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  “Very well, Mother, I will go with Uncle Daniele to Rome, but only for three months, mind you. But there is an agreement I demand from you in return. You must promise me that you will in no way try to remove Randall from my life while I am gone. If I return to find him changed in any way toward me, I shall never forgive you. Never.”

  “Very well, Giana. I agree to that. But before you agree, I must tell you what will be required of you in order to gain my approval. While you are in Rome, you will do exactly as Daniele tells you. You will meet ladies, married ladies of Daniele’s choice, and see exactly how they live, how they think, what they talk about. Then—”

  Giana scoffed, “Lord, Mother, I can do that in London.”

  “Then you will see the other side of the coin. You will meet women whom these same ladies’ husbands spend their time with. You will talk to these women and learn from them how men use them, how, in fact, they scorn them and their wives.”

  “You mean mistresses?” Giana’s eyes were wide with astonishment. “You want me to become acquainted with loose women?”

  “No, not mistresses, for they are with just one man, usually for a period of time. The women I speak of are prostitutes. You will not, of course, become like them, but you will see both sides of life, Giana, and when you return in September, and if you still want to wed—”

  “You mean, Mother,” Giana said quietly, “when I return and still wish to wed Randall, not if.”

  “It will be your decision entirely, Giana. I swear that I will not interfere. But you must do exactly as Daniele tells you to do, else our agreement is null.”

  “What a marvelously unusual summer. I have never before met a bad woman,” she added naively.

  But you have certainly met a very bad man. “You do understand what I am asking of you?”

  “Yes, Mother. You wish me to become intimate with both ladies and harlots.” Giana giggled. “But think of all the dreadfully wicked things I shall learn.”

  “It will not be a summer holiday, Giana, I can promise you that.” She saw that Giana had little notion of what it would mean to be confronted with the women who sold their bodies to men, and for a moment she doubted the wisdom of Daniele’s idea, and she doubted herself. The picture she had painted of men and women was, she knew, strongly tempered by her own wretched life with Morton Van Cleve and the stream of fortune hunters who had flocked about her after his death. There were men, she knew, who loved their wives, who were good and loyal, but Randall Bennett was not one of them.

  Aurora looked up to see Giana gazing at her oddly, unaware that her thoughts had danced across her face, creating grim shadows.

  “Have you always hated men?”

  Aurora started at the pity in Giana’s voice, and it needled her. “I do not hate men, Giana. But they have power, physical power far greater than ours, and the power of the laws that they created for themselves. I am wary of them.”

  “But you wield power, Mother, and you are not a man.”

  The truth, Aurora. Tell her at least some of it. “It was never your father’s intention that it would happen thus. If your brother had not died, I would be relegated to my embroidery, and endless days of emptiness.”

  “You hated Father.”

  “Without him, I could have never had you, child. And I love you more than anything or anyone else in this world.”

  “I cannot force you to answer me directly, Mother. I would that you begin to realize that I am no longer a little girl.”

  Aurora expelled her breath slowly. She said finally, very quietly, “Morton Van Cleve was a man such as I have described to you.”

  “So you wish to punish me for your own bitterness, your own disappointment.”

  “No, I wish merely to protect you. I realize, Giana, that Randall Bennett has so filled your head with visions of romance and eternal devotion that you will not heed me. But, daughter, I know that if you were not an heiress, he would never have concerned himself with you. My wealth—our wealth—is both a blessing and a curse, for people, men and women, will try to cloak their true intentions in hope of gain. It is for that reason that you must learn to see the world as it actually is, so that when you finally find a man who truly cares for you, you will know it and be content.”

  “I have found such a man, Mother. It is you who refuse to be content. Randall cares not a rap for my money. Surely you cannot truly believe that this charade you have planned for me will change my mind or my feelings for him.”

  Aurora forced herself to swallow the knot of frustration that rose in her throat like bitter bile.

  “If that is so, Giana, I will bow to your judgment in September. I know that you will wish to see Randall Bennett before you leave.” And I know that I can not stop you. “You must promise me that you will tell him only that you have agreed to spend the summer with your uncle in Italy in order to prove to your mother that your affection for him will endure for three months. Do you agree?”

  “Of course, Mother. I cannot believe that Randall would approve of his future wife enjoying comfortable cozes with harlots, no matter what the gain.” She gave her mother a sunny smile and left the library.

  Chapter 4

  Rome, 1847

  Daniele Cippolo’s driver turned the open carriage about in the huge Piazza San Pietro, careful of the nasty-looking bay drawing the carriage to his left, and directed his gray in a wide arc out of the bright sunlight of the square into the shade cast by Bernini’s imposing colonnades.

  Giana drew a delighted breath and waved her hand toward Alexander VII’s fountain in the center of the square. “I had forgotten, Uncle Daniele, how very impressive everything is. The fountain is truly lovely. May we ride down the Via della Conciliazione to the Tiber?”

  Daniele smiled at her excitement. To him, the square was simply a place that was filled with too many tourists during the summer.

  “Certainly, Giana.” He gave rapid instructions to his driver, Marco, and the carriage skirted the vast colonnades and drew back into the harrowing traffic.

