I Dream of My Lady in Red

By Paula Freda

Excerpt: As she had done several times this past month in response to her mother's entreaties, Adriana tried on the dress once more, and stood before the free-standing full length oval mirror — another heirloom handed down through the years — a beautiful Florentine mirror framed in rosewood lovingly carved with fleurs-de-lis. The mirror and the matching vanity in her room had been gifted many years ago by an Italian nobleman to his spouse, a daughter of the Dellaportas. Adriana studied her reflection in the mirror. The red emphasized her lightly tanned skin and the warm dark brown waves of her shoulder length hair. The dress had been sized to fit her slender figure and medium height. The skirt fell in vertical waves to just below her knees. Her mother had told her that the dress was priceless. And if the Dellaporta line ever died out, every Dellaporta's Last Will and Testament specifically mandated the dress be donated to a local museum who had over the generations repeatedly requested to display it among their most precious acquisitions.
Perhaps it was the mood of the present generation, or the reason behind wearing the dress — to entice a suitable husband — or the debutante ball itself, putting her on public display, that made Adriana shudder....
Adriana sighed, contemplating the dress and the silk rose clip. The accessory was made of the finest silk, but she'd prefer a real flower.. The vase in the corner of her vanity held a bouquet of roses in full bloom - a Valentine's Day present from her parents, two days ago. On impulse, she took a small silver scissor from the side drawer of her vanity, and cut a rose to replace the accessory. She slipped off the silk blossom and threaded the stem bit through the gold pin, then clipped the rose to her hair above her left temple. As she did so, some of the petals fell to the ground. Closing the gap between the vanity and the mirror, she bent to pick up the trail of petals. At that very moment, a ray of sunlight cut through the window sash, encircling her body in a halo. The free-standing mirror reflected her image as she picked up the petals.
Unaware of her surreal image and the cascade of sunray, Adriana's thoughts were of the suitors who would vie for her hand in marriage. Certainly, the dress made her look beautiful and desirable, and her parents' wealth and her inheritance, more so. It was not a publicized fact, but many of the Dellaporta daughters had not been happy in their marriages. Another reason she wished to avoid the whole tradition. She wanted to marry and raise a family of her own. But most importantly, she wanted to love her chosen spouse and be loved in return for all their lifetime. To be loved for herself, for her spirit and her mind, and not for the beauty of the body that was transitory, or for her inheritance.
Occupied with her thoughts, she paused in the act of collecting the fallen petals, trying to imagine the man who might fit that description. She did not notice the subtle haze created by the sunray around her. In her mind's eye, she imagined that he would not know who she was, or her background and traditions. And it would not be love at first sight. He would fall in love with her slowly, day by day, as he grew to know her. And vice versa. A gentle, good man, with a modicum of common sense. A hard worker who did not aspire to a fortune. She would not find him at a debutante ball. No! she determined. I will not wear this dress or attend any coming out ball!
Adriana finished picking up the petals and stood up. The light coming from the window dimmed, the accompanying surreal aura cleared, the haziness dispersed. Adriana slipped out of the dress and replaced it on the hanger and re-hung it all the way back in her walk-in closet.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paula Freda
• Release date: Apr 26, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310558160

Paula Freda

About the AuthorDorothy Paula Freda, is also known under her pen names Paula Freda and Marianne Dora Rose. Herbooks range from Fiction and Non-fiction Adventure, Romance, Fantasy, Sci-Fi, Poetry, Articles, Essays and How-to-Write Instructional complete with Lessons and optional assignments.Homemaker, mother of two grown sons, and former off-the-desk publisher of a family-oriented print small press, (1984 thru 1999), The Pink Chameleon, that she now publishes on line, Paula was raised by her grandmother and mother, and has been writing for as long as she can remember. Even before she could set pencil to paper, she would spin her stories in the recording booths in the Brooklyn Coney Island Arcades for a quarter per 3-minute record. She states, "I love the English language, love words and seeing them on display, typed and alive. A romantic at heart, I write simply and emotionally. One of my former editors kindly described my work, '...her pieces are always deep, gentle and refreshing....'" Paula further states, "My stories are sensitive, deeply emotional, sensual when appropriate, yet non-graphic, family fare, pageturners. My hope is that my writing will bring entertainment and uplift the human spirit, bring a smile to your face and your soul, and leave you filled with a generous amount of hope."

