"Where was she getting it?" Marco asked.
Angelina's eyes blazed. "Caesare Aldanto," she spat--and burst into tears.
* * *
Once again Marco wound up sitting on the floor of the corridor with a lady of Dorma in his arms--this one crying into his shoulder all the things she did not dare tell mother or brother. About how she still loved Aldanto--and hated him. About how her mother's manservant, Paulo, had been the go-between. About how she'd put two and two together when she realized that Paulo had known exactly where to take her the first time she'd met with Caesare--which could only mean he'd been there many times before.
And that she was pregnant with Caesare's baby.
None of this--except for the business with Rosanna and the lotos--was any surprise to Marco. It was pretty obvious from her intermittent hysterics that Angelina was "not herself" and adding those frequent visits to Caesare gave anybody good cause.
But that she thought the man was the source of the drug--
Lord and Saints.
He didn't know quite what to say or do, so he just let her cry herself out--something she evidently needed--then helped her to tidy herself and helped her to her feet.
"Thank you, Marco," she said, shyly, a little ashamed. "I didn't mean--"
"That's what friends are for," he told her. "We are friends, aren't we?"
"I'd hoped so--but after--"
He shrugged. "I learned things from that whole mess--and it got me here, didn't it?" He delicately declined to mention how much that fiasco had placed him in Aldanto's debt.
"Then we are friends." She offered him her hand with a sweet smile that could still make his heart jump a little, even if he wasn't in love with her anymore. He took it, squeezed it--and they parted.
* * *
The dancing lessons were worse than ever. Even if his mind hadn't been elsewhere, Marco would have found the intricate precision of the steps hard to remember and follow. It was odd, in a way, given that his memory was normally so perfect. Why should he have so much difficulty with this, when he didn't with herbal remedies and cargo lists?
In the end, listening to the dance master's shrill and humorless criticisms, Marco decided his memory was being sabotaged by itself. He and Chiano used to dance little jigs sometimes, in the marshes, without ever worrying about whether the "steps" were proper and correct. Remembering the cheerful and raucous jibes of Sophia which accompanied those moments of gaiety, he smiled.
"Marco!" shrilled the dance-master. "You're not supposed to smile during this dance! This dance is a very solemn--"
Marco sighed. There are ways in which my old life was a lot easier . . .
Chapter 65 ==========
When Marco was summoned to Petro Dorma's office at sunset, he assumed it was due to the near-disaster with Rosanna in the private corridor the day before. This time Marco followed the servant to the top of his house with only a little trepidation. He had, he thought, handled the whole mess fairly well.
The east windows framed a sky that was indigo blue, spangled with tiny crystal star-beads. The west held the sun dying a bloody death. Petro was a dark silhouette against the red.
Marco cleared his throat. "You sent for me, Milord Dorma?"
Petro did not turn around. "It seems," he said dryly, "that you have fallen into the muck-pit of Dorma secrets. Doctor Rigannio told me a bit--'Gelina told me more." He sighed. "It seems to me the older and more honorable the House, the deeper and darker its closet. Almost as if our 'honor' were a reaction to this."
He seemed to be waiting for a response.
"Every House has secrets," Marco replied carefully. "You know more'n--more than a few things that neither the Valdosta nor the Dell'este could be proud of. You can trust me, Petro."
Now Petro turned, though he was still nothing more than a sable shape to Marco. "Well. I will admit I have been toying with this notion for a while, but--I didn't quite know how to phrase this delicately, yet I also did not want you to have any deceptions about what I was going to offer. Angelina told you, she says, that she's--"
"Expecting," Marco supplied.
"And who the father is." Petro coughed. "We are in something of a dilemma. It just isn't done for a Case Vecchie daughter to have an--unacknowledged child. Yet we can hardly look to Caesare Aldanto as a husband. It would seem best for Angelina to make a marriage, but frankly, there wasn't anyone she wanted to confide in--really, no one she truly didn't find repugnant even for a titular husband." He paused, significantly. "Until today."
Marco was considerably less of a fool than he had been half a year ago, but this was still a shock.
"You mean--" He gulped. "You mean me."
"It would be of great benefit to Dorma," Petro admitted frankly. "A marriage with Valdosta would get us out of an awkward situation--and not incidentally, give us a chance to negotiate for a better access to Ferrara's steel trade." His voice was wry. "I do have to think first of Dorma as a whole before I think of Angelina--but if I can benefit both . . ."
Marco fought for solid ground. "Was this Angelina's idea, not yours?"
Petro tapped his chest. "I suggested it after she told me about this afternoon. She seemed to welcome the idea. She does like you, Marco--and so do I. I'd be quite pleased to have you further tied to my House."
Marco was floundering. He could have Angelina Dorma, the girl he'd once dreamed of--and if he kept his mouth shut, she'd continue to blame Caesare for her mother's addiction. That would, eventually, break the hold Caesare had on her heart. Which would please Maria, and maybe Caesare too. It would save the Casa Dorma from a potentially damning scandal. Marco could read between Petro's careful words. Finding a husband for Angelina that wouldn't drag the family down was going to be hard, to say nothing of expensive. And he, Marco Valdosta, owed the Dorma. For protection as much as advancement. He owed Caesare. He owed Maria too.
But what about Kat? His heart felt like it would break.
Dell'este honor.
He'd followed the dictates of his heart before. The result had been disaster.
Dell'este honor demanded payback. And he might be in love with Kat . . . yet he still had no idea if she was in love with him.
More than anything, at that moment, Marco wanted to talk to Kat. Desperately. But he had no idea how to reach her before their appointment on Thursday. He didn't know where she lived--even her last name.
Everything hurt.
He was almost gasping like a fish out of water, now. His mind, reeling, tried to find a point of solidity somewhere. The only one which came was--
Honor. Family honor.
Marco had a feeling that if he saw Kat again, family honor might just crumble. But honor demanded that he did see her. Didn't it?
"Milord--three things," he said carefully, choosing his words and somehow managing not to stammer. "The first is--I need to think about this. There's someone--never mind. I'd like to get out of the House for a while."
His mind slipped into a medical track, seeking comfort in the familiar. "For your mother . . . I'll suggest a few things that I know of to Doctor Rigannio. But while he's trying them, it might be a good idea anyway if Milady Rosanna wouldn't be in a position to see me."