Bianca

by Small Bertrice

  “I miss the bells,” Bianca said to Agata. “And the incredible quiet of the convent. I felt at peace there, although I have no wish to become a nun. It is strange being free and out in the world again.”

  “We are not so much out in the world as we might be,” Agata said. “The villa will be a quiet place too.” She helped her mistress from her garments and brought her a small basin of water in which to wash.

  “There will be new sounds,” Bianca noted. “The sea, the wind, birds, and farm creatures.” She quickly washed her face and hands, drying them on a linen cloth that Agata handed her. Then she lay down upon the small camp bed that had been provided for her as Agata drew up the silk quilt.

  “I hope we can sleep on these things,” she said as she took her place on the second narrow camp bed and drew up the coverlet. “They have not built them for comfort.”

  But sleep the two women did. It had been a long day, their journey beginning before dawn and not ending until sunset. Agata awakened before the dawn, hearing the encampment stirring about them. She arose and quickly dressed, going outside to hail the captain. “Shall I wake my mistress?” she asked him.

  He nodded. “If we leave before first light we shall reach our destination in early afternoon. Go and get something to eat.”

  Agata followed his instruction, fetching bread, fruit, and cheese for herself and for Bianca. Then she returned to the pavilion to awaken the younger woman. Like her mistress, she had lived in Florence her entire life, and other than trips to the Pietro d’Angelos’ villa in the countryside, she had never left it until now. She was curious to see the sea.

  They reached Villa Luce Stellare, as the captain had promised, in midafternoon. Their party came down the hillside road they had been traveling to find the blue waters of the Ligurian Sea spread out before and below them. They had passed through no villages that day. Now they turned off onto a narrow dirt path that went down a rocky slope. At the bottom of the path lay a small villa that was painted yellow. They stopped.

  The captain hurried to help the two women from their horses. “Here we are, madonna. This will be your refuge.” He walked to the large oak door and banged on it.

  Bianca looked around her. It was certainly isolated, and the little villa could not be seen from the road. Perhaps, she thought, a tiny tendril of hope curling in her, perhaps I will be safe here from Sebastiano. I can make a life for myself at last.

  “Here is the mistress of the house,” she heard the captain say.

  Bianca turned her eyes to the door of the villa.

  A small, plump woman stood there, smiling broadly. “Welcome to Luce Stellare, signora. Your father sent us word to expect you. Come in! Come in!”

  Bianca turned to the Venetian captain. “You will remain the night?” she asked.

  “Nay, signora. We were instructed to deliver you safely, but then be on our way immediately in order not to attract any unwanted attention to your arrival. The principe and your father were most firm in their instructions. We will begin our return today and follow the road above along the coast into Modena. Its duca has given your grandfather permission for us to travel through his domain into Venetian territory. I thank you for the offer of hospitality. I will tell your grandfather of your kindness, signora.”

  “Mille grazie,” Bianca said. “Please tell the principe that I am grateful for his protection, Captain.”

  He bowed smartly, and then mounting his horse, led his men back up the path to the coastal road they would travel.

  Bianca stood a moment and looked about her. It was quiet, and the air was so sweet. There was a beach below the house. It was a narrow sandy strip that ran into a narrower span of small rocks. She would ask the servants if it could be walked, and how to get down to the beach. She turned and saw that the front door of the villa was flanked by a large, glazed blue pot on either side. The pots were planted with white roses, her favorites. She was certain her father had seen to that.

  Giovanni Pietro d’Angelo could be a sentimental man. The roses, she suspected, were a peace offering. He had apologized to her for having insisted upon her marriage instead of seeking another solution to Sebastiano Rovere’s blackmail. She had forgiven him easily, for he could not have known how brutal Rovere would be to a wife. The silk merchant was more than aware of the reputation for debauchery that his son-in-law possessed, but he had assumed that Rovere would not visit his vices upon his bride, an innocent girl of good family. That he had would trouble him for the rest of his life.

