SWNOVELS Chapter Chapter Fifty
As the theatre was only four blocks away, I hadn’t arranged for a carriage. But as I walked the distance alone, I caught several onlookers wondering why a woman would walk unescorted at this hour. I had no reason to fear the city, but I sighed to think someone might recognize me and question Maximo in the coming days. Despite my frustration, his success mattered to me, and I masked my unconventional ways whenever possible.
The owner had built Ford’s New Theatre in only eight months. It had sprung up overnight upon its predecessor’s bones, allegedly burned because of a gas leak. I thought the handsome new structure shined with its tall arches and clean, modern lines, though I couldn’t help think it needed another month of work. Again, I was only too grateful for the added diversion in this bleak American city.
When Maximo insisted we must attend its re-opening night, I knew his real motivation was to be among his political peers. He was not a theatre-goer, and as the lights dimmed, I recognized the genuine reason I sat beside an empty chair on the dress circle. Looking over to the presidential box, splendidly draped in U.S. colors, President Lincoln was notably absent.
I exhaled in response to this realization, partly frustrated with my husband’s selfishness, partly in gratitude to be on my own this evening, and partly because the price for my liberation was the insufferable heat in the room.
The night’s gala performance of The Naiad Queen would come in three acts filled with choirs, ballet dancing, and musical drama upon a backdrop of mythology and romance. Reading the bill, I smirked at how the smorgasbord would suit liberal American tastes. Why watch only one style when you can have everything crammed into a single evening?
As demons and nymphs guided us on our tour, I couldn’t help think what Sempronio might say at the silly spectacle.
This is quite an achievement. Excess rarely leaves one feeling so cheated, he said, twinkling in my imagination.
Nearing the end of the second act, I wondered if I’d had enough and should leave early.
Then I heard it.
The familiar sound came as a light tension that pushed into the back of my mind. Duccio was near me again, as he had been in Paris before the master’s writings arrived at my doorstep.
I scanned the auditorium with my eyes as discreetly as possible. He could be anywhere; perhaps blocks away and just come into range. I expected he opened his mind to signal his presence.
I felt afraid for the first time in so long that the condition illogically affected me. It had been a while since my wolf had instinctively ripped out through my bodice. I knew if I didn’t concentrate on calming her, the theatre patrons around me were in for quite an incredible addition to the performance.
Then, from my dress circle seat across the room, my eyes caught him. Duccio sat in a private box on the first floor, seated beside three people I was sure were human. He stared directly up at me, looking nothing like I remembered him. Gone were his signature velvets and long black hair. Instead, he was cut like any other modern American gentleman sporting a jacket and white tie with shortly clipped hair. Had my heart not raced, I might’ve scolded myself for not noticing him earlier.
The audience applauded the final swell of Act II just as I stood up from my chair. At all costs, I must speak to him if I could. I turned and moved nimbly past the seated patrons in my row. In the gallery, I again felt the tingling under my skin but fought it.
Pushing past an usher and the patrons exiting their boxes into the small corridor, I came to Duccio’s box and found his seat empty. He must have gotten past me, though I felt sure he’d been in his chair only a second before I turned the corner. I scanned into the theatre, listening for his presence, but heard only silence under the low roar of socialization that sprung up.
Perhaps my excitement was unfounded, and I should get to the house to alert Maximo. He would no doubt think me mad to face our treacherous alpha alone.
I started back when something caught my eye. A small white card lay on Duccio’s empty red velvet seat.
Printed on the front read:
Thomas Van Duren, Esq.
442 Fifth Avenue
New York City, New York
The name confounded me at first, but I turned it over to find the handwriting I knew well enough.
You are in no danger from me. - Duccio
To say that I’d spent many moments considering vengeance for Sempronio’s murder would be the understatement of my lifetime. However, I had never returned to Como to face Duccio. This decision was in deference to my belief that, as strong as I’d become, I was likely not stronger than Duccio. Paired with this paralyzed self-efficacy was the simple truth that I had long since forgiven Duccio for his crimes.
During my first days in Castello Palatino, when I arrived, a mere shell of a girl, raped and abused, Sempronio had taught me the vital importance of forgiveness.
“To live with hatred in your heart for another is like drinking poison and expecting them to feel sick.”
I knew that Duccio’s crimes were beyond my control. So, to keep from perpetuating my suffering, I forgave him in distant silence. I absolved him in my heart, as the master would have.
I tried many times to write Duccio to allow him to know my anguish. But I never finished a single letter, confident that anyone who could do something so unforgivable wouldn’t give the slightest ear to my grievance.
But then, one day, an incomprehensible act of kindness arrived on my doorstep. A crate containing the legacy of the very lycan Duccio had slain sat in my drawing-room. With it was a simple note of only two words: Forgive Me.
I didn’t understand at first how he’d made it happen. But then I read the letter from Sempronio and learned that he’d set aside his journals for me on the day of his death. At some point, I recalled how I’d almost collided with the large crate in the hallway as I ran for the fateful carriage ride with Pompeia. The servants must’ve brought it to my room, where it not only escaped the burning of Sempronio’s study but possibly went undetected in a corner for some time.
I could only presume why Duccio had finally sent it to me, but after one hundred and twenty years, I could feel nothing but gratitude. It was a gift so meaningful to me that no malice or anger could ever diminish the forgiveness I felt for Duccio.
I realized then that I would do anything for the chance to speak with him if I could and close what remained of the wound. Still, my dark protector understood the danger I placed myself in, and I continued to focus my control.
I left the theater at once and quickly walked the four dark blocks back home.
“Good evening, Richards,” I smiled as I entered. “I would like to start traveling to New York tomorrow if it’s possible. Would you please go to the station desk when it opens to see if you can purchase tickets for Vivian and me? If they have a service with a private car, all the better. But I want her beside me, regardless.”
Richards was an “old-fashioned” American, who found it improper for a woman’s servant to ride in the same class compartment as she. But that was another inconvenience I wouldn’t stand for.
“Of course, mistress,” he nodded reluctantly.
“You’ll keep an eye on Henry while we’re gone, won’t you?”
Richards’ expression darkened, and he hesitated before nodding.
“I know how you feel about him—how you feel about them both. But please hear me when I tell you that I need you to help this boy mature. Obviously, I cannot rely upon my husband to see to it—he is still too much of a boy himself. Henry needs your discipline and your strong hand if he’s to have any chance of surviving this awkward age. I dream that one day you’ll finally set aside your frustrations and realize the opportunity at hand. Do you really not wish to steer the upbringing of a boy who will one day be under your authority? Don’t you want a hand at moulding your future successor? If not by your example and leadership, what chance has he to become a man of means?”
My unexpected frankness clearly disarmed Richards.
“Think on it, please,” I whispered.
He nodded again silently and returned to his duties.
“You’re home early,” Maximo greeted me as I passed by the front drawing-room.
He was lounging on the same sofa just as I’d left him, engrossed in the same book by the steady glow of a gaslamp.
“I’m afraid I had my fill of screeching nymphs well before the end of the second act. I couldn’t stop thinking about my dilemma.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, I’m going to see if I can’t take the train to New York in the morning. I expect the collection will be safe from war there, so I mean to find somewhere suitable. I’m unsure of how long it will all take. Will you be fine here without me until I return?”
“Of course, dear,” he answered.