Lucianna

by Bertrice Small

“No, I do not imagine you did,” she replied, “but you must consider your reputation, mistress. A man who enjoys a woman’s company usually has eventual seduction on his mind.”

  “You could very well be right,” Lucianna agreed. She was not yet ready to tell her faithful servant that the English earl had even more on his mind. “I will be most circumspect in my public behavior, I can promise you. Now bring me some warm soup, for I find I am chilled.”

  Balia hurried off to do her mistress’s bidding as Lucianna settled herself in a comfortable chair. “Well, Fredo,” she said, speaking to her deceased husband, “what do you think of this Englishman? I have to admit his charm has won me over, but I need to know more of him. How many men appear charming, but are really villains? My mother, of course, would be delighted to see me take such a man as a husband. Oh, the crowing she would do if I were wed to an English earl, a personal friend of their king. She would make certain every family reluctant to offer one of their sons to me would suffer with the knowledge of their foolishness. Then she would go seeking another titled son-in-law elsewhere for Serena. I know—I must be patient, as you were ever advising me, Fredo. Well, I promise you that I will be.”

  Balia brought her a small cup of hot soup and then left her to her thoughts. They were many. If Roberto actually asked her to marry him, she would have to leave Florence and go to England with him. She wondered if she could do that. She could if she loved him, Lucianna thought. And she had never heard it said that England was a savage or uncivilized place. It was green and fair, if Roberto was to be believed.

  Of course they had been at war with themselves over two ruling families, but that matter was now settled with the death of the Yorkist heirs, and the reign of the Lancastrian king called Henry VII. Fortunately, her earl was a member of the Lancaster faction. His person and his lands were safe from confiscation. But the question still remained: could she learn to love him enough to leave Florence? To even leave her family? Family was all-important, and unlike Bianca and Francesca, Lucianna was not certain she could be without them.

  The soup finished, she called for Balia, who prepared her for bed.

  Once in her bed, and Balia gone to her own little chamber, Lucianna considered further. How was the wife of an English lord meant to behave? Would she be part of the court? She doubted that the high-born ladies of the court would easily accept her, if they accepted her at all. Would that make her a detriment to Roberto? Even Orianna would seriously consider such a thing and worry.

  But her eldest sister, Bianca, had loved her prince enough to step into a new world. She had obviously thrived, if one was to believe Marco, who had managed to see her once after she had gone. Even Marco would not have lied in that matter. Even if their mother pretended not to care, she knew Orianna did, but more so their father.

  And Francesca had gone to Terreno Boscoso to wed the duke’s son and heir. She had been one of three maidens he would choose from, and Francesca had been the most blasé about the whole matter, much to Orianna’s distress. Yet the old duke’s son had chosen her, fascinated by her beauty and independent attitude. Francesca had been happy before her young husband was murdered. And she had no desire to return to Florence.

  But England was a long way away, Lucianna thought. Still, Bianca’s home was certainly as far, but Terreno Boscoso was a part of the Italian states. Lucianna sighed. If she could love Roberto, then she could certainly be as brave as her sisters. And she did want children one day. And passion. She knew nothing of it, admittedly, but she knew that a woman who found passion was a happy and content woman. While her brief marriage with her husband had been pleasant, Lucianna could not recall having really been happy and content since her childhood summers in the Tuscan countryside.

  She finally fell asleep without realizing it, and opened her eyes in the morning as Balia gently shook her shoulder, awakening her. “Time for church?” she murmured sleepily.

  “Yes, mistress,” Balia said. “I think that pretty rose gown will do nicely this morning.”

  “Nay, something a little bit more subdued. I don’t want to appear to be celebrating the end of my mourning. I could see several women were shocked yesterday by my sudden change into color again. Perhaps the dark green with the fine lace,” Lucianna suggested.

  “The old crows would like you to keep to black for the rest of your life,” Balia muttered.