Book preview

I Dream of My Lady in Red

by Paula Freda

© March 2014 by Dorothy Paula Freda - (Pseudonym - Paula Freda)

Bookcover photo © Freda Design Studio (Thomas M. Freda)

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof. This is a work of fiction; names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

DEDICATION

With thanks to my Dear Lord Jesus and his Blessed Mother Mary whose strength, guidance, and her Holy Rosary, are my anchor in this troubled world, I dedicate this book to my husband, Domenick, whose love, patience and kindness over the past 43 years have kept my dreams and view of the romantic alive and vibrant.

I Dream of My Lady in Red

by

Paula Freda

CHAPTER ONE

For the past 200 years, each female offspring of the Dellaporta family waited with intense eagerness to wear the red dress — on their eighteenth birthday at their coming out celebration, and sometimes not as eagerly on their 50th birthday. The matriarchal reasoning for the wearing of the red dress was that on their eighteenth birthday they would look lovely and enticing enough to attract the attentions of a suitable prospective young husband at their coming out ball. Wearing the dress on their fiftieth birthday — if they still fit into it — was to rekindle the passion between husband and wife should it have slackened over the years.

Adriana was the first eighteen year-old Dellaporta female to ever scoff at the idea of a debutante ball, and wearing the red dress, no matter how altered to fit the contemporary style.

Two hundred years ago the dress was a long flowing gown with a dainty scoop neckline over the tightly laced corset bodice. As the years progressed, so did the hemline shorten, the corset disappear, and the waistline's position fluctuate. Currently, the garment's princess bodice was held up by two thin scarlet silk shoulder straps, often referred to as spaghetti straps. The streamlined skirt reached slightly below the knee. Part of the accessories was a hair clip adorned with a silk red rose in full bloom.

As she had done several times this past month in response to her mother's entreaties, Adriana tried on the dress once more, and stood before the free-standing full length oval mirror — another heirloom handed down through the years — a beautiful Florentine mirror framed in rosewood lovingly carved with fleurs-de-lis. The mirror and the matching vanity in her room had been gifted many years ago by an Italian nobleman to his spouse, a daughter of the Dellaportas.

Adriana studied her reflection in the mirror. The red emphasized her lightly tanned skin and the warm dark brown waves of her shoulder length hair. The dress had been sized to fit her slender figure and medium height. The skirt fell in vertical waves to just below her knees. Her mother had told her that the dress was priceless. And if the Dellaporta line ever died out, every Dellaporta's Last Will and Testament specifically mandated the dress be donated to a local museum who had over the generations repeatedly requested to display it among their most precious acquisitions.

Perhaps it was the mood of the present generation, or the reason behind wearing the dress — to entice a suitable husband — the debutante ball itself, putting her on public display, that made Adriana shudder. If she resisted her mother's entreaties and her father's admonitions about tradition and family loyalty, at least until she passed her twenty-first birthday, she might side-step the tradition. Her parents would then turn their attention to her younger sister, Cassandra, who felt the exact opposite of Adriana, and zealously dreamed of wearing the red dress and the excitement of a debutante ball.

Adriana sighed, contemplating the dress and the silk rose clip. The accessory was made of the finest silk, but she'd prefer a real flower. The vase in the corner of her vanity held a bouquet of roses in full bloom - a Valentine's Day present from her parents, two days ago. On impulse, she took a small silver scissor from the side drawer of her vanity, and cut a rose to replace the accessory. She slipped off the silk blossom and threaded the stem bit through the gold pin, then clipped the rose to her hair above her left temple. As she did so, some of the petals fell to the ground. Closing the gap between the vanity and the mirror, she bent to pick up the trail of petals. At that very moment, a ray of sunlight streamed through the window sash, and encircled her body in a halo. The free-standing mirror reflected her image as she picked up the petals.

Unaware of her surreal image and the cascade of sunray, Adriana's thoughts were of the suitors who would vie for her hand in marriage. Certainly, the dress made her look beautiful and desirable, and her parents' wealth and her inheritance, more so. It was not a publicized fact, but many of the Dellaporta daughters had not been happy in their marriages. Another reason she wished to avoid the whole tradition. She wanted to marry and raise a family of her own. But most importantly, she wanted to love her chosen spouse and be loved in return for all their lifetime. To be loved for herself, for her spirit and her mind, and not for the beauty of the body that was transitory, or for her inheritance.

Occupied with her thoughts, she paused in the act of collecting the fallen petals, trying to imagine the man who might fit that description. She did not notice the subtle haze created by the sunray around her. In her mind's eye, she imagined that he would not know who she was, or her background and traditions. And it would not be love at first sight. He would fall in love