“That’s true. I have wondered every day since
it happened just what Andrea meant by those caresses and by what he
said to me that afternoon.” Rosalinda buried her face in her knees
again, so the request she made was somewhat muffled. “Please,
Bianca, don’t tell anyone about this.”
“Haven’t I always kept your little secrets?”
Reaching out to her sister, Bianca smoothed down Rosalinda’s
springy curls. “Though this is not such a small secret. Rosalinda,
you must not fall in love with Andrea. He will not stay at Villa
Serenita beyond the spring thaw, if he stays that long, and we
cannot leave here. You know why it is so. Do not torment yourself
by longing for what you cannot have. And, please, I beg you, my
dearest, do not allow your affection for Andrea to lead you to
grant him liberties that will only cause you greater regret when he
does leave.”
There was no priest at Villa Serenita.
Nevertheless, late on Christmas Eve the entire household, along
with the men-at-arms and their families, gathered in the large
reception room that was almost never used. The room had been
cleaned on the previous day and decorated with fresh, fragrant
greenery brought in from the forest. New candles had been placed in
the chandeliers and in all the wall sconces for this occasion, and
their flames illuminated the gilt trim and the frescoes on the
walls and the high ceiling. Beginning a little before midnight,
Eleonora read the appropriate Christmas passages from her missal
and then added a few prayers of her own.
From his position between Bartolomeo and
Rosalinda, Andrea watched Eleonora. He imagined that she must be
wishing she could include among her prayers a mention of the
enterprise upon which she wanted to send Andrea. She had not spoken
to him about it at all, and neither had Bartolomeo said anything
more on the subject after their late-night talk. Andrea believed
those two accomplished schemers were simply leaving him alone to
make his own decision, because they were already certain what that
decision would be.
The entire population of Villa Serenita had
been fasting since early morning. Once the Christmas prayer service
was ended, the white-clothed tables that had been pushed against
the walls of the reception room were pulled to the center of the
room and platters of food were carried in by willing kitchen
workers, for it was by now well past midnight and the pre-Christmas
fast was over.
Poached whole fish, roasted chickens, and
joints of meat were set in places of honor, while truffles uprooted
from the forest added their pungent, earthy aroma to the other
inviting smells. Nuts and preserved fruits from the summer harvest,
fresh apples and pears, roasted chestnuts pureed and blended with
whipped heavy cream and eggs to make a sweet pudding, dried figs
and dates brought to the villa on Luca’s last visit, and sweet
bread made with raisins all crowded the tables. Large pitchers of
wine completed the feast prepared to celebrate the holy day.
Andrea was invited to sit next to Eleonora.
It was an honor he could not refuse, though he would have preferred
a place between Rosalinda and Bianca.
‘‘Well, Signore Andrea.” Eleonora looked at
him over the rim of her jeweled, golden wine goblet. “Here it is,
Christmas Day.”
“So it is, madonna.” Andrea tried his best to
sound noncommittal while his heart was beating as hard as if he
were about to go into battle. Which, in a way, he was. “I wish you
all the blessings of this holy season.”
“Do not trifle with me, Andrea.” Eleonora’s
blue eyes were hard and her mouth was pulled into the firm line it
assumed when she wanted her daughters to do something to which they
objected.
“I would not dream of trifling, madonna. Let
us say instead that, when I think of all you have done for me, I am
overcome with gratitude. And with astonishment.”
“Indeed?” Eleonora’s finely plucked eyebrows
rose. Her eyes were sparkling now, a sign to Andrea that she was
relishing their exchange.
There were men and women, bred in the courts
of the Italian city-states, who found the manipulation of others
and the bargaining for power and position a far more exciting game
than any sport. Andrea recognized Eleonora as one of those souls.
He marveled that she had remained quiescent for fifteen long years,
though he knew why she had stayed hidden at Villa Serenita. It was
for her daughters’ sake. Now, for the sake of those daughters, for
the chance of winning back their heritage, Eleonora was willing to
risk her entire fortune. And, perhaps, all of their lives.
“Why should you be astonished by me?”
Eleonora asked.
