Rose Red (26 page)

“I didn’t hear them speaking in a strange
tongue,” Bianca said.

“No, of course not,” Rosalinda responded.
“All you think about is Bianca.”

“That’s not true.” Again Bianca dissolved
into tears. “I have been thinking about you for days, about how I
could arrange for your happiness, no matter how unhappy it might
make me. I love you, Rosalinda. And I love Vanni, not Andrea.”

“If you wipe your eyes and your nose on those
bandages one more time,” Rosalinda broke into her sister’s remarks,
“you will make them so wet and dirty that Valeria won’t be able to
use them.”

“I -I didn’t realize what I was doing.”
Bianca regarded the bandages as if she had never seen them
before.

“That’s just the trouble.” Rosalinda’s voice
was quieter now. “And to think I have always been considered the
impulsive sister. Take the bandages to Valeria. Stay with your
Vanni. Leave me alone to think about what has happened. At the
moment, Andrea’s whereabouts, and his safety, are far more
important to me than your remorse, whether real or feigned.”

Bianca met Rosalinda’s eyes. She opened her
lips as if she wanted to say something more, but apparently she
thought better of it and left the room instead.

Rosalinda
felt as if the world was whirling past her too quickly for her to
comprehend all the events taking place. Andrea’s arrival in a
snowstorm, her love for him that grew steadily over the winter, the
sight of Bianca and Vanni in each other’s arms, and now her mother
and Francesco looking at each other as if they understood truths
still unspoken, histories not yet explained – all of this confused
and frightened Rosalinda.

Francesco was going to be drawn into her
mother’s plans. So was Vanni. Rosalinda was sure of it, just as she
was sure there was much more to Eleonora’s schemes than either of
her daughters knew. The quiet world Eleonora had created at Villa
Serenita was changing, partly at her own instigation, and nothing
would ever be the same again.

Rosalinda did not feel well. It was true that
she sometimes pleaded illness when there was something her mother
required of her that she did not want to do, but in fact she was
almost always in the best of health. However, on the morning after
the arrival of Francesco and Vanni, Rosalinda’s stomach was
definitely queasy. Under her mother’s watchful eye, she ate a bit
of bread and cheese. Then she excused herself from the table,
saying she wanted to check on a minor problem with one leg of the
horse she had ridden on the previous afternoon.

It was the only excuse she could think of
that would quickly get her out of the villa and into the fresh air,
where she was sure she would feel better. Taking deep breaths as
she crossed the terrace and the garden, Rosalinda felt her stomach
begin to settle. Certain that she would soon be back to normal, she
continued to take deep breaths while making her way along the path
to the stable.

But she had forgotten about the smells
surrounding the stable. Drawing near, she took another long breath
and gagged. Knowing she had only a moment or two to get out of
sight, she rushed around the side of the stable to an overgrown
area at the back of the building. There, behind a bush, she lost
the entire contents of her stomach.

It was a few minutes later when she realized
she was not alone. Someone else was also being sick in the bushes.
Too weak and still too queasy to move, Rosalinda could do nothing
but stay where she was until the other person revealed herself. It
was Ginevra, the wife of one of the men-at-arms. Rosalinda knew the
young woman fairly well because she often helped in the villa
kitchen when Rosalinda was also there.

“You are sick, too,” Ginevra said. “I heard
you. Madonna Rosalinda, shall I call for help?”

“Thank you, but no,” Rosalinda said. “I do
feel better now. I must have eaten something that disagreed with
me.”

“You are known for your hearty appetite,”
Ginevra said, smiling though her face was pale and damp, and she
looked decidedly unwell.

“Is there anything I can do to help you?”
Rosalinda asked.

“Only time will help me,” Ginevra said. “I
know what’s wrong. I am with child again.”

“What do you mean?” Rosalinda asked. “You
already have two small children.”

“And a third on the way.” Ginevra patted her
abdomen. “It’s a bit too soon after the last one, but I can’t say I
am truly unhappy about it. Giuseppe is delighted.”

“Are you saying that being with child makes a
woman sick?” Rosalinda asked.

