confirmed that the bonfire hadn’t been a terrible nightmare. She covered her face with her soot-stained hands and blew out a long anguished breath. Her paintings were gone.
Overcome with fury, she pounded the bed with her fists, but it didn’t ease her rage. Her mother-in-law’s words sounded in her head, and she shot up. Three trunks stood in a row at the foot of her bed, as if standing guard while she slept. A wave of nausea swept over her. She clamped a hand over her mouth and tried to swallow the burning liquid forcing its way up her throat.
“Zeta! I’m going to be sick!”
Before the maid could help, Marietta grabbed a porcelain bowl from the bedside table and retched up the meager remains of her last meal. She fell back against the pillows and wiped her mouth with the corner of the sheet. Her eyes found the trunks again. “Are they packed?”
Zeta’s face reflected a mixture of guilt and misery. “La Signora ordered me.”
Marietta gave her a weak smile. “I understand.”
“Shall I help you get dressed? The carriage is waiting. La Signora said it will take you to Verona but no farther.”
Marietta held up her soiled hands. “Do I have time to wash before I’m exiled?”
While she waited for Zeta to clean the bowl, Marietta examined her face in the mirror. If it weren’t for the dark circles around her eyes and the splotches of soot, her bloodless complexion could have passed for one of the popular, white carnival masks everyone would wear in a few weeks. When she ran a brush through her blond hair, ash floated to the floor. Maybe Zeta could perform a small miracle. Marietta preferred departing the villa with some dignity instead of looking like the riffraff her mother-in-law claimed she was.
Her mind raced to form some sort of plan. She needed to buy passage on a coach from Verona to Venice. Though she never had to handle such arrangements, it couldn’t be too difficult to do. Then, she needed to find suitable lodgings. She could try where her father and she had last lived, but she remembered it as a dilapidated place. Her father had been a successful painter of portraits and frescos, but after her mother’s death, he had lost his passion. When he agreed to Marietta’s marriage, they were at the end of their savings, scrimping to get by each day. Maybe she should find rooms elsewhere and then approach her father—if she could find him.
Take one day at a time. How many times had she told herself that since her marriage to Dario?
Zeta returned with another plain dress made of black muslin. Marietta shook her head at it. “No, I will wear the blue silk with gold trim.”
The young woman gave her a conspirator’s grin and tossed the rejected dress on the bed. An hour later, Marietta stood fully dressed with hair curled and powdered. The French dress was one of her favorites, as it brought out the color of her sapphire blue eyes and made her smallish bosom look exceptional. She adjusted the mass of ruffles that fell from her elbows and then thanked Zeta. “I feel better already.”
The maid nipped the extra material at the sides of the dress with her fingers. “Forgive me for saying, but you’re losing too much weight. You must promise to eat more.”
“Maybe once I’m away from La Signora I’ll regain my appetite.”
Zeta frowned. “It’s not right—her turning you out like this. Where will you go?”
Marietta gazed out the window at the Verona countryside she had grown to love through her painting. “I’m going home to Venice.”
“What if you don’t find your father? Who will take care of you?”
Marietta reached for her friend’s hands. “Zeta, I couldn’t have survived living here without you, but now I must take care of myself.” It sounded braver than she felt. She had no desire to remain at the villa, but she also remembered how it felt to be hungry and poor.
A sharp rap on the door silenced them.
“It’s time,” her friend whispered, tears pooling in her
Overcome with fury, she pounded the bed with her fists, but it didn’t ease her rage. Her mother-in-law’s words sounded in her head, and she shot up. Three trunks stood in a row at the foot of her bed, as if standing guard while she slept. A wave of nausea swept over her. She clamped a hand over her mouth and tried to swallow the burning liquid forcing its way up her throat.
“Zeta! I’m going to be sick!”
Before the maid could help, Marietta grabbed a porcelain bowl from the bedside table and retched up the meager remains of her last meal. She fell back against the pillows and wiped her mouth with the corner of the sheet. Her eyes found the trunks again. “Are they packed?”
Zeta’s face reflected a mixture of guilt and misery. “La Signora ordered me.”
Marietta gave her a weak smile. “I understand.”
“Shall I help you get dressed? The carriage is waiting. La Signora said it will take you to Verona but no farther.”
Marietta held up her soiled hands. “Do I have time to wash before I’m exiled?”
While she waited for Zeta to clean the bowl, Marietta examined her face in the mirror. If it weren’t for the dark circles around her eyes and the splotches of soot, her bloodless complexion could have passed for one of the popular, white carnival masks everyone would wear in a few weeks. When she ran a brush through her blond hair, ash floated to the floor. Maybe Zeta could perform a small miracle. Marietta preferred departing the villa with some dignity instead of looking like the riffraff her mother-in-law claimed she was.
Her mind raced to form some sort of plan. She needed to buy passage on a coach from Verona to Venice. Though she never had to handle such arrangements, it couldn’t be too difficult to do. Then, she needed to find suitable lodgings. She could try where her father and she had last lived, but she remembered it as a dilapidated place. Her father had been a successful painter of portraits and frescos, but after her mother’s death, he had lost his passion. When he agreed to Marietta’s marriage, they were at the end of their savings, scrimping to get by each day. Maybe she should find rooms elsewhere and then approach her father—if she could find him.
Take one day at a time. How many times had she told herself that since her marriage to Dario?
Zeta returned with another plain dress made of black muslin. Marietta shook her head at it. “No, I will wear the blue silk with gold trim.”
The young woman gave her a conspirator’s grin and tossed the rejected dress on the bed. An hour later, Marietta stood fully dressed with hair curled and powdered. The French dress was one of her favorites, as it brought out the color of her sapphire blue eyes and made her smallish bosom look exceptional. She adjusted the mass of ruffles that fell from her elbows and then thanked Zeta. “I feel better already.”
The maid nipped the extra material at the sides of the dress with her fingers. “Forgive me for saying, but you’re losing too much weight. You must promise to eat more.”
“Maybe once I’m away from La Signora I’ll regain my appetite.”
Zeta frowned. “It’s not right—her turning you out like this. Where will you go?”
Marietta gazed out the window at the Verona countryside she had grown to love through her painting. “I’m going home to Venice.”
“What if you don’t find your father? Who will take care of you?”
Marietta reached for her friend’s hands. “Zeta, I couldn’t have survived living here without you, but now I must take care of myself.” It sounded braver than she felt. She had no desire to remain at the villa, but she also remembered how it felt to be hungry and poor.
A sharp rap on the door silenced them.
“It’s time,” her friend whispered, tears pooling in her