“Her parents have both died. A brother runs the estate and he and I were never close. He thought it was below Teresa to marry an artist.” His mouth twisted into a smirk.
Cassandra stood and watched as Lauro walked among the workers. He stopped and talked to the foreman for what seemed a long time. The sun beat down. The swish, swish of the scythe, the warm smell of the cut wheat, the sway of the women’s bodies gathering and tying the bundles with one swift motion after another, the laughter of the children, all had a hypnotic effect.
Something touched her arm. She jumped. Lauro was suddenly by her side, his hand at her elbow.
“You’re not used to the sun,” he said, peering anxiously into her face. “Let’s get you back to the house.”
Her equilibrium returned once they moved into the cool shade of the olive grove that was on the way to the villa.
“Let’s stop here a moment so you can catch your breath.”
She inhaled the woody scent.
“It’s been a harrowing morning,” Lauro remarked, still holding her arm.
“Yes,” she agreed with a quick laugh.
Her gaze met his again. He leaned toward her. A motion caught her eye: Jake and Francesco walking toward them. She took a step back.
As the men neared, Francesco extended his hand. “Forgive me, Maestro.”
He and Lauro shook hands, embraced, and kissed each other on both cheeks.
“It is forgotten.”
“The wine I drank must have been stronger than I thought.”
“Or the excitement of the moment went to your head.”
“Perhaps.”
As simple as that. She turned away and rolled her eyes. As impulsive a person as Francesco was, how would they keep him safe until he completed the portrait? Though obviously something could occur to put him in harm’s way before July second, seeing him safely through that day seemed to be the key. At least she hoped so. An idea began to percolate.
“Lauro,” she began, “in thanks for your hospitality, and in celebration of your renewed friendship with Francesco, I propose my brother and I host a party, July first, the eve of the pageant, for all your friends. If you don’t mind opening your home, we will buy food and wine and hire extra servants to help. We will celebrate long into the evening. Francesco, perhaps you can stay the night, and the four of us can go together in the morning to the pageant.”
“A wonderful idea!” Francesco exclaimed.
A sigh of relief escaped Cassandra’s lips. They’d have their eye on him that night, into the next day, and throughout the pageant. There were only a few days between now and then. He was spending all his daylight hours at the studio; it seemed he was safe there, and she’d make sure either she or Jake was with him in the evenings.
“Yes, a grand idea!” agreed Lauro. “But it’s not necessary for you and your brother to go to such expense. I will provide for the party.”
“No. We must do it.” Jake stepped forward. “It is nothing compared to what you have done for us. On this, it is we who insist.”
Hopefully the issue wouldn’t turn into another battle of male pride.
Lauro gave a nod. “Well then, a thousand thanks, my friends.”
“I’m leaving,” Francesco said. “Thank you for the excitement and the delicious nap.” He bowed to Lauro.
Cassandra kicked Jake’s foot.
“You’re beginning to paint Signora Guerrini’s image on canvas today, is that right?” Jake asked him.
“Yes. It’s a time of great concentration, and for the first time in a long time, my head is clear.”
“Do you mind if I come and watch? I promise not to disturb you.”
“Of course not, I welcome your company. And Contessa, will you come too?”
If Jake was with him, there was no need for her to go. “It’s too hot. I think I’ll stay in for the rest of the day.”
“Splendid,” said Lauro. “The library is the coolest room in the house. You must continue looking through my books. It pleases me to no end to have you enjoy the simple entertainment I can offer.” He squeezed her hand.
“And tonight?” Cassandra said abruptly, turning back to Jake and Francesco. “What is everyone doing tonight?”
Francesco looked at her with a bemused smile. “I’m sure I’ll be working very late. I can continue to paint by torchlight. When I’m so engrossed in a project, I often sleep in the studio, so if you have plans to entertain on the harpsichord this evening, you’ll have to excuse me from the party.”
“Oh, no. I was just wondering.”
After the midday meal and a rest, secure in the thought Francesco would stay out of trouble while he was painting, Cassandra sought out the large room that contained Lauro’s collection of twenty books, laid flat on wooden tables. Several days before, she had looked through the three volumes of the Divine Comedy. Though Dante’s Tuscan dialect, which formed the Italian language, should have been easy enough for her to understand, the printing was difficult to decipher. She’d had the same problem with Boccaccio’s beautifully illuminated Decameron. Today she started on Homer’s Iliad, but it was translated from Greek into Latin, rather than into Italian, and thus beyond her ability to comprehend. The other books of poetry, history, philosophy, mathematics, and science were mostly in Latin as well, so she studied the beautiful bindings and illustrations, handling each one carefully as the great works of art and expensive investments they were.
Once again, the villa resounded with the slam of the heavy front door, and Cassandra’s heart jumped. What now? Footsteps again thudded on the brick floors.
“Blast this heat,” Lauro muttered just loud enough to reach her ears.
She counted twenty chimes from the various church bells tolling in unison. It was four o’clock. The afternoon had passed quickly.
He peeked in through the arched doorway of the library. “Thank God for the cool of the house! You look like a perfect flower, here amidst my books, unwearied by the sun or the heat.”
A cool breeze was tickling her cheek. She looked up and around, then pointed to an opening near the ceiling with an iron grate across it, open shutters on either side. “Does that vent bring this cool wind into the house?”
“My finest invention yet! I hesitated to show you because it takes a brave soul willing to view it at its source.”
“I don’t understand,” she said. He couldn’t possibly have invented air conditioning.
“Are you up for an adventure?”
“I don’t know.” She laughed.
“It’s a journey of about a half an hour, and though you won’t have to worry about the heat from the sun, you may get wet.”
Her curiosity bubbled. “Can we go now?”
“Yes, if you like. It would refresh me like nothing else.”
“Should I change my clothes?” She touched her silk gown.
“Yes, put on your traveling clothes, and meet me in the kitchen. And bring a shawl.”
She went quickly to change, then found Lauro waiting for her near a narrow door in the kitchen. It had to lead to the pantry. He unlocked and opened it, but there was no pantry, just a set of stone steps. He led her down and into a cellar. There, it was cool and damp.
“Ottavia is the only other one who has the key.” Lauro pointed toward the ceiling. “Look.”
A series of openings were carved into the wall there.
“Now, keep these in mind,” he said, “and follow me.”
At the end of the long room, which served as much more than just a pantry, stocked with smoked meats, strings of garlic, onions and dried herbs hanging from the ceiling, ceramic jars of preserves and pickled vegetables, and metal boxes of flour lining the walls, was a heavy wooden door, open wide. They walked through and down more stairs into a long passageway. If it weren’t for the breeze blowing through, Cassandra would have been overcome with claustrophobia. They walked for several minutes before they came to more downward leading stairs. Wind rushed upward. They continued alon
g another long passageway. All the while, the wind increased, accompanied by a whooshing sound. It grew louder and louder. The ground became slick and wet, the air moist. She drew her woolen shawl more tightly around her. Lauro took her hand, cautioning her against slipping. The noise was so loud they had to yell to speak at all. At last, the passageway opened into a huge cave. There, a great waterfall crashed into a pool. From the pool, a stream ran away through a tunnel. The air was filled with moisture, the temperature of the room cold.
“It’s amazing,” she shouted.
“I carved out hollows in the walls of the house so the air would be pushed through these passageways into the cellar and up into the rooms. This is why the house is so cool in the summer. In the winter, we close the vents to keep the wind out.”
“Ingenious!”
“I’ve shared this idea with friends of mine. Tuscany has many underwater streams and falls like this. They’re now cooling many homes.”
“And in the winter, you keep the door from the cellar into the passageway closed, right?”
“Yes, exactly. It’s there for security too. In the old days, when the Martinelli family lived in the house, they used the system not only to keep food cold in the cellar, but to travel underground from house to house when there was war or sickness in the land. Many of those passageways have been closed for fear of theft or other intrusions. There is no one now who has access to my home through these tunnels, but we can always lock and bolt the door into the cellar from underground if we fear intruders.”
Lost in thoughts of Roman aqueducts and irrigation, she gazed at the cascading water.
“How about a swim?”
“Really? Isn’t it very cold?”
“It’s refreshing.” He whipped his clothes off, down to his long, cotton undergarment, and jumped into the pool with a yelp.
Cassandra took off her bodice, skirt, and petticoat, and with only her long-sleeved, knee-length chemise and bloomers remaining, jumped in with him.
“Oh my God, it’s cold!”
Her feet touched the stony bottom of the pool. She swam from one end to the other, measuring it at about twenty meters.
“You are a wonderful swimmer, Contessa!” he said, bobbing up from under the waterfall.
“I love to swim.” She flipped onto her back and kicked alongside him.
“I know of no woman who can swim besides you.”
“In England, many people swim.” She did another several laps. “The exercise feels so good.”
“I have never seen anyone swim in that manner, from one side to another like that. Let me try.”
He swam with her several more laps, then began to fall behind. Finally he stopped. It was too cold not to move around, and her clingy chemise and bloomers did nothing to keep her warm. Of course. That was why he’d stopped swimming; he was obviously enjoying the view. “Well, that’s enough. Turn around so I can get out and get dressed.”
He did. She pulled herself out of the pool. Was he looking? No, he had ducked back under the falls. Hastily, she dropped her bloomers and yanked the soaking chemise off over her head. Her hands were almost numb as she put on only her skirt and bodice. She slipped her shoes on, her toenails a pale blue, and then struggled to grasp her shawl from the ground. She wrapped the warm garment over her head and bare arms.
“I’m dressed.” She moved toward the wall.
He loudly splashed out of the pool, humming as he put on his clothes. There was something unnervingly intimate about it all.
“I’m ready,” he suddenly whispered in her ear.
She jumped. “Let’s go, I’m freezing.”
Holding their wet undergarments gingerly, they made their way back to the house. When Lauro opened the door into the kitchen, the housekeeper was there, staring at them, arms folded across her belly. Other than her chilly greeting, the kitchen exuded a welcome warmth. “Contessa,” the woman cried. “Don’t let this crazy man make you catch your death of cold. Come here.”
She pulled a bench near the fire and sat Cassandra down like a misbehaving child. Ottavia took their wet clothes and handed them off to Caterina, who was staring at her master and his friend with wide eyes.
“Take these to Alessandra and have her wash them,” Ottavia said to the girl.
“Contessa,” said Lauro, “let’s get out of the signora’s way.”
He grabbed Cassandra’s hand and ran with her out of the kitchen, through the house and up the stairs into her room. He closed the door behind him and stood with his back to it. His eyes bored into hers. She pulled her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. He walked toward her and then stopped, very near. He ran a finger over her cheek. She shivered.
He stepped back. “I should let you dress. Forgive me.”
His dark eyes were so warm, so inviting. All she had to do was reach out, touch him, pull him close, kiss him, and he would be hers. The bed was only a few feet away. They had only to fall into it.
He backed slowly away. She let him go. He put his hand on the door handle and turned it. His name was on her tongue, but she didn’t speak it. He opened the door, and with a bow, went out and closed it behind him.
Chapter Eleven
Lauro’s enthusiasm for the party was so great, that even as the wheat harvest absorbed most of his time, he took part in planning the celebration with Cassandra whenever he could break away. On the thirtieth of June, after siesta, he met her and her brother as they emerged from their rooms.
“I have a surprise for you regarding our party.”
He led them through the house, chuckling to himself, until they reached his bedroom on the ground floor. Ottavia was there, laying masks and costumes out on the bed.
“What is this?” Jake asked.
