Lucy Gordon - The Italian’s Cinderella Bride

She discovered that she’d been right about enjoying a new identity. After Franco came more men, flirting, admiring, and she danced with them all, in the spirit of Carnival.

Some of the dancing was eighteenth-century style, which alarmed her until she realised how simple it was. The man and woman stood side by side, arms outstretched, hand in hand, advancing, retreating, circling each other in stately fashion. When her partners realised that she was new to this they guided her, and she soon relaxed. After that she danced every dance.

‘When will it be my turn?’ Pietro demanded when their paths happened to cross.

‘When il conte has done his duty,’ she riposted.

‘You’re supposed to be chaperoning me, saving me from Serafina and her sisters under the skin.’

‘Don’t be such a spoilsport. Surely Cinderella is allowed to enjoy the ball too?’

‘As long as it’s understood that when you leave, I leave.’

‘But I’m enjoying myself far too much to leave.’

She glided away, taking a hand that was held out to her, with only the vaguest idea whose it was.

‘Be careful-’ Pietro started to say, but found himself talking to empty air.

Supper was lavishly served on long tables with fine china and crystal glasses. At the head of the table Pietro played the perfect host, seeming to give the guests all his attention while managing to search for Ruth at the same time. She didn’t eat at the table but drifted around among other guests who were wandering through the palazzo, and Pietro’s glimpses of her were infrequent.

But then he caught a glimpse of something that drove everything else out of his head.

He could have sworn he saw Toni’s face peering through a doorway. Someone immediately passed in front and when they had gone there was no sign of Toni, but a moment later he saw the dog again.

Evidently he’d slipped out while Minna wasn’t looking. Pietro decided he should be rounded up and sent back without delay, and he rose from the table, excusing himself to his guests.

But when he went out into the corridor there was no sign of Toni. Nor was anyone else around.

Then, from somewhere he heard the whispered words, ‘Come with me, my darling. I’m waiting for you.’

Entranced, he followed the voice, so full of beauty and mystery that he felt it could lead him anywhere. It came again.

‘This way, my darling.’

The corridor led to another, narrower, less grand, one where few people went. He followed, seeking he knew not what.

‘Come with me-come with me-’

In the heart of the building lay a small garden, surrounded on all sides, and reached by a long staircase that went around three inner sides. The cool air on his face told him he was nearing this sanctuary, and then he was out on the staircase, and the mystery was explained.

At the foot of the stair, as he’d half expected, was a figure in ivory brocade, her face masked, her air as enticing as her words. But it was not himself, or any man, that she was trying to entice. She was calling Toni, who was slowly descending the stairs to the garden, following the sweet call of that voice, as was his master.

‘Poor Toni,’ she cooed. ‘Did everyone forget about your walk? And you’re desperate to spend a penny, aren’t you? Come along, there’s a nice little flower bed down here that’ll do you nicely. And don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.’

Pietro stood back in the shadows, watching as Toni went down to her and took her advice, nestling against her afterwards as she produced a biscuit.

Pietro regarded her with fascinated disbelief. Behind them was a ballroom full of men eager to dance and flirt with her, and they might not have existed for all the notice she took. The disgraceful mutt had all her attention, and clearly considered that it was his right.

‘Come on,’ she said at last. ‘I’ll take you back to bed-oh, Minna, there you are.’

The housekeeper had bustled out from under the arches that surrounded the garden, and took charge of the dog.

‘I’m sorry. I don’t know how he got out,’ she fussed.

‘It doesn’t matter. He’ll be all right now.’

Minna vanished with Toni, and Pietro waited for the ivory clad figure to mount the stairs. Instead she leaned back against the wall, gazing up to the stars. Pietro thought a little smile hovered on her lips, but he couldn’t be sure.

And if it were there, for whom was it meant? Behind that mask were her eyes open or closed, and, if closed, who filled her dreams?

Adjusting his mask over his face, he went quietly down a few steps until he was standing just above her. She heard him and turned her head, but now he could just discern that her eyes were still closed.

‘It’s only me,’ he said, leaving ‘me’ unspecified. ‘I wondered why a woman leaves the ballroom where she’s enjoying such a triumph.’

She gave a soft, knowing laugh that made him clutch a stone ledge beside him.

‘And why should the host leave a ball where the triumph is his?’ she teased.

‘He came in search of her.’

‘But perhaps she wanted to be alone,’ Ruth objected.

‘Then she must resign herself to not having her wish. A beautiful woman will never be allowed solitude.’

‘But maybe she isn’t beautiful beneath the mask. How can he tell?’

‘He doesn’t need to see her face, because he knows that her heart is gentle and loving, and no vulnerable creature has ever turned to her in vain.’

‘That’s charming, but what does it have to do with beauty?’

‘It is the only beauty that counts,’ he said softly.

She was disconcerted, but recovered herself to say, ‘Why, what a thing to say at Carnival!’

‘True. We should think only of the most fleeting kind of beauty, shouldn’t we? But hers will never fade. Even when she looks-’ a smile of remembrance touched his mouth ‘-like a drowned rat, her true loveliness is always there for the man who can appreciate it-if she chooses to show it to him.’

‘You mean-perhaps she doesn’t?’

‘There might be barriers between them that he can’t tear down alone, only with her help.’

‘And you think she would refuse to give it?’ Ruth asked with soft urgency.

‘Who knows? Her mind and heart are hidden from him, perhaps even from herself.’

‘That’s true,’ she murmured.

‘When she understands the truth-who knows what that truth will be? Or if there will be only one truth?’

She could have continued this all night. To be standing here in the moonlight, fencing with him, seeming to talk lightly yet touching the subjects that haunted them, then dancing away before danger threatened, this filled her with a kind of ecstasy. She felt he was letting her look into his heart while gently questioning her own.

From above them came the sound of music from the ballroom, faintly, then louder as the orchestra struck up a new tune. The sudden awareness broke the spell and made them move slightly away from each other.

‘You should return to your guests,’ she said.

‘We’ll return together.’

He held out his hand and she placed hers in it so that he could lead her up the stairs into the corridor. The music, closer now, seemed to enclose them.

He stopped to listen, then put out his hand, sliding it determinedly about her waist, drawing her close into a waltz.

‘A man must take his chances while he can,’ he murmured provocatively.

She laughed, and felt him tense as her breath brushed his face. They were close now, as they had been on the night they had so nearly made love, before he had rejected her. But this time they were not themselves, although neither could have said with certainty who they were.

Who knows what the truth will be? he had said.