As an important part of Bianca’s rehabilitation, the two cousins managed to persuade Leon that his presence was essential, for all their sakes. On the third day, it was Etta who remarked to him, when he came up to the room, that Bianca had identified all the flowers and plants seen from that window.
‘All of them?’ he said, hardly hiding his scepticism. ‘You sure?’
‘See over there,’ she said, pointing to one of the large bowls of blooms set by the fluttering curtain. ‘Bianca named all those, and when Aphra asked her if she knew the Latin names, she gave them all. We’re going to take her down into the garden tomorrow. In the shade.’
Leon shook his head, dazed and somewhat shamefaced. ‘Why didn’t she tell me?’ he said, looking anew at Bianca’s transformation. Reclining on a day-bed on the balcony, draped in colourful coverlets and wearing a dress of spring green, Bianca’s long wavy hair hung down over her shoulders like a silken veil. Aphra was reading to her in a hesitant Italian which Bianca corrected, amidst peals of laughter.
‘Did you ever ask her?’ Etta said.
‘No, I’m afraid I didn’t. I should have.’
‘Well, there’s time this evening. And tomorrow, perhaps you can help us to carry her outside. Your mother has found a litter.’ She half-expected him to excuse himself, his exams being not far off, but he did not. ‘If you’re thinking about your revisions,’ she said, ‘you might find that she could help you.’
‘What about the pain?’
‘She’s hardly mentioned it, Leon. But if you were to spend some time with her, just you two, that would help her to recover faster than anything else. What’s more, if you’ll forgive an old friend for saying so, you would recover faster, too. You have a treasure there, you know, if only you’ll take time to discover it.’
As if Bianca knew she was being spoken of, she turned to look over her shoulder at Leon with a demure smile, her sparkling blue eyes filled with open adoration. But it would have been difficult to tell which of them benefitted most from that exchange, for Etta and Aphra had both caught the answering smile from Bianca’s husband. He went over to the day-bed while Aphra left them alone, touching Bianca’s shoulder as she passed.
Etta winked at her with a hint of conspiracy. ‘Come on,’ she said.
‘What did you say to him?’
‘Say? I’d like to have taken him by the ears and shaken him.’
Aphra smiled at the forthright language, remembering how she herself had given Nic some advice concerning Etta’s intransigence in the earliest days of their marriage. Though she had not wanted to shake him.
* * *
In the days that followed, Bianca’s recovery was nothing short of remarkable. In the sunny garden the men erected an awning to shade her from the sun’s glare while she reclined on a cushioned day-bed, taking in dainty morsels of tasty food as the others ate al fresco around her, involving her in the kind of conversation of which she had been starved for months. Unsurprisingly, they found that she was convent-educated, artistic, and scholarly. She was also highly sensitive, an intriguing discovery to which Aphra and Etta attributed her physical pain and the weakness in her legs, though they had the good sense not to discuss this with anyone else, since the only evidence they had was their own, albeit less dramatic testimony when the pain of jealousy and rejection had been almost tangible. And since Leon’s growing interest in her, his attentions, appreciations and increasing admiration of her newly blossoming loveliness, she had been sleeping without the aid of his newest concoctions.
There was an occasion when Etta and Aphra were able to coax her to talk about those fast-disappearing symptoms of intolerable pain. It was towards the end of a day when the low sun cast an orange glow across the sky, catching the edges of tiny clouds with a silvery-pink and reflecting on the gathering tears in Bianca’s eyes as she tried to explain how Leon’s betrayal had affected her. She apologised as she said it to the one who was so closely involved. ‘I wanted to die,’ she whispered, hoarsely. ‘I thought it would be best if I did. I knew he had found someone in England, his tutor’s niece.’ She put out a hand to hold Aphra’s, begging her pardon for this recital of her personal woes.
‘You knew?’ said Aphra. ‘He told you?’
‘No. Signor Lorenzo discussed it with my parents. They told me. Both our parents were against any breaking of promises, even though I said I was willing to release him. I didn’t want to go ahead with it, but they insisted. I made Leon so unhappy and neither of us was able to comfort the other. He said he’d discovered properties in some new plants that would help my pain, but he needed to get hold of his notes and recipes. He sent Santo to find them, but...’
