One Knight in Venice
Page 26
Jessica’s wedding day dawned with a flash of bright sun and a blessed warmth in the air. After the ritual bath, Celeste, Kat and Belle perfumed her, dispensed a great deal of marital advice and dressed her in the most gorgeous gown Jessica had ever owned. The ivory-satin bodice and crimson-velvet skirts had been cut in the Venetian style. An army of seamstresses had labored on her clothes throughout the past two days and nights. Milky pearls twined through the dark curls of her unbound hair crowned by a bridal wreath of cowslips, primroses, daisies and ivy.
Francis’s stepsisters adjusted their new gowns of pale green silk and fussed with each other’s laces, ribbons and jewelry. They had never performed the delightful office of bridal maids and the Cavendish trio were determined to enjoy their moment to the fullest. Ignoring the girls’ excited chatter, Jessica paced back and forth, twisting her fingers.
When Francis had finally found her shivering in the unheated chapel, he had all but slit his wrists with his apologies and testimonies of his undying love. In forgiving him, Jessica had made him promise one more thing—that his real father would escort her to her wedding. Since that time three short days had elapsed—time enough to read the banns at morning Mass and to prepare the wedding breakfast. The nearest neighbors and all the villagers had been hastily invited. Everyone had promptly accepted. After a long winter of boredom since Twelfth Night had marked the end of the Christmas season, the inhabitants of Wolf Hall and environs looked forward to the coming festivities.
Caught up in the whirlwind of wedding preparations Jessica had barely seen Francis. When she had asked him about his conference in Lady Alicia’s solar, he had merely smiled and said that it had been a landmark event. Nor would he elaborate when she pressed him for the details. Francis only wanted to talk of his love and their wedding day. He spent most of their brief times alone together kissing her, stroking her and driving all her questions far from her mind. Just thinking of him waiting for her now at the door of the castle chapel made her weak with desire.
A sudden sharp knock startled Jessica from her reverie. The time had come! Her escort had arrived, but which man would it be? Had Francis chosen Brandon because of their past relationship? Or had he asked Guy to do the honors? Tonia and the twins looked at her with open anticipation.
“You are not going to faint, are you?” Gillian—or was it Alyssa?—asked. Jessica still could not tell the twins apart.
“You can’t back out now,” Tonia added with a note of warning. “Belle will skin you alive if you disappoint Francis.”
Another knocking, more insistent, propelled Jessica into action. With a purposeful stride, she crossed the floor, took hold of the latch with her moist hand and opened the door.
Sir Guy Cavendish, resplendent in a red-and-black velvet doublet and hose, swept off his plumed hat to her.
Just like Francis!
“Is the bride ready?” he asked, offering her his arm. A large silver medallion of a wolf’s head hung from a wide silver chain around his neck. The wolf looked almost as if he winked at her.
His three daughters descended upon him in a billow of silk and high spirits. “We are, Papa!” shouted Gillian—or was it Alyssa?
With a laugh, their father arranged them in a line behind him. “You will be brides soon enough, I warrant, but not this day. Jessica, are you really ready to become a member of this family?”
Such an easy question—now! “With all my heart,” she replied, placing her hand over Guy’s. “Lead on!”
“And then we can eat!” crowed Tonia.
Francis never stopped smiling the rest of that memorable day. Not even when he fumbled and dropped Jessica’s wedding ring on the paving stones. Not even when Jessica wept with her joy throughout the Mass. Not even when Tonia and the twins distributed dozens of cow bells to the assembled guests and they rang them incessantly during the feast. Not even when two of the dogs got into a fight under the head table. Nor when Jessica wept anew when the cooks brought in their special confection—a towering cake covered with pastel pink and green sugar frosting that reminded her of the palazzi of Venice. Not even when Jobe hoisted the bride over his shoulder and announced he was abducting her. Jessica had squealed with delight during the wild race that followed as Jobe led the groom and the rest of the family on a frenzied chase around the castle.
Jessica had never been so happy in her life. Nor had she ever seen Francis look so handsome as he did that day, attired in a doublet and hose that exactly matched his father’s right down to the winking silver wolf. When she placed her mark on the wedding register, Francis wrote her name and told her that soon she would learn how to sign for herself—Mistress Jessica Bardolph Cavendish.
“A new name, a new wife and a new future together,” he whispered to her when at last they were alone in the depths of the castle’s best bed.
Jessica rolled toward him and lightly ran her fingertips across his naked shoulders. He groaned with his pleasure.
“Once again, I have you under my hands,” she teased, her blood throbbing with passion.
He grasped her wrists and pulled her tight against his hard body. She fitted his contours as if the good Lord had made them a matched pair. He stroked the indentation of her spine. “But for once I have you under mine,” he murmured in reply. “You have led me a merry dance, cara mia. I swear you nearly drove me mad all the way back to England on board that poxy ship.”
Jessica twined her arms around his neck and rubbed herself shamelessly against him, savoring his strength and his obvious desire. “Then take your revenge, my love. It is high time that you drove me mad.”
His lips hovered a breath above hers. “With the greatest of pleasure,” he answered just before he enveloped her in a kiss that banished all doubts and fears forever.
“I love you, Francis Bardolph Cavendish,” she sighed as he knelt above her.
“Welcome home,” he murmured as their bodies joined. “Home forever.”
Author Note
The story of Jessica and Francis is a work of fiction but it is set within a time and place that was very real in the mid-sixteenth century. Venice during the Renaissance was every bit as lush, colorful and decadent as described in these pages. Art, music, international finance and book publishing flourished beside the darker arts of intrigue and midnight assassinations. The Venetian secret police and the Council of Ten were sinister forces to be reckoned with. The secret letter drops called the bocca di lione still linger in some of the city’s walls; their open mouths forever waiting for another anonymous note. Early forms of cipher codes and messages written with invisible inks had their origin in Venice. There were no recorded escapes from the infamous prigione until around 1750 when the famous lover, Casanova, managed to break out through the roof. I hope my readers will allow me a little artistic license in arranging Jessica’s earlier escape. Resourceful men like Francis and Jobe could certainly have rescued her!
Of the many holidays that were celebrated in Venice during that time, none surpassed the midwinter festival when the entire city gave itself up to the pleasures of Carnevale, meaning literally “farewell to meat” that signified the forty days of fasting and prayers during Lent. Masques, dancing, fireworks, games of chance, street corner theater, acrobats, and other wild delights ruled the days and especially the nights. I have included some of the more interesting carnival traditions in my story.
Finally, a note on the famous courtesans of Venice: their beauty, intelligence and sexual expertise were legendary for several hundred years. During the Renaissance, Venice was known as “the best fleshpot in Italy.” Tutoring in the arts of love by a Venetian courtesan was considered a vital part of a young nobleman’s education. By the end of the 1500s, there were more than 11,600 “daughters of Venus” plying their trade in Venice—roughly twelve times the number of the chaste patrician wives.
ISBN: 978-1-4603-5974-7
ONE KNIGHT IN VENICE
Copyright © 2001 by Mary W. Schaller
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