“Every morning for weeks and weeks,” Ginevra
replied. However, she did not look especially distressed to be ill.
Instead, she looked pleased with herself.

“I did not know this,” Rosalinda exclaimed.
“Mother told Bianca and me how babies are made, but she never
mentioned an illness connected with carrying a child.”

“I suppose she didn’t want you to know. She
may have thought knowing would frighten you.” Ginevra patted
Rosalinda’s arm in a reassuring way. “The sickness only lasts for a
short time, at the beginning. Then, if the babe is well planted in
the woman’s womb, the sickness stops and a wonderful time begins. I
never feel so well as in the middle months of a pregnancy. Oh dear,
perhaps I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m not sure Madonna
Eleonora would want you to know so much while you are still a
girl.”

“I won’t tell her that I know,” Rosalinda
said. “Ginevra, thank you for explaining this to me. Now, if I ever
marry and develop this illness, I will know I’m not sick, and I
won’t be frightened. I will be able to tell my husband what is
happening and when I do, I hope he will be as happy as Giuseppe
is.”

“Childbearing is something you won’t have to
think about for some time yet,” Ginevra said, patting Rosalinda’s
arm again in a friendly way. “You know that your stomach upset was
caused by tainted food. Is anyone else sick?”

“No, just me, and I really don’t think the
cause was bad food. I think I just ate too much. As you said, my
appetite is a bit too hearty at times. And then, truth to tell,
Ginevra, I did drink a little too much wine.”

“Ah,” said Ginevra, shaking her head wisely,
“too much wine will do it.”

“Please don’t tell anyone I was sick,”
Rosalinda begged. “Especially not my mother or Valeria. I would be
horribly embarrassed to have anyone know I was out here behind the
stable, vomiting like one of the men-at-arms after a long drinking
party. You can trust me not to drink so much another time.”

“I understand. We all drink too much wine now
and then. If you are sure you don’t need help, I’ll go back to
work. I am feeling quite recovered. Take note of how quickly my
sickness has passed, Rosalinda, and remember it when your time
comes.”

After Ginevra left her, Rosalinda leaned
against the stable wall, overcome by an attack of sudden giddiness.
Was it possible that, like Ginevra, she was with child?

“Oh, yes,” Rosalinda said to herself, “it’s
possible.” This was not the first time she had felt sick in the
morning. It was just the first time she had actually been sick.
Then there was her monthly flux, which hadn’t come upon her since
just before Andrea was at the villa at the very end of March. She
had thought little of it since she was sometimes irregular. Could
it be true that she was carrying Andrea’s child?

The first thing she must do, she decided
after a few moments of thought, was to be absolutely certain she
was with child. Only time would prove whether she was or not. She
recalled her mother saying that by the end of the third month, a
woman could be certain, which meant she should be sure in another
three or four weeks. Then, once she was sure, she would decide what
to do. Andrea might return before then.

The thought of having Andrea’s child made
Rosalinda smile. At the same time, she was afraid. Andrea had never
actually said that he loved her. She did not doubt that he had
wanted her and his words at their last meeting had indicated that
he foresaw a future with her, but circumstances could change.
Andrea was in danger while on his mission for Eleonora, and
Eleonora herself had plans that would surely alter the course of
her daughters’ lives. Uncertainty loomed for the future, adding to
Rosalinda’s concern.

“There is no reason to be upset right now,”
she told herself. “First, I must be sure that what I suspect is
actually true. Then, true or not, I will go on from there.”

Her hand stole to her abdomen, as if touch
alone could give her the answers she sought. Beneath her fingers a
new life might be growing. Despite her fears, a tender smile curved
Rosalinda’s lips.

* * * * *

After Valeria had finished her ministrations
to his injured leg, Francesco slept through the night and for most
of the following day. Vanni, as exhausted as his friend after
months of wandering through the mountains, also slept late. It was
almost evening again before the two men entered the sitting room to
find Rosalinda and Bianca sitting at the round table, working
separately on the lessons Eleonora had set for them that day.

“Vanni!” Bianca leapt to her feet, hurrying
to Vanni as if she would throw herself into his arms. Restraining
herself, she stopped when she was just a foot away from him and
smiled into his eyes instead. “Are you quite recovered from your
ordeal?”

