by C. De Melo
They entered the main hall where Isabella and Paolo sat side by side. Allegra greeted the duke and duchess, then cooed over the infant until he was taken away to be fed. A group of gentlemen approached Paolo. A handsome man in black with dark hair and a trimmed goatee handed the duke a wooden box.
“A gift from America, Your Grace.”
Paolo’s face lit up. “Tobacco!”
The man smiled. “You know it?”
“Oh, yes,” Paolo replied, waving to one of the nearby servants. “You there! Find my valet, tell him to bring my pipes.”
A while later the entire area was filled with pungent smoke as men drew on wooden pipes and exhaled white vapor through their mouths or nostrils. Unlike the smoke produced by fire, this had a distinct odor.
Isabella stood and slipped her arm through Allegra’s. “I hate it when Paolo partakes of tobacco. The smell makes my head ache.”
“I find it almost pleasant, even if it is a bit cloying.”
Isabella shivered in disgust. “Come, let’s take a stroll in the garden. I need to clear my head.”
The fresh air tasted sweet after having inhaled the tobacco smoke.
Isabella said, “I’ve been away from Florence much too long.”
“It took the birth of an heir to bring you back,” Allegra said, admiring Isabella’s maternal glow. “It gladdens my heart to see you.” Her eyes slid to Paolo, who watched his wife like a hawk. “Your husband seems content.”
“Men value male children. He barely grieved when Isabella died, and rarely spends time with his surviving daughter.” Seeing the expression of dismay on Allegra’s face, she quickly added, “Eleonora wants for nothing, of course. Paolo is most generous.”
“Of that I had no doubt.”
They walked along a pebbled path toward a fountain. Isabella recounted stories of her children, and it was obvious that she loved them. When she spoke of Paolo, the joy left her face. Allegra couldn’t help feeling bad for her friend, and felt suddenly grateful for being a spinster. They returned to the main hall where a servant offered them chalices of wine.
Isabella took a long sip and said, “Marriage is not easy, my friend.”
“I imagine it’s not.”
“The only way I could have escaped my fate is by dedicating myself to God. A cloistered life in a convent isn’t very appealing, now is it?” She held up her vessel. “At least there’s wine, which is no small comfort.”
“A toast to small comforts.”
Allegra felt instantly mellow after taking a sip. Staring into the chalice, she noticed the deep burgundy shade with surprise. The wine steward should have added more water to properly dilute the wine.
Cesare captured their attention and inclined his head in greeting.
Isabella inquired, “Still not interested?”
“No.”
“He’s been breaking hearts these last few years.”
“I’m surprised he hasn’t yet chosen a bride. There are so many accomplished ladies from noble families seeking husbands.”
“His father is holding out for an advantageous match. None of the available women are rich or powerful enough for his taste. You would have been the perfect bride. Pretty, wealthy, clever—” Isabella suddenly straightened and whispered, “Oh, here he comes.”
Allegra took a fortifying sip of wine, causing her head to swim.
Cesare brought her knuckles to his lips. “Signorina Allegra, how my eyes delight to see you. How are you?”
“Very well, thank you.”
“It’s been a long time since you’ve been at court. You shouldn’t deprive us of your beauty and charm.”
“Your courtly manners have improved, I see. Let me see your tongue—is it silver or gold?”
He chuckled at the jest. “You won’t refuse at least one dance with me?”
“I can agree to one. Would you excuse us, Isabella?”
“Certainly.”
“The last time you and I danced together at the Palazzo Pitti was during Francesco de’ Medici’s wedding,” he pointed out. “If my memory serves me well, you enjoyed it immensely.”
“I did.”
He led her toward a group of dancers spinning in circles and she stopped in her tracks. “I’m not familiar with this dance,” she confessed.
“It’s English, and quite popular in Queen Elizabeth’s court,” he explained. “Come on, you must be quick. Spin, step, spin, step. Like this…”
Cesare’s ability to dance and move gracefully had always impressed Allegra, who did her best to follow his lead. Spin, step, spin, step.
“There now, you already know it.”
Allegra giggled softly. “It’s so fast!”
“Why don’t you come to court more often?”
“I’ve already told you before, I’m not a courtier.”
They spun round and round again, only this time Allegra grew dizzy. The combination of the strong wine with the frenzied dance threw her off balance. When the melody changed and the spinning stopped abruptly, she staggered and fell into a pair of strong arms. She closed her eyes to steady herself and when she opened them, both of her palms were against black velvet covering a hard expanse of a male chest. The open collar of a linen shirt revealed a glimpse of sun-kissed skin and a silver scorpion medallion. Gasping softly in surprise, she lifted her gaze. A pair of warm hazel eyes stared down at her from an attractive face sporting defined features.
“Hello,” he said in a deep voice.
Mortified, Allegra offered, “Forgive me.”
A faint smile tugged at the man’s lips. “Dancing with exuberance never requires an apology, my lady.”
To her surprise, he smelled faintly of cinnamon and leather, a most pleasing combination. She also detected a trace of tobacco. Suddenly, she remembered him as the man who presented Paolo with the wooden box. The woman beside him cleared her throat. It was Paolina Gori.
