The scene that awaited us was like nothing I had ever seen.
I heard the music first.
Then Adrianna opened the double doors leading to the back patio, and the muffled trills and strums of the mandolin exploded into a sprawling echo as we stepped into the sudden chill of winter air.
The speckled pink of the foyer was replicated in the marble floor and pillars of the terrace that faced east.
On this night, how could one believe spring was near?
Snow came down in thick chunks that made a meadow stretching beyond the patio of the Casa, white drifts scattered along the patio edge.
The blanket of snow contained the sights, sounds, and scents within the terrace, so nothing was lost. No thrill of the senses would dissipate.
Any remaining sleepiness I might have had was gone.
The romantic ballad soared through the spacious back patio that stretched under the northern wing of the Casa.
We were spared the hard cold of marble with a trail of thick rugs the color of wine to cushion our feet all the way to where we would dine for the evening.
Adrianna’s household had created a sanctuary of warmth from the tenacious hold of winter at the heart of the patio.
There stood an enormous, open, square fireplace. Iron mesh curtains hung on all sides to contain the flaming spits of wood crackling off a mountain of logs.
Plump chimineas circled from one side of the hearth to the other, and the smaller blazes within made a ring of fire around a sumptuously relaxed haven.
There were plenty of lounging chairs and loveseats, small tables within easy reach, and plenty of pillows and thick fur blankets, anything we could possibly need for our comfort.
As if all this wasn’t enough, a dozen stewards dressed in gray uniforms surrounded the chimineas and the hearth. Half tended to the fires, while the other half slowly waved giant fans into our gathering place.
I finally saw the source of the exquisite music.
Three older girls were seated close together in front of the chimineas opposite the hearth.
Dressed in demure cream-colored gowns, their heads bowed low while their dainty fingers deftly tickled the strings and rode the necks of their mandolins, intent only on the trembling vibrations.
The players were unique in that they were female and quite young.
I had never seen women hired as public musicians, much less girls.
The Wanderer and I glanced at each other.
Could they possibly be under Adrianna’s tutelage?
The trio was extremely talented, yet also extremely awkward. The girls lacked the beauty and poise one would expect from an apprentice training in the pleasure arts.
Seated closer to the fireplace, and facing us, two comely young women stood up from their divans as we approached.
Dressed in diaphanous gowns that seemed to float about them, they were definitely courtesan protégées. Both smiled winsomely as we approached.
We followed Adrianna into the circle, and warmth enveloped me like a heavy blanket. Heat flowed to us in gentle waves from the steady back and forth of the giant fans of the stewards.
Adrianna’s protégées flanked her on each side.
“May I present Celia and Astrid to you? These are the most gifted protégées I’ve had in a long time.”
Following a wave of her mentor’s hand, Celia came forward.
A beauty with thick, coppery hair, she had a wide, generous mouth, long limbs, and a slender figure. The filmy red gold fabric of her gown drifted around her.
I was startled when she stepped close to the Wanderer and boldly kissed his cheek. Yet he returned the intimate greeting, while her lips lingered longer than was necessary.
I stiffened when she turned towards me.
Celia kept a polite distance and smiled, her tone as warm as the fires around us when she spoke.
“It is my privilege to make your acquaintance, Sir Shepherd.”
Then Adrianna beckoned Astrid.
Her allure was subtle in contrast to the blatant sensuality of Celia.
With her pale brown hair, powdery skin, and delicate hands, Astrid had a saintly air more than a harlot’s, even while dressed in sheer watery green that revealed hints of the petite figure underneath.
With a bravado that was surprising in one who appeared so fragile, Astrid came to me with an outstretched hand.
Her confidence was so absolute I gripped her palm without thinking.
“I’m honored to meet you, Sir Shepherd.”
She had a sweet voice, Astrid did. Everything about her was so angelic, her presence in this Casa was bizarre.
“Neither of you need address me as ‘sir.’ It’s strange.”
“Mi’Lady insists we address you with honor,” Celia replied.
“We appreciate the compliment,” the Wanderer added. “But I agree with Shepherd. It doesn’t feel right.”
Adrianna shrugged.
“As you gentlemen wish. We only want you to feel at ease.”
