Maria opened her eyes. “Well, I was sure. Until I heard what Father said to Mademoiselle Duval. If my calling is to help the poor, why would God allow Father to arrange my betrothal?”
“You don’t have to be a nun to help the poor, Maria. Father gives alms to confraternities that do charitable work. Perhaps that’s what God means for you to do, too.”
“That’s not enough.” She held out her hands. “I want to be God’s hands on earth—to feed the hungry, nurse the sick, clothe the naked, as Jesus instructed his disciples to do.”
I stared at my own hands. “I can’t imagine touching a beggar, let alone nursing one.” The words sounded heartless, even to me.
“You’re already living your calling, Emmi.”
“I am?” I looked up at my sister. “What is it?”
“I’m surprised you don’t know,” Maria answered. “It’s music, of course.”
I laughed. “Music-making is pure joy for me. How can it be my calling?”
“Don’t you see, Emmi? God blessed you with a gift for music so that you could glorify him and bring joy not only to yourself but to others, too.”
“By your logic, learning must be your calling then, for it is surely your gift.”
“I used to think so,” Maria said. “I’ve always liked learning and never minded when Father kept expanding my studies. But these last few years I’ve come to believe God intends my studies for a greater purpose, perhaps to help the poor somehow. Learning has never given me the kind of joy I felt helping the beggar in my vision.”
Could it be as simple as Maria believed: Our calling was to use our gifts to give and receive joy?
We were both quiet for a moment. Finally, I said, “Have you told anyone else of your desire to take the veil?”
“Only Padre Gilberto. He thinks it’s a wonderful idea.”
Of course our family confessor would approve. He didn’t know Father’s feelings on the matter. I did. But I couldn’t bring myself to tell Maria the rest of what I’d overheard between our parents. How Mamma, in her great foresight, had anticipated Maria’s desire to be a nun. And how Father had said he’d never allow Maria to hide her “extraordinary talents” in a convent.
“What should I do?” Maria asked.
“Perhaps it’s best to leave things in God’s hands. If it really is your calling to take the veil, then God will find a way to make it happen.”
Maria’s face brightened. “Yes, of course,” she said. “You’re so wise, Emmi.”
It was not wisdom that prompted my words. I simply wished to ease her anxiety. I had little hope Maria could avoid a betrothal if Father had already set his mind on one.
I could only pray he hadn’t. For Maria or me.
Chapter Fourteen: Chantilly Lace
When Father saw us in our new gowns with our hair all done up, he said, “Ah, Daughters, you both look lovely.”
A compliment from Father? I didn’t know what to say. Maria glanced at me, then said to him, “Grazie, Signor Padre.”
I cleared my throat and thanked him too.
“Andiamo,” Father said. “Let us depart.”
Seated in our carriage, Father again surprised me by humming. I recognized the piece immediately as one of my own compositions. Even though Father had not yet resumed his academic meetings, he sometimes asked me to play for small groups of his friends. Could my music have helped inspire Father’s transformation? The thought warmed my heart.
When we arrived at Palazzo Riccardi, a servant led us to the same large salon where Maria and I had performed for the governor. Chamber music filled the hallway as we approached. It occurred to me then that Bellini might be one of the performers. Gabriella had never mentioned if she’d invited him as a guest.
My eyes went immediately to the harpsichord, which today stood in the far corner. The man playing it now wore a white bag wig and black suit. Beside him, a much older man sat hunched over his violoncello. The two violinists seemed young in comparison, though they had to be at least Father’s age. I sighed in disappointment.
“There you are.” I heard Gabriella’s voice before I saw her. “I thought you’d never arrive.” Gabriella smiled widely as Father, Maria, and I exchanged greetings with her and her family.
As soon as Father turned to ask Lord Raffaele about his recent travels, Gabriella grabbed my arm and pulled me away. “We have much to discuss before the dancing begins. But first, let me have a good look at you.” Gabriella stepped back and put her hands on my shoulders. “You’re taller,” she declared. Then she leaned over and whispered in my ear, “and more womanly.” Heat flushed my face. Gabriella laughed.
