Francesca (10 page)

Only Louisa noted that the one representing Francesca was set in the middle. She smiled a secret smile and, catching Valiant’s eye, glanced quickly at the top tier of the cake to see if he saw it too. He did and squeezed her hand happily. At that very moment the duke’s young page bent between them and murmured low, “Duke Titus will see you both in his library as soon as the announcement is made.” Then he slid away.

The tiered cake sat in the very center of the table until the desserts had been consumed, and tiny bowls of candied flower petals were placed before each guest at the high board. There was much speculation and amusement about it. Then suddenly the trumpeters in the musician’s gallery above the hall played a grand flourish. Duke Titus arose to speak.

“You all know that three of the most eligible maidens in Europe were asked to our duchy this summer so that my son, Rafaello, might choose a bride among them. He has made his choice, and I thoroughly approve it. He will now remove two of the figures from the cake and present the replicas to the ladies to whom they belong. The figure that remains atop the cake is his choice. She will be joined by a marzipan replica of Rafaello himself. The day after their marriage is celebrated I shall retire, passing my ducal crown to my son, and that of my late wife to his bride.” Duke Titus crossed himself. “My son . . .”

The hall was deathly silent as Rafaello rose and plucked the figure of Louisa from the cake and handed it to her. There was a low murmur among the guests. Aceline du Barry smiled a triumphant little smile, which quickly faded as she realized that Rafaello was handing her her own replica. If Francesca had not suddenly been overwhelmed with her own shock, she might have burst out laughing at the French girl’s horrified face. The silk merchant’s second daughter watched as if in a dream as Duke Titus placed the marzipan figure representing his son next to her duplicate. Then Rafaello said clearly and aloud the words she both dreaded and feared.

“I choose Francesca Pietro d’Angelo of Florence to be my bride!” He pulled her up by the hand to face the hall as it erupted in cheers.

Smile, little fool, she could almost hear her mother saying, and she did, surprised.

Then Rafaello slid his arm about her waist, turning her slightly so she had to look up at him. He tilted her face, and she found herself unable to move as he bent to place a kiss upon her lips. It was not a simple kiss. It was deep and searching. She almost swooned in his arms as the hall erupted in cheers of congratulation.

“I won’t let you fall,” he murmured now against those lips.

“You don’t dare!” she hissed back. “You would look twice the fool I feel.”

“We will talk shortly in private,” he told her.

“I’m not getting married!”

He grinned down at her but said nothing more.

At that very moment a horrific shriek stunned the hall into shocked silence. Aceline du Barry was standing and in her hands was a sharp dagger pointed towards her heart.

“You cannot marry
her
! A common tradesman’s daughter? I have the blood of several great houses in my veins. It is I who is meant to be your wife. I will kill myself if you desert me!” The French girl’s eyes were wild. “I will kill you!”

Padre
Silvio quickly reached out and disarmed Aceline before she might harm herself. He did not believe that she would really kill Rafaello. “My daughter,” he said in his calm voice, “you must accept the inevitable. Come with me now and we shall pray together. God has a reason for everything that happens, and it is not up to any of us to dare to question God’s will, my daughter.” He led the now sobbing girl off.

“See what you’ve done!” Francesca scolded.

Rafaello looked surprised. “What have I done?” he said. “I never, not even once, encouraged her to believe I cared for her or was interested in her as a wife. She was the first to arrive, and for five long days until Louisa came I was forced to endure her company. I could quickly see her interest in me was my wealth and the title she would gain by becoming my wife. And nothing she has done over these past months has proven that my instincts were incorrect.”

“But why me? Oh, I know Louisa loves Valiant. You know it too, and you are not in love with Louisa yourself. It would appear you have chosen me because I was the only one left you could choose. How flattering that is,” Francesca concluded sarcastically.

“I believe you are honest,” he surprised her by saying. “You claim to have no interest in me, but do you have a lover back in Florence you would prefer?”

“If you believe me honest,
signore
, then you know that cannot be true. I would not dishonor myself, your family, or mine by being so duplicitous. I simply do not believe I want to be wed,” she answered him.

