The Time Contessa (The Time Mistress Book 3)

by Georgina Young-Ellis

  “Maestro Sampieri,” said Jake, “I think my sister and I are done here. Why don’t we leave Signor Marino and his clients to discuss their portrait.”

  “No, no!” said Giuliana’s husband. “I would welcome the opinion of the English count and countess. I don’t pretend to know anything about art, nor do I really care, but as long as we’re doing this portrait, it may as well be the best it can be.”

  “I am really no expert either, signore,” said Jake, bowing his head.

  “Our Englishman is being modest, Signor Guerrini,” said Sampieri. “He told me he studied drawing in Florence with da Vinci a few years ago.”

  Giuliana jerked her head up and shot Jake a hurt glance before staring back down at the table.

  Piero’s eyes darted between them. “Florence? My beautiful wife comes from Florence.”

  “Oh!” said Jake.

  Another look was shared between Sampieri and Francesco. Did Guerrini notice? He was scowling in Jake’s direction.

  “Let’s talk of the picture.” said Francesco. “Let me tell you, Signor Guerrini, what I have in mind for this creation, and you and your wife can tell me if my ideas suit you both.”

  “Don’t ask my wife,” said Guerrini with a mocking laugh. “She knows even less than I do.”

  Giuliana looked up, her eyes slits of disgust aimed at the back of her husband’s head, then gazed down again. Cassandra reached for Jake’s hand under the table. His fists were clenched.

  “Brother,” she said to him quietly. “I am not feeling well. Perhaps we should go after all.”

  Sampieri leapt to his feet. “Let me call for a sella, to transport you back to my home.”

  What did the word sella mean? A man-carried litter. “Oh, no, it is nothing more than an upset stomach. It is probably from all the traveling we’ve been doing. My brother can walk me back. I prefer to walk.”

  “No, it is not safe. My apprentices will go with you.”

  Cassandra took leave of the company and waited while Jake did the same, bowing low to the gentlemen.

  Jake approached Giuliana, took her hand, and lifted it to his lips. “It has been an honor to meet you,” he said, kissing it lightly.

  She looked up at him, quickly blinking away tears that were beginning to brim there, and then lowered her lids. Guerrini watched, eyes narrowed, but then looked at Francesco, and his scowl melted away. They went back to the discussion of the portrait.

  Again, Jake and Cassandra went along the road to Sampieri’s villa, accompanied by Giovanni and Carlo. The time-travelers talked quietly in English as they walked.

  “He’s an ass,” Jake grumbled.

  “I feel sorry for her.”

  “Do you think he abuses her?” Jake’s face was red.

  “I don’t know. But he certainly doesn’t seem to treat her kindly.”

  “I’ve got to get to know him. I want to find out what’s going on in that marriage.”

  “And Giuliana?”

  “She’s still so beautiful; she took my breath away. But she didn’t look happy to see me.”

  “She looked like a woman who was seeing for the first time since it happened the person who broke her heart since it happened .”

  “Don’t make me feel any worse than I do, Cassie.”

  “Travel Journal, Dr. Cassandra Reilly, June 14th, 1509.” Cassandra was alone in her bedroom, having just risen from a nap. “Meeting Giuliana and her husband did not go well. I don’t know exactly what Jake expected, but I’m worried his feelings for her will tempt him too much, even as he tries to determine what her relationship is with Francesco Marino, and with her husband. It’s as if his scientific objectivity flew out the window the moment he saw her. I thought for a second he was going to throttle Piero and then whisk Giuliana into his arms and pick up where they left off….”

  Someone knocked on the door. Cassandra held her breath. Had they overheard her? She tapped the amber stone to end the recording.

  “Contessa!” It was Ottavia’s voice.

  “Si, signora?”

  “Signor Marino is waiting downstairs to see you.”

  Why would that be? “Thank you, signora, please tell him I’ll be right down.”

  The time-traveler gave her teeth a quick brush and her appearance an inspection in the mirror. Satisfied, she went to find Francesco, waiting for her in the music room. He rose from a chair as she went in, his hat in one hand, his other pressed against his heart. He bowed low.

