Free The Seat of Magic by J. Kathleen Cheney Page A

when he asked himself if Oriana was still alive, his gift told him she was. He met the lady’s eyes. “What makes you think you can trust
me
?”
    â€œI saw you with her at the Carvalho ball.”
    That was the only social event Oriana had attended as his mother’s companion, a single ball where Oriana had sat quietly in the shadows among the old women and hired companions. Lady Pereira de Santos had tried to speak with her there. Duilio didn’t remember singling Oriana out himself, though. “She is my mother’s companion,” he pointed out. “I was not escorting her.”
    Lady Pereira de Santos regarded him with narrowed eyes. “Those of us who lie to society, we all keep a certain distance from others. The face you showed her was not a lie. You trust her, which tells me she has some value to you, beyond that of a mere servant.”
    â€œEveryone in society lies, lady,” he said softly.
    She took a deep breath, pressing one hand to her belly. “I have a husband,” she told him. “No one knows, but he and I have been secretly married for seven years now.”
    Now
that
surprised him. She still wore mourning for her first husband; it was not unusual in the more traditional families for a widow to dress so for the remainder of her life, and to remain a widow as well. And although Duilio had heard that the lady had a lover, he had no idea she’d married the man, a commoner who ran a clerk’s office in the city—her man of business. “Monteiro.”
    She cast a startled look at him, but didn’t deny it. “You can imagine my stepson would be displeased, and society rather disapproving, should it get out.”
    Both true.
Even if the remarriage were not an issue itself, her first husband had been a marquis and her father a duke. She came from a long line of nobles who would find her marriage to a commoner shocking. Yet she’d married Monteiro knowing there would be scandal and opposition. Her gesture of trust in revealing that secret decided him. “What should I ask the ambassador?”
    Her shoulders slumped in relief, and she laid one black-gloved hand against the mantel. “If he knows where she is,” she said, “and if he can intercede if she’s been imprisoned.”
    Imprisoned?
Duilio swallowed. “It may take me a couple of days to get an audience at the palace. Even with the ambassador.”
    â€œI understand. All I ask is that you send word if you learn anything. My butler is in my confidence and can be trusted with any message you have for us.” She faced him squarely. “I am very grateful, Mr. Ferreira.”
    â€œNo need,” Duilio said, giving her a wry smile. “I was considering going to him anyway. I didn’t know where else to turn.” He’d known that Oriana reported to a spymaster in the city, a man disguised as a fisherman. But the spymaster’s fishing boat was no longer at its previous mooring, and Duilio had no way to know if the man would help Oriana anyway.
    Lady Pereira de Santos laughed softly, seeming friendlier now that she had her way. “I was right about you, then, that you hold her in esteem.”
    â€œI think very highly of Miss Paredes,” he admitted.
    She held out one hand. “Again, my thanks. Even if you learn nothing at all, you will have tried. It’s all we can ask.”
    He bowed over her slender hand and a moment later, the lady was gone.
    *   *   *
    D uilio wrote his request for the fourth time, this time finally aligning the wording correctly so that nothing spilled into a margin. He sanded the paper and set it aside to dry. It was at times like this that he considered hiring a secretary, but finding one he could trust with his family’s secrets posed difficulties.
    He’d wrapped a fine leather-bound book carefully in brown parchment, neither too rich nor too plain. It was only one of several volumes