  “And keep myself hidden in the bookshop.” Lucianna chuckled. “I know, Balia, I know. While I have always been most careful in my behavior, I am still one of the scandalous Pietro d’Angelo sisters, and they must keep their sons and brothers safe from me.”

  “You are nothing at all like your two older sisters!” Balia said indignantly.

  “No, I did not run away with an infidel, nor do I rule a duchy for my little son,” Lucianna agreed, “but I married a man who could have been my grandfather. Why would I have done such a thing except to inherit his wealth? And what kind of a life did the poor man live with me? Have I a secret lover? Did I hasten Alfredo’s death?”

  “Mistress!” Balia was shocked.

  “Now, Balia, do not deny you have heard this idle chatter, for my sister Serena has and has reported it all to me,” Lucianna said.

  Balia flushed. “I have,” she admitted, “and refuted it all to the teller’s face, but they didn’t want to believe you were a good wife to the master. Nor, had I explained to them, would they have understood that you and he became good friends.” She rehung the rose-colored gown and drew out a dark green silk decorated at its neck and sleeves with fine lace that had been made by the nuns at a local convent.

  “Let them think what they will,” Lucianna said. “I know I was a good wife to my husband, and his family knew it. That is all that matters. Still, for a few weeks I shall maintain more subdued colored gowns so that my neighbors may grow used to the idea that the Widow Allibatore has, after a full year, put aside her mourning.” She looked at the gown Balia was holding up. “Oh yes, that will do nicely. Do we have some nice roses in the garden I might wear in my hair?”

  “When does the Englishman return to his country?” Balia asked.

  “Soon, I believe,” Lucianna told her. “I shall miss his company, for he is charming and amusing.”

  “He has remained longer because of you,” Balia said.

  “I think he has remained because he likes our city,” Lucianna answered her.

  “You are naïve if you believe so, and I know you are not,” Balia replied with a twinkle in her eye.

  And it did become obvious that that was exactly why Robert Minton remained in Florence. But soon the weather began to grow colder and wetter.

  “I cannot remain any longer,” he told Lucianna as they sat one day by her fire. “I cannot leave my estates any longer. My majordomo cannot manage without me, though he is a good man.”

  “And I imagine the king needs you too,” she answered.

  “Nay, I am Henry Tudor’s friend, nothing more. I do not meddle in politics. Politics is a dangerous and tricky business. I want no part of it, Lucianna. I would marry, and have children. Being the patriarch of a family, the lord of a large estate, is a far better life. The whims of royalty quickly turn friend to foe. I am at my king’s beck and call, but we spoke much of this when we were young men in Brittany. I told Henry Tudor then I would always be there for him, but I would not involve myself in his governance. He said he understood, and that he wished he might live his life as simply. His mother, of course, would have never allowed it. Making him king, wedding him to Elizabeth of York, ended the hundred years of quarreling between the house of Lancaster and the house of York.”

  “You are a clever man to keep a king for a friend without involving yourself in his rule,” Lucianna told him. “I admire you for it, Roberto. I am sorry you must leave Florence, for I much enjoy walking with you along the river, and in the parks. I will miss you, if you will permit me to say i
t.”

  “Will you give me your permission to come back?” he asked, seriously.

  “Will you come back, Roberto?”

  “For you, Lucianna, aye. I will come back,” he said.

  “Then I shall wait for you, my lord,” she responded with a smile.

  “You must, however, give me something by which to remember you, cara,” he said to her. And leaning forward in his chair, he pulled her towards him, and kissed her.

  Lucianna’s head spun. The kiss was not a gentle or quick kiss. It deepened with each moment he held her, and something stirred within Lucianna, and suddenly flared, causing her to feel heat suffusing her entire body. To her surprise, she shivered. His kiss softened before he took his lips from hers, but he still held her gently.

  “That was your first real kiss, wasn’t it?” he asked.

  Briefly speechless, she nodded, finally saying, “Alfredo’s lips never touched mine but once, briefly, the day we wed. He always kissed me on the cheek, or the forehead, or my hand.”

