Luciana was almost weak with her excitement. She took Donna Clara aside. “You are certain I am still a virgin?” she demanded of her companion. “The old witch knew what she was doing?”
“Her examination showed his fingers had slightly torn your maidenhead, but that it was still intact, Madonna,” the older woman said. “But to make sure your bridegroom is fully satisfied we shall begin this day to treat your sheath and its opening with alum to shrink it. It will make it difficult at first for his cock to penetrate into your body. He will be so aroused by it, and by your cries of innocence, he will not notice that your maidenhead gives way easily. And there should be some blood. But you shall also secrete a small chicken’s bladder of blood to break in your bridal bed so the earl will have no doubt as to your virtue,bambina mia.”
“If my passage is tight it will hurt,” Luciana complained. “I felt his cock through my gown as he held me. He is a large man.”
“You must bear a little pain, Madonna, so your husband will be content in his mind that he is the only one to have trod your love path. Better that than a lifetime of suspicion,” Donna Clara reminded the girl.
“My father says you are to remain in England with me,” Luciana noted.
“I am pleased to do so, for I am devoted to you, Madonna, and not just because we are linked by a small blood tie. I will always keep your secrets,” Donna Clara said softly, “and I will always see to your best interests.”
“Old crow,” Luciana said affectionately. “Still, I am glad you will be with me, but you must begin to treat me with more respect now that I am to be a great lady.” Secretly she was relieved her longtime companion was remaining. Donna Clara was often the voice of reason for the girl, and Luciana was intelligent enough to realize it. She would have someone with whom to speak her native tongue, and who could advise her wisely.
The Church’s blessing of the Earl of Leighton’s marriage to Luciana Maria Pietro d’Angelo took place on a bright May morning. A feast was held afterwards, the invited guests coming from the community of wealthy foreign merchants in London, as well as several of the earl’s acquaintances. The newly married couple would remain the night in her father’s house. Less than an hour after the bridal pair had been formally put to bed Luciana’s genuine screams of agony as her bridegroom’s cock penetrated her could be heard briefly in the hall where the guests lingered. There were nods of approval in Master Pietro d’Angelo’s direction, and he smiled and nodded back in return. The rumors set in motion by Signore di Alba would now be put to rest, and he could return to his beloved Firenze to tell all of his daughter’s brilliant marriage to an English nobleman.
Upstairs in the bridal chamber the earl fingered the heart-shaped mark on his bride’s smooth, plump thigh. “How did he know?” Robert Bowen asked her.
“A group of us went riding from the city one day. It was hot. We stopped to cool ourselves by wading in the shallows of the river. I raised my skirts too high,” Luciana lied as she kissed his mouth.
And Robert Bowen chose to believe her, for her passage had been so tight he could not believe any other man had ever gotten into her. And the tears of anguish upon her pale cheeks as he entered her were certainly real. His cock had met enough resistance in her maidenhead that he now believed for sure in her virginity, and there had certainly been a goodly show of blood. She had gained no pleasure from this first joining, he knew. But he would see she did in the future.
They had planned to leave London the following day, but the bride was unable to ride, being sore. He had used her thrice on their wedding night, and by the third time she had learned the delights of pleasure. She was open to passion, the earl was pleased to find. He would have no need for a mistress for the interim. Finally, three days after they wed, they rode forth from the town. Master Pietro d’Angelo had promised to pay them a visit before he returned to Firenze.
When several days later they arrived at Leighton Hall, Luciana was well pleased. The house was in need of repair, but she knew her father would give her whatever she desired to make her new home habitable and to her taste. The gardens looking out over the gentle hills needed serious tending, but the servants were delighted to have a new mistress to guide them. And if sometimes the Countess Luciana’s manner was abrupt, they hoped it was just because she was young and inexperienced.
Master Pietro d’Angelo arrived two months later, in Midsummer, prior to his departure back to Firenze. He was very happy to learn his daughter was already pregnant with her first child. He was relieved to find her content with her life, and with her lord. He spent an enjoyable few weeks before traveling back up to London, and from there across the channel as he made his way home.
Donna Clara had assured him all was well, and that she would send one of the homing pigeons he had given his daughter with word when the child was born. “She frets only now and again about one thing,” the countess’s companion told her father.
“His daughter?” The merchant knew how jealous Luciana could be.
Donna Clara nodded. “The earl visits his child daily.”
“Have you seen her?” Master Pietro d’Angelo asked his relation.
Donna Clara nodded. “She is a charming little girl, Carlo. Bright and mannerly. She would make a wonderful companion for the contessa. But Madonna Luciana will not share her husband. The servants have been warned to not even mention the child in the lady’s presence,for her jealousy runs wild. Perhaps in time.” The older woman sighed.
Master Pietro d’Angelo shook his head. “Nay, Clara. If she will not accept the child now, she will never accept her. Especially as she is carrying her own babe. You know what I say is truth. Pray Luciana births the son the earl wants. It may ease my daughter’s jealousy, but it will never erase it. Just do not allow her to harm the earl’s little daughter. You know how she can get sometimes.”
“I will keep them both safe, Carlo. For the love I bear your daughter, and for the many kindnesses you have done for me, especially after my husband died,” Donna Clara said quietly. “I will allow no shame to fall upon the house of Pietro d’Angelo.” Then she bade her relative farewell, and promised to pray for his safe journey home to Firenze.
The summer slipped into autumn, and then winter. On Candlemas, the second day of February in the year of our Lord 1414, Luciana, the Countess of Leighton, gave birth to her firstborn, a son, baptized Charles, after her father. Thirteen months later, on the twenty-third day of March, the countess birthed a second son, Richard, and ten months later, on a snowy last day of January, Henry Bowen entered the world.
The earl was more than satisfied with his three sons, all healthy and thriving to his pleasure. But he feared for his wife’s health, for she was easily impregnated, and three babes within three years would have killed a lesser woman than Luciana. He voiced his fears to Donna Clara. “I will take a mistress so my lusts may be eased,” he told her.
Donna Clara shook her head. “She would kill you if she finds out, my lord. And she would find out. You know her jealousy. I know a remedy that I can give her that will prevent her from getting with child again unless you wish it.”
Robert Bowen raised an eyebrow. “What would the Church say to such a thing?” he asked her softly.
Donna Clara smiled a small smile at him. “What would they say to you taking a mistress?” she countered.
The earl chuckled. “Do what you need to do, old crow,” he told her, using the affectionate term that his wife used for Donna Clara.
The older woman knew Luciana too well to suggest she refrain from continuing to populate the nursery at Leighton Hall. Instead she began to serve her lady a special drink each morning to strengthen her. And when a few weeks had passed she offered Luciana another beverage that would keep her skin smooth and blemish free. Being vain, the countess accepted her longtime companion’s advice, and sipped from the cup each day. The earl continued to enjoy his wife’s favors, but for the interim there were no more children.
On a perfect summer’s day when Henry Bowen was barely six months old, he was taken to the house’s gardens to be set down upon a small silk blanket, where he enjoyed the sunshine with his two slightly older brothers. The Earl of Leighton’s heir, Charles, was two and a half. He chased a ball his nursemaid threw for his amusement. Richard, the earl’s middle son, had just learned to walk. He eagerly toddled everywhere, his young nursemaid chasing after him. They suddenly came upon a little girl.
“Orva!” Richard’s nursemaid greeted the woman accompanying the girl. Then she looked nervously around. “Should you be here?”
