“But then the matter with my husband would have become public knowledge,” Bianca said. “My father did not wish that. Perhaps one day I shall come to Venice.”
“That would please theprincipe,madonna,” was the reply. Then the captain politely withdrew, leaving the two women alone.
“I miss the bells,” Bianca said to Agata. “And the incredible quiet of the convent. I felt at peace there, although I have no wish to become a nun. It is strange being free and out in the world again.”
“We are not so much out in the world as we might be,” Agata said. “The villa will be a quiet place too.” She helped her mistress from her garments and brought her a small basin of water in which to wash.
“There will be new sounds,” Bianca noted. “The sea, the wind, birds, and farm creatures.” She quickly washed her face and hands, drying them on a linen cloth that Agata handed her. Then she lay down upon the small camp bed that had been provided for her as Agata drew up the silk quilt.
“I hope we can sleep on these things,” she said as she took her place on the second narrow camp bed and drew up the coverlet. “They have not built them for comfort.”
But sleep the two women did. It had been a long day, their journey beginning before dawn and not ending until sunset. Agata awakened before the dawn, hearing the encampment stirring about them. She arose and quickly dressed, going outside to hail the captain. “Shall I wake my mistress?” she asked him.
He nodded. “If we leave before first light we shall reach our destination in early afternoon. Go and get something to eat.”
Agata followed his instruction, fetching bread, fruit, and cheese for herself and for Bianca. Then she returned to the pavilion to awaken the younger woman. Like her mistress, she had lived in Florence her entire life, and other than trips to the Pietro d’Angelos’ villa in the countryside, she had never left it until now. She was curious to see the sea.
They reached Villa Luce Stellare, as the captain had promised, in midafternoon. Their party came down the hillside road they had been traveling to find the blue waters of the Ligurian Sea spread out before and below them. They had passed through no villages that day. Now they turned off onto a narrow dirt path that went down a rocky slope. At the bottom of the path lay a small villa that was painted yellow. They stopped.
The captain hurried to help the two women from their horses. “Here we are,madonna. This will be your refuge.” He walked to the large oak door and banged on it.
Bianca looked around her. It was certainly isolated, and the little villa could not be seen from the road.Perhaps,she thought, a tiny tendril of hope curling in her,perhaps I will be safe here from Sebastiano. I can make a life for myself at last.
“Here is the mistress of the house,” she heard the captain say.
Bianca turned her eyes to the door of the villa.
A small, plump woman stood there, smiling broadly. “Welcome to Luce Stellare,signora. Your father sent us word to expect you. Come in! Come in!”
Bianca turned to the Venetian captain. “You will remain the night?” she asked.
“Nay,signora. We were instructed to deliver you safely, but then be on our way immediately in order not to attract any unwanted attention to your arrival. Theprincipeand your father were most firm in their instructions. We will begin our return today and follow the road above along the coast into Modena. Itsducahas given your grandfather permission for us to travel through his domain into Venetian territory. I thank you for the offer of hospitality. I will tell your grandfather of your kindness,signora.”
“Mille grazie,”Bianca said. “Please tell theprincipethat I am grateful for his protection, Captain.”
He bowed smartly, and then mounting his horse, led his men back up the path to the coastal road they would travel.
Bianca stood a moment and looked about her. It was quiet, and the air was so sweet. There was a beach below the house. It was a narrow sandy strip that ran into a narrower span of small rocks. She would ask the servants if it could be walked, and how to get down to the beach. She turned and saw that the front door of the villa was flanked by a large, glazed blue pot on either side. The pots were planted with white roses, her favorites. She was certain her father had seen to that.
Giovanni Pietro d’Angelo could be a sentimental man. The roses, she suspected, were a peace offering. He had apologized to her for having insisted upon her marriage instead of seeking another solution to Sebastiano Rovere’s blackmail. She had forgiven him easily, for he could not have known how brutal Rovere would be to a wife. The silk merchant was more than aware of the reputation for debauchery that his son-in-law possessed, but he had assumed that Rovere would not visit his vices upon his bride, an innocent girl of good family. That he had would trouble him for the rest of his life.
Bianca stopped to smell one of the beautiful roses. Its almost exotic fragrance was intoxicating. “Have it cut and brought to my bedchamber,” she said to the patient servingwoman, who was still waiting for her to enter the villa.
“Si, signora,”the servant said. “You enjoy the flowers?”
“I do,” Bianca told her. “Very much.”
“I am Filomena,signora. It is my duty to oversee your servants. All, of course, but your own personal servingwoman,” she amended carefully. “Come in now. Come in! They are all awaiting you. It is a small staff, for thesignore, your father, said you would prefer your privacy and are little trouble.”
Bianca chuckled at this observation. “My father knows me well,” she agreed.
The servants had all lined up in the beautiful entry of the house to meet her.
There was Gemma, the cook, and two young maidservants—one to help Filomena and the other to help the cook. Along with Agata, they constituted the household staff. There would be no men in the house, and again Bianca saw her father’s hand in this arrangement. The outside staff consisted only of two brothers of indeterminate age, Primo and Ugo. They would care for the gardens and the animals.
“We grow much of our food,” Filomena explained. “When your father came to open the villa after so many years, the old gardens were still visible among the weeds. The brothers have reclaimed much of it in the past few months, and will regain all of it by next year. There is a small grove of olive trees, and another of lemons. Primo says it may be possible to put in a little vineyard high up on the hillside. He says there was one there once, long ago. Some of the vines still survive. He brought some of the grapes for you this morning.”
Bianca turned and smiled at Primo. “Thank you,” she said.