“That is ridiculous,” he replied. “You have no religious calling, so you must marry of necessity. There is no other choice for you, Francesca. If your reputation is true, then you have turned away every eligible gentleman who has presented himself to your family, and you did it cruelly by mocking your suitors.”

“And my reputation does not deter you?” she demanded to know.

“Nay, it does not! I see a girl of intelligence who possesses a kind heart, Francesca. A girl hiding from hurt who was once refused by a man she thought she loved. He was a fool, Francesca, but I am not. You will marry me, and we will come to love one another, for we are much alike. Independent, eager to have our own way, and yet a love of family and loyalty guides us as well. Now give me a smile,
dolce mia
,” he cajoled her.

She couldn’t help it. His words had touched her, although she was still not ready to give in to him yet. She smiled a tremulous smile. “I’m not certain we are that much alike,” she told him.

He laughed and his dark green eyes lit up. “Yes, we are,” he told her. “And now I mean to give you your second real kiss,” which he did.

Her head spun a second time and her legs felt weak once more. She liked his kiss, but she wasn’t certain she enjoyed this feeling of utter helplessness. But she knew if she let go of him she was going to find herself in a heap upon the hall floor. “Take me to my apartments,” she said softly. “I need to think.”

“My father would see us before either of us retires for the evening,” Rafaello told her. “Now we must make our way through all the well-wishers in the hall to reach him. I know you will draw upon that well of strength within you, and play your part.” His arm remained firmly about her waist.

Francesca forced her legs to work, stepping forward slowly and quickly regaining her dignity. All the while his arm pressed her against his side. She smiled as congratulations were offered from the men in the hall she did not know nor had ever seen in her life. His wisdom in choosing her, her beauty, were all discussed as they moved forward and were praised. They were assured by many of those unfamiliar faces that they would create beautiful children. At one point she wanted to scream, but she forced herself to maintain a smiling facade.

Finally they escaped the hall. “I think I am going to be sick,” she said.

“Is the thought of being my wife
that
distasteful?” he asked her.

“No!” The word was out before she might think. Well, if truth be told, marrying him wasn’t really distasteful. It was just the thought of marriage itself. “Let us see your father first and then I shall be sick,” she told him.

A small smile touched his lips, and he led her through the
castello
corridors to Duke Titus’s library. There they found Valiant and Louisa waiting. The two young women embraced, and seeing it the duke was well pleased.

“Sit, my children,” he invited them. Louisa and Francesca sat upon a small settle by the fire while Valiant and Rafaello stood behind them. The old duke was comfortable in a large tapestried chair opposite them. “I am well pleased by tonight’s events,” he began. “I understand, Valiant, that you would wed
Signorina
Louisa.” Valiant nodded, and the duke continued. “Then you will escort her home to Genoa, and with my blessing and full approval you will ask her father’s permission. I cannot guarantee what the Duke of Genoa will say, but I will do my best to see that he agrees to a union between his daughter and Valiant Cordassci,
Signore
di Sponda di Fiume.”

“Oh, he will!” Louisa burst out. “My mama taught me that I should never ask for anything unless I truly wanted it. ‘Think before you ask, Louisa,’ she would say. ‘A man does not enjoy being constantly impugned by the women in his life for one silly thing or another. But he does enjoy giving. Your papa will be generous to you—I know, for he is to me. Ask your father only for your heart’s desire.’ Valiant is my heart’s desire. I have asked him for only one other thing in my life. My mare, Bella.”

Duke Titus smiled. A sweet maid, he thought, but a better match for Valiant than for my son. “We shall begin arranging your departure on the morrow. I hope you can be back in time for Rafaello and Francesca’s wedding in December.”

December? Francesca grew pale. The duke was certainly wasting no time.

Duke Titus now spoke to her and to his son. “I welcome you to the Cesare family, Francesca Pietro d’Angelo. If the choice had been mine to make, I probably would have chosen you myself for Rafaello. As I have said, we will plan your wedding for December. The day after, you and Rafaello will receive the ducal crowns, and I will gratefully retire, leaving the business of governance to my son.” He smiled. “By this time next year I hope you will be close to gifting me with a grandchild, my daughter.”

