Bianca

by Small Bertrice

“Francesca, my precious, take your sister and her servant with you now. Help them get settled,” Alessandro Venier said, dismissing his two granddaughters, which Bianca found slightly offensive. She was not some verginale like her sister. She had been a married woman, now a widow, and was entitled to more respect. Her grandfather was treating her like a child, and she wasn’t. “I do not like him,” she muttered under her breath. “He is too much like our madre.”

  When they had left the salon and were walking up a broad flight of marble stairs, Agata said, “Do not irritate your grandfather, mistress. You would do better to make him your friend and not your enemy.”

  “He does not treat me with the respect a woman of my age and experience is entitled to, Agata. He is old-fashioned and will be very angry when I refuse the man he thinks will make me a good husband. Better we not be friends.”

  “You don’t want to marry again?” Francesca was puzzled. “Do you want to go into the Church now? You did not the last time I recall.”

  They had reached the top of the staircase, and followed the younger girl as she led them into a spacious apartment of several rooms.

  “These are our rooms,” Francesca said. “We each have our own bedchamber, and your Agata can either sleep on a trundle in your room or share a separate chamber with my Grazia. Now tell me why you don’t want to marry again.”

  “It isn’t that I don’t want to wed again, but I want the choice to be mine. I have already made it, but our mother will not allow it,” Bianca said to her sister.

  “Why not? Isn’t he rich enough?” Francesca asked, curious.

  “He is a Turk,” Bianca replied.

  “An infidel?” Francesca’s green eyes went wide with surprise.

  “So he is called,” Bianca said.

  “Well, of course you can’t marry an infidel, Bianca,” her younger sister said. “Even I can understand that.” Her tone was very assured.

  “Why not?” her sister demanded.

  “Why not? Bianca, if he is an infidel, he isn’t a Christian. His ancestors probably killed our dear Lord! Infidels are terrible people. Everyone knows that,” Francesca said with great conviction.

  “Your knowledge, which is obviously based on ignorant prattle, is astounding,” Bianca said sarcastically. “From where have you gained all of it?”

  “Everyone knows infidels are wicked,” Francesco persisted.

  “Amir is the kindest and gentlest man I have ever known,” Bianca told her sister. “I am so weary of being told that he is wicked because he is not a Christian. Are there wicked infidels? I’m sure there are. My late husband, may he burn in hell forever, was a wicked Christian. But there are good Christians and good infidels, Francesca. Do not judge a man by his religion. Judge him by his character, little sister.”

  “Nonno will find you a good husband,” Francesca responded soothingly, as if she had heard nothing Bianca had just said. And she probably hadn’t. She would grow up eventually. “Would you like to hear about the man I want to marry?” she asked her older sister, and then went on without waiting for an answer. “He is a prince,” she said with a sigh. “His name is Enzo Ziani. He is so handsome, Bianca. He smiled at me when he came to visit Nonno last, and said I was a flower who would one day bloom magnificently.” She sighed deeply. “He has been visiting a great deal lately. I believe he comes in hopes of seeing me.” She giggled. “I love him already.”

  “How nice for you,” Bianca said drily. Francesca wasn’t going to understand her position. How could she? Her sister had been sheltered her entire life, and was now the obvious darling of their grandfather, with a Venetian prince for a suitor.

  “Isn’t it?” Francesca responded, not catching her sister’s sarcasm.

  Bianca settled quickly into her grandfather’s house, and found it was as dull as her life in Florence had been. Her brothers remained for a little over a week but then were gone. They had strolled both the Piazzetta San Marco and the great piazza itself with their grandfather as he showed them off. Marco had made several business contacts, and would return to Venice on a regular basis for their father. Bianca, however, like most highborn women, was not allowed in public. The only women to be found on the piazzetta were courtesans and common whores.

  Although she loved being on the water once again, it wasn’t like her little villa. At least there she had been able to walk the beach freely, and ride in the hills about Luce Stellare. Her younger sister’s whole life, it seemed, revolved around getting married and the object of her desire, Prince Enzo Ziani.

