Sorry this has taken so long everyone!

Clavel: Thanks! Good analysis of Rodrigo

sophianwin: Thanks so much for keeping me on my toes. (!)

Special thanks to TgerLily21, StephMarie, Rowenhood, Erin, and new reviewers (YAY!) Moonjava, KeepingTheMoon, and jollyrancher-j2k

A week passed and Morena arrived at the Opera Parissine again, stood on the stage and sang for several of the Opera's owners, producers, directors, and musicians. She was astounding. Despite the fact that her stomach was in knots and that her knees shook uncontrollably as she sang, she walked out of the Opera having been cast in even a larger role than Rodrigo had expected.

She was ecstatic. If only Antonio weren't coming that night for dinner life would have been perfect. She didn't know though that greater sadness was headed her way.

When she arrived home, for that was how she was coming to think of the Baron's house, there was a letter for her on the table in the entrance. It was her brother's handwriting. Marveling at how wonderful life was she ran upstairs to her room, lay down on her sofa and opened the seal and read:

My dear older sister,

I can't tell you how overjoyed I was to read your last letter. Imagine! My sister an opera singer at the world-renowned Opera Parissine. I'm thrilled for you, Morena. I know how happy you must be to get away from that manor. I know how unhappy you were there. Knowledge of my older sister's happiness is an enormous weight lifted from my shoulders. Based on what you've told me I trust the Baron de Divezzi. If you are in need of anything let me know. My apprenticeship is going wonderfully, in a year I'll become assistant master of the western docks. It's an important position as you know. It's thanks to your sacrifice, Morena, that I'll be so well-off.

His letter continued, telling her about his work the news of Colista, the usual things he wrote her about. But she thought there was something odd in his tone. His sentences went on and on as if he was putting something off. Finally at the end of the letter he wrote:

Morena, I've saved this for the end because I don't know how to tell you. Morena, mother is furious with you. I've never seen her so angry as when she read your last letter. She started screaming about betrayal and our family's good name. She was too upset to write to you, so she asked me to send you this message from her. I'm sorry Morena. I'm writing this not because I agree with mother in the least but because I'm a dutiful son. This is what mother dictated to me:

'Morena I simply don't know what to say. What can a responsible mother, a respectable woman, say to a daughter who has betrayed her mother and family. What you have done is not what I raised you to do. I did not raise my first child to exhibit herself on a stage for all to see as a common opera girl! How could you defile yourself so! But you are not content at dragging your family's name through the mud by singing at opera alone. You must put yourself under the protection of a wealthy young nobleman! Our landlord to make things worse! What will people think of you? What will they think of me and our family? What would your father say?

This is what I say to you. If you indeed go through with this disgusting insanity your home shall no longer be here. I cannot welcome a daughter who obviously does not care for her family; who does not care about the state of her family's good name and reputation. How dare you do this to us!'

Roberto continued

I am sorry Morena. But this is my advice to you. You have earned the realization of your dream. And I know you too well to even suspect that your relationship with the Baron, who yes, is our landlord, is anything but professional. So good luck my dear sister.

Roberto.

Morena read and reread her mother's message, disbelieving what she saw. How could her mother!How could she be so old-fashioned and provincial and...unfeeling? How could her mother take away her home after she was the reason they still had it? For six years, six years that would have been ten if not for the Baron, Morena had slaved in absolute misery to save her family. She didn't understand. She was supremely sad and supremely angry at the same time. She paced her floor, then sat at her desk at scribbled something angry to her mother which she then ripped up. What was she going to do? When happiness had finally arrived was it to so suddenly end? How could this be? If she didn't sing and instead went home she'd keep her family, the family whose memory had kept her going for six years, but loose her dream. If she followed her dream, the dream whose reviving, enthralling scent she could smell so close was she to it, she would loose her family. She wanted to scream or throw something. She walked over to the bookshelf and hurled a book across the room. Then she sank to the floor, sobbing.

She felt no better by dinner time. The last person she needed to be with was Antonio. But tonight was a dual celebration. She had been cast in a good role, and the Baron had been appointed conductor for the opera, the youngest in its history, as well as joint-producer. She would try to appear happy for his sake. He was so dear, she thought as she dressed, he'd been so happy for her earlier in the day. She owed it to him. She owed a great deal to him, not only for the many things he'd done for her, but simply for being him.

So she descended to the dining room with a smile pasted on, and tears still threatening. She was greeted in the dining room by Antonio's sardonic smile.

"Ah, the diva has graced us with her presence."

"Antonio, please." the Baron said, "it's a happy day for Morena and I. Please don't ruin it."

"No thanks to you it went well Antonio," she retorted, "what with you giving the accompanist my aria in the wrong key. Did you think I wouldn't notice?"