Rafaello winced at his father’s words. He didn’t have to see Francesca’s face to know the old man was terrifying her with this talk of crowns and heirs.

“I am pleased to receive your approval,” Francesca said quietly. She even managed to give the duke a weak smile.

“
Padre
,” Rafaello interjected, “I think Francesca and Louisa are exhausted by the excitement of this day. Will you excuse us to escort them to their apartments and into the care of their women?”

“Ahh, I am a thoughtless old man,” Duke Titus said. “You have made me a very happy man, my son. Yes! Yes! Go!
Buona notte
, my young friends!”

They left him, Valiant and Louisa chattering excitedly to each other about how long it would take them to return to Genoa and if they should travel quickly and leave her baggage train to follow at a more leisurely pace.

“Take my father’s men-at-arms. The di Medici soldiers will want to return to Florence quickly,” Francesca said. “I’ll send two of my own with them so they may carry any messages the duke wishes to send to my father.”

“I accept,” Valiant said. The hired men-at-arms who came with Louisa were sent back immediately, and it was agreed in advance that if she was not chosen, Terreno Boscoso would arrange for Louisa’s protection on her return.

They had reached the corridor where the three girls were being housed. From inside Aceline’s rooms they could hear weeping and items being shattered, along with shrieks of outrage. At Louisa’s door Valiant bent to kiss his beloved good night while Rafaello and Francesca passed by, reaching her apartments next.

“Good night,” he said. “We will talk on the morrow.” He didn’t kiss her.

“Yes,” she agreed, relieved. “Good night, Rafaello.” Then she quickly turned to go inside and face her servants, whom she knew would be celebrating her victory.

Chapter 5

S
he leaned against the door as it closed behind her and drew a deep breath. How on earth had this happened? Why had Rafaello chosen her instead of Aceline? Was it simply because she was the only choice left to him? Louisa was in love with another. He did not like Aceline, although with her noble blood the French girl had been an excellent candidate for a duke’s son. Yet it was she, Francesca, who had barely given him the time of day, nor had she encouraged his intentions. It had to be because she was the only one left. How lovely! He didn’t love her. She was just convenient. There were days like right now when she wished she were a little girl chasing after Bianca again.

Terza came from the dayroom. “I thought I heard you come in,” she said. “We are all so very proud of what you have accomplished. Your parents will be ecstatic. We are all quite tipsy on celebratory wine.” Then she saw Francesca’s face. “What is the matter, mistress?”

“I don’t want to marry. If I marry I am once again caged and, worse, I must answer to a husband for my every action,” Francesca said, low.

Terza gave an impatient snort. “In your
padre’
s
palazzo you answer for your actions, mistress, and more to your
madre
than anyone else. Has this duke’s son been unkind to you, spoken harshly, taken liberties he should not?”

“That’s the terrible thing of it, Terza. Rafaello is kind and thoughtful of me. What if he lets me run wild? What if he doesn’t ever love me?”

“Do you love him?” Terza asked her.

Francesca found herself puzzled. She had not thought about loving any man.

“Marriages among the noble or the wealthy are arranged not necessarily on love. You do not have to be told that, Francesca. You know this young man well enough to have learned he is pleasant and kind. He is handsome, and that is surely a bonus. Is the old duke pleased? I expect he is, for you have quite been his favorite. A duke’s son has requested your hand in marriage. You! A Florentine silk merchant’s daughter! Not some noble wench with ice water in her veins. You! Francesca Pietro d’Angelo. The so-called marriage of your sister, Bianca, to a Turkish prince cannot be acknowledged. Becoming a
duchessa
is probably the finest marriage any of your parents’ daughters will make.”

“But . . .”

“You are exhausted, my child, not by this day, but by the past few months you have endured. I am putting you to bed, and you will sleep until the morrow. I shall allow no one to awaken you. Now, do not disappoint the good nuns or the priest or even little Roza, who is almost sick with excitement at your success,” Terza said. “When does the duke wish the wedding to be celebrated?”

“December,” Francesca replied.

“I must send for your bridal gown tomorrow, then,” Terza remarked, and she led her mistress into the dayroom, where the others celebrated. “Here is our mistress to share a sip of wine with us, but she will not remain. She is exhausted, as you can imagine.”

