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Excerpt from “The Dreams of Violetta,” the first part of the novella, The Love of Violetta.
My darning was interrupted at seven by the baying of hounds, and the entire household staff rushed into the cold to greet Roland.
I followed the press into the main hall. Roland loomed over his father as they shook hands. One tall, pious, with a tidy powdered wig, bending over the short wicked man with the mess of dark curls. Little doubt the Duc’s wig was abandoned on a bust or resting on a drunken maid’s breast.
They shook hands. Roland kissed the cheek of the housekeeper and clapped the majordome on the back. If my love saw me, he gave no sign. Roland went to wash away the filth of the road, and I crept into the empty salon.
My hand searched for his letter, for his words of love. My breath was loud and jagged in my ears.
“Are you ill, Violetta?”
I opened my eyes, and the Duc was standing there, his dark eyes glittering.
“No, Monsieur. I only wanted to catch my breath after the press.”
The Duc was a virile forty-five, and in a moment he had me trapped against the wall. “Can I help you catch it, little maid?” he said, his face inches from mine.
I turned my head, my hands balled into fists. “Please, Monsieur.”
He rubbed the rough stubble of his cheek on my face. “What do you want?” he said, leaning his body into me.
“Father, I forgot to tell you—”
Tears squeezed from the corners of my eyes. To be found like this by my love, my noble Roland, it was more than I could bear. My cheeks burned.
The Duc released me, like a cat done with the mouse it had been tormenting. “Yes, my son, what did you forget?”
“The merchants…they said…” Roland mumbled.
I rushed from the room, up the stairs, and straight to my bed where I bathed my pillow with my tears. It was a quick cry—there was work to be done. I needed to talk to Roland. If I could explain myself, tell him the Duc had caught me in a room unawares…