‘Yes...yes, I know. Please don’t be distressed. It’s over now, Bianca. Put it behind you and try to find ways of helping each other. That’s what he needs, too. He’s already finding out what you can do and tomorrow you can impress him even more. We’ll bring your paintbox out here and together we’ll do some botanical drawings. Etta, too.’
Etta protested. ‘Me? You know I’m useless at...’
The crunch of gravel sounded from behind the awning. Leon appeared in his long student’s gown. ‘They told me you were still outside,’ he said, sounding concerned. ‘Isn’t it time...? Sweetheart, what is it? You’re weeping. Is it the pain?’
Like shadows, Aphra and Etta slowly rose and backed away as Leon, ignoring them, sat down on Bianca’s day-bed to face her and take her in his arms.
‘No...no,’ she said. ‘Not pain. That’s going now, Leon.’
‘What, then? What is it, little one? Tell me?’ Rocking her, he stroked the wisps from her face and touched her nose with the tip of his own while, unnoticed, the cousins tiptoed away towards the house where lamps were being lit.
Unable to stem their curiosity, they went upstairs to see what they could of the day-bed, but it was too dark. Later, it was a very bemused Santo who told Aphra that he had seen Leon carrying Bianca in his arms to her room. ‘What is the world coming to,’ he said, slipping her silky gown off her shoulders and picking her up in a similar fashion, ‘when a man has to carry a woman to her own bed?’
‘I’d rather stay up and talk,’ Aphra replied, saucily.
‘Talk tomorrow,’ he said, gruffly.
* * *
Looking back, it seemed to Aphra that they had reached a turning point in relationships, hers with Santo and Bianca’s with Leon. She did not want to press the point too hard when Santo had assured her that he would himself attend to the details when he thought the time was right, but it was these same ‘details’ which concerned her most. Although Santo had agreed that she belonged at Sandrock Priory, it was a source of unease to her that a successful merchant like him could possibly wish to live in a place like that, in the wilds of the Hampshire countryside when he had been used to living in the pristine splendour of a huge villa like this, which he could expect to inherit one day. Was it any wonder, she mused, that his father wanted his sons closer at hand than England? Leon’s needs were different. He had immersed himself in Dr Ben’s lifestyle, gardens, studies and all. Nothing would have suited him more. But Santo? How could she expect him to uproot himself from his thriving business in Venice? Had he thought of that? What would his father have to say about having his ambitions thwarted, all in the name of love? Quite a lot, she imagined.
Their nights together had been blissful, chaste and rewarding, both of them finding satisfaction in avoiding the risk of a pregnancy while going as far as possible without making the effort unbearable. On the contrary, it was a tremendous journey of wonder for them, more leisurely without the usual goal, sweetened by stops and starts that interrupted nothing but sleep. And if Aphra had feared that Santo would try to persuade her to go further, out of sheer desire, she found that he was fully able to control his needs, understanding all the reasons for caution at this particular time. She had to admit that he was an amazin
g and unselfish lover, doing everything he could, within those limits, to give her pleasure.
By day, because of their fathers’ ignorance of the situation, Santo kept company with Etta’s husband whose knowledge of overseas trade was extensive and interesting. Sir George appeared to enjoy the company of Signor Lorenzo who, although enjoying a reputation for domestic high-handedness, was not as unreasonable as he appeared when Sir George challenged his opinions, a process he was not used to. Their voices, raised in discussion, carried across the enclosed space of the Orto Botanico di Padua where, the day before, Leon had said he wished to take his wife and her ‘carers’. Meaning everyone.
Torn between attending the university lectures in Padua and spending time with his wife, he combined the two by taking them all to the newly built botanical garden situated not far from the centre of the town. Enclosed by a stout wall, the circular space was arranged on the four points of the compass, since it mattered, he told them, where plants should grow in order to thrive. The square plots in each of the quadrants were subdivided into patterns of smaller plots, each containing plants with certain properties, all clearly labelled so that students of botany could identify them easily. He wished to encourage Bianca in her cushioned litter, with Aphra and Etta, to draw and paint from life, which would make them look more closely.