Padre
Silvio handed Francesca a tiny glass of wine.

“How is Aceline?” Francesca asked.

“Furious and hysterical by turns,” he answered her. “She was so certain she would be chosen for her noble bloodline, as if that was all she needed. She is also fearful that her father will marry her to an older but wealthy nobleman of his acquaintance. He was about to agree when Duke Titus’s invitation arrived. He took the chance that his daughter would gain Rafaello’s approval, but if she did not, he still had the other gentleman who, according to Oriel, quite lusts after Aceline. And the comte would rid himself of the girl, as he has recently taken a young second wife. His older daughter and two sons from his first marriage are all provided for and gone, although his heir lives nearby with a bride of his own. He doesn’t want Aceline in the house any longer, but he is a good father and would have her married off and taken care of by a husband.”

Francesca took a sip of her wine. “You have certainly learned more about Aceline in this one night than the rest of us have in these past months,” she noted.

“Oriel likes to chatter, and when Aceline threw the marzipan replica at her she became quite irritated and turned to me for solace,” the priest replied blandly, but his brown eyes were twinkling. Then he said, “I can see how very tired you are, my daughter. You and I will speak in the morning after our devotions.”

Francesca nodded and turned to accept the congratulations of Annunziata and Benigna and the little maidservant, Roza, whom Terza seemed to have added to their household. After a moment or two she finally entered her bedchamber, collapsing upon the bed with a sigh of relief.

Terza was immediately there, kneeling to remove her slippers and her stockings. “Stand up a moment,” she said, and when her mistress did, she undid the skirts and pulled them down along with the petticoats. “Turn.” Her swift fingers quickly undid the laces of the bodice. Terza pulled it from Francesca’s torso, and then, gathering up the skirts, she carried them into the wardrobe.

When she emerged Francesca was sprawled back upon the bed, already slipping into sleep. Terza lifted the girl’s legs up and rolled her into the middle of her bed. Then she drew up the down coverlet, put fresh wood on the fire, and snuffed the candles. She opened one of the casement windows a little bit, and then departed the bedchamber. The dayroom was empty now. She was pleased to see that everyone else had gone to bed, and with a sigh entered her own small bedchamber. Roza was already sleeping upon the trundle. Terza smiled. She had allowed the little maid the privilege, since it was easier to have her readily available. Terza washed herself and undressed before climbing into her own comfortable bed. Servants here were treated well. She slept.

To her great surprise Francesca did not awaken until late the following morning. Stretching, she lay back in her bed and considered the events of the previous evening. Was it really true? Had Rafaello Cesare really chosen her for his wife? Then her eye caught the graceful glass dome upon the mantel, and within it two marzipan figures. Her and Rafaello.
Madre di Dios!
It was true. He had chosen her, and he had kissed her as well. Twice! For a brief moment she felt a frisson of excitement, but then she recalled that he had chosen her because in the end he actually had no other choice.

Francesca sighed deeply. It wasn’t that she really wanted to marry, because now she was quite certain that she didn’t. But to be rejected by a man she believed herself in love with in Venice, a man she had once been eager to wed, and in the next breath chosen by a man who didn’t really want her but would marry her nonetheless was galling. At least he was no fortune hunter. Rafaello was simply doing his duty, and she could not fault him for that. He was an obedient son who understood the obligations of his position.

Why was it that she chafed so against her similar commitments? Was it that her distrust in men went so deep after the fiasco with Enzo Ziani? She couldn’t even recall his face at this point in her life. Her function in life was to be a wife. Her mother certainly hadn’t loved her father when she married him and departed Venice to come to Florence. But, like Rafaello, her father had been kind and patient. Still, to be chosen out of necessity niggled at her. He hadn’t said he loved her. He hadn’t even said he liked her. He was going to marry her because he had to. That is not enough incentive for me to do what my parents, what everyone else, wants of me. I want to be loved passionately, like Bianca.

Give him a chance
,
the voice in her head said. But he had had his chance. He hadn’t even spoken to her before last night about choosing her. He had just boldly announced it. He had made it fact, but it was his fact, not hers. “When the others leave,” the voice murmured soothingly. Was it possible that after Aceline and Louisa were gone he would declare some sort of affection for her? Should she give him a chance?