  “Francesco, I am surprised….”

  “Will you walk outside with me, Contessa?”

  He held himself straight, proud. As she moved to take his arm, a scent of soap and clean laundry floated toward her. He had changed his clothes since she’d seen him at the studio, and there was no odor of alcohol about him.

  They strolled through the house and out into the vineyard without a word. A breeze blew and rustled the leaves of the vines, where small, hard bunches of green grapes grew abundantly.

  “I wanted to apologize to you for my behavior last night,” he finally began.

  “There’s no need.”

  “No, no, there is. I drank too much. I do that sometimes, and it makes me stupid. I say the most obnoxious things.”

  Cassandra laughed.

  “I think I asked if I could sketch you in the nude.”

  “You asked if you could sketch me. I didn’t know you meant unclothed.” The uneven path they were on suddenly required her close scrutiny.

  “I’m sorry,” he said with a chuckle. “I thought I implied it. I’m an artist, you know, I am very interested in the human form. And, well, I don’t get to see the female body in its natural state very often.”

  The reddish dirt of the path matched his boots, and they were close in hue to the snug hose that encased his long legs and slim hips. The blousy shirt he wore under his doublet showed off his well-proportioned chest and shoulders.

  “I can’t imagine you’d have much trouble finding female company.”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  His neck was graceful, his face almost angelic, caramel-colored hair framing it in gentle waves. He smiled down at her.

  She smiled in return. Their gazes held until the flight of a butterfly winging past took her attention. “Do you mind if I ask you about Signora Guerrini?”

  “Giuliana….” he almost whispered. “She is one of the loveliest subjects I’ve ever had the privilege to paint.”

  “Is she happy in her marriage?”

  “That is an awfully direct question, Contessa. Why do you care? Is it because of your brother? What, has he come to steal her away from Piero?”

  “Oh, no! It’s just that he cares about her well-being. I know he wishes her to be happy and I have to admit, she doesn’t look as though she is.” She bent to pinch a leaf off a low-growing plant. Its scent was sweet and cool: peppermint.

  “No, I suppose not. She and Guerrini are not a good match. But at least now she’s rich.”

  Because money is all that matters. “Wasn’t she rich before?”

  “Her father is. All most fathers are willing to do is provide a dowry big enough to set their daughters up in one of the better convents, or to marry them into even more money. A man has to get rid of his daughters, you know, or they just end up being a burden.”

  A sound piece of wisdom.

  “But Contessa, I want to talk about you, not Signora Guerrini.” He stopped and let go her arm. “I’m serious when I say I want to sketch you.”

  Her breath caught in her chest. “I don’t think I can agree to pose for you in the nude, though I am honored you would ask.”

  “Then fully clothed,” he said with a laugh. “I would be grateful to have you for a subject.”

  “But Maestro Sampieri is going to begin sketching me for the portrait.”

  “Yes, and he doesn’t like to share his subjects. However, if you would allow me a little of your time while you’re here, he wouldn’t have to know.”

  She
raised an eyebrow. Perhaps it would make more sense for her to distract Francesco than for Jake to get close to Giuliana again.

  “I’ll think about it. But if I let you, I do it on one condition.”

  “What is that?”

  “That you destroy the sketches when I leave.”

  But….”

  “If they are simply for artistic practice, I don’t know why you should keep them. I ask this so Maestro Sampieri will never see them.”

  “You have my word.”

  “I haven’t said yes yet,” she said with a smile. She turned to walk back to the house.

  He hurried after her. “And not only do I promise to destroy them, I also promise I have no other intention than a creative one.”

  “I didn’t say you did,” she said over her shoulder.

  He stood still at the edge of the vineyard, and she continued walking on.