  Bianca had been in Venice several weeks before she finally met him. And when she did, she realized immediately that her grandfather had not chosen this man for Francesca. Alessandro Venier had chosen Enzo Ziani for Bianca. Her little sister was not going to be pleased, but Bianca would let their grandfather take the brunt of Francesca’s anger.

  He was, of course, at thirty-three, much too old for Francesca but hardly too old for an eighteen-year-old widow. He was a widower, and had been married since he was seventeen to a wife who died during a tenth futile attempt to give her husband an heir. He had been without a wife for several years, but now his family was insisting that he remarry. His visits to their grandfather had been for the purpose of discussing a possible match between the houses of Venier and Ziani—the advantages and the dowry.

  Her grandfather requested her presence one afternoon in his small private salon. She came to find him with a guest. Bianca curtsied politely, then waited to be invited to sit.

  “Is she not lovely?” Alessandro Venier asked the man seated with him. “Her coloring is not Venetian, but have you ever seen eyes that color, Enzo?”

  Bianca bit her tongue. Her grandfather spoke of her as if she were not there, and as if she were a fine thoroughbred animal. Madre di Dios! He was so old-fashioned and he had been given the power of life and death over her.

  “No, I have not,” Enzo Ziani said, rising, helping Bianca to a chair before reseating himself. He saw the anger that had flared up briefly in those wonderful eyes.

  She thanked him with a faint nod of her head. At least he had manners, she thought. Francesca was going to be furious when she learned of her prince’s visit.

  “Bianca,” Alessandro Venier said, “this is Prince Enzo Ziani. I have given him permission to call upon you.”

  “If you have, then you will have broken Francesca’s innocent heart, Nonno,” Bianca said bluntly. “My sister believes you have this prince in mind for her.”

  “She is much too young!” her grandfather snapped. “I shall not even begin to consider offers for her until next year.”

  “I am flattered to have attracted the little one’s eye,” the younger man said, “but she really is too young for marriage. The man who wins her heart will be fortunate.”

  “I will leave you and Enzo to become better acquainted,” Bianca’s grandfather said. Then he rose and left the room.

  Bianca laughed. “He is hardly subtle, is he?” she said. “But as I do not wish to waste your time, signore, please understand that I have chosen not to remarry.”

  “Unless I am a certain Turkish prince,” Enzo Ziani replied.

  Bianca grew pale but then she said, “How could you possibly know something like that, signore? And how indecent of you to bring up such gossip to me.”

  “Your grandfather is an honest man, signora. He told me that your own mother had a stubborn nature too when it came to marriage. He wanted me to know the truth of your romantic nature because he said I should have to win your heart in order to win your hand,” Enzo Ziani said. “Is that true?”

  “My heart is already given, signore,” Bianca answered him. “I will be candid with you, for I am not dishonest. After I was widowed, Prince Amir ibn Jem and I became lovers. I am told it is his faith that makes him unsuitable.”

  “But you do not care, do you? His unsuitability makes him even more desirable in your eyes,” he said to her. “How charming you are.”

  “Do you think I am
a child then to be so shallow?” Bianca asked, irritated.

  “Ah, I have offended you,” he replied, but he really didn’t seem distressed by it.

  “Yes, you have insulted me deeply,” she told him. “You have loved and lost. Or perhaps you did not love your wife. Perhaps she was just a possession to be displayed on appropriate occasions and bear your children.”

  “Now you insult me,” he said. He was finding himself fascinated by this beautiful woman who spoke to him so frankly. Most women had hardly anything to say of interest, except, of course, the more educated of the courtesans who were expected to be interesting if they were to be successful at their trade. A man’s wife, or prospective wife, was supposed to be modest and retiring in everything except household matters and the raising of her children.

  “Do I?” Bianca didn’t look in the least sorry. “I suspect if you wish to make a connection with the house of Venier, you would do better to wait a year. My younger sister, Francesca, will be ready for marriage then. Her beauty, according to my grandfather, is more to Venetian tastes than mine is. Francesca considers you the ideal man and she is certainly the ideal woman for a traditional gentleman like you, signore. I am not. Would not a woman like my younger sister suit you better, signore?”