  “Then I certainly have something very special to remember you by until I return, Lucianna. I am honored, sweetheart.”

  It was the first time he had ever used such a serious endearment. Lucianna felt a thrill race through her. Then she said teasingly, “If that is the art of kissing I shall have to attempt to experience more of it.”

  “No!” he said fiercely, and then, softening his tone, continued. “You must not encourage other men to kiss you, Lucianna, lest you tarnish your reputation. You do not want the gossips suggesting that you are loose in your behavior.”

  “No,” she agreed meekly with him, “of course not, Roberto.” But even as inexperienced as she was in the romantic relationships between men and women, Lucianna knew his explanation wasn’t the full truth. “I shall be very mindful of my behavior while you are away,” she promised him. Certainly a man did not kiss a woman like that unless he had some tender feeling for her.

  He took his leave of her then, this time depositing a gentle kiss on her cheek. She watched him go, and then with a sigh she closed her front door, turning at the sound of Balia’s voice.

  “He is gone then for good,” her serving woman said.

  “No, he has promised to return,” Lucianna said. “I hope he will.”

  “Sometimes gentlemen make promises they intend to keep at the time they make them, but then they do not,” Balia told the young woman. “I hope you will not be disappointed, mistress.”

  “He will not disappoint me,” Lucianna replied firmly.

  Chapter 4

  She missed his company, but Lucianna quickly found herself bombarded by bouquets sent by admiring gentlemen pleading for her company. They would join her at the Mass without her invitation, and she sent them away, complaining to the priest at San Piero of their intrusion into her devotions.

  “But, Signora Allibatore,” he said to her, “did you not allow the English gentleman to join you?”

  “After he first requested my company weeks ago, I explained to him I was in mourning for my husband and would not entertain the idea of such a thing until my mourning was completed. He graciously accepted my words, and he asked again once my mourning for Alfredo had concluded. As he was a good customer of my father’s, I considered it would be proper to permit his company at the Mass. Now that Lord Lisle is gone, these bold fellows think they may have my company easily, without my permission, Padre, and they cannot.”

  “I understand,” the priest said immediately, but then he added, “Of course, some of them might be interested in courting you, signora.”

  “They are far more interested in the fortune my dear husband left me,” Lucianna said candidly to the cleric, “and you know it to be so. I am not yet ready to socialize, except with my family. My mother will advise me if I decide I should like to remarry.”

  “You are a good daughter, signora, to trust your parent,” he approved.

  “I was a good wife too,” she said sharply. “There has never been any secret as to why Alfredo wed me. He wanted a pretty caretaker, and after the examples my sisters set, I was happy to be the wife of this good man, despite his great age. We were friends, though such an idea may shock many. He was kind, and he was generous. I tried to be the same in return, which is why I have honored his memory so faithfully. I am not yet ready to be assaulted by fortune hunters in church or elsewhere,” Lucianna told the priest. “Speak to these men, or I shall be forced to deny myself the Mass each day.”

  The priest was very surprised by her frank admission. Her husband had never had anything but the most loving and kind words for her. The signora had obviously felt an equal devotion to the elderly bookseller. “I will do so personally, signora,” he promised Lucianna.

  “Grazie,” she said, and then returned home.

  • • •

  After some weeks had passed, Orianna came to visit her daughter one Sunday when she knew Lucianna would be home, and not in the silk shop trying to teach Marco what he must know but was no longer interested in learning. “I have begun to hear gossip that disturbs me, Daughter,” Orianna began.

  Lucianna knew exactly what her mother would say, but she asked sweetly, “What can that be? I am most circumspect in my life, Mother, going to Mass each day, looking after Father’s shop six days a week. What can have disturbed you that you would pay me a special visit?”

  “Why will you not accept the gentlemen who would call upon you, or their floral tributes, Lucianna? Your year of mourning is concluded.”