  Travel Journal, Jacob Grenefeld, June 15, 1509—Late this afternoon, my sister and I went to the tailor and dressmaker, and submitted to measurements. We ordered two everyday gowns for Cassandra, and one especially for her portrait. The clothing is extremely expensive and though we came well supplied with money, we have to be careful. She will continue to wear Teresa’s clothes too, but we also had some undergarments made that will fit her better. For me, we ordered three cotton shirts with wide sleeves, and three pairs of breeches in muted colors. I am not one for the garish silk hose the very wealthy wear, nor the satin capes, or berets with feathers. I did purchase a brocade doublet, a kind of vest for dressier occasions. It is more important the Contessa have beautiful clothing of the latest fashion than I do.

  Tonight, after most of the good people of Siena were asleep, I accompanied Lauro Sampieri to a gambling den just off the Campo, down a side street near Palazzo Guerrini. It was a low-ceilinged, dimly lit room, long and narrow, with many dice games going on simultaneously there on the filthy floor. The place was thick with smoky grease from meat roasting and smelled strongly of sweat and stale wine. We ordered drink from a buxom, one-eyed signorina, and then wandered through the groups of players until Sampieri spotted Piero Guerrini. The man shook my hand with a firm grip—he was already drunk—and invited me to join the game.

  I played and lost all, but I was prepared to. It’s the best way to ingratiate oneself. Then Guerrini invited me and Sampieri to his home for more drinking. I went, nervous that I would see Giuliana, and about how we would act around each other this time, but she was asleep. We spoke about the portraits, but when the subject of his wife came up, Piero had nothing positive to say about her—nor negative. It’s as if he’s not interested in her at all. I knew hers was a marriage of convenience, but I’d hoped for Giuliana’s sake he would turn out to be a loving husband. He’s definitely not, but he certainly doesn’t seem possessive enough to kill someone over her.

  I’m writing this with a terrible hangover, but happy to have actual pen and ink to use to record my thoughts. I paid good money for this small book of blank sheets, a new quill pen, and a bottle of ink. Perhaps I will find time to sketch the beautiful countryside around Villa Sampieri while we are here.

  Cassandra put down Jake’s journal. They were sitting on her bed. The late morning light poured in from the open doors of the balcony, infusing the room with a yellowish glow. She picked up a small pottery cup of strong coffee from a tray on the bed.

  “I still think you’re crazy for making all the effort to write this stuff out by hand,” she said to him. “My recorder is perfectly safe from detection, and so much easier to use.” She flashed the ring as she brought the coffee to her lips. “Besides, I don’t have to record in the persona of Countess Barrentine, or worry about anyone reading my thoughts.”

  “I like the feeling of the quill in my hand, and this beautiful handmade paper. I’ve missed it. I have no reason to write with pen and paper in our world, so I’m taking advantage while we’re here.” He retrieved the book from her and set in on the bedspread.

  He was leaning against the footboard, pillows behind his back, sitting cross-legged, while she had made herself a seat at the head of the bed.

  “You’re a walking anachronism.”

  “So are you.”

  She told him about her conversation with Francesco.

  He nodded. “You should let Francesco sketch you. But I should try to get close to Giuliana as well…you know…within reason. With both of us working on this, we should be able to keep them from getting involved with each other.”

  Later, they met Sampieri in the dining room for the midday meal, and in the late afternoon accompanied him back to the studio, where they found Francesco working.

  “Signor Marino,” Jake said to the artist as the man was mixing colors at the table, “when are you going to be sketching Signora Guerrini? I would be interested in observing, if possible.”

  Cassandra moved close to them, pretending to examine the large sculpture on its armature.

  “I’m not sure she wants you around, Conte. She didn’t seem very happy to see you.”

  “I’m afraid she is very angry with me, but I’d like to put those old animosities to rest.”

  “It may be a few days before we start sketching; she and her husband haven’t yet decided on what she will wear.”

  “I wish I didn’t have to wait so long, but of course, I can’t really talk to her when her husband’s around.”

  “No, that would not be wise,” Francesco said with a quick laugh. “At any rate, what would you say to her? She is married to a very difficult man; you must be careful. If he hears that you’ve done or said anything inappropriate…well, I’ve already warned you about that.”

