Starling (45 page)

The boat glided past Palazzo Rambaldo and Cass thought of Madalena still in Florence with her husband, Marco, possibly expecting
their first child. She wished she could be there for her friend. She
knew it was an exciting but scary time for Mada, whose own mother
had died giving birth.
Palazzo Domacetti loomed in the distance. It was one of the largest and most ornate homes on the Grand Canal, at least twice the size
of the palazzos on either side of it. A gondola carrying two men
dressed in fine embroidered doublets and wide-brimmed velvet hats
pulled alongside the girls as they approached.
“Good evening, ladies,” one of the men said. His friend stood up
just far enough to attempt a suave bow. Their gondola teetered back
and forth, nearly spilling them into the canal. Their gondolier swore
at them, and the two men began to laugh.
“I trust we’ll see you at the party.” The first man smiled broadly.
Arabella quickly produced an ivory fan, fluttering her eyelashes
as she fanned herself. Seraphina smiled back at the men, waving
coyly with one hand. Flavia giggled and hollered out something
Agnese would have declared
unbecoming of a lady.
Cass laughed. For the first time, she thought of her aunt without
being overcome by sadness. She missed her terribly. She always
would. But perhaps Agnese was finally at peace now, as Narissa had
said. And in the company of the other girls, Cass didn’t feel alone,
for once. She was fortunate to spend time with these unusual women.
She envied them and their gorgeous dresses, their perfect hair, their
invitations to all of the best events. Excitement flooded her veins.
Tonight didn’t have to be
all
about the Order of the Eternal Rose.
Perhaps she could have a bit of fun as well.
The gondolier pulled to a stop a few boat lengths away from Palazzo Domacetti. The dock was crammed with gondolas, and the girls
had to wait their turn to alight. Cass tried to embrace her identity as
Capricia as the boat bobbed gently in the water. Courtesans had
freedom and respect of which noblewomen could only dream. They
were beautiful and talented. Desired.
Powerful.
When their gondolier had safely moored their boat, Cass took
Flavia’s hand and stepped gracefully onto the dock, balancing herself carefully in her chopines. She turned back to help Arabella, who
was holding onto the mooring post in one hand and clutching a black
leather case that held her flute in the other.
Palazzo Domacetti appeared to be freshly painted, its bright
white walls a stark contrast to the mildewing, water-stained exteriors
of the neighboring palazzos. Gold leaf and intricate carvings of vines
and blossoms decorated the arched front door. The doorknocker
was made of marble and shaped like an angel taking flight, but there
was no need to knock. People were arriving in droves, and a servant
in the brilliant red-and-black livery of the Domacetti estate was ushering everyone into the palazzo.
Cass and the courtesans approached the door together. She
couldn’t help but notice the way everyone stared at them. Men slid
out of the way so that they could pass. Women looked on with scorn
or envy. Flavia squeezed Cass’s hand with excitement as the girls
glided up the stairs and entered the spacious portego.
Aside from a pair of divans right inside the doorway, the furniture had all been relocated to make more space for dancing. Otherwise, Donna Domacetti’s portego looked just as Cass remembered it: