Louisa slept late, weary after the previous day’s travel, and weary too after crying herself to sleep in the small hours; but before falling asleep, she’d come to a very important decision: she was going to fight for Kit and not surrender to Thea. The Venetian apartments at Highclare were aptly named, for everything in them had once adorned a palazzo on the Grand Canal itself. The doors were inlaid with ebony and ivory, and the columns were made of jasper. There was rich decoration everywhere, not a single surface left plain, and the walls sported subtle rococo designs of long twining stems and flowers in aquamarine and beige. The ceilings were gorgeously painted, and from them hung elaborate chandeliers fashioned from wood and gilded copper, their stems curling into little rosettes, their candleholders fashioned like crowns. The furniture was all of the distinctive Venetian style, lacquered and delicate, but in oddly bulging shapes. The chairs, cupboards and tables were finished in mock-Chinese work in deep-green and gold, and the bed where Louisa lay was particularly rich and ornate, with complicated hangings of the finest damask.