"Morena, let's let bygones be bygones," the Baron said, pulling out her chair for her, "and revel in the day's good news."

Four courses and nearly two hours later the Baron wondered, for the hundredth time that night, why Morena wasn't happy. Besides her sharper-than-usual retort to Antonio earlier she'd said hardly anything throughout the meal. Ever now and then he would catch her eye and she would give her dazzling smile. But soon her face fell and she stared straight ahead at nothing. She ate hardly anything although her nerves had prevented her from eating either breakfast or lunch. He finally decided that before desert was brought out he should plead a headache to get Antonio out so he could tend to Morena.

"Antonio, I'm terribly sorry but I've had a dull ache in my head all day. It's escalated into a full-scale migraine. I think I ought to retire and sleep it off. Why don't you stay and have desert with Morena-"

"No thank you." Antonio said quickly, "I am sorry to hear about your headache. I hope it'll be better by tomorrow afternoon when I come over to discuss what you want to do with this opera. I'll show myself out."

"Yes. Have a good evening."

Morena breathed a silent sigh of relief when he left. Through the chaotic vacillations of her thoughts, she found it odd that the Baron pleaded a headache as she was sure he didn't have one. She was vaguely aware of him rising to pour himself a glass of port.

"Pour me one too." she said. She hated the stuff but it would distract her at least momentarily.

"But you don't dri-"

"Please." she said simply but forcefully. Rodrigo walked over to her place and set down the glass.

Morena picked it up and, closing her eyes swallowed, gulping. It was horrible and too sweet. She concentrated on how awful it was rather than the situation she was in until the glass was suddenly pulled out of her hand.

"What are you doing?" the Baron asked incredulously, "You never drink anything and suddenly your downing port like water!" then more gently, "tell me what's bothering you Morena. That's why I got rid of Antonio. I think you know as well as I do that I don't have a headache."

He was so kind, so thoughtful, Morena thought. It brought tears to her eyes again which she fought back, but not before the Baron saw them.

"You should be happy Morena. You have a great future starting today. What's bothering you? Tell me. What are friends for but to help in times like this?"

A friend. Yes. He was a friend. Why not tell him?

"I received a letter from Roberto."

"That's good isn't it? You love hearing from your family."

"Yes. I love my family. Evidently–. I don't know. Roberto gave me a message from my mother who was too upset to write herself. She's furious that I've come her with you and that I'm going to sing. She says that if I go through with it I will no longer have a home with her and she will cut off communication with me."

Rodrigo stared at her for a moment, stunned. How could a mother do this. Especially the mother of Morena?

"How can she?"

"She says I've betrayed my family, and that I've dragged their name through the mud."

"After what you sacrificed–"

"Six years in hell on earth to save them."

"And when you finally get your chance for happiness–"

"My old fashioned provincial mother chooses to forget. Or simply not care. Perhaps distance has drawn us too far apart and she's given her maternal love for me to my siblings."

"A mother is supposed to love her children unconditionally. Although she did sell you before so–"

"My mother is a good woman," she snapped, "we decided that together. I agreed to go with the Vicomte." Yes, she'd said that for years. It was true. She'd agreed after hours of her mother's pleading and persuading.

There was silence. After seeing Morena constantly for months, Rodrigo tried to picture a world without her. He didn't like what he saw.

"What will you do?" he finally asked quietly. A small sobbed escaped her but she quieted others that threatened to break out.

Don't be afraid to cry in front of me, he told her silently, let comfort you.

"Either way I loose," she said, "but I want this chance at happiness so much my stomach turns to knots just thinking about it. Earlier today on that stage, letting my voice fly, feeling the music as I never have before, then the applause after that, the prospect of more, it seems like heaven." small pause, then, "It's my turn to be happy. For six years I was cold and hungry and tired, years before that I'd forgotten happiness when my father was arrested." another small pause, then quietly, "my father would tell me to sing. I know he would. I know it." she smiled sadly but sincerely, "I'm going to sing. After today I just have to sing."

Rodrigo smiled broadly. He didn't have to use words to tell her how happy he was. For a moment he thought he'd loose her. That moment was devastating.

"I suppose I've only got Roberto and you left in the world, Signor," she said.

"Then I'll be both friend and family," he said comfortingly, "and call me Rodrigo."

These excerpts were taken from the correspondence between Morena to her brother Roberto over the next two months.

Well Roberto, I have decided to stay. Please relay my message to mother. I have slaved for six years, it is my turn for happiness. I am happy. Rehearsal's for Rodrigo's (the Baron's ) opera have begun. I can't tell you how exhilarating it is. I love it. People like me and I have made an acquaintance or two. It seems as if at last my dreams are coming true.

