De cape et d’épée
Fanny really had intended to keep her promise and stay in the carriage, but she had not counted on the darkness of this Tuscan town. There were no lamps in the street, the moon was shrouded away somewhere and the only light came from the door of Lord Byron’s palazzo, blocked every so often by the cloaked outlines that stepped into its aura—some single, some arm in arm—and hesitated a moment before mounting the shallow stairs.
Young Charles lay beside her on the carriage seat. His breath moved in sleep and the faint light through the window picked out the haze of his eyelashes. She felt ripe with power, as when the dreaming mind becomes almost aware that its surroundings are a sham and, without quite pronouncing them unreal, knows it might conjure anything into being.
S
