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ornate that it was almost too much for the eye to bear. The air was vibrant with the glimmer of gold and rubies seen through the flicker of a thousand candles, and the atmosphere was heavy with incense. Somewhere a choir of small boys was singing, and a shiver ran through Laura at the haunting poignance of the sound.
    From the cathedral they walked awhile, wandering through the shadowy bustle of a high-walled, narrow street where they were accosted by a pretty flower girl who thrust her basket of bright red anemones in front of Laura, begging Nicholas to purchase some. Laughingly he obliged, pinning the small posy to the underbrim of her Leghorn bonnet where they made a vivid splash of color. In the same street they were accosted by a fortune-teller whose little dog was trained to pick tickets from a basket. The little dog leaped and danced around them both and Nicholas paid for Laura to have her fortune told. She could not read the words on the ticket the dog brought to her, but Nicholas translated it for her.
    “You are assured of great future happiness and a grand marriage to a wealthy husband who will adore you.”
    She laughed. “Now I know why this fortune-teller is still plying his trade in the streets!”
    “The prophecy could come true.”
    “Not when I already know what lies ahead when I go back to England.”
    He looked into her blue eyes, his smile dying away. “You do not look forward to returning?”
    “No. I am a church mouse, Sir Nicholas, and should not be luxuriating in the Hotel Contarini’s grandest chamber.”
    He drew her hand through his arm. “Come, we will go to Florian’s and take some coffee, and then you can tell me about yourself.”
    “It is not an interesting topic,” she said quickly.
    “Allow me to be the judge of that. Besides, I have willfully brought you to the edge of ennui with my tale of woe, and I owe it to you to hear your story.”
    She said nothing more, lowering her eyes as they returned toward the Piazza San Marco. She did not really want to tell him the dreadful truth about Lady Mountfort. How would he feel when he learned that she was penniless and would soon be little more than a paid servant? Would he still wish to escort her then?
     

Chapter 8
     
    Dorian’s, said to be the oldest caf é in Europe, lay behind an arcade in the piazza, affording an excellent view of the campanile and beyond it the cathedral itself. The tables were in the shade beneath the arcade, although soon the sun would move around and there would be no shelter from its heat. Across the piazza was the rival café, Quadri’s, frequented by Austrians and therefore shunned by the Venetians, who thronged Florian’s instead.
    Laura and Nicholas sat at one of the tables and were immediately the objects of concerted attention by the various hawkers and beggars who waited in the famous square. They ignored this shameless importuning and were eventually left alone. Laura untied her bonnet and laid it on the table, glad to feel the cool air through her hair. The domes of the cathedral gleamed in the hot sun, its facade suddenly obscured by the flashing wings of a flock of pigeons that rose as one from the square. The noise of their flight was like the rushing of water as they soared high into the clear blue sky to circle the domes. There was color everywhere —on the cathedral, in the sky, and in the square where many stalls had been laid out to display costly clothes, which spilled over in streams of crimson, purple, emerald, and sapphire. It was a scene to remember forever, and just a tiny part of this day, which would never be forgotten. Laura lowered her eyes then. Please, let tomorrow never come ….
    Nicholas watched her thoughtful expression. “Now,” he said gently, “tell me what it is that lies ahead of you in England.”
    She braced herself. “Lady Mountfort.”
    “Forgive me, I don’t quite understand… . You are related to her?”
    “No. I am soon to be her companion.” She met