It soon became obvious that Leon and Bianca shared an interest in botany much more than any of his family had supposed. Including himself. With heads together, they discussed the fascinating garden, its layout and contents and, before anyone had noticed what was happening, Bianca had slid out of her litter to stand by him, leaning partly on him and partly on the fence to touch the leaves. Reluctant to stare at the couple, the two cousins bent their heads to their tasks, but the next time they looked, the litter was still empty with no sign of husband and wife.
Seated on a stone water trough by the western gateway, Signor Lorenzo Datini and Sir George Betterton were deep in conversation. Signora Juna was talking to a gardener about the shrubs along the edges. Sir George pulled his fur-edged coat clear of the water. ‘Surely you must have noticed,’ he said. ‘An astute man like you?’
‘Noticed what, George? I knew they were friendly. Well...naturally. But...’
‘Friendly, my foot! Have you not seen the way they look at each other and carefully avoid any contact when we’re with them? Clear as daylight.’
‘What, my son and your daughter? Again?’
‘Different son. That’s not exactly “again”, is it?’
‘I thought she was still...’
‘Getting over Leon? No such thing. She got over Leon months ago.’
‘So how long have you known about it? Santo didn’t say...’
‘Of course he didn’t. Nor has she. But I knew it before they knew it themselves. You can hardly expect a handsome brute like him not to be attracted to my Aphra. Besides, he made it plain after their first meeting that he liked the look of her. I knew something would come of it.’
‘Well, nothing is going to come of it, George. I have nothing against your family, but your daughter owns a large property in England and I cannot see her wanting to live over here, which is where Santo needs to be.’
‘Didn’t you ought to let him make his own mind up?’ Sir George said, eyeing a fat honey bee near his shoulder. ‘You can’t make their minds up for them on every matter, Lorenzo. They’re men, not boys. It only makes for unhappiness, in the long run.’
‘It’s working in Leon’s case, I think,’ Lorenzo said, rather smugly.
‘Well, that’s not something you can claim the credit for, is it?’
‘Eh? Why not?’
‘Because it was due to Aphra’s efforts. She and Lady Somerville. Between them, they smoothed that path, I’d say.’
Lorenzo gave it some thought, while sounds of snatched conversation reached them from a group of black-capped students. ‘Come to think of it, you’re probably right, George. She’s a remarkable woman to come over here and do that. I can’t claim the credit for that transformation. You have a very special daughter. Quite different from the woman I expected.’
‘Exceptional enough for your eldest son, then?’
Lorenzo’s reply was prevented by the appearance of Santo and Aphra holding hands as they approached, putting on a brave show of confidence that was not backed up, in Aphra’s case, by any hope of certain approval. ‘We have something to tell you,’ Santo said, as if a parental meeting needed to be explained.
Lorenzo, who liked to control such situations, would have preferred the lovers to run through the whole story from start to finish and to end with some special pleading, to which he could pretend to give in. It satisfied his ego to act as benefactor. But Sir George had no time for such nonsense. ‘Yes, we know,’ he said, rising from the trough and rubbing his behind where the stone had made a ridge. He held out a hand to the astonished Santo. ‘You’ll do no better than my Aphra,’ he said, ‘and you have my blessing, both of you. You’ll be all right,’ he said to Aphra, hugging her, ‘with Santo. He’s a sound man. He’ll look after you.’
‘Yes, Father.’
‘Just a minute,’ Lorenzo said, beckoning to his wife. ‘Have we agreed on this?’ Signora Juna came to his side, standing close to him for support.
‘Lorenzo, you said just now that Mistress Aphra is a remarkable woman, so what more do you want for your son? And if I had not thought that he was a good, reliable and decent man, I would not have suggested he should stay with her at Sandrock Priory, would I? It’s not any man you authorise to protect your daughter, you know, while her mother and I go off to London.’
