The Serenade: The Prince and the Siren [Daughters of the Empire 2] (BookStrand Publishing Romance) (22 page)

“It was
La Traviatta
.” Lady Elaina snapped her fingers. “Now I recall. She—”

“It was in
La Bohème
. But I do not see—”

“Ah, yes. And did not Melba play the tender Mimi, delicate and ill, dying in fact?”

“Yes, she is made for a role like that. She—”

“And Caruso played her lover, Rodolfo.”

“A young, handsome poet without a penny to his name.” Nicolette smiled to herself as she recalled the vivacity and earnestness Caruso had brought to the romantic role as the understudy when the lead tenor had fallen suddenly ill.

“They had just met, and there is a beautiful scene in which Rodolfo takes Mimi’s hand and sings
Che gelida manina, se la lasci riscaldar
. How does that translate into English, precisely?” Lady Elaina asked pointedly, demanding an answer.

“
What a cold little hand, let me warm it
,” Nicolette replied softly. Slowly she released her breath, reveling in the memory. “It is very touching. I sang Mimi’s part for the sultan of Constantinople years ago.”

“Did you indeed?”

“And to think that the warrior king was an easier audience than Paris’s critics.” Nicolette smiled slightly despite herself, recalling the performance as if she were there. “Except that it set me on a path which could never be fulfilled.”

“It is critical to the scene that Mimi is frail and shy,” Lady Elaina persisted, ignoring her pity.

“Which Melba is
not
!” Nicolette turned abruptly to stare at her grandmother, whose mischievous smile caused her to giggle. “The role calls greatly upon Melba’s acting ability to appear docile and sweet. She must not let her fierceness of character or her drive reveal itself.”

“And in the midst of this tender scene, what did Caruso do?”

“Oh, Grandmamma, you know very well what he did. At the moment he sang, ‘
What a cold little hand, let me warm it
,’ Enrico pressed a hot sausage into her hand that he had hidden in his pocket.”

Lady Elaina burst into laughter, as if she were hearing the story for the first time. “This called upon every ounce of control Melba had to stay in character.”

“But Grandmamma”—Nicolette giggled at the memory, but a gloom quickly washed over her—“what does that have to say to my situation? Am I to press warm sausages into the critics’ hands?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Lady Elaina smiled calmly. “Melba had tormented Caruso and everyone in the cast mercilessly. Did he cry in his bed and resign himself to the persecution? Did he give up?”

“No, but—”

“And he has had an almost identical challenge to this.” Lady Elaina shook her finger at Nicolette. “You know very well that he was spurned in his own hometown of Naples, a man of such enormous talent.
Inconceivable
.”

“How that must have pained him,” Nicolette murmured. It suddenly felt very real.

Lady Elaina picked up the newspaper and opened it again, scanning the columns. “Here’s one,” she announced. “Let us read this.”

“No, I don’t think I can endure any more,” Nicolette gasped, her world spinning out of control, feeling all of her dreams being crushed, her dreams that she had devoted her life to.

Lady Elaina ignored her and began reading. “‘Stupendous performance, positively enthralling,’ writes Depardieu. ‘With Nicolette Genevieve and Enrico Caruso in the leading roles, one felt oneself to be in Madrid as they sang. One could not be anywhere else but on the stage with them. This was the performance to bring the house down, the experience of a lifetime. Mademoiselle Genevieve and Monsieur Caruso gave their hearts and souls to this performance. A truly memorable performance with phenomenal voices.’”

“Could one critic make a difference?” Nicolette experienced a wave of hope, but it was quickly diminished. She fluffed her dressing gown around herself involuntarily.

“Of course it can! People will want to see what all the fuss is about.”

Nicolette raised an eyebrow.

“You see, Nicolette, you have one of those voices,” Lady Elaina pronounced. “It disturbs as many people as it thrills.
And it awakens them all
.”

“In my profession, unfortunately, one must be liked to be successful,” Nicolette countered hopelessly. As she rose to pace the room, her bishop sleeves opened into gathered frills as she waved her arms about her. She considered her grandmother’s words and realized that her original assessment had not encompassed the full magnitude of the problem, as hopeless and terrible as she had believed the situation to be. She moaned, “And not just me. I might damage my father’s lifework as a diplomat. Like me, his profession means everything to him. It is his
raison d’être
. He has won great notoriety in facilitating the
Entente Cordiale
, but he is not untouchable. Reputation is everything in the field of diplomacy.”

“There can be no doubt about it!”

“As long as I was to be successful, I did not worry about my father’s career—and I never supposed I would be anything but successful. But if I am made to look ridiculous, it could truly harm him! The association cannot long be hidden.”

Lady Elaina thumbed through the paper, ignoring her once again, much to her aggravation. “Here’s one, my dear. Alejandro de Bonifácio, the crown prince of Spain, was asked his opinion of the performance set in his native land. Prince Alejandro replied, ‘Magnificent. I have never been as impressed with anything I have seen or heard in Paris. I was enraptured throughout the whole of Mademoiselle Genevieve’s performance.’