  “I do not wish to wait another year,” Enzo Ziani told Bianca as candidly as she had spoken to him. “My family is anxious for an heir, as I am the only son in our branch.”

  “Ahhh, you wish for excellent breeding stock, then,” Bianca responded. “Best you wait for Francesca. We both come from the same mother and father, and madre is a fine breeder of brats. All of our mother’s children have lived. Francesca is five years younger than I am, however. You will have more time to breed with her, signore, than with me.”

  He burst out laughing. “You are deliberately attempting to provoke me,” he said.

  “No, I am being honest with you,” she said. “I am flattered that sight unseen you would even consider a marriage with me. I know that your family is an old and honorable one, or my grandfather would not even have considered you. But I am in love with Amir ibn Jem, and I will not stop loving him. He has promised to come for me, and he will, signore. How embarrassing to have your betrothed wife stolen by the sultan’s grandson. There would be nothing you or Venice could do about it.”

  “Venice is a great republic,” he countered.

  “Yes, it is,” Bianca agreed, “but they are just as afraid of the Ottoman sultan as is the rest of the world. Venice will make only a token outcry over my going. The sultan is very fond of his grandsons.”

  “If you believe your prince will come for you, then you are a fool. I do not believe you are a fool, Bianca. Your Ottoman prince has a harem full of beautiful women he has returned to, and in all likelihood has forgotten you already. You will come to realize that in time. I find you eminently suitable to be my wife, and I shall tell your grandfather so. We will celebrate our marriage in three months’ time, in September, at summer’s end.”

  “Tell Nonno what you will, signore. I will not agree, and cannot be made to do so. I will stand before the priest and deny your suit. Consider the laughter of all of Venice when I do, and the embarrassment it will bring to both of our families.”

  “You are a stubborn woman, Bianca,” he told her, “but I will win you over. Now, come and kiss me.”

  “You have surely lost your mind to ask a woman who has so firmly rejected you to kiss you,” Bianca said, jumping up from her chair so quickly it fell over with a clatter.

  His response was to reach out and yank her into his lap and catch her chin between his thumb and forefinger, which allowed him access to her lips. His mouth closed over hers, kissing her a slow, deep kiss.

  Bianca struggled so hard against him that his chair came out from under him and they both ended up on the floor of the salon in a tangle of her skirts. She shrieked angrily to find him laughing atop her. “Get off me, you monster! You brute!” She beat at him furiously with her fists.

  “Why? I rather like having you beneath me. Now I will be able to dream of what is to come between us.” He caught her hands and pinned her arms by her sides, his lips capturing hers again in a hot, passionate kiss. “San Marco! You are outrageously desirable!” he said upon finally releasing her.

  Bianca didn’t like the fact that she found his kisses exciting. Were respectable women supposed to enjoy being kissed by strangers? And the fact was that Enzo Ziani was indeed a stranger. He was not Amir, and his kisses, while provoking and appealing, were not Amir’s. They did not leave her weak with a desperate longing. She yanked her head away, and gathering all of her strength pushed him off her so she might scramble to her feet. One of her silk slippers came off in the process, and he grabbed at her foot. She took great pleasure in kicking him away.

  “You are a seducer of women, signore,” Bianca told him angrily. “My grandfather shall learn of this atrocious behavior you have exhibited with me!” Then she stormed from the little salon, clutching her slipper in her hand.

  Behind her Enzo Ziani still sat upon the floor, laughing. What a woman! And she was going to be his wife! He didn’t give a damn about her Turk. He would make her forget all about that infidel prince when he made love to her. He jumped to his feet, smoothing out his fur-trimmed velvet robe. His cock was hard with the sudden need for her that had overcome him. Thank God his garment covered his lust.

  Then suddenly the door to the salon opened, and Francesca came in. “Oh!” she said, feigning surprise. “I didn’t know anyone was here, signore. How nice to see you. Did you come to see me?” And she smiled at him coyly.

  Damn! he thought. Well, best to discourage her now rather than have her mooning after him. “No, bambina,” he told her. “I came to see Bianca. Has your grandfather not told you yet? I plan to marry your sister.”

