Francesca’s green eyes were shining with excitement. “This scheme is worthy of some of the tricks I played on our mother when I was a child,” she giggled.
“It is better,” Bianca replied. “I remember those tricks, Sister. This is a far more involved plot. Now, in order to play your part you must remain hateful and spiteful towards me for all to see. You cannot show your excitement at all. It will not be easy for you. But I will help you by beginning to show some small favor towards Enzo so he andNonnothink I am weakening in my resolve.”
“I will hate that,” Francesca admitted, “but yes, there can be no suspicions as to our plans, Bianca. Thank you! Thank you! You are the most clever sister any girl could have.” Then she stood up, and her voice was raised so others might hear. “Are you mad, Bianca? Forgive you for stealing the man I love? Never! Never!”
Bianca now stood. “But Francesca, it is not my decision. How many times must I tell you that, little sister?”
“Do not lie to me, you thieving slut!” Francesca almost screamed. “I have seen you shamelessly kissing him in this very garden!” She winked at Bianca. “And as for accompanying you when you make your stolen marriage to him, I will not! Nor will I attend such a travesty. You may all celebrate, but I will not!” Then the younger girl stormed back to the palazzo, where at least half a dozen servants had heard the outburst.
Agata hurried out to comfort her mistress. She found Bianca, her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking. “Oh,signora, do not weep,” she cried out, rushing to comfort her.
Bianca uncovered her face to display a wide grin. She was laughing so hard that her shoulders shook, and was not crying at all. But she muffled her laughter so none would hear.
Agata clapped her hand over her own mouth as she sank down on the bench next to her mistress. “But I heard what that wicked girl said to you,” she told Bianca. “Everyone in the palazzo and up and down the canal did.”
“It was a ruse,” Bianca explained. “Francesca is delighted with my scheme, but we cannot suddenly become reconciled publicly if we are to succeed, Agata. It must appear that we are still split apart because of this planned marriage.”
“Ahh,” the servingwoman said, understanding. “I see! I see!”
“Now escort your grieving mistress back into the palazzo. It is a hot day, and I must take a nap before I have to face my suitor this day,” Bianca said.
Alessandro Venier had scolded his younger granddaughter over what became known as the incident in the garden. He had not heard Francesca’s voice and words himself, but his servants had reported her outburst to him. He was astounded by both of his granddaughters. This particular generation seemed to have no respect for authority and tradition. All of his daughters, and he had had five of them by his four wives, had been biddable. Even Orianna, when faced with the reality of her situation, had done what she knew she must do without complaint.
But Francesca had been, until her sister’s arrival, a delight. She had learned her lessons without complaint, attended Mass with him when he bothered to go, and been a delightful companion at the dinner table. She pleased him by playing her lute and singing to him in the evenings. She had been perfect in every way until now. But with Bianca’s arrival, everything had changed. He hoped that with Bianca’s new marriage, his dear little Francesca would return to her formerly charming and obedient self.
Francesca’s infatuation with Enzo Ziani, while charming and amusing, had now become as tiresome as Bianca’s insistence that she would not remarry. He could not believe his oldest granddaughter was so stupid as not to understand her situation, especially as she had no calling for the church. But if she was not stupid, then she was wretchedly stubborn. He wished Enzo Ziana good fortune with the wench. Despite Bianca’s constant refusals to be courted properly, young Ziani wanted her anyway. Alessandro Venier shook his head wearily. He believed after four wives that he knew women reasonably well. A woman who constantly refused a man was not a woman he would have chosen to share his life or his bed.
But suddenly Bianca seemed a trifle more amenable to her suitor. Rather than having to send two sturdy footmen to fetch her, she came willingly when called to greet her visitor. She flirted slightly but not enough to give him great hope. Still, it was a pleasant change for Enzo not to have to do all the talking as they strolled in the garden. She wasn’t even averse to sitting while he held her hand and recited florid love poems he had written to her, although Bianca found it difficult to restrain her laughter sometimes, especially when he compared her to a perfect summer’s afternoon or a distant and elusive evening star sparkling just out of his mortal reach.
When he wanted a more intimate moment with Bianca it was difficult for her, but in order to continue the ruse that she was becoming more accepting of her fate she had to allow him certain liberties. His kisses were seductive, and frankly they made her head spin. Bianca was very confused by it. She had no feelings for Enzo Ziani at all. He aroused no lust in her and yet she found his kisses were quite exciting.
His hands knew just how to caress her so that she could not control the frisson of chill that raced down her spine when she allowed him to touch her. Bianca knew that she had to keep his kisses and his touches to a minimum. Enough so that he believed he was winning her over, but not so much that he would think her loose and untrustworthy. It was difficult. She had discovered to her surprise, or was it her shock, that a woman could respond to the lovemaking of an attractive man even if she wasn’t in love with him. Did such emotions make her wanton? There was no one of whom she could ask the question.
But her small effort at appeasing Enzo’s lustful appetites seemed to reassure him that once they were wed she would melt into his arms and he could fill her with passion.
“You are adorable!” he told her one afternoon. “I adore you, Bianca!”
“You are charming, I will admit,” Bianca told him, “but you do not love me, Enzo. You want to marry me because our families believe it is the proper thing to do. And I certainly do not love you,cara.”
“But you will love me!” he assured her. “Once we have married I will teach you to love me, Bianca, and you will.”
“You are a dreamer, Enzo. You should marry a girl who loves you, and not a widow who longs for another man.”
“I will make you forget this infidel, Bianca!” he swore.
“How young you sound,” she said, laughing at him.
He laughed then also, realizing she was correct. He did sound like a boy. “I married Carolina when I was seventeen,” he told her. “She was chosen specifically for me, a distant cousin brought from one of the islands for me. There was never anyone else, Bianca. I kept no mistress, for in the beginning we were both children playing at marriage. We could not get enough of each other. When she first told me she was with child, I was overjoyed. But then she lost the child. She lost them all. I could not betray her with another woman, for with each loss Carolina needed more and more reassurance that I continued to love her despite her failure to give my family an heir.
“I am a man, but the truth is my experience with women is not great. After my first wife died, I spent several years mourning her, for with her death came the realization that I had truly loved her. I believe I am coming to love you, Bianca. Who could not love your beauty and your sweetness?”
“Do not convince yourself that you love me, Enzo,” Bianca told him. “I will take no responsibility for breaking your heart one day,cara, though I will do so.”
But of course he did not listen to her. She was to be his wife, and this time, given her mother’s record of successful births, he would have a wife who could bring his heir to a live birth. “My wedding clothes will match yours,” he told her. “We will be the most beautiful couple in all of Venice.”
And if the wedding gown being fashioned for her was any indication, Bianca thought she would certainly be a beautiful bride. It was being made of heavy cream-colored silk that had only recently arrived from the East at her father’s Venetian warehouse. The bodice of the gown would be extremely close-fitting and embroidered with gold threads and small pearls. It would have a wide, square bodice, and the sleeves would be full and puffed and decorated with pearls and gold lace. The skirt would be full and divided to show a gold underskirt embroidered with diamonds and pearls in a seashell pattern. There would be several petticoats beneath. A cape of gold cloth would be attached to each shoulder by a large pearl clasp and would flow into a long train. On her head she would wear a high-crowned cap made of gold cloth with a heavy half-veil, which would hide her face until the ceremony was concluded.
Bianca stood silently as the gown was fitted to her form each day, and then refitted until it was finally finished. “The veiling is too sheer,” she complained to the dressmaker. “I want a thicker veil for my cap.”
