Amara closes her eyes, tears leaking from beneath the lashes. She feels the warmth of him as he comes closer, his papery lips planting a kiss on her forehead. She turns away, curling into a ball, hiding her face in her hands. He sighs loudly with annoyance and thumps off the bed.

She hears him mutter the word ridiculous as he sits down at his desk. Amara is exhausted by unhappiness. She falls asleep, as she did on the first night, to the sound of Pliny working, the splash of the fountain in the garden below.

24

“Perfumes are the most pointless of all luxuries. . . . Their highest attraction is that, as a woman goes by, their use may attract even those who are otherwise occupied.”

—Pliny the Elder, Natural History

When Amara wakes, Pliny is already sitting at his desk, watching her. From his expression, she knows there is no point in repeating her humiliation from last night.

“I’m sorry for my behavior,” she says, sitting up, holding the covers to her chest. “I did not mean to repay your kindness in such a way. I hope you are not offended.”

Pliny relaxes, obviously relieved to find her calm. He walks over, takes her hand and pats it. “I know women are naturally emotional creatures,” he says. “There was nothing offensive about your offer. I’m only glad you understand. Now,” he ushers her out of bed and shoos her toward her clothes, perhaps nervous she might become tearful again. “I have been thinking this morning about a favor you may be able to do for me. The nephew of a dear friend is calling on me shortly. If you are willing, I should like you to be a friend to him.”

Amara pauses in her dressing. “A friend?”

“All young men need some experience with a woman before they marry,” he says, with a shrug. “A father can only hope his boy doesn’t land on some coarse, unintelligent whore who runs through the family money. Of course, Rufus is rather romantic, a little naive I suspect. I am trusting you to be a loyal, helpful friend to him. One who always understands her place. No hysterics. Can I rely on you to do that?”

Amara nods. “I would perform any service for you,” she says.

“I hope not too onerous a service,” he says. “Rufus is a pleasant enough boy.” Pliny peers at her face. “Perhaps it might be wise to see the maid this morning. I will meet you in the garden.”

Amara walks out onto the interior balcony, heading to the small room at the front of the house where Sarah, a maid belonging to Pliny’s hosts, has dressed her hair each day. She takes in Amara’s reddened eyes and, without asking any questions, soaks a scrap of cloth in cold water. She motions for her to sit down at the dressing table. “Hold this against your eyelids,” she says. “It will help.”