  Francesca’s face was suddenly frighteningly pale. Her green eyes grew wide with shock. “Marry Bianca? You are going to marry Bianca? She does not love you. She loves her infidel. Did my nonno tell you that? Or that he was her lover?”

  “I know all of that. Bianca only thinks she loves this Turk, but she will come to love me, and even if she doesn’t, we are a most suitable match,” Enzo Ziani said to the beautiful young girl standing before him. “And your sister will do her duty by both of our families, bambina.”

  “You would be content to marry a woman who will never love you when you could have a woman who does love you?” Francesca demanded of him furiously. “And do not call me a baby! I am not a baby! I am a woman, signore.” Then she flung herself at him, her arms going about his neck, her lips kissing him with a determined kiss. She released him as suddenly as she had entwined herself about him.

  “Is that a baby’s kiss?” Francesca asked him. “Is it?”

  Enzo Ziani was astounded. He had never imagined a girl that young could have such passion in her. “It was not a baby’s kiss, Francesca,” he told her, “but you must not kiss me again. You are too young to be my wife, and your sister is not. Eventually there will be a fine young man chosen as your husband. Be patient. Now, if you promise to behave yourself, I will not tell your grandfather of this incident.” He bowed to the young girl and quickly left the salon.

  Francesca burst into tears. It wasn’t fair that Bianca be married to the man that she, Francesca, loved. She wouldn’t let it happen. It couldn’t happen! Then she remembered that weeping would spoil her complexion and redden her eyes. Francesca brought her upset to an end. Then she went to find her sister.

  “You are not going to marry Enzo Ziani!” she said, finding Bianca seated outside in their grandfather’s small garden. “I forbid it! He is mine!”

  “Who told you I would?” Bianca wanted to know.

  “He did! You cannot have him, Bianca!” Francesca told her sister.

  “You may have him, and gladly,” Bianca said. “I have told him I will not wed him, and that he should wait for you.”

  “You told him that? Bianca, that is wonderful! Oh, y
ou are the best sister in the world! I knew you could not be so cruel as to take the man I love from me.”

  “Now we must convince Nonno that you are the better bride,” Bianca told her younger sister. “Your prince wants a wedding at summer’s end.”

  “When is your prince coming?” Francesca wanted to know. “If he does not come and take you before then, they will force you to the altar.”

  “They can’t,” Bianca replied serenely.

  “Nonno always gets what he wants,” Francesca said. “Everyone wanted him to marry when his last wife died, but he said he had had enough of wives; he would be content with a mistress from then on. He has prevailed in that, and if your prince does not come to rescue you, he will prevail in this.”

  “Amir will come,” Bianca said assuredly.

  And indeed, Amir ibn Jem was preparing to go to Venice. He had been brought to his grandfather, Sultan Mehmet the Conqueror, upon his return home. The sultan had greeted him warmly.

  “I never thought to see you again in this life, Amir. What exactly did you do that required I ask you to return from Florence? Certainly you didn’t kill one of those fat and proud merchants?”

  “Worse, Grandfather,” Amir said. “I fell in love with a silk merchant’s daughter and planned to bring her home.”

  “Ahhh,” the sultan said. “Yes, if the silk merchant was influential—and he obviously was, since it was Lorenzo di Medici himself who requested your recall—that would present a problem. Ah, well, you will soon find another lovely woman to please you, and I am happy to have you back with me.”

  “But this is the one I want above all others,” Amir told his grandfather. “I have fallen in love with her. I must have her!”

  Sultan Mehmet looked at Amir. This was the one grandson who had never caused him a moment’s concern, unlike Amir’s father, Jem, who was forever quarreling with his brother, Bayezit, who had sired three sons on his wives. “How much trouble will it cause if you steal this woman?” the sultan asked.

  “I don’t know,” Amir answered honestly. “She is one of four sisters. She has been widowed. I know her family has sent her to her maternal grandfather in Venice in hopes of finding a second husband for her. They would not allow her to see me when I was imprisoned, but when I departed Florence she managed to come and stand by the road. I swore I would find her, Grandfather. I do not doubt that her love for me has not wavered in the months we have been apart.”