  “I had also forgotten how very warm it is here in the summer, and so many people,” Giana said, fanning herself. “I even had trouble sleeping last night.”

  “But I do not find it at all warm, my dear. It is your English summers that are intolerable. All that fog and damp. If you will but look more closely at all those people, Giana, you will see that many of them are your countrymen, here on holiday. The railroad is making Rome too crowded for everyone.”

  “Can you blame them? Rome is so very romantic. I wish that Ran—” She bit her tongue, and looked at him from the corner of her eye.

  But Daniele only smiled, a tolerant smile that made Giana grit her teeth. He had seen Randall Bennett, had gone out of his way to have the young man pointed out to him. He had wanted, if possible, to assure himself that Aurora was indeed correct about his character, or lack thereof. To his delight, he had managed to engage the young man in a friendly conversation, indeed, had shared a glass of sherry with him at Boodle’s on St. James Street, the result being that he itched to remove Giana as quickly as possible from London and Randall Bennett’s influence. Conceited, arrogant puppy. As to his being as ruthless as Aurora had painted him, Daniele wasn’t certain, but during the last two weeks he had spent in Giana’s company, he had become more than impressed at how well the young man had succeeded in his duplicity, and to suspect that more was at stake here than just saving a young girl from a disastrous marriage. The young man had bragged, with Daniele’s gentle guidance, of his noble connections and his forthcoming marriage to the daughter of a wealthy family. Which wealthy family? Daniele had inquired. Actually, Randall had confided, there was but a mother, a raving bitch of a woman who tried to deal in the business world with men. Daniele had allowed an incredulous expression, and Randall had sneered his disdain, assuring the foreign gentleman that he would soon have the lady well in hand.

  In an effort to keep the smile on his face, Daniele shaded his eyes and gazed toward the
Castel Sant’Angelo, the ancient ruin, once the Emperor Hadrian’s mausoleum, that stood stark and gray on a cliff overlooking the Tiber. It was a sight that never failed to make him thankful he was a Roman, and not a cold-blooded Englishman.

  “So you still enjoy Roma, Giana? I recall that three years ago, I nearly succumbed to exhaustion squiring you about.”

  For a moment, she looked uncertain, wondering if she had demanded too much of him during her visit to Rome.

  He leaned over and patted her gloved hand. “ Perhaps, my dear, we will have time for you to return to Hadrian’s Villa and frolic as you did so charmingly then, amongst the olive groves and cypresses.”

  Giana was silent for a long moment. She stared at the rows of colorful flower stalls along the Campo dei Fiori, scarcely aware of the bawling of the street vendors, the loud voices of haggling customers, and the racket of the traffic. Her Uncle Daniele had been a part of her life for as long as she could remember; he had always warmed her with his attention. But now she was with him at her mother’s behest, not her own, and she felt dreadfully uncertain, even frightened, about what would happen to her.

  Daniele watched her, in some part understanding her feelings. She was too young, he thought, and too caught up in her own little drama to understand what was in his mind. He had come to know Giana again during their journey to Rome, had learned that she had her mother’s great stubbornness and singleness of mind, but none of her tempering wisdom. To think that what he had planned for Giana would in any way sway her. And she was still a child, without an adult’s capacity to understand dissimulation and guile, a child who believed that Randall Bennett would provide her with love and security. He had been just as much a fool as Aurora. Meeting prostitutes would probably provide her only with naughty enjoyment and a stock of deliciously wicked memories, nothing more. No, Giana must experience the hypocrisy directly, must feel for herself the humiliation many men of her class forced upon women.

  It had taken him two weeks to resolve the unease he felt at throwing Giana into the situations he envisioned now. He glanced at her sideways, her lovely face open and filled with pleasure at her surroundings. He wondered if she would grow old hating him for what he was planning to do. He knew he had the guile and art of persuasion to convince her, if he wished, without even telling her mother.

  “Giana,” he said, drawing her eyes to his face. “I truly wish that we could spend another holiday together like we did then. But it cannot be. I will tell you again that I agree with your mother about your Mr. Bennett. You are giving us no choice, Giana, but to give you a strong dose of life during this short summer. I am afraid you have to grow up, and much more quickly than I would like.”

  “I am grown up, Uncle,” Giana said. “It is only you and Mother who refuse to believe that my love for Randall will survive a summer.”

  “Perhaps, my child. But you must allow me the hope that it will not last. There are grim realities in this world, Giana, and I fear that Randall Bennett is one of them.”

  “You are wrong, Uncle, quite wrong.”

  “Well, in any case, the both of us have said what we feel. Your mother told you, my dear, that you would be seeing all sides of life, not only the married ladies of your own class, but also women of the other side of the coin.”

  “Yes, Uncle. Prostitutes.”

  Her voice was light, almost insultingly so. It is all a wicked game to her, he thought. “Your mother,” Daniele said with careful condescension, “has been much protected during her life. I doubt if she would recognize a prostitute if she saw one.”

  “Yes, Mother is quite the lady, in that respect.”

  “But you, on the other hand, wish to taste life, do you not, Giana? To understand and experience life so that you may more fully appreciate your position in it?”

