the high heaven of cloudless blue. Great creamy magnolia buds looked ready to burst into wide splendid flowers among the trees’ dark shining leaves. The aroma of violets and primroses floated on every delicious breath of air, and around the wide veranda, climbing white roses had already unfurled their little blossoms to the balmy wind.

It was spring in
Vicenza, a land where spring is lovely, sudden and brilliant in its beauty like angels from Heaven. And talk about angels! Had I not a veritable angel for my companion at that moment? No man could outshine Dario’s charms; his dark eyes, rippling golden hair, a dazzling perfect face, and a physique to rival that of Hercules.

I glanced at
him secretively from time to time when he was not aware of my gaze; an act made easy by the sheltering protection of the dark glasses I wore, for I knew that there was a terrible look in my eyes—the look of a half-famished tiger ready to spring on long-desired prey.

Dario
was exceptionally cheery, and his happy expression and agile movements reminded me of some gorgeous tropical bird swaying to and fro on an equally gorgeous branch.

“
You are like a princess in a fairy tale,” he said. “Everything you do, you do superbly and with perfection. How satisfying it is to be so rich. There is nothing better in all the world.”

“
Except love!” I returned, with a grim attempt to be sentimental.

His
large eyes softened.

“
Si!
” He smiled with expressive tenderness. “Except love. But when one has both love and wealth, life is truly a paradise!”

“
So great a paradise that it is hardly worthwhile trying to get into heaven at all. Will you make earth a heaven for me, Dario, or will you only love me as much, or as little, as you loved your late wife?”

H
e shrugged his shoulders. “Why are you always so fond of talking about my late wife?” he asked, irritably. “I am so tired of hearing her name spoken. I do not care to be reminded of dead people, and she died so horribly too. I have told you often enough that I never loved her. Certainly, I liked her a little, and I was quite shocked and upsent when that dreadful monk, who looked like a ghost himself, came and told me she was dead. You can’t imagine how horrible it was to hear such a piece of news suddenly, while I was actually at luncheon with Bea—Signorina Cardano. We were both stunned, of course, but my heart did not break over it. Now, you, I really do love—”

I drew nearer to
him on the couch where he sat, and put one hand on his shoulder. “You really do love me?” I asked, in a half-incredulous tone. “You are quite sure?”

H
e laughed as I nestled my head on his shoulder. “I am quite sure! How many times have you asked me that absurd question? What can I say, what can I do, to make you believe me?”

“
Nothing.” In truth, nothing he could say or do would make me believe him for a moment. “But how do you love me? For myself or for my wealth?”

He
raised his head with a proud, graceful gesture. “For yourself, of course! Do you think mere wealth could win my affection? No, I love you for your own sake. Your fine qualities, your virtues, have made me love you with all my heart.”

I smiled bitterly.
With me head still resting against him, he could not see the smile. I slowly caressed the back of his neck. “For that sweet answer, carissimo, you shall have your reward. You called me a princess just now. Perhaps I deserve that title more than you know. You remember the jewels I sent you before we met?”

“
Remember them!” he exclaimed. “They are my favorites in all my collection. Such finery is fit for an emperor.”

“
And an emperor wears them!” I said, lightly. “But they are mere trifles compared to other items of jewelery I possess, and which I intend to give you.”

His e
yes glistened with greed.

“
If they are more elaborate than those I already have, they must be indeed magnificent! And they are all for me?”

“
All for you!” I replied, nestling closer to him, and playing with the hand on which the ring I had placed there sparkled so bravely. “All for my groom. A hoard of treasures; rubies as red as blood, sapphires as blue as the sky, emeralds as green as the lushest forest, diamonds brighter than the stars. What is the matter?” He had shifted restlessly. “All my treasures and wealth will be yours when we marry. All you need do is take them. I hope they bring you much joy!”

A momentary pallor had stolen over
his face while I was speaking in my customary harsh voice, which I strove to render even harsher than usual. But he soon recovered from whatever passing emotion he may have felt, and gave himself up to the joys of vanity and greed, the overriding passions of his dreadful character.

“
I will be the richest and best-dressed man in all Vicenza!” he laughed. “Everyone will envy me! But where are these jewels? Show them to me now.”

“
No, not quite yet,” I replied, with a gentle disdain that escaped his observation. “Tomorrow night, our marriage night, I will take you to them. And I will also fulfill another promise I made to you.” I touched my dark glasses. “Do you still wish to see me without my glasses?”

He
raised his eyes. “
Si
,” he murmured. “I want to see you as you are!”

“
But I’m afraid you might be disappointed,” I said ironically. “My eyes are not pleasant to look at.”

“
It doesn’t matter. I will be satisfied if I see them just once. We don’t have to have much light in the room in case the light gives you pain. I would not wish to cause you any suffering, no, not for all the world!”

“
You are very agreeable,” I answered. “More than I deserve. I hope I may prove worthy of your affections. But to return to the subject of the jewels. I wish you to see them for yourself and choose the best among them. Come with me tomorrow night and I will show you where they are.”

He
laughed heartily. “Are you a miser? Have you some secret hiding place full of treasure like Aladdin?”

I
smiled. “Perhaps I have. I fear I cannot trust my wealth to a bank. The jewelry I own is almost priceless, and it would be unwise to place such tempting toys within the reach of even an honest man. At any rate, if I have been miserly, it is for your sake. I have gone to great lengths to personally guard the treasure because it is to be your wedding gift. You cannot blame me for this?”