  Bianca stopped to smell one of the beautiful roses. Its almost exotic fragrance was intoxicating. “Have it cut and brought to my bedchamber,” she said to the patient servingwoman, who was still waiting for her to enter the villa.

  “Si, signora,” the servant said. “You enjoy the flowers?”

  “I do,” Bianca told her. “Very much.”

  “I am Filomena, signora. It is my duty to oversee your servants. All, of course, but your own personal servingwoman,” she amended carefully. “Come in now. Come in! They are all awaiting you. It is a small staff, for the signore, your father, said you would prefer your privacy and are little trouble.”

  Bianca chuckled at this observation. “My father knows me well,” she agreed.

  The servants had all lined up in the beautiful entry of the house to meet her.

  There was Gemma, the cook, and two young maidservants—one to help Filomena and the other to help the cook. Along with Agata, they constituted the household staff. There would be no men in the house, and again Bianca saw her father’s hand in this arrangement. The outside staff consisted only of two brothers of indeterminate age, Primo and Ugo. They would care for the gardens and the animals.

  “We grow much of our food,” Filomena explained. “When your father came to open the villa after so many years, the old gardens were still visible among the weeds. The brothers have reclaimed much of it in the past few months, and will regain all of it by next year. There is a small grove of olive trees, and another of lemons. Primo says it may be possible to put in a little vineyard high up on the hillside. He says there was one there once, long ago. Some of the vines still survive. He brought some of the grapes for you this morning.”

  Bianca turned and smiled at Primo. “Thank you,” she said.

  Filomena nodded for the little group of servants to go about their business. “I will show you your new home,” she said. “I imagine it is smaller than what you are used to, signora, but you will be comfortable. Your esteemed father has told me that you have been ill, and that life in the city is no longer for you. Is your husband dead?”

  “No,” Bianca said. But I wish he were, she thought silently. “I am seeking an annulment, Filomena. It was only discovered what an evil man my husband was after the marriage had taken place. He is now in prison awaiting his fate.”

  “Perhaps they will execute him, and then you will not have to bother with an annulment,” Filomena said cheerfully. She was a country woman, and for her, simple solutions were always the best resolutions to any problem.

  Bianca burst out laughing. “Yes, that would be a good result, but it is unlikely to happen. My husband is a wealthy and powerful man in Florence. He will escape his just due, but I will eventually get my annulment. For now, I hope I am well hidden.”

  “We will protect you, signora,” Filomena said. Then she showed Bianca her new home, and was content to see that her signora was very pleased.

  The entry to the villa was open and spacious. It had a center staircase leading up to its second floor. The main level of the house consisted of two small salons that were furnished with upholstered wooden chairs and tables. There was a little library with a long table and a straight-backed chair, as well as a dining room that held a table for six, and chairs to match. All of the rooms had doors leading outside into the gardens. The walls were paneled in light-colored fruitwood, and the floors were tiled in squares of pale beige. The dining room walls, however, were painted in a mural depicting a stag hunt. T
he library walls were built-in bookcases. Its ceiling was coffered.

  Bianca followed Filomena up the wide staircase to the second level. There were three bedchambers, each with a tiled fireplace. Two of the bedchambers had alcoves to house a servant. But the chamber that was Bianca’s had a small separate windowed room for Agata. Bianca’s canopied bed was hung with pale pink silk brocade. Her windows overlooked the gardens and the sea. There was a tall painted armoire on one wall, and a matching chest at the foot of the bed.

  “I hope this chamber will be suitable, signora,” the housekeeper said.

  Bianca looked around the chamber. The tiles surrounding her fireplace were painted with a vine that had magenta flowers. The vine with its flora twined from tile to tile, giving the impression of a living plant. “It’s lovely!” she said, smiling.

  “I will leave you then to settle yourself, signora. Agata will be with you shortly.” Then Filomena hurried off.

