Milan, 26 October 1816, 6:30 p.m.
Palazzo Clerici, Contada del Prestino dei Bossi
Far from the echo of tumult and completely immersed in her tarot, Irina Varga recognised the very dry, rhythmic knock of Bleda at the door.
‘Come!’
‘Lord George Byron requests your presence, Countess’.
With time given for her to pack the cards away, the nobleman was asked to sit down.
‘I hope I’ve not come at an inopportune time, Irina,’ he said as he kissed her hand.
‘And to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, George? You seem worried!’
‘This is a delicate matter, Irina,’ said Byron as he accepted a cup of tea.
‘You well know I’ve never refused to help you. What may I do for you?’
‘It is not in this city that I find my muse or inspiration. I must depart’.
‘Where are you thinkin