  “Of course,” she said. “I have no wish to hide my head in the sand like some people do.”

  “Ah. Do I take it, my dear, that actually dealing with, say, prostitutes, not just meeting them for a little chat over tea, would appeal to your sense of adventure, your thirst to understand this life we live?”

  Giana stared at him, her blue eyes darkening in interest nearly to black. “What are you saying, Uncle?”

  Daniele started to speak, then shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing, my dear. I had thought that perhaps you would wish to prove to me and to yourself, but no—it is too much to ask of one so young and innocent.”

  “Dash it, Uncle. In September I shall marry. As a married lady, I shall do just as I wish.”

  He looked still hesitant, even as she tugged at his sleeve. “No,” he said finally. “Young ladies of your stamp and upbringing could not survive a taste of the world as it really is. It was foolish of me to even raise the issue.”

  “Uncle,” Giana said impatiently, “I do not know what you mean by my stamp, but I am certainly capable of seeing your so-called world.”

  “In all its sordid splendor?”

  She made a disdainful gesture with her hand. “You jest, Uncle. There is nothing you could make me see that would make me succumb to die-away airs.” She added, a gleam of understanding in her eyes, “And there is nothing, Uncle, that would make me give up Randall.”

  “You are so certain, my dear,” he murmured, “for one so young, so untried, so sublimely ignorant. You have no more notion of life than a—well, it is not in my mind to insult you.” He watched a myriad of emotions play over her expressive face before it settled into anger at his condescension.

  “And I, my dear child,” he continued in a gently taunting voice, “am equally certain that if we agreed to, say, a wager between the two of us, you would quickly renege, and rant to me of my wickedness, like the gentle young lady that you are.”

  “I assure you that I would not.” She paused a moment, eyeing him closely. “This wager, Uncle—if I agree to it and you lose, what is my prize?”

  “Ten thousand pounds, Giana, a wedding present to you and your Randall Bennett.”

  “Ten thousand pounds.” She could picture Randall’s excitement at such a gift, especially a gift she herself had earned. “And if I lose?” she asked, her voice shrill.

  “If you lose, Giana, I will see you free of Randall Bennett.”

  “I accept.”

  “Just a moment, child. I wish to tell you the terms of our agreement.”

  She waved an impatient hand, but he said sternly, “No, Giana, I want your understanding, for I will not accept you playing the affronted little miss once we have begun.”

  “Very well, Uncle, if it will please you to shock me—for that is what you intend, is it not?”

  “You will not just meet prostitutes, Giana. You will play the whore, in a brothel. You will be treated like a whore, look like a whore. You will witness things your mother could not even imagine. However, I promise you that you will not be touched. You will remain a virgin. Do you still accept?”

  Giana looked away from him, her hands nervously clasping in her lap. “I have never been to a brothel, Uncle Daniele,” she said finally. “Indeed, I am not quite certain what one does at such places.”

  Daniele gazed at her profile thoughtfully. There would be no more euphemisms, he thought, no more words tempered for an innocent young lady’s ears. “Brothels are houses of pleasure, Giana, places where men go to gratify their sexual desires.”

  He saw a blush of pained embarrassment creep over her cheeks. He stilled his nagging uncertainty and continued evenly, “Do you know what men and women do together, Giana? When they are not talking?”

  She said shyly, flushing. “Randall has kissed me, on my mouth, several times. It felt exhilarating.”

  “That is all?”

  Giana remembered Randall caressing her back once, when they were alone for a moment in Hyde Park. His touch had frightened her, and she had drawn back. He had begged her pardon.

  “He touched my back once,” she admitted, her eyes lowered to her lap.

  “Ah. Have you ever wondered, Giana, w
hy girls are kept so confoundedly ignorant until their wedding night?”

  “Good girls, Uncle, are not supposed to know of such things until they marry.”

  “I see. I assume that you would also expect your husband to be equally ignorant of the physical side of life? Equally pure?”

  She cocked her head to one side. “I had not thought about it. I had always assumed that men know everything about that.”

  “And just how do you think they learn about sex?”

  She flushed again at the naked, stark word, a word she had heard only Linette, a French girl, use to scandalize her friends at Madame Orlie’s. “From loose girls, bad girls.”

  “If this pool of girls is loose, bad, does it not follow that the men who use them are equally loose and bad?”

  “I don’t know. Men are different, at least that’s what people seem to think. Derry, my roommate, and I would lie in bed some nights and discuss what we knew, you know, what we had heard.”

  He heard the naive innocence in her voice, and winced. For a moment Daniele felt a stab of anger at Aurora. Aurora, of all women, to keep her daughter in prudish ignorance. Perhaps, he thought, stroking his thick gray mustache, it was to the good that Giana was such an innocent.

  “And just what did you decide from these discussions?”

  “Well, the other girls used to say that we should ignore that part of men’s natures.” She remembered her moment of pleasure when Randall had kissed her and her start of fright when she had felt his hand stroke down her back. “I don’t think it is part of love.”

  You are too young to think like that, he thought. He wondered briefly if Aurora had ever discovered a woman’s pleasure in a lover’s arms. Her marriage to Morton Van Cleve had certainly been a barren desert for her.