  Bianca quickly realized that the windows overlooking the sea were actually doors that opened onto a balcony with a decorative black iron railing. Opening the doors, she stepped out and looked about her. To her left, she could see nothing but the steep, rocky green hills, but to her right and perhaps a mile in the distance there was another villa. She wondered if it was occupied.

  Agata bustled into the bedchamber, calling her inside. “It is not your father’s palazzo in Florence, but it is charming, mistress. Can you be happy here?” She looked anxiously at Bianca, her warm brown eyes filled with concern.

  “Yes,” Bianca said, “I can be happy here. I could be happy in a peasant’s hut as long as I do not have to put up with Sebastiano Rovere, Agata.”

  “May he burn in hell, and soon!” Agata said, making the sign of the evil eye.

  Bianca settled easily into country life at Luce Stellare. She actually had more freedom in her life than she had ever had. She spent time exploring the gardens that Primo and Ugo were restoring. Unlike her father’s palazzo, which had its kitchens on the lowest level of the house, the villa’s kitchens were in the rear of the main floor. Outside its door was a thriving herb garden with both sweet and savory herbs. There was a small kitchen garden of vegetables, but there was also a large vegetable garden in another area that had two apricot trees as well.

  The flower gardens were a delight not only to the eyes but also to the nose.

  As autumn progressed, of course, the gardens died back, but the roses would continue to bloom until a frost signaled to them that it was time to rest. Frosts were light here on the coast, as the sea warmed the air. In Florence, it would grow wet and chilly, but here at Luce Stellare the weather would be mild.

  The beach was safe to walk, Filomena told Bianca. She might even ride her horse, but the truth was Bianca enjoyed walking along the water. To Agata’s relief, she wanted no companion with her. The servingwoman liked the gardens, but now having seen the sea, she was wary of it. She was content helping with the poultry, and she much enjoyed herding the goats. It was a calling she would have never suspected she possessed.

  “There is a country woman in you somewhere,” Filomena teased her.

  “Bah! Even my old grandmother was born in Florence,” Agata said.

  Her first night at the villa, Bianca stood on the balcony of her bedchamber gazing up at the quarter moon. The clear black sky was so full of stars she quickly realized why Luce Stellare had gained its name. A faint warm breeze brought the scent of the roses in the garden. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Then, remembering the distant villa, she turned her head and saw that it had lights. Someone was obviously in residence.

  Bianca’s curiosity was aroused. Who, she wondered, was her neighbor? Was it an old gentleman or lady living out his or her final days? Or perhaps a family? Since she was not going to socialize, it was unlikely she would ever know. But the following morning, she queried Filomena about the other villa. Her housekeeper would know, Bianca was certain.

  “Who lives in that villa on the hillside?” she asked. “Do you know?”

  “I do not know for certain,” Filomena said, “but I am told it is some foreign prince. He comes and goes, for he does business in the city. They say he stands high in the Medicis’ favor.” She shrugged. “I have never seen him.”

  “I have.” The little housemaid Rufina spoke up.

  “You have?” Filomena glared at the girl. “And just where were you that you saw this man?” she demanded to know.

  “On the hillside,” Rufina said. “He is very tall with dark hair. He was walking the beach like our signora does. He didn’t see me, Filomena. He seemed to be in thought.”

  “I do not recall my father speaking of a foreign prince who carries on business in the city. He is not a cloth merchant of any kind, for if he were, my father would know him, particularly if he carried on his trade with the Medici family. He cannot be anyone of great importance,” Bianca said.

  “He keeps to himself,” Filomena remarked. “When we began work to restore Luce Stellare, he exhibited no curiosity, nor did he send his servants snooping to see what we were about. This is a good thing for you, signora. Particularly if he goes back and forth to the city. You don’t want him gossiping about the lone female who is his new neighbor.”

  “Heaven forbid!” Bianca exclaimed. Filomena was right. She didn’t need a nosy neighbor or his wife, for he certainly had a wife if he was a respectable man, someone who would attempt to make friends with her or wonder why she was at the villa without a man to watch over her. No. Her curiosity was satisfied, and it would be best if she and her neighbor kept to themselves.