“Impressive, my dear.” Lady Elaina smiled widely, dropping the newspaper into her lap and looking like the proverbial cat who had swallowed the canary. “The prince of Spain. This royal’s opinion may very well have just saved your career and set back Renault’s and Le Strange’s.” She chuckled as she held the newspaper out to Nicolette. “Look, Nicolette, here is a picture of the prince in his full regalia beside his remarks. He is dashingly handsome, is he not?”

“Oh,
no
!” she gasped.

“No?” asked Lady Elaina, perplexed. “Not handsome?”

“I mean,
yes
, he is.” Nicolette stared at her grandmother as she felt the color draining from her face and covered her mouth with her hand. If the damage others inflicted on her did not complete her demise, she had a gift for stepping in where they left off to finalize her own obliteration.

“What have you done, Nicolette?” Lady Elaina asked suspiciously as she scrutinized her.

“What have I done? Oh, Grandmamma, I have merely destroyed my only hope for success!”

Chapter Fifteen

Why do you occupy yourself still

with a heart which no longer belongs to you?

—
Georges Bizet,
Carmen

She refused me
. Had any stage singer in the history of time refused to dine with royalty? He sincerely doubted it. And yet she had refused
him
.

“What troubles you, Alejandro?” Esteban asked as they drank their breakfast café au lait on the stone terrace of the Belle Etoile. The wooden garden furniture, simplicity of the stonework, and small potted trees were in stark contrast to the spectacular 360-degree view of Paris from the seventh floor of Le Meurice.

“The soprano from last evening. She declined to dine with me.” As Alejandro’s eyes rested on
the Eiffel Tower, he took a bite of an exquisite fresh chocolate croissant, which he washed down with rich French coffee.

“Ah, an exquisite talent. Señorita Nicolette I believe her name was?”

“It was not her name which interested me,” Alejandro grumbled as he reached for another serving of cheese soufflé.

“So she is your next conquest?” Esteban raised his eyebrows.

“It doesn’t appear so, Esteban. As I said, she refused me.” Alejandro turned to stare pointedly at his friend, who was fully dressed and unfashionably debonair at this early hour. He himself had not shaved yet, his hair was tousled, and he was wearing a royal-blue velvet smoking jacket.

“Only temporary, I assure you, Alejandro.”

“No, it seems that Señorita Nicolette was far from impressed with me, though I am at a loss to know why.”
Damnation!
How anyone could look so utterly comfortable in the most formal clothing imaginable was beyond him. The stiff, pointed collars of Esteban’s shirt formed two triangles above a thin maroon silk tie. There was a white silk scarf in his pocket, a white rose in his lapel, and an overabundance of gold buttons along each sleeve. His breakfast of chocolate croissants, cheese soufflé, sausages, and fresh-squeezed orange juice was only half-eaten, and he smoked a pipe while he sipped on his coffee.

“Not impressed with you?” Esteban drawled, taking a puff on his pipe. “Extraordinary.”

“At first I thought it was an act, but now…” Alejandro moved his finger along the gold rim of his coffee cup.

“What did you say to the Señorita to displease her?”

“We barely spoke, and if anyone was improper in address, it was she.”

“She was improper toward
you
?” Esteban made no attempt to stifle his laughter, which annoyed him even further. “Do elaborate, Alejandro.”

“I am quite serious, Esteban. She refused me her hand, knowing full well who I was, and she concealed her identity from me.”

“She withheld something from
you
? The impertinence.”

“Clearly a woman without manners or breeding.” Alejandro ignored the sarcasm, as it was Esteban’s predominant mode of expression.

“Most unusual, one must admit.” Esteban took a sip of coffee while tapping his fingers on the wooden table, his expression pensive.

“She is very likely the wanton she portrayed so well.” And
she
had the nerve to refuse
him
. Agitated, he let his eyes wander along the horizon, where he saw the magnificent
Notre Dame, Arc de Triomphe, Place de la Concorde, Louvre, and the newly constructed train station, the Gare d’Orsay.

“In light of these sad facts, the wise course would be to forget her and to find another beautiful woman to occupy your time. That should not tax your abilities, my dear Alejandro.” Esteban studied him intently as he took a puff on his pipe.

“No, Esteban, it isn’t the Señorita’s beauty which sets her apart from other women.” He was surprised at how much he was revealing, but his emotions had been churning uncontrollably since last evening, begging for an outlet. He added more sausages to his plate.

“You forget that I saw Señorita Nicolette myself.”

“Yes, then, it was her beauty.” Alejandro looked up at Esteban through his eyelashes. “And it wasn’t.”

It is everything about her.

“It wasn’t her beauty?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Her features are not delicate. Her lips are overfull, her nose is not disproportionate but not aristocratic either, her cheekbones are defined, I grant you, and her eyes…”
Those eyes could lead a man into a storm.

Esteban laughed. “Are you saying that the Señorita is not
feminine
?”

“There is no
sweetness
about her. No
softness.”

“Because she said
no
to you, my friend. Simply because she exudes confidence, charisma, and purposefulness does not make her
unfeminine.
” He took his pipe from his pocket and placed it on the table, adding softly, “Quite the contrary.”