Chapter 1
“Iwill not raise his bastard, Papa,” Luciana Maria Pietro d’Angelo said in a hard voice. She was a pretty girl of seventeen, petite, with skin the hue of ivory, and long, thick hair the deep black of a starless night sky. The hair was carefully contained in a golden caul. Her face was a perfect oval, her nose straight but not too long, her mouth generous, and the brows above her chestnut brown eyes were delicately arched.
“Madonna, do not use such crude language,” her elderly female companion said nervously. “You are to be a contessa.”
“Nevertheless, Iwill notraise his bastard,” the young woman said, stamping her small leather-shod foot. The elegant fingers of one hand plucked irritably at the scarlet silk damask of her gown.
“Fiore mia,”Master Pietro d’Angelo said soothingly, “as your dear mama is not here to instruct you in the behaviors a wife must accept, it is up to me to do so. As a wife you are required to do what your husband asks of you even when you find it distasteful. The Earl of Leighton honors you with his name and his title, Luciana.”
“The earl wishes nothing more than a rich wife to shore up his fortunes, and to give him a male heir,” the girl replied bluntly. “Do you take me for a fool, Papa, that I do not know why my hand in marriage has been sought by this man? There are many who would have me to wife,” she said boastfully.
“Not in Firenze,”her father reminded her stingingly.
Luciana flushed, and the reddish purple staining her delicate skin was not a flattering color.
“I know there are others who would have had you here,fiore mia,” her father said, “but Robert Bowen, while poor, is of ancient lineage, and more important, he is an honorable man. He will respect you,cara,and treat you well. Do you think I would give you to just anyone? Soon I must return home. I want to know you are in safe hands.”
Safe away from Firenze,the merchant thought to himself.Then perhaps you will not end as your poor mama did.His daughter was so like his late wife, and yet she wasn’t. Carolina had been beautiful and impetuous, but she had not their daughter’s intellect. Would that intelligence save his child? He prayed it would.
“I do not question your choice, Papa,” Luciana said in a softer tone. “But this Englishman needs my dower more than I need him. I can see he is a prudent man who will not squander the wealth I bring him.”
“And you will advise him to invest some of that coin so his wealth may grow, my clever daughter,” her father said.
“I will encourage him, Papa. He must not take risks that he shouldn’t, but you must assure him my advice is good though I be a female,” Luciana said, smiling.
“Ahhh.” Master Pietro d’Angelo sighed. “If only your brothers had your business acumen,fiore mia! What a merchant you should have made! And Firenze would be all the richer for it. Aye, I will tell your lord to listen and heed you in these matters.”But how candid should I be with him about your mama’s fragile emotions?he wondered silently to himself.
A servant entered the hall to announce the arrival of the Earl of Leighton.
“Bring him in at once!” Master Pietro d’Angelo said. “Do not keep His Lordship waiting, Paolo.” He turned to the two women. “Go with Donna Clara, Luciana. Leave the hall.Presto! Presto!”
“Remember, Papa, I will not raise his bastard,” the girl said as she departed.
But though Donna Clara urged her charge from the hall, Luciana had decided that she would not go. To her companion’s distress the girl secreted herself behind a carved screen at the back of the hall where she might both observe and listen.
“He is handsome enough,” she whispered to Donna Clara as Robert Bowen, the Earl of Leighton, entered, coming forward to greet her father with an elegant bow. “And neither too old nor too young. He can still father children on me.” Her brown eyes silently admired the earl’s lithe figure. The dark blue velvet fabric of his coat was showing wear, but Luciana was pleased to see the dragged sleeves were lined in a medium blue silk brocade. He obviously had style, but not the means to indulge it.
“If your papa says you will marry him, it will make no difference if he is ancient or crooked of back, Madonna. You must do as you are bidden,” Donna Clara said primly.
“Hush, old crow!” Luciana scolded her companion. “I want to hear what is said.” She leaned forward, listening eagerly.