“Because you are willing to place your trust
in a man who is, in all save the most basic essentials, a complete
stranger to you.”
“It is those basic essentials that matter
beyond all else. Do not mistake me for a fool, Signore Andrea. I am
an excellent judge of men. If my late husband had only listened to
my opinions about certain of his advisors, not to mention some of
his allies in neighboring states, then he might well still be
ruling Monteferro, and I would have no need of your services.”
“But you do need me,” Andrea said. “And thus,
you trust me.”
“As far as I would trust any man who has much
to gain by promising future deeds of valor,” Eleonora said.
“I will not betray you.” He met her
glittering blue eyes. “In this world there are but two things I
want. You hold one of them in your possession. If I betray you, or
if I cause harm to you in any way, then I will lose my heart’s
desire. For all that you have lost in your life, still you are a
fortunate woman, madonna. Your daughters love you, and neither of
them would willingly give herself to a man who had hurt her
mother.”
“There are men who would not scruple to take
an unwilling woman,” Eleonora said.
“I am not one of them. If you trust me in
nothing else, Madonna Eleonora, believe me in this. The woman I
make my own must come to me freely, under no compulsion, because /
am her heart’s desire.”
“I do believe you, for in this you are like
my beloved Girolamo.”
For a moment Eleonora’s eyes softened with
memory and her lips curved into a tender smile that made her look
years younger. But only for a moment. She returned at once to the
business at hand, and her smile disappeared. “Am I to assume, then,
that you accept the offer Bartolomeo has made to you on my
behalf?”
“I shall do all that you require of me,” he
said. “And more, if I can.”
“Good.” She did not seem to hear the hidden
message in his simple words, but went on with her planning. “We
will meet later today to discuss the details. For privacy, I
suggest Bartolomeo’s office. Do you by any chance know Luca
Nardi?”
“The banker?” Andrea shook his head. “I have
only heard of him.”
“You will be dealing with him about the money
you will require. Signore Andrea, I have a new request to make of
you.”
“‘Which is?”
“For their own safety, I do not want my
daughters to know about our enterprise until it is completed and
Monteferro has been secured.”
“There we are in complete agreement,
madonna.”
“Then I wish you not only a blessed holy
season, Signore Andrea,” Eleonora said, lifting her wine goblet,
“but a most successful year to come.”
* * * * *
The time for giving gifts was not on
Christmas, which was a solemn, if joyous, holy day. Rather, the
Feast of the Epiphany, the day of the three kings who had traveled
to Bethlehem bearing gifts to the Christ Child, was the traditional
time for generous folk to emulate those most famous gift-givers by
doing the same for family and close friends.
On the morning of January 6, Eleonora once
more stood in the large reception room to read from her missal to
the assembled company and to say a few prayers. Afterward, she and
her daughters handed out the gifts that had been piled on the
tables. There were special sweetmeats or toys for the younger
children, trinkets for the older ones, and for the grownups,
presents that could not be made at the villa or lengths of fabric
for new clothes.
“How did your mother acquire all of these
gifts?” Andrea asked Rosalinda as the last of the children were led
from the room by their parents.
“Luca brings them.” Rosalinda’s smile tugged
at Andrea’s heart. Too soon he would have to leave her, and she
might think he was deserting her. Indeed, after the last few weeks
of care on his part not to show any open preference for her over
her sister, Rosalinda might imagine he had no special interest in
her at all.
“Luca?” he asked, to keep her by his side
while she explained who Luca was.
“He is Valeria’s brother. He comes to visit
us two or three times a year and when he comes, he brings pack
animals loaded with whatever we need.”
“Luca Nardi is Valeria’s brother?” Andrea
exclaimed, not hiding his surprise. “I did not know that. No one
told me.” He wondered what else Eleonora and Bartolomeo had not
told him.
“How do you know Luca’s family name?”
Rosalinda asked. “I didn’t mention it.”
“Bartolomeo said something about him,” Andrea
answered, making up a hasty excuse. “For some reason, I didn’t
connect him with Valeria.”
“You will meet him the next time he comes
here. I think you will like Luca.”