Lorenzo Datini glanced fondly at his wife, who appeared to know what this was all about without being told. ‘So we’ve agreed then, have we?’ he said, rather dazed by the lightning-quick decision. ‘Well then, I suppose we’d better wish you both well, although we haven’t mentioned settlements yet, have we?’ With a bemused chuckle, he clasped Aphra in his arms, then kissed both her hands. ‘And as for you, you rogue,’ he said to his son, ‘you don’t waste any time, do you? Just like me when I was a young man, eh, Juna?’ He took her hand, like a young lad, smiling. ‘Congratulations. Where are you going to live? Have you thought of that?’
At this point, Aphra thought it best to voice her concerns, if only to hear some discussion about the possibilities. But Santo did not hesitate. ‘Yes, Father, I have. We shall be living at Sandrock Priory.’
‘Santo! How can we do that when you need...?’
‘Lord Somerville has invited me to go into business with him. I trade mainly from Southampton and he trades from London at the moment. Together, we can corner the market in fabrics and luxury goods, and take cargoes of whatever is available instead of waiting. We can steal a march on the Genoese that way. Lord Somerville uses carracks. I have galleys. And Southampton is in the same county as Sandrock. Living there will be no hardship, especially when we shall have agents at both ports. There now, how does that sound, Mistress Betterton?’
Resting her head on his arm, she held his hand tightly. ‘It sounds very well, Signor Datini, thank you,’ she murmured.
‘Well!’ said Lorenzo Datini, pulling at his chin repeatedly, ‘I had hoped you’d take over the Murano factory. I don’t know what we’re going to do now for a new manager.’
‘Father,’ Santo said, gentling the old manipulator, ‘you know perfectly well that Margaretta’s husband Alberto is waiting to step into the manager’s shoes. He knows more about the business than I do.’
‘Aye, I suppose you’re right. I’m beginning to think I can’t have everything my own way any more, can I? All the same, it would have been...ah, well!’
‘Etta! Nic! Over here!’ Santo called across the plot.
They came while Aphra and Signora Juna were almost weeping in each other’s arms, all smiles, holding out hands, anticipating the good news. ‘Yes,’ Nic ca
lled, beaming his handsome smile, ‘it’s going to work well, I’m sure. It’s financially sound and very good for trade.’
‘Financially sound?’ Aphra said. ‘Good for trade? What is?’
‘Er... Santo and me...in business together. Isn’t it?’
Etta rolled her eyes. ‘They’re going to marry, darling. Santo and Aphra. Remember? My cousin?’
Sir George was intrigued. ‘So you knew about these two, as well, did you? And kept it to yourselves? So who else knows?’
Heads turned to look for signs of Leon and Bianca, but although the litter was still on the path, the couple were nowhere to be seen. Until, that is, they came strolling down the pathway with arms around each other, Leon supporting a slow-walking Bianca who, with hair waving down her back, wore a garland of honeysuckle on her head.
* * *
Supper at the villa that evening lasted well into the night, with so much to talk about and be thankful for. This time, Leon and Bianca were present, both looking happier than anyone remembered, even smiling at Signor Lorenzo’s less than tactful remark that Bianca’s silken gown of magenta shot with violet must surely have been chosen to match her husband’s discoloured eye. Etta and Aphra had braided her hair with pearls and gold net, piling it up to form an intricate nest of plaits in the latest fashion, showing off every lovely feature and transforming the former white-clad invalid into a woman of style of whom Leon was clearly proud and delighted.
There were no speeches, only remarks about the success of the guests’ visit, about the good fortune of the two brothers and the parents’ contentment, Nic and Etta’s assistance, and the more moving episode concerning Paul D’Arvall, his brother and his family. Touching on the subject of weddings, it was decided that, since they were already in Padua, Santo and Aphra should be married in a small family ceremony before leaving for England. To wait another day for the arrival of the Cappello family and Bianca’s parents from Venice would give them time to arrange matters with the local priest. And for the English relatives, they would have a second ceremony at Sandrock Priory.
The Mistress and the Merchant Page 23