Her crimson and turquoise gown exposed her own womanly attributes, which were ampler than I recalled. At least the fringe of white Chantilly lace edging her bodice protected her modesty. “You’re looking well,” I said. “Perhaps convent life suits you.”
Gabriella pretended to be horrified. “You must never say such a thing! If my father should hear he might send me to that awful place again.” The gleam in her eyes made it clear she spoke in jest.
“So,” I said, “any word on your betrothal?”
“Not yet,” Gabriella answered. “But last night I overheard my brother talking to Father about some information he’d gathered in Austria. I suspect Raffaele was investigating the character of my potential suitors.”
“Suitors? You mean there’s more than one?”
“Of course.” She laughed, and the sound reminded me of a bell tinkling. “At least two of them will be here this evening. We invited your suitor as well, but unfortunately, he had a prior engagement.”
My heart sank. I tried to keep my tone light as I said, “If you mean Antonio Bellini, he’s not my suitor. We’re just studying music with the same tutor.”
“If he is only a fellow student,” Gabriella said, “why do you blush at the mention of his name?”
“I’m not blushing. It’s warm in here.” The room had indeed grown warm with the arrival of more guests.
“In that case, perhaps this will help.” Gabriella opened her fan and fluttered it at me. The fan, which matched her gown, was trimmed in the same white lace as her bodice. Gabriella beat the air so vigorously I laughed out loud. Just then, Marquis Volpi entered the salon accompanied by a man I’d never seen before.
I reached out and stopped Gabriella’s fan. “I believe one of your suitors has arrived.”
Gabriella turned. “Lord Lodovico,” she whispered. “I do hope he is one of my suitors.”
We watched as Gabriella’s parents greeted Marquis Volpi and his son. This evening, the marquis’s walking stick was of a light-colored wood. Between his fingers, the jewel-encrusted handle reflected the light of the chandeliers. The marquis held his shoulders back stiffly, as though he were a wealthy prince. His rich-looking purple suit only added to his regal bearing.
Lodovico Volpi was much more flamboyantly attired. He had on a brocade waistcoat in bright shades of red, blue, and gold. The same brocade covered the upturned cuffs of his charcoal gray coat. Beneath the cuffs, white Chantilly lace extended from his wrists to his fingertips. More lace adorned the silk cravat at his neck. Although the younger Volpi bore a strong resemblance to his father, he lacked the marquis’s haughty air.
Gabriella raised her fan to her face. I noticed then that the lace trimming her fan was very like that of Lord Lodovico’s shirt. He and Gabriella apparently shared a taste for Chantilly lace.
From behind her fan Gabriella whispered, “Isn’t he impeccably dressed? And handsome, too.”
Actually, he struck me as a bit of a fop. He even wore a black beauty patch on his left cheek. To tease Gabriella, I pretended to misunderstand. “Don’t you think the marquis is rather old for you?”
“You know of whom I speak.” Gabriella pinched my arm.
“Ouch!”
Lord Lodovico must have heard my cry, for he turned toward us. He bowed in our direction.
“Look what you’ve done,”
Gabriella said. “What shall I say if he comes over here?”
“It’s your fault for pinching me.”
Countess Riccardi frowned then waved us to her.
Marquis Volpi had moved to one side, where he was deep in conversation with Gabriella’s brother. Lord Lodovico, however, still stood beside Gabriella’s parents. As we approached, Count Riccardi said to him, “Lord Lodovico, allow me to present my daughter, Lady Gabriella.”
Lord Lodovico looked Gabriella over from head to toe as though appraising her. Then he smiled. I had to admit that despite the silly beauty spot, he really was handsome. He stood quite tall, taller than father, and his eyes were the darkest brown I’d ever seen. But he appeared to be at least thirty years old.