Andrea said nothing to that. He knew he was
going to have to tell Rosalinda he was leaving the villa, but for
days he had postponed the moment. They had settled into a routine
in which either Valeria or Eleonora always seemed to be present
when Andrea and Rosalinda were together, and he was doing his best
to treat her as if she were a sister or a dear friend. But he could
not deny to himself the passion he felt for Rosalinda, and all too
often he saw her puzzled gaze on him, as if she were trying to
reason out in her own mind why he was no longer playing the part of
the eager would-be lover.
With the men-at-arms and their families gone
to their own quarters, Eleonora and her companions retired to the
sitting room. There a more private gift-giving ceremony took place.
Most of the presents exchanged were small items, made by hand, but
the sisters received gifts of some value.
“Mother!” Bianca exclaimed, “these are your
pearl earrings.”
“I have more than enough jewelry,” Eleonora
said, “and you are old enough now to wear such jewels. Rosalinda,
this bracelet is for you. It was my mother’s.”
“There is a ruby set in it. How beautiful.
Oh, Mother, thank you.” Rosalinda embraced her mother.
“Perhaps you ought to give Andrea his gift,”
Eleonora suggested.
“I hope you like it,” Rosalinda told him. She
picked up a neatly folded pile of bright blue cloth and held it out
to him. “Valeria said wool would be warmer than silk and much more
sturdy. Bianca and I made the doublet, and Valeria made the hose,
because Mother said unmarried girls ought not to sew such an
intimate garment for a man.”
“I do hope it fits well,” Bianca added in her
soft voice.
“I am sure it will.” Andrea held up the
doublet, measuring it against his chest and arms. “Dear ladies, I
do not know how to thank you for this.”
“Signore Andrea will be doubly glad of his
gift,” Eleonora said. “Since he will be leaving us in a few days,
he will require new clothes.”
“Leaving?” Bianca whispered, looking
stricken.
“No, you can’t go,” Rosalinda cried.
“You knew he could not stay here forever,”
Eleonora said. “Young men have interests of their own to pursue, in
the world beyond these mountains.”
“Andrea, please don’t go,” Rosalinda begged,
with tears in her eyes.
“I will return one day.” Silently, Andrea
cursed Eleonora for being so blunt, until he saw the look on her
face as she regarded her younger daughter. Rosalinda moved to the
window, where she stood with her back to the room. By the rigidity
of her shoulders Andrea suspected she was trying hard not to cry.
Eleonora gave him an abrupt little nod, and he understood that she
had taken on the unpleasant task of telling the girls so he would
not have to do it.
“We will miss your pleasant company,” Bianca
said to him.
“As I will miss yours, Madonna Bianca.” He
took her hand to bow over it and Bianca leaned close to him.
“Go to her. Talk to her,” Bianca said under
her breath, and Andrea obeyed.
“Rosalinda.” When he tried to take her hand
as he had taken her sister’s, she pulled it out of his grasp. “You
must know that your mother is right. I cannot stay here
forever.”
“Of course not. Your life is elsewhere,” she
said in a small, lost voice. “Go, then. I do not care.”
“I swear to you, I will return, and sooner
than you think.” He sought for a way to cheer her up without
revealing too much. “When the snow melts so you can ride in the
mountains again, remember the bear you once met on a dangerous path
and know that he will never forget you.”
“I wish I had not met that bear, and that you
had never come here,” she said, still in that broken little voice,
so unlike her usual tones. “Before I knew you, I was at least
reasonably contented.”
“Would you rather I had died in the
mountains?”
“No.” She turned upon him the full force of
gray eyes swimming with tears. “I am glad you did not die. But I
wish with all my heart that you would not go away.”
Andrea had never in his life wanted anything
more than he wanted at that moment to take Rosalinda into his arms,
to kiss and comfort her, to reassure her of his deep affection, to
make her understand why he must go and that he would certainly
return to her as soon as he could. But there were other people in
the room, and Rosalinda and Bianca must be kept in ignorance of the
plan their mother had set in motion. Andrea sent a helpless glance
in Eleonora’s direction. She reacted at once.