“I have decided the party will be a masquerade. I have sent word to all those who are invited, and everyone is buzzing with excitement about it. This will be the celebration of the year!”
“A masquerade?” Jake frowned.
On the bed were papier-mâché masks in every color, inlaid with glass beads and adorned with feathers. There were togas and wings, wizard robes, and animal costumes.
“Contessa, I have something in mind for you,” Lauro said. “It’s a costume Teresa had made for a mid-summer party but found herself too pregnant when the time came to wear it. It has never been seen in public.”
He held up a gown of shimmering taffeta that shifted colors as the light hit it from different angles but mostly retained a purplish hue with highlights of blue and green. Its sleeves were long and bell-shaped at the wrist. On the back were sewn wings of the most delicate silk, held out by bent reeds shaped like those of an insect.
“It’s a dragonfly,” Lauro said.
“It’s exquisite,” Cassandra breathed.
“Here’s the mask. I bought it in Venice, and Teresa had the dress made to match.”
It was a lavender eye-mask that was made to be held by hand, with a long, slim handle made of bone. Tiny glass beads adorned it and sparkled like diamonds. There were two peacock feathers sewn onto it just above the brow to represent antennae.
“Take the costume to your room,” Lauro said to her. “If it fits, it’s yours.”
“To borrow.”
“I wish to make it a gift to you.”
“I can’t accept something so precious.”
He made a slight bow. “Whatever you wish. I have no need of it, and I can think of no better recipient.”
She smiled and nodded.
“Jacopo, you may have your pick. The men’s costumes I have worn, of course, but perhaps we can put them together in an original way the guests won’t recognize.”
“I’m not sure I’m comfortable with a masquerade, Maestro.”
“What? Don’t be silly. There is no kind of party more diverting. Come on, let’s get in the spirit. You help me choose a costume and I’ll help you.”
What was Jake’s problem? “Come on, brother,” she said to him with a grin as she turned to go. “
Relax, have some fun.”
“Travel Journal, Cassandra Reilly, July 1, 1509—I haven’t recorded anything here for a while. There’s just been so much going on. Gotta make this quick, ‘cause there’s a lot still to do to get ready for the masquerade party we’re having tonight. Let’s see, two weeks ago….”
She described the day Francesco sketched her, omitting the part about her dream and keeping her voice down as she paced around her room. She went to the balcony to check the weather as she talked into her ring. Little ripples of heat were already beginning to rise from the villa’s first floor tile roof. Maybe she’d go for a walk later if it didn’t get too hot.
“Then, a couple of days later….” She told about the trip to San Gimignano, the attempted robbery and the subsequent duel, walking through the wheat fields with Lauro, the underground waterfall, but stopped short of recording her emotional reactions to those events, especially when it came to Lauro or Francesco. If she’d felt an attraction to the younger of the two artists, it seemed to have been squelched the moment he left her at the door of the villa in the rain. And what was the use of delving into the feelings she had for Lauro? It didn’t matter anymore. The trip was essentially over. She may as well start forgetting about him now, though it was a little difficult with those brown eyes always looking in her direction.
Let’s wrap it up. “This being the day before Francesco Marino is to have died in the reality in which he didn’t complete the painting, we’re keeping him under especially close wraps. He’s here at the villa right now, resting up for the party. Every day since the duel, he’s been at the studio painting, and every night he either slept there, or here, at our insistence. So, looks like we’re in good shape. He’ll be alive to finish the painting, and history will be restored.”
Cassandra was determined to visit the Cathedral of Siena that afternoon. Familiar with it already in the future, it would be a shame not to see it in its past and compare the differences. She pried Jake out of his room, where he’d been holed up all morning. She was the one who’d done most of the work to help Lauro and the servants organize the house for the party. Why Jake had no enthusiasm for the event was beyond her. As his punishment, he was to be her escort on the sight-seeing tour.
The Time Contessa (The Time Mistress Book 3) Page 12