  “I am not interested in playing the civetta, Mother. Is that so very wrong of me? Would you have me fill my house with flowers and men I do not want?” Lucianna hated defending herself. When was Orianna going to leave her to live her own life as she saw fit?

  “You are a well-to-do widow, Lucianna, and still young enough for a husband. You have a fine fortune to recommend you.”

  “I am not interested in a man who needs my fine fortune to recommend me. If a man can find nothing more about me than Alfredo’s gold, then I certainly do not want him. At the moment, shocking as it may seem to you, Mother, I do not want to remarry.”

  “He is not coming back, Lucianna,” her mother said.

  “Who?”

  “Do not play the innocent with me, Daughter. You know exactly who. Your Englishman. I know that you liked him, and why not? He was handsome in a rough way, and he had charm. If I had been you, I should have liked him too and entertained romantic thoughts. A man like that, however, isn’t interested in taking a silk merchant’s daughter to wife. Whatever he promised, he will not be back, Lucianna.”

  “I suppose if I had been you, Mother, I would have been assailed by romantic thoughts,” Lucianna said. “But I am not you. I found Roberto charming and a good companion. Nothing more. And I will not even entertain marrying again until that dunce who is my brother stops daydreaming constantly about the wondrous Clarinda and learns how to manage Father’s silk business. It is not that difficult if Marco would pay attention, but he does not. I pity his good wife.”

  “A good wife ignores creatures like Clarinda, and he is the envy of all his friends for having such a beautiful mistress.”

  “If I remarry, no husband will permit me to continue in Father’s shop. How long will Clarinda remain by his side when he cannot buy her the latest bauble she wants? If Marco does not pay attention to our business, there will be no money. No mistress’s undying devotion extends past a man’s ability to gift her lavishly,” Lucianna said. “When he was younger, he was enthusiastic to learn how to be a successful silk merchant, Mother, but once he met Clarinda, it all changed.”

  “She helps him forget,” Orianna said slowly.

  “Forget? What does Marco need to forget?”

  “Her. He has always held himself responsible for her unfortunate fate, despite the fact she forgave him.”

  “Perhaps if you would spea
k her name instead of referring to Bianca—yes, Mother, my oldest sister, Bianca—in such terms as her, he might feel truly forgiven. He knows how much you love her, and how her willingness to give up everything for Prince Amir hurt you. Tell him that you forgive him too. He will never be the man he was meant to be until you do.”

  “How clever you are to understand me so well, Lucianna. I am not sure I like it. And I believe we were speaking of the Englishman, were we not?”

  “But, Mother, there is nothing to speak about with regard to him,” Lucianna said. “Do not make excuses for me that do not exist just because I choose to remain a widow.”

  “I shall never have any grandchildren until Serena weds. It is to be hoped she will prove more amenable than the rest of you have,” Orianna grumbled.

  “You have three grandchildren,” Lucianna said, laughing at this self-pitying outburst by her mother. “Bianca has a little girl, a princess, which should certainly please you, and Francesca has a son and a daughter. If you want more, then let Serena have a hand in choosing who she would wed,” Lucianna advised her parent. “I know you wanted, hoped, that your daughters would marry well, and it did not quite happen as you would have willed it. I’m sorry.”

  “I can see I will make no headway with you. You will do as you please, Lucianna. I hope your choices will be wise ones.”

  Lucianna escorted her mother to the door and opened it. There stood a young gentleman, a bouquet in his hand. She sighed.

  “Oh, Signore Parini,” Orianna cooed, “have you come to visit my daughter?” She smiled warmly.

  But before Signore Parini could open his mouth, Lucianna said in the most dulcet of tones, “Unfortunately I am not accepting visitors today, Signore. Farewell, Mother.” She shut the door firmly behind them both. Orianna eventually would have her head for that little piece of business, Lucianna thought. But Guido Parini was probably the dullest man in all of Florence, and she was not of a mind to entertain him on her one day of freedom.