Directing his gaze toward the dancers, the man said, “I believe your suitor awaits your return.”
Cesare watched her from a few feet away with a bewildered expression. To her chagrin, she still had her hands on his chest. Wriggling out of his arms, she murmured another apology and hurried toward Cesare.
“Are you all right?” Cesare inquired.
“I’m usually not prone to such clumsiness.”
“Nonsense, you’re a graceful flower.”
“Even when I collide with courtiers?”
“I went to a banquet in Pistoia recently, and the lady of the house was so inebriated that she fell head-first into a tray of oysters. She provided better entertainment than the hired troubadours.”
Allegra laughed aloud. “Surely, you jest.”
“I do not.”
“Thank you,” she said sincerely.
“The pleasure was all mine. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”
Allegra watched as Cesare walked toward a group of young men and women. She headed for a servant bearing a tray of sweetmeats and helped herself to one.
Vittorio appeared beside his daughter. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
“Yes, Papa. Are you?”
“I am.” He looked around and smiled. “There’s always a jovial mood surrounding the birth of male heirs.”
“I learned a new English dance. You spin until you become dizzy.”
“Obviously an invention of the young. It seems that—”
Vittorio froze, compelling her to follow his gaze. Her heart jumped when she saw him staring at the mysterious man in black velvet.
“I don’t believe it,” Vittorio said incredulously.
The man walked toward them with confidence that verged on stealth.
For some absurd reason, Allegra’s face grew hot. “Do you know him?”
Vittorio looked at her askance. “You don’t remember?”
Allegra studied the man as he drew closer.
“Signore Vittorio, how good to see you again.” Taking a step back, the man peered at Allegra. “This cannot be y
our daughter.”
Vittorio patted the man’s back in a gesture of male camaraderie. “It’s good to see you back in Florence. Yes, this is Allegra.”
The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver compass. It was a bit dented and scratched from use, but still in good condition.
Allegra gasped softly. “Signore Bruno?”
“At your service.” Bruno bowed before kissing her hand. “It’s a pleasure Signorina—or is it now Signora?”
“Signorina,” she replied breathlessly.
Bruno’s face grew serious. “I was saddened by your mother’s death. She was a good woman, a true lady in every sense of the word. My condolences to you both.”
After thanking him, Vittorio said, “Your father made no mention of your return to Florence.”
“He doesn’t know I’m here.”
“Oh…?”
“I arrived barely a fortnight ago and wanted time to settle in before seeing him. I know that may sound strange to you, but I have my reasons.”
Allegra lowered her eyes. Paolina Gori.
Vittorio inquired, “What brings you here?”
“The invitation to celebrate Paolo Orsini’s heir.”
Allegra expressed surprise. “You are friends with him?”
“He’s one of my customers—or rather, was, until my ship sank.”
Now it was Vittorio’s turn to appear surprised. “Your ship?”
“I was promoted to captain after my fifth year at sea, and given my own ship to command. I’ve been sailing up and down the spice route with the Portuguese, importing products from India to Europe.”
“How exciting,” Allegra commented.
“It was for a while.” A shadow settled across his features. “My ship sank during a vicious storm a few months ago. I lost eight of my crewmembers.”
Vittorio shook his head sadly. “I’m sorry to hear it. Your father never told me you were promoted to sea captain.”
“He wasn’t aware of it,” Bruno admitted. “I’ve not been a very good son, Signore Vittorio. My letters to my father have been few and far between.”
“Domenico loves you very much. He’ll be overjoyed by your return.”
“Ten years is a long time. In his last letter, my father stated that he wanted me to come home and manage the bottega. Is he ill?”
“He’s fine aside from the common aches and pains of old age.” Vittorio replied. “We would welcome your help in the bottega.”
Bruno’s brow creased in confusion. “We?”
“Your father and I are business partners. I thought you knew.” When Bruno shook his head, he explained, “Domenico came to me a while back and suggested that we work together. He’s getting along in years...”
“I know he is, and you did the right thing.”
“I hope you’ve returned with the intention of staying a while.”
“I’m giving it serious thought.” Bruno’s eyes slid to Allegra. Holding up the compass, he said, “Your gift aided me on many occasions, Signorina. It even saved my life once.”
Pleased by his attention, she inquired, “How so?”
“I got lost in a jungle a few years ago. Thanks to my trusted compass, I found my way back to my ship.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” she said, finally glimpsing the Bruno she remembered in the golden green depths of his eyes.
Vittorio interjected, “When will you see your father?”
“I plan to visit him tomorrow.”
“You and your father should come and sup with us next Saturday.”
“That’s most kind, thank you.”
A new melody drew several dancers to the center of the large room.
“Signore Vittorio, may I dance with your daughter?” At Vittorio’s nod, Bruno added, “Signorina?”
Stunned, Allegra accepted his proffered hand and followed him. He said nothing as he led her in the dance with surefooted ease. She did her best to be discreet when comparing the man before her to the one in her memory. The old Bruno was plump and jovial with eyes expressing mirth. This man was lean, muscular, and intimidating with eyes expressing…nothing.