“You’re awake!” Terza bustled into the room. “I’ve sent Roza for some food. Stay right there in bed, mistress.” She helped Francesca sit up and plumped the pillows around her shoulders.

“What is all the noise?” Francesca asked. “I think that is what woke me.”

“’Tis Aceline du Barry preparing to leave today. Duke Titus is in an uproar because he has not yet gathered the gifts he wishes to send to the Comte du Barry, but the wretched girl refuses to wait any longer than it takes to pack up her possessions. Oriel will see she isn’t ready to go until the morrow, for there is no need to create bad feeling among the French. Duke Titus would be generous to both the girl and her father.”

Roza staggered into the bedchamber beneath the weight of a large tray. “Oh, my. What a to-do there is with the French girl,” she said, placing the tray upon a table. “When I went by she was beating one of her poor women and screaming at the top of her lungs while she did so. I suspect she was cursing the poor maidservant, but she was speaking her own language.”

Terza chuckled. “I suspect that one has never before been denied anything she wanted.” She took a smaller tray, and placing two dishes on it set it upon Francesca’s lap, and tucked a napkin beneath her mistress’s chin.

“Oh, a poached egg in cream and wine.” Francesca approved. “And bacon!” She gobbled it down, accepting a slice of fresh buttered bread with plum jam from Terza as well. “I like breakfast in bed,” Francesca announced. “I don’t believe
Madre
has ever eaten a meal in bed except after childbirth, but I shall do it every day from now on, Terza.” She licked jam from the corner of her mouth.

“A habit quite befitting a
duchessa
, mistress,” Terza said.

“Is she awake?” Louisa stepped into Francesca’s bedchamber. “Oh, good. You’re up. Would you like to go riding after you have eaten?”

“I’m going to have my breakfast in bed every day from now on,” Francesca announced grandly.

Louisa laughed. “What a wonderful idea!” she said. “Have you heard the ruckus that Aceline is making? It is quite shocking, and she should be ashamed of herself. It does not reflect well upon her family, I fear. Valiant says they will be delighted to have her gone. The old duke has his people scurrying here and there gathering up the gifts he would send with her to placate her father, though she will probably be wed before either of us is, I am told.” She giggled. “When I first came she was all sweetness and light until she learned who my father was. Suddenly a duke’s bastard daughter was not fit company for a French nobleman’s legitimately born child. Well, you and I have both shown her. Haven’t we, Francesca?” Louisa wore a smug grin on her pretty face, and her companions all laughed. “Hurry up and finish! The day is gorgeous.”

“Roza,” Francesca called. “Go to the stables and have Adon saddle the black-and-white for me. Tell him no sidesaddle. I will ride astride today and be comfortable.”

Roza hurried out, thrilled to have received a direct order from Francesca.

“You ride astride?” Louisa was surprised.

“I prefer it,” Francesca told her. “With the sidesaddle I always feel like I’m sitting atop the head of a pin. I think it’s time Rafaello learned some of my faults.”

Louisa laughed. “I think I’ll keep mine from Valiant a while longer,” she said. “I’ll wait for you in the dayroom.” She exited the bedchamber.

Terza took the tray away, and Francesca rose from her bed. She washed her face and hands, scrubbed her teeth with a little boar’s-bristle brush with a silver handle, and sat quietly as Terza brushed and braided her hair into a single plait. Then she helped Francesca dress in a white silk shirt with full sleeves, and a pair of dark green woolen pants held up with a wide brown leather belt. The pants came just below her knees. Stockings and dark brown leather boots completed her outfit. Terza handed her a pair of leather gloves that had been dyed green.

“You are still pale,” Terza fretted, “but perhaps a nice ride in the early September sunshine will bring the color back into your cheeks.”

“Have you written to Florence?” Francesca asked.

“It was sent off this morning with two of our men,” Terza said. “I sent a pigeon too at
Padre
Silvio’s suggestion. I am glad we brought six of them along. They will reach your parents before the messengers can do so. Now, do not worry yourself, and go along with Louisa, mistress.”