The Demon Count's Daughter

1

IT TOOK ME most of the evening to pack. My supposedly vanished impulsiveness stood me in good stead as I went through my wardrobe with ruthless abandon, choosing the dullest, plainest clothing I owned. I debated for a full minute over the moderate hoop that was de rigueur for a fashionable young English girl in 1864, remembering at last my modern, collapsible model, which would just fit into my one large carpetbag. I doubted I could manage to carry more than that on horseback, and horseback seemed the only way I could escape to the coast without dear Uncle Mark alerting the countryside. I had every intention of writing him a polite note, explaining it was my patriotic duty to follow my other godfather’s quixotic suggestion and make straight for Venice, the city of my father’s birth. The trip would take me no more than a week, I estimated, and by the time I reached Venice, Bones would have convinced Uncle Mark there was nothing to worry about, at the same time dispatching his guardian angel to see that I came to no harm.

I stared across the room to the full-length mirror, the wavering candlelight giving my flamboyant looks a warm, melting sheen they usually lacked. It was fortunate that Bones had started the whole thing by suggesting I travel to strife-torn Italy. I would have an extremely difficult time trying to sneak there in disguise. There are very few women of my proportions wandering around Europe.

I could have wished my resemblance to my beloved parents a little less pronounced. From my father I inherited raven black hair that was thick and unruly and always managed to escape even the most severe pinnings. My eyes were golden like his, but undeniably warmer with what I have been told is a sweetness of expression to equal my mother’s. I had her retroussé nose, rather than Father’s Roman one, and her full, red lips. If I hadn’t been cursed with such an extraordinary body, I would have been quite pretty.

But there fate and family resemblance had let me down. From my father I had been bequeathed a generosity of height that left me towering over every man I had ever met, with the exception of my father, my older brother, and a one or two foppish young men I had met last year in London.

From my mother I had inherited curves so voluptuous as to be downright embarrassing. As the years passed and I began to ripen, I sought desperately to try to tone down my overly feminine attributes. But all the running, jumping, climbing, and horseback riding only served to develop me more fully, so that I had no choice but to become accustomed to the wide-eyed astonishment my first appearance elicited. Men’s eyes usually glazed over when introduced. Looking up into my eyes, their second reaction was either a stiff invitation to dance or a quick tussle in the garden. It was no wonder I had barely lasted a month in my disaster of a season. It was my own secret sorrow that I had longed for some man of a different sort to carry me away from all that superficial glitter. But such a man didn’t seem to exist. At least I hadn’t met him in twenty-three years.

All in all I was hardly the type to blend into a background, and I could only hope I would be able to accomplish Bones’s mission while appearing to be a simpering tourist. If not, well, I needed an adventure, and a trip to Venice and the long-deserted family palazzo would be adventure enough in itself, even if it failed to include midnight meetings and secret information.

I paused momentarily in my hasty packing and thought back to Lord Bateman’s startling proposition this afternoon.

I need you to go to Venice, Bones had announced with his usual startling abruptness, the china teacup trembling only faintly in his aged, cadaverous hands. There’s no one else who’s so admirably suited for the job, or you know I wouldn’t ask. Your parents aren’t around to hold you back, and you’re just wasting your time moping around. It’s time you did something.

I’m willing, Bones, I answered mildly enough, accustomed to my godfather’s excitability and impulsiveness. To what job am I admirably suited?

He barely hesitated. My dear Luciana, I shouldn’t ask it of you. But I do ask it, because I know you and trust you. The political climate of Europe right now is like a tinderbox. Austria is just about ready to hand Venice over to France in exchange for various political amenities. My sources tell me that once that happens it’s only a matter of time before Napoleon III cedes it back to Italy.

But that’s splendid! I breathed, eyes aglow.

Yes, and no. It is indeed splendid if all works out, he harrumphed. "Unfortunately, there have been a few obstacles thrown in the path of independence for La Serenissima. That’s where I need your help.

The powers that be in Venice do not fancy losing their somewhat tarnished jewel of a city. Therefore General Eisenhopf and Colonel von Wolfram have managed to obtain a certain very incriminating document. If that document were to be published, all our hopes would be dashed.

What document? I brushed the crumbs from my drab riding habit.

A foolhardy document, fully authenticated, stating France’s intention of attacking Austria once they have regained possession of Venice. Using that well-situated city and the Veneto as a base of operations. A stupid piece of business that Napoleon III rashly concocted a number of years ago, a plan he has no intention whatsoever of carrying out. But, needless to say, all Franz Josef needs is a hint of such a thing and years of careful diplomacy will have been wasted. Europe is about to explode; we must move very, very carefully.

But why haven’t these two Austrians produced this paper?

They are too busy bargaining. Neither Eisenhopf nor Von Wolfram have decided which they’d prefer: money or power. The price they’re asking is far too high, anyway.

But what can I do, Bones? I cried. Of what possible use could I be?

Bones leaned back in his chair, a crafty smile playing around his withered lips. Eisenhopf has one major weakness, and that is for women, particularly tall young women with abundant physical charms. In other words, someone like you.

And you want me to seduce this old general into giving me the paper? I jumped ahead, a little surprised. Lord Bateman was an unconventional godfather, but this was a little extreme, even for him.