Turning his head abruptly, he caught her staring at him. The corners of his lips lifted a fraction of an inch as he watched her face redden with shame.
“You dance very well, Signore Bruno,” she said, attempting to smooth over the awkward moment.
“As do you, Signorina Allegra, when you’re not spinning off the dance floor into the arms of strangers.”
“Oh, I’m so embarrassed…”
“I’m only teasing you. I found it rather charming.”
Allegra smiled shyly. Dancing with an older man was vastly different than dancing with a man her own age. Bruno’s movements were elegant and confident; she was overwhelmed by his masculinity.
Bruno’s eyes swept over the swell of Allegra’s firm breasts and the smooth curve of her throat. Like Helen of Troy, the young woman’s face possessed the kind of classical beauty that could drive men to madness.
“I can’t believe how much you’ve grown, Signorina. Such a drastic change from the child I remember.”
“You are also much changed, Signore Bruno.”
“More than you know,” he muttered. “How old are you, if I may ask?”
“Twenty-four.”
“Twenty-four,” he repeated, peering at her closely. “I hope your betrothed isn’t too jealous.”
Allegra followed Bruno’s gaze to where Cesare stood watching them and said, “Cesare Orsini is not my betrothed.”
“Your admirer, then.”
“He admires every woman at court.”
“You are widowed.”
“No.”
Bruno spun her around, seizing the opportunity to pull her close. “A beautiful twenty-four year old woman with no husband or suitors? You are a rarity, Signorina,” he said in a tone that was oddly flat.
“I have no interest in suitors.”
“Yet, you’ve had your fair share of them, I’m sure.”
“My father is a widower with no sons. I help him with his business, which keeps me too busy to pursue courtships.”
His expression was a cross between satisfaction and relief. “I must confess…I’ve thought of you many times throughout the years.”
“Oh?”
“Don’t look so surprised.” The music ended, and he silently led her back to where Vittorio stood. After bowing to them both, he said, “Thank you.”
***
Bruno Spinelli haunted Allegra’s thoughts for days afterward. In an attempt to clear her head, she accompanied Gianna to the market.
“You’ve been quite pensive as of late, Signorina Allegra,” Gianna commented while selecting vegetables. “What ails you?”
“Nothing. I’m fine.”
“Signore Bruno Spinelli is back in Florence and he’s dining with you and your father this Saturday.”
“Yes.”
Glancing slyly at her mistress, she inquired, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Allegra felt the color rise in her cheeks. “I must have forgotten.”
“I see. Are you going to tell Bruno the truth about you?”
“Father and Domenico don’t want him to know.”
“Why on earth would you keep La Castagna a secret from the man who will inherit the bottega when Domenico dies?”
“I agree with you, but I must obey their wishes.”
“I think it’s ridiculous to—” Gianna stopped what she was doing and stared across the square. “Will you look at that? It’s been years since I’ve seen that charlatan.”
“Who are you referring to?”
She pointed. “There.”
It was none other than Messer Mancini. His black hair was streaked with gray and he walked with a cane, but he still wore fashionable clothing. Rubies and emeralds sparkled on his fingers. Catching Allegra’s eye, the astrologer grinned and winked at her. She smiled at him, grateful for the kindness he’d shown her all those ye
ars ago.
“The audacity,” Gianna muttered as she returned to the task at hand. “I’m surprised to see him wandering the streets after his arrest.”
“What?”
“Did you not hear? He was accused of witchcraft.”
“When?”
“A few months ago. Thanks to a powerful nobleman whose wife had recently employed Mancini to create astrological charts for her children, he was set free. It’s only a matter of time before the accusation resurfaces.”
“How do you know this?”
“We servants know everything that goes on in the city. Anyway, men like Mancini have enemies.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”
Gianna shrugged. “I didn’t think he was of interest to you.”
“You thought incorrectly.”
“I tried to dissuade your mother from summoning him when she was pregnant with you, but she ignored me.”
“What are you talking about?”
Moving from the onions toward the melons, she replied, “Your mother had him draw up your astrological chart.”
“Mother never mentioned it. Do you know where it is?”
“I know where to look for it.”
Later that day, Allegra read the astrological chart that Messer Mancini had created shortly after she was born. Her element was fire, which seemed fitting for a goldsmith. She had never forgotten his prophetic words on that fateful day in the Piazza delle Cipolle: “Ignore these simpletons. They cannot possibly fathom the extent of your talent.”
***
Domenico and Bruno made their way to the Palazzo Castagno beneath the silvery light of a waning moon. The father and son reunion, which took place earlier in the week, had been bittersweet. After a long, heartfelt talk, they vowed to put the past behind them.
Bruno promised to stay in Florence for an extended amount of time. Overjoyed, Domenico showed his son the new merchandise in their bottega. Bruno examined the ledgers and inventoried the stock.
“Their cook is excellent,” Domenico said as they arrived at the gate.
Bruno smiled indulgently at his father. He did not come for the food.
A servant opened the door and led them inside.