At last Roberto, at long last Rodrigo has taken me to an opera. It was called Gauditia. It was the most wonderful thing I've ever experienced. The lead soprano, Beatrice Potier, I thought was enchanting, but the Baron says that after many seasons as lead soprano she's on her way out. We both agreed that the principle tenor, Richard Rimif, and bass, Andre Columbe, were superb. Then there was the music the like of which I'd never heard. Every emotion was played. I felt so at home. Then the dancers, and the scenery, and the lights, I can't begin to describe to you how monumental it all was. Suffice to say I can never be the same.

Rodrigo then introduced me to some, what he said were, important people. In other words I met hosts of noblemen and their wives. There were enough counts and Vicounts and Marquesses to last me a lifetime but Rodrigo says I've many more to meet.

Every day I grow more accustomed to this new life of mine. The manor already seems like another world. Home is but a distant memory. Sometimes it seems as if it were only a dream dreamt by some other girl.

I have fallen into a routine of rehearsals and lessons. I rise at about seven o'clock, breakfast in my room, and warm up my voice with Rodrigo. We then go to the Opera House. Because other operas in production are using the stage our company rehearses in one of the opera's several rehearsal rooms. The singer's has a mirror on one wall. It is extremely odd to look at myself when I'm singing and most unpleasant. At eight thirty the singers are warmed up and, for a period when the director, choreographer, and conductor all seem to be busy the dancers drift in from their rehearsal room across the hall and we mill about, conversing about different things. I've made some friends this way. At about nine o'clock Rodrigo enters, tells the dancers to get back to their own rooms, hands out librettos, sits at the piano and says something like: "all right then, would someone trouble himself to tell me where we left off?" Someone does trouble himself or herself and singing commences. At some point our director comes in and movement is added. My role is that of the daughter of a countess, friend of the lead (Beatrice Potier), who seems frivolous throughout most of the play and provides a good deal of comic relief, but proves herself in an act of sacrifice to save the lovers. True opera! Beatrice and I, unfortunately, do not get along. I have become good friends however with Richard and Andre.

There is a short break for lunch somewhere in there, by two thirty we are usually free. Back at Rodrigo's house my music lessons continue in music theory, music skills and violin. Music history has been added as have, interestingly, ballroom dance lessons. I find that I look forward to these dance lessons all day. We usually dine early, around six o'clock and either Rodrigo and I will sit and talk for a few hours, or I will return to my room to read, write, or study. It is a tiring routine but a most enjoyable one. I can't tell you how happy I am.

I am writing to you from a lovely little flat overlooking the park. Rodrigo thought it best to rent me my own flat as I was becoming more noticeable in society since we have been going to more concerts, theater, etc. lately. He is paying my rent now, but of course I will pay him back as soon as I receive payment from the opera. In addition I have a new sprig wardrobe, which I will of course also reimburse him for. My flat is small and simple as I wanted it to be, but lovely. It has five rooms: a sitting/music room where my new friends visit me, a small bedroom for me, a dining room, a kitchen, and my maid's room. Yes, I have a maid. Another thing I will have to reimburse Rodrigo for. I didn't want one. I wasn't a maid six years for nothing. Rodrigo argued that it would be unseemly if I didn't have one and did all my cooking and cleaning myself. He said even if it were, he didn't want me to do that sort of thing any more. So I had to relent. Perhaps because it is just the two of us I find her less distant than the servants at Rodrigo's home and have been able to form a friendship with her, even assisting with dinner most days.

Relations between myself and Antonio have grown less hostile recently. I believe Rodrigo has spoken to him after he found me in tears after he found me in tears after a conversation with Antonio. Fortunately I have not found other nobles so hostile. In fact I went on an outing the other day with the Baroness de Nimas, whose husband is an acquaintance of Rodrigo. In the last month and a half I have been trying to decipher my new social situation. It is much higher than it used to be of course either in Colista or at that manor, yet no one else who works at the opera associates with nobles. It seems that it is only my acquaintance friendship with Rodrigo that entitles me to keep such company. The Baroness de Nimas and her husband are good friends of Rodrigo's. I believe that many of the other fashionable nobles are not eager to associate with me, and the Baroness was allying herself with me for Rodrigo's sake. This social game is not an easy one to play I find. Unspoken rules abound. At any rate, my work, which is to say my art, which is to say my life, thrives. We have only a week until the opera. Rehearsals have moved to the stage and how wonderful it is! What a thrill to be accompanied by a fifty piece orchestra rather than simply a piano. In addition, I have been given my own dressing room. A small one, but more than many others have. Every day seems to bring with it an additional happiness. If only you could be here to hear me sing, and I could see how you've grown and changed I would be in heaven. So instead, say a prayer for my nerves which I don't know how I will control, and wish me luck!