former employee to her neighbor. Duilio found himself contemplating a way to remove Miss Paredes from that situation.
It
It wasn’t as if he’d attempted to fix the interest of any of the daughters who’d been thrown at him in the last year. He’d avoided female companionship, not wanting to worry about a woman he might not be able to trust with the truth about his family. But Miss Paredes was different from both the society girls he might be expected to wed and the Spanish girls he would be expected to bed. He liked her better than the women he’d met of either category.
He started to make his way over to where the matrons sat chattering. Unfortunately a blond-haired young woman approached Miss Paredes first, smoothing a hand down the front of her pale lavender satin dress. It was Pia Sequeira, the betrothed of Marianus Efisio—or she had been until he’d attempted to elope with Lady Isabel, her cousin.
Miss Paredes nodded and rose, and together the two walked to a door to one side of the ballroom, under the curious eyes of half the revelers. Duilio had no doubt the other half would hear about it within minutes.
Oriana couldn’t think of a graceful way to get out of an audience with Isabel’s cousin. Outside the ballroom, they emerged into an open foyer where a young footman waited, giving the appearance that he was no more than a statue.
Miss Sequeira clutched at Oriana’s arm. “Miss Paredes, I’ve heard you’ve gone to work for Lady Ferreira. Is that true?”
Pia was delicate and petite and, although nothing alike in coloration, she otherwise reminded Oriana very much of her own younger sister, Marina. “Yes.”
“Aunt claimed you trumped up some tale about Isabel being spirited away by bandits to cover her elopement. That she’d been taken by someone other than Mr. Efisio.”
“Not a tale, miss, but Lady Amaral didn’t believe me,” Oriana volunteered, since otherwise it would take Pia hours to get to her point.
“Mr. Efisio wrote to me, making it plain Isabel isn’t with him.” Pia touched the back of one gloved hand to her lips and sniffled. “If Isabel hasn’t run off, then she must be . . . dead . . . or kidnapped. Aunt
When Oriana didn’t argue the point, Pia looked up at her again. “Have you . . . ?”
“Yes, I’ve spoken with a representative of the police,” Oriana said truthfully. “But as Isabel’s parents have said nothing, they have no reason to pursue the inquiry.”
“Oh.” Pia chewed her lower lip. “Will the police suspect Mr. Efisio of harming her, do you think?”
So the girl was still concerned about him, even though he’d jilted her. “I don’t think so.”
“Good,” Pia said softly, her blue eyes shining. “I would hate for him to be accused.”
Oriana didn’t know how deep the girl’s feelings for her erstwhile betrothed went, but Pia was a kindhearted girl. She would probably forgive him anything.
“He’s very angry with Isabel,” Pia added. “He said some unkind things about her in his letter, that she was toying with him and only wanted his money. Did she intend to go through with the wedding at all?”
“Yes,” Oriana admitted. “She told me she loved him,” she added reluctantly.
“His feelings are wounded, then,” Pia said, nodding as if that made sense of what she’d read in his letter. “He begged my forgiveness. He said his infatuation with Isabel was a fleeting thing, and asked if he might take up our betrothal again.”
Technically, their betrothal never had been terminated. As Oriana understood it, Pia was still betrothed to Marianus Efisio. “Do you intend to take him back?”
Pia lifted her hand to her nose again to cover another sniffle. Then her expression firmed. “No. I won’t. I’ve written to him to end our betrothal. I’d prefer a husband who won’t be drawn away by every pretty, clever woman who comes along.”
“Good,” Oriana said, even though she had no right to comment on Pia’s actions.
Pia sniffed wetly, opened her handbag, and began hunting through it. “I heard you, you know, a few months ago when you thought I was still in the water closet.” She produced a lacy handkerchief and dabbed at her eye. “I was in the hallway, and I heard you tell Isabel it was dishonorable to try to steal her own cousin’s betrothed. I didn’t believe you then, but that’s how I know how long it was going on. At least four months, so it wasn’t just a passing fancy on his part.”
“No, I didn’t think it was,” Oriana agreed. “They should have told you the truth. If he didn’t wish to marry you, he should have spoken to you.”
“A man doesn’t break off his betrothal,” Pia said with a helpless shrug, her eyes lowered. “I suppose he thought if he ignored me long enough I would do it for him.”
“No one could sway Isabel once she’d set her mind to something.” Pia took Oriana’s right hand in hers again and met Oriana’s eyes. “Thank you, Miss Paredes. I hope your current situation is easier than your last.”
“It’s a good household,” Oriana said honestly. “Isabel introduced me to Lady Ferreira a couple of weeks ago. I was fortunate that she needed a companion.”
“Especially since Aunt turned you out without a reference. Isabel’s maid told me that Aunt accused you of stealing, and kept all your clothing, even. If you need, I can ask
“Thank you,” Oriana said, genuinely touched. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“I should go now,” Pia said, dropping Oriana’s hand. “I’m going to tell Mother I want to go home. I don’t feel like smiling at anyone any longer.”
Oriana understood that sentiment. “Good night, then, miss.”
Pia walked past Oriana and into the ballroom, her shoulders drooping like a flower gone too long without water.
Duilio caught sight of Miss Paredes emerging from that doorway a few minutes later, directly after the pallid Miss Sequeira came forth. Miss Paredes scanned the room and then began to edge her way around the dance floor.
She crossed, her head lowered, to where the matrons sat, and settled in her seat again. Miss Sequeira spoke with her own mother, and they made a stately exit from the ballroom under the eyes of every gossip in town. Word of Pia Sequeira’s mournful retreat following that talk with Miss Paredes would be aired all over the city by morning. Duilio could spot eyes here and there watching Miss Paredes afterward, but no one approached her to speak with her.
Duilio caught movement in the corner of one eye and spotted Rodrigo Pimental drifting over to the balcony doorway where he stood. He sighed inwardly. Pimental was a few years older and not actually a friend. Well, not a friend by any measure. Always well dressed and careful of his grooming, Pimental presented an image of wealth and success. He held some sort of decorative ministry position, Duilio knew, likely bestowed by the prince for some favor his father-in-law had done. That kept Pimental’s well-born wife in silk stockings and furs, but the man was always short on funds. He had an annoying tendency to sponge off others. What Pimental did have was a keen ear and a sharp tongue that could cause no end of trouble if one didn’t watch one’s words around him.
“Well, Ferreira,” Pimental said, “is it true, the whispers I’ve heard about town?” He held a glass of watered sherry in his hand.
Duilio plastered his most vacant smile on his face. “That would depend entirely upon the whispers, Pimental.”
Pimental smiled tightly, his eyes on a pair of dancers on the floor. “That you hired away Lady Isabel Amaral’s companion—Miss Paraiso, or something. She has a fine figure, I admit, but there are younger and prettier girls out there. I can recommend a couple if you’re hunting a mistress.”
Duilio chose his words carefully, suppressing the urge to hit the man. “What a silly notion, Pimental. Miss Paredes is my mother’s companion.”
“I think not. I saw you watching her.” Rodrigo leaned closer, his eyes still on the dancers. “Your mother