  The days fell into a comfortable pattern of meals, naps, and outdoor pursuits.

  The servants were pleasant and easy to manage. Bianca found she had no complaints. It was peaceful, and they saw no one. As the days passed, she realized that she was actually beginning to feel safe again for the first time in almost two years.

  Chapter 6

  T he winter passed without incident. Bianca had no visitors, nor did she receive any communication from her family. The narrow road above the villa remained empty of both man and beast. There was the sound of the sea, and now and again the wind or the screeching of a gull, but other than that, all was silent. Especially the nights. In the city, the nights had been noisy until the late hours, the sounds penetrating through the thick walls of her father’s house. But here in her little villa, the winter nights were quiet. It was as if she were living in another world. She celebrated her sixteenth birthday with her female servants and forgot the anniversary of the wedding that had brought her such misery.

  And then one spring afternoon, as she walked the beach, she saw a man striding in her direction. Bianca quickly turned about and hurried back down the beach, gaining the steep path to the villa. Once on it, she looked down. The man was still walking but showed absolutely no sign that he had seen her, or cared to talk with her. She found herself filled with a mixture of relief and disappointment.

  The next day, the man was walking once again at the same time as Bianca. Her first instinct was to flee, but then she decided she would not. She had absolutely no reason to avoid her neighbor. He had shown no hostile intent, and running away like a frightened animal looked foolish and would arouse suspicion. She drew the hood of her cape a bit tighter and walked on, the pebbled beach beneath her boots crunching slightly as she did. There was a slight wind at her back.

  He came closer and closer, walking with a purposeful stride. From the description Rufina had given her, it certainly had to be her neighbor. He did not look particularly foreign, Bianca thought as he drew closer. She was able to see his face from beneath her lowered lashes. It would be rude to stare at him or to meet his gaze, despite her curiosity. Only a common woman of the streets would do that.

  He was very tall and sturdily built. His legs seemed quite long to her. He did not have the soft look of a merchant, but rather that of a soldier. He was fair-skinned with an oval face that seemed all angles and planes. His nose was lo
ng and aristocratic in appearance, his mouth big, with narrow lips. She could not see the color of his eyes, but the thick brows above them were as black as night.

  He moved with a sure and steady gait, never pausing as if to observe her as they passed each other. He was dressed in a beautiful dark blue and gold brocade robe that blew ever so slightly around him, but whether from his own strong forward motion or the light breeze, Bianca couldn’t tell.

  He was well aware of her polite scrutiny of his person, but showed no indication of any kind that he even saw her as he strode by. However, he found himself amused by her concentration not to appear inquisitive. Like any woman, she was curious, of course, but she seemed to labor hard to cultivate a disinterested attitude.

  So this was his neighbor, Prince Amir ibn Jem thought. Who was she? All that his own servants had been able to learn was that she was a lady of a distinguished family. The little he had been able to glimpse of her revealed to his eyes a beautiful woman. What was a beautiful woman doing living alone in an isolated villa by the sea? Had she caused some unforgivable scandal and been exiled here?

  She had fled his approach previously, but today she had kept walking. What had made her change her mind and see him as nonthreatening? He was a straightforward man, and usually mysteries didn’t interest him. He had spent too much of his young life surrounded by them. When he finally turned about to walk back to his own villa, she was gone from the beach. Had she remained today merely to satisfy her own curiosity?

  And what of his own curiosity? He would query his servants again. Servants always knew everything. But to Amir’s surprise, they could tell him nothing more about the inhabitants of the nearby villa. Their brief contact had been with two gardeners before the lady’s arrival. The men had told his men that they were expecting a lady, a relation of the villa’s owner. The prince’s servants did know that the villa was called Luce Stellare.

  “Have them find out who is living there, or at least who owns the villa,” he told his personal body slave, Krikor.