“I believe I am, sweet Bianca.”

“Would you like to see the garden?” Bianca
was all smiles and fluttering eyelashes, ignoring the cautionary
glances Rosalinda sent in her direction, ignoring, too, the way
Francesco was once again staring at the portrait of Girolamo
Farisi.

“
You will
far outshine any flower there,” Vanni responded to Bianca’s
suggestion, “but a walk alone with you will fulfill my fondest
hopes for this day.”

Bianca placed her hand in the crook of
Vanni’s elbow and went with him through the open door and down the
steps from the terrace. He paused to pluck a blossom from the white
rosebush and present it to her.

“Here is the symbol of my love for you,” he
said. “A love which, for the present, must remain as chaste and
pure as this spotless flower and your tender heart, my sweet
Bianca.”

“I am not so pure,” she whispered, “as you
very well know, Vanni.”

“And now your cheeks are blushing red as this
other bush. Shall I pluck a second rose to match your flawless
cheeks?”

“No. The red rose is Rosalinda’s bush. Vanni,
I cannot stop thinking of you and of what we did together.”

“Nor can I stop thinking of you, sweet
Bianca. But I am a guest in your mother’s house. I cannot take
unfair advantage of my place here and do all I would like to do.
For the present you and I must feast on memories instead of on
kisses. Perhaps it’s just as well. I do not think I could hold you
as I did beside the waterfall, and restrain myself so well a second
time. When next I take you into my arms, I will have all of you,
every drop of sweetness you have to offer.”

“Will there be a next time?” she asked,
somewhat breathless after listening to his passionate
declaration.

“Ah, the future.” Vanni spread his arms wide,
as if to embrace the garden, the mountains, and the very sky
itself. “Andrea is still alive, which means I will not be forced to
take his place. What a relief that is.”

“You love your brother,” Bianca murmured.

“As much as you love your sister. No, more
than that, because Andrea and I are identical twins. There is no
closer relationship.”

“Not even with the woman you love?”

“Love for a woman is a different thing,” he
said. “Andrea is the other half of me. When I feared he was dead, I
was half dead myself. But I cannot hold Andrea in my arms all night
and kiss him as I want to hold and kiss you, or touch him in the
way I once touched you. I assure you, Bianca, he would take a
dagger to me if I tried,” Vanni ended on a laugh.

“Then you do care for me?” Bianca
whispered.

“With all my heart,” he said. “Never doubt
it. I always knew that when the time came for me to love it would
be swift and sure, and so it was.”

Inside the sitting room, Rosalinda watched
the two standing beside the white rose bush. Only when they began
to walk down one of the side paths did she turn her attention to
Francesco, who was still standing before her father’s portrait.

“Vanni will do no harm to your sister,”
Francesco said as if he could read her thoughts, though he appeared
to be fascinated by the painting and did not take his gaze from it
when he spoke. Then, very softly, he added, “A fine man, your
father.”

“I am not concerned about Vanni,” Rosalinda
said. “I am worried about Andrea.”

“Am I correct in believing your mother sent
him to perform a task for her?”

“Yes, but you will have to ask her about it.
I know only the few details Andrea told me. Actually, his reason
for accepting my mother’s commission was because he hoped it would
enable him to find Vanni’s murderer.” Rosalinda’s glance sharpened
with sudden interest. “What did you mean when you said my father
was a fine man? Did you know him?”

“
I met
him a few times, when I was a young
condottiere
sent to him with messages from
the Duke of Aullia.”

“Federigo Sotani.”

“Don’t say his name with such scorn.”
Francesco’s voice was quiet and sad. ‘‘Like your father, he was a
decent man and an honest ruler. There are too few of their kind in
Italy these days.”

“When did you leave Federigo Sotani’s
service?” Rosalinda asked.

“On the day he died,” came the answer.

“Ah, there you are, Signore Francesco.”
Eleonora came rustling into the room in a gown of deep blue-green
silk that set off her pale hair and blue eyes to perfection. “I
trust your leg is healing?”