He bowed to Gabriella and said, “It is my great pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.”
Gabriella curtsied. “And I, yours.”
“And this is Signorina Emilia Salvini,” Count Riccardi said, “Milan’s musical prodigy.”
“You are too kind, my lord.” I lowered my gaze to hide my pleasure at the compliment.
“And you are too modest,” Lord Lodovico said. “Many have praised your musical skills as well as your sister’s intellectual abilities. Is your sister here, perchance?”
“Indeed,” Count Riccardi answered before I could. “She’s there, by the fireplace, with her father.” The count nodded toward them. Maria stood between Father and a monk wearing a dark brown cassock. She appeared calm enough talking to the monk, but she no doubt still dreaded the prospect of dancing with any man Father might consider a suitor.
“Come, then,” the count said to Lord Lodovico. “I shall introduce them to you. Salvini will surely want to invite you to his next meeting. Then you can witness the young ladies’ abilities for yourself.”
“Excellent,” Lord Lodovico said.
As Countess Riccardi greeted the next guests, Gabriella pulled me aside again. “Well, what say you, Emilia? Don’t you think he’d make the perfect husband?”
“He’s handsome enough,” I said, “though he’s older than I expected.”
“At least he’s never been married,” Gabriella said, “unlike some of his rivals.”
“Are any of them here?” I asked.
“Only Count Giorgio Cavalieri.”
“Count Cavalieri? The Senator?”
“Old Bulldog himself.” Gabriella gestured toward a stocky man standing near the refreshment table. I wondered if the nickname was a reflection of his character or his appearance—his round face and heavy cheeks did give Count Cavalieri a certain resemblance to a bulldog.
“He’s younger than I imagined, given his reputation as a diplomat.”
Gabriella opened her fan to conceal her face. “Even so, he’s older than Lord Lodovico. And, as a widower with two daughters, the count is anxious to remarry to produce a male heir.” She shook her head behind her fan. “Not only are his looks no match for Lord Lodovico’s, the Cavalieri estate isn’t worth nearly as much as what Lord Lodovico will inherit.”
“But Cavalieri is one of the most respected statesmen in all of Lombardy,” I said. “Surely that counts for something.”
“Not as much as a pleasing face and a fine fortune.”
I disagreed, but I didn’t tell Gabriella so. I couldn’t help thinking of what Maria had said about Father seeking suitors for us, too. Glancing about, I wondered if any of the bachelors present could meet my expectations.
“Are you looking for someone?” Gabriella asked.
“Can you keep a secret?”
“Is Charles VI emperor?”
I told Gabriella about Maria’s suspicions—that Father was using the ball to exhibit us to possible suitors.
“It’s an interesting theory,” Gabriella said, “but it’s unlikely your father wants to betroth either of you anytime soon.”
“Why?”
“He still expects to be granted a title, does he not?”
“Yes.”
“Well, as daughters of a nobleman, your prospects would be entirely different from what they are now. You and your sister are still young, and your father is no fool. He’ll surely want to postpone any marriage arrangements until his title is granted.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
Gabriella smiled. “I may not know much about music or mathematics,” she said. “But I do know how the nobility think.” She tapped her fan to her forehead. We both laughed.
“We must tell Maria right away,” I said. “She’ll be so relieved.”
Maria had somehow escaped the company of Lord Lodovico and Count Riccardi and was seated in a chair near the musicians. When I told her what Gabriella had said about Father, she wasn’t convinced.
“Then whose betrothal could he have been speaking of to Mademoiselle Duval?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“I think I do.” Gabriella gestured with her fan toward the far end of the room, where Father stood talking to a tiny young woman wearing an emerald green gown.
“I don’t understand,” I said. “Who is she?”
“Adriana Grilli,” Gabriella said. “Daughter of Alfonso Grilli, a wealthy silk merchant.”
“I’ve met him,” Maria said. “He’s attended several of father’s academic meetings.” She stