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I took one last look at his office and at him: wood, paper, glass, warmth, and beauty.
Chapter 22
After I left the rectory, I made my way to the place that I believed would not scorn me—the most serene city of masks. However, my journey from Braintree to Dover by horse and cart, and then onto Venice by various ships and stagecoaches was long, tedious and not without incident.
I had been right that travelling as a young gentleman would afford me protection. If anyone enquired as to my business, I simply lowered my voice and said gruffly that I was on a grand tour of Europe and moved on. However, despite this, and as well as cutting off my hair, on the passage from Marseille to Genoa, my true identity was revealed by an overly friendly young woman who had who taken a liking to me and peered too closely at my chest. Outraged that I was posing as a gentleman and had “tricked” her, she hauled me to the captain and demanded I be arrested. Yet, he took pity on me after I pleaded with him and he said I could be his maid instead. But it was more of a punishment as I had wear an ugly dress and do various chores on the ship, including serving him food and washing his disgusting feet!
After a miserable couple of days of this, I was up on deck, scrubbing it or some such; and a bored upper-class lady sat nearby to look out at the ocean. She must have heard my sighs and, since she was looking for amusement, bade me to tell her about myself.
So I did, leaving out no parts of it, including having the pox, being hired as a maid, Sebastian teaching me to read and write, falling in love with Jasper, him trying to kill me, finding Rose in the woods, dressing as a gentleman, and now being the captain’s maid.
Lady Villiers-Cadogan, as she told me her name was, looked astonished at hearing all this and seemed highly entertained. Being mindful of my present unwholesome circumstances, she said I could travel with her to Venice in her private carriage when we docked and that she would be able to help me with a position. Apparently, she was betrothed to a nobleman, Conte Mocenigo, and would be in need of an English maid, being unable to speak Italian herself. There was another role she had in mind for me as well.
She said that Conte Mocenigo’s first wife had died of the pox a few years ago and that he had a son, Francesco, who was now 21. He had contracted the pox at the same time as his mother and been left with severe pockmarks but was otherwise unharmed. The count required someone as a companion for his son as he did not go out much into society, and he feared he was becoming lonely. Francesco, apparently, was also quite learned and had taught himself a little English and wanted to improve his skills. Lady Villiers-Cadogan said that I would be perfect for this task and that Francesco would benefit because I not only was near his own age but also shared his affliction.
When we arrived in Venice, I was grateful to the lady for giving me a position; and when I first met Francesco, I thought he was handsome despite his scars. He was similarly taken with me (something I found out afterwards).
After spending time with him for many hours and helping him to read and speak English, we became firm friends. Every day, we enjoyed conversing, strolling in the shady parts of the garden, and generally being in each other’s company. One day, he held my hand and kissed it. On another occasion, he picked me a flower and tucked it behind my ear. Slowly but surely, because our hearts were true beneath our pockmarked skin, we fell in love.
When Francesco proposed, going down on one knee in the garden, where the scarlet roses bloomed, it was the happiest moment of my life. We were given his father’s blessing to marry since he saw how joyful his son was and as he himself was happy with the match he had made with Lady Villiers-Cadogan. I knew my situation was special and somewhat strange, for it would be unheard-of in England for such a thing to occur between a maid and a nobleman. But in Venice, it seemed some rules were made to be broken.
Our wedding was during Carnevale; and after we were joined at the church, there was a celebration back at the palazzo, where everyone dined and danced wearing exquisite costumes and masks. It was divine, and I felt like I was where I truly belonged, with the people of La Serenissima.
After being married for some months, I conceived and gave birth to a girl and then again to a boy. Our two children, Arianna (named after Francesco’s mother) and Giovanni (named after my father), are asleep in the room next door. When they were of age, at my insistence, both were inoculated. For I did not want them to suffer, like Francesco and I had suffered, with the pox.
My dear one is sleeping as I write this at the desk. It is still early, and I’m looking out our bedroom window as the sun rises and the lapping waters of the Grand Canal turn pink, blue, and gold. Sometimes I catch sight of my reflection in the water or a looking glass, but I can now look upon myself without flinching, for my husband tells me every day that I am beautiful. I have finally come to accept that I am worthy of his love, even as a pox-scarred contessa.
That is another thing that took me a while to get used to as it is quite the step up in status! But my new title has given me the means to provide for my mother and sister back in England better than I ever could as a maid; they shall not want for anything as long as they live.
Sebastian and I still correspond on occasion, and he mentioned in his last letter that Maggie is well and that Rose had had a third child (she ended up marrying the gardner’s son, and now her husband comes weekly to rake the drive and clip the box hedge) and that Jasper and Arabella had married. I thought I would feel pain at this news, but to my surprise, I didn’t. I wish Jasper well, for having Arabella as a wife is punishment enough for anyone. And I know, in some way, the pox was the cause of making us both crazed: I with needing his love and he with grief for his family. But it does make me smile that he considered me so lowly, and here I am now, a contessa! If I had only known then what fate had in store for me, I would have felt more at ease with my circumstances at the rectory!
Nevertheless, when this book is published, I shall send Sebastian a copy for his library room. It pleases me to think of it sitting in there alongside Lord Alby’s and of Sebastian taking it out to read from time to time, chuckling to himself and thinking fondly of our time together.
I have written this account of what took place at the rectory with Jasper not as a cautionary tale (for I did not have a choice in living in the same house as him), but to serve as a comfort for those that may find themselves in the same impossible situation of unrequited love.
You are not alone, and God will find a way to help you even if all seems hopeless. And when He gives you that opportunity, you must seize it with both hands and run to your freedom without looking back, for true love awaits at your journey’s end.
Peace be with you,
Contessa Mercy Mocenigo
Venice, 1776
Chapter 23
I thought I would be more upset about leaving Jeremy, but the only feeling I had was relief. I was free of him. I had left my broken and bruised heart in the pages of that small green book, and I didn’t want it anymore. Jeremy could go on dating every woman in Oxford, and I wouldn’t be there to see it. Besides, tonight, I had an after-work date of my own. I was meeting my boyfriend at Queen’s Lane Coffee House.
There was a certain irony that Thomas wanted to meet here. Not only was it where Eleanor first introduced me to the idea of dating her ‘attractive’ cousin. It was also fitting because I’d just started working on a two-year research project on the Tudor queens under Professor Jane Smalley. When the respected academic with a string of letters after her name had chosen me and a couple of others out of a long list of applicants, it had been a sweet karmic moment. Apparently, it was my paper on Queen Mary II that had clinched it; she’d been impressed and described it as ‘outstanding’.
Thomas was at the counter, gazing up at the menu, when I snaked an arm around his waist.
‘I hope that’s Anna Butler because if it’s not, then it could be awkward,’ he said.
‘It’s me,’ I replied, tilting my head to receive his kiss.
‘What would you like? Latte? Cappuccino?’
‘Hmm, I’ve decided to give up coffee for a bit. I might have peppermint tea.’