Master Pietro d’Angelo welcomed his guest, inviting him to sit, signaling to his servants for wine and cakes. “And now,” he said when they were both settled, “we will finalize the arrangement for your marriage to my daughter, my lord. There are but one or two small details to settle. Luciana’s dower is sufficient?”
“It is more than generous, Master Pietro d’Angelo,” Robert Bowen answered. “Whatsmalldetails?” The earl’s blue eyes were slightly wary of some last-minute change to be made in a contract he had already agreed upon.
“A trifle, my lord, to be sure,” the merchant replied, seeing the suspicion blooming in his companion’s look. “Luciana is a carefully raised virgin with the delicate sensibilities of a true Florentine gentle-woman. I beg that you not burden your bride with the care of yourbastard,” Master Pietro d’Angelo said nervously. Damn his daughter for putting him in this position, but he knew his wench too well to argue with her on this point. Better he beard the earl, who was certainly more reasonable and would understand. But even if he didn’t, would he be desperate enough to agree? “I have been informed that the child is as dear to you as my Luciana is to me. But my daughter is young and romantic. She wants all of your attention, as any bride would. She wants to bear you your heir, and cannot help but be jealous of another woman’s child.” He paused, looking hopefully at the earl.
Robert Bowen felt a bolt of irritation. Then, remembering that the girl’s fat dower would rebuild his family’s ancestral home, which had fallen into disrepair when early earls had spent what small income they could wrest from the estate going on Crusade, he let common sense overrule his pride. Unlike other knights, his ancestors had not returned carrying the treasures of the east with them. They had returned injured, unable to be of further use to anyone, let alone their families. Or they had not returned at all, leaving widows and children to carry on at Leighton Hall. Now Robert Bowen, current and possibly last earl of Leighton, must marry the daughter of a wealthy Florentine merchant in an effort to restore his family’s fortunes, and gain sons. He would have to wed the wench if she were a toothless idiot.
He drew a deep breath. “My daughter, Master Pietro d’Angelo, is not a bastard. Because I was to wed her mother, who tragically died in childbirth before our union was formally solemnized, I requested that Cicely’s birthright be recognized by both Holy Mother Church and English civil law. When she was three, the papers arrived from Rome attesting to her true birth as my legitimate daughter. And English law accepted my petition just prior to her first birthday. Lady Cicely Bowen is no bastard.”
Dio mio!He was going to have to say something to justify his daughter’s stubbornness. He lowered his voice so no one else in the hall might hear him, and leaned forward. “My lord, I beg you to understand. My deceased wife, Carolina, was a woman of the most delicate,the most fragile sensibilities,” he began, struggling to find just the right words in English to explain. “If something distressed her, she would alternate between a deep despair, weeping for hours until she was weak, and being so exhausted she would lie abed for several days. Or worse, she would fall into a ferocious rage that was difficult to calm. It was much like a great storm that had to blow itself out to sea. Because she was such a good wife to me, I tolerated these foibles of her female nature. Our daughter, while possessing the intelligence of a born merchant, also has her mother’s sensitive and refined nature. You will not be able to change it, I fear.”
There! It was said. He held his breath, awaiting what the earl would say now. Would he decide to nullify the marriage contract? Or would Robert Bowen choose to overlook this weakness in his daughter’s character because of his own needs? The Florentine merchant gambled that the latter would be the earl’s choice. He was therefore relieved when the earl responded as he now did.
“For the sake of Luciana’s fragile sensibilities, I will indulge these delicate emotions for as long as it takes for her to overcome them. I will compromise with your daughter, Master Pietro d’Angelo,” the earl said. “I will domicile Cicely and her nursemaid, Orva, in a large cottage at the far end of my gardens. Then Luciana may come to know Cicely. She will like her, for she is a charming little lass. When that time comes my child will return to the main house.”
“It is an equitable arrangement,” the merchant agreed, nodding. He had suddenly realized as the earl spoke that his tolerance would extend no further. But at least Pietro d’Angelo’s conscience was clear. He had disclosed his daughter’s weakness.