Bones looked shocked. Good God, no! You would never even come near the man. You will merely sneak into his room in the guise of a lady of the night while he’s safely out of the city. And while you are there you’ll retrieve the paper, hand it over to our informant, and return to England, secure in the knowledge that you have saved Venice.

It sounds simple, I said, trying to control the fire of excitement that was sweeping over me. But how am I to manage all this? Gain admittance to his room, among other things?

All that will be taken care of. The general’s valet is a very stubborn, pro-Austrian creature. Fortunately his brother-in-law is a different sort entirely. It was Tonetti himself who came up with the idea, approaching our best man with it. You’d be working with him, Luciana, though of course I’d have a guardian angel watching over you.

And what makes you think we can trust this Tonetti? I questioned warily.

The best of all reasons. Money.

But haven’t you countless trained women who’d be better able to do the job? I felt compelled to ask, though I knew deep inside that I would strangle anyone who tried to go in my place.

No doubt. But none of them are del Zaglias. He leaned forward and clutched my hand with the intensity of a fanatic. "Venice has suffered under the Austrian yoke for so long the people are becoming dull and sullen. Even the dimostrazione, which has kept social intercourse and the upper classes out of Venice, has begun to lose momentum. You, my dear, would put new life into the movement. He sighed. The beautiful daughter of one of Venice’s bravest sons, returned to save that gallant, beleaguered city . . . A grim smile lit his aged face. What with your ancestry and the general’s penchant for large and beautiful young ladies, we could scarcely do better."

A little flattery only added fuel to my eagerness, and there I was, five hours later, furtively packing my bags.

My beloved parents and six brothers were off in Scotland, leaving me in the care of various young and old retainers and the myopic supervision of my second godfather, the very correct, somewhat fumbling Mark Ferland. I hadn’t needed Bones’s warning not to tell Uncle Mark. I knew from long association that Bones’s former agent looked back on all that derring-do with embarrassed dismay.

Miss Luciana, what are you doing in there? A querulous voice sounded at the door, and I thanked heaven I had had the foresight to lock it. Maggie had the sharpest eyes and the quickest tongue of anyone I had ever known, and ever since my mother had made her my personal maid and companion, nothing in my life remained private. I had no intention, however, of taking her to Edentide if I could help it. For one thing, her curiosity would be bound to interfere with my meetings with the mysterious and romantic-sounding Tonetti, and for another, she had a roving eye to equal the worst rakehell, and I had no doubt that the combination of her randiness and the Italian male would end in a brouhaha I could well do without. Besides, I was jealous.

Not a thing, Maggie, I yawned convincingly. I was tired from my ride over to Lord Bateman’s and thought I’d get an early night’s sleep. I bounced a few times on the bed for effect. You may have the rest of the evening off, I added grandly.

Oh, indeed? Her voice was wry, and it was all I could do to remember that she was two years younger and a head shorter than me. And why have you locked your door, tell me that?

Did I? I murmured vaguely. It must have been an accident. You know how these old doors are. Never you mind, Maggie. I’m too tired to get up and unlock it. I won’t need anything more tonight. Why don’t you go and visit Bitsy?

I have better things to do than spend my evenings with my mother, she replied pertly. But I don’t like the sound of you, Miss Luciana. You never tire so easily. Are you sure you’re not coming down with something?

I laughed with what I hoped was suitable heartiness. I’m as strong as a horse, Maggie. It must have been too much sun.

Very well, miss. I can’t say as I wouldn’t appreciate an evening off. That William has been at me something awful . . . Her voice trailed away as she wandered down the hall, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Maggie was much too sharp by half, and even if I hid all the evidence of my intended flight, I doubted I could deceive her eagle eye.

I slept fitfully that night, tossing and turning and wrapping my long limbs in the linen sheets so that I felt as if I were in my winding sheet. First light found me wide awake and alert. I had never needed more than a very few hours of sleep. Dressing quietly, I slipped out my door and down the deserted hallways on silent feet, smugly aware that Maggie had failed to hear me from her adjoining closet. Of course there was no guarantee that she had actually slept in her own bed that night. Chances were she hadn’t.

But my luck held all the way out to the stables. The only servant awake and moving around was a young groom of no more than thirteen, who sleepily saddled my younger brother’s mare, accepted my notes for Maggie and Uncle Mark, and watched me ride off into the brilliant dawn with an incurious yawn on his young face.

I MADE EXCELLENT time that first day despite my concern not to overtire poor old Marigold, my ancient, but stately, mare. When night fell my first concern was to see to her well-being, and I conscientiously provided her with a good crop of grass to eat. As for me, I did equally well with the remains of a loaf of bread and a huge chunk of cheese stolen from the kitchens on my way out of the house and slept the darkness away quite comfortably under a hedge with my serviceable brown wool cape wrapped snugly around me to protect me from the chill of an August night in England.

By the next afternoon we were in Bournemouth, both of us rather the worse for wear, but our spirits intact. Marigold, after having been relegated to a boring life as a child’s palfrey, was enjoying her sights of the wide world, though I didn’t doubt she would retire gratefully back to pasture once her adventure was over. Indeed, she greeted her stall that evening with a whinny of tired pleasure, settling in with a sigh.

As luck would have it the Channel packet wouldn’t leave till the next morning, and there was nothing I could do but take a room at the cleanest-looking waterfront inn I could find. And it was there they found me, tucking into a massive meal of pheasant, lobster, ale, and greens.

Ahem. A loud