  “No, no, don’t get me wrong. I just want to be friends with Giuliana. Since my sister and I have to be in Siena anyway, I know I will run into her again, and I don’t want there to be any awkwardness. I’d just like to explain myself to her.”

  “What do you think of your brother’s plan, Contessa?”

  She turned, startled, then said after a moment, “I think he led Giuliana to expect something he couldn’t give when they knew each other in Florence, and now he wants to clear his conscience. I think it will do him good.”

  “Perhaps there’s no harm in it,” Francesco said, turning to Jake. “I will do you the favor this one time, Conte. Wait until siesta tomorrow. I will have Carlo, Maestro Sampieri’s apprentice, go with me to Palazzo Guerrini. I’ll take Piero out and distract him with a game of dice, and Carlo will bring Giuliana back here.”

  “Travel Journal, Dr. Cassandra Reilly, June 17, 1509—Sampieri and the other artists went home to rest, so I sat nearby in the garden of the studio, like a dowager, watching over the two former lovers. Giuliana wouldn’t look at Jake at first. Then slowly, he drew her out, explaining it was for her sake and the sake of her family that he hadn’t tried to marry her three years ago. I didn’t catch everything, but I heard her say she’d felt abandoned by him. He told her he’d never experienced a more bitter day than when he left her to go back to England. They didn’t have long to talk before Francesco came back and said he’d left Giuliana’s husband in the gambling den, and that she’d better get home before he did, so Carlo took her back to her palazzo. Then Jake left so Francesco and I could be alone. The artist positioned me where the late afternoon sun fell across my face and began to sketch. After a while, he asked me to loosen the tie of my blouse to let the neckline fall further down and expose my shoulders. I did as he asked. In another hour’s time one of the other artists returned, and so we ended the session quickly before he noticed, but not before I agreed to meet with Francesco again.”

  Chapter Six

  The Schapecchi mansion was immense. When Elisabetta had invited Cassandra for a “small gathering over coffee and pastry,” she hadn’t known what to expect. There had been a great show of sending a carriage to escort the English Countess from Sampieri’s villa, and when she arrived at Palazzo Schapecchi, which was on a hillside just inside the eastern walls of Siena, sh
e was brought into the foyer by a livery-clothed servant and asked to wait. Soon after, Elisabetta came floating down a pink-marble staircase to greet her. She then took Cassandra’s arm and led her into a pink-marbled salon. Cassandra greeted the other women, Giuliana, and Marta Brogi, already seated there.

  The salon opened onto a lawn and flower garden, the great vista of the countryside spread out beyond. The breeze floating through the open doors brought that irresistible scent of olive blossoms.

  “Isn’t this nice, an afternoon without the men,” said Marta, as Cassandra and Elisabetta seated themselves on cushioned chairs.

  “They’re not all bad,” Giuliana offered.

  “I don’t care what they’re like, as long as they’re rich,” Elisabetta cackled.

  “You can say that, Elisa,” said Giuliana speaking as if measuring her words. “Your husband is a good man.”

  “A good man because he doesn’t mistreat me or the children. Really, my husband is a wet rag. He does as I tell him to do at home, but when we’re out among company, he acts the boss.”

  “And in the bedroom?” Marta tittered. “Is he a wet rag there?”

  “I wouldn’t know anymore, nor do I care. He finds pleasure where he wants it and so do I.”

  “And where is that?” asked Giuliana.

  “I don’t want to say too much….”

  “Oh, don’t be coy with us, Elisa, we want to know who you have your fun with,” Marta prompted.

  “You know that apprentice to Maestro Sampieri? The handsome one, Giovanni?”

  “Oh, I know him,” said Cassandra. “He is good-looking, but very young, Elisabetta.”

  “Ha! The younger the better, I say.”

  “And what does he get in return?” asked Marta.

  “What does he get? Ooh, I should tell you how I entertain him! We like to engage in little, how should I say…masquerades? He especially likes it when I dress as a laundress, and he finds me, innocently, folding my undergarments. Then he grabs me from behind and…well, do you want to know every detail?”

  “No!” shrieked Giuliana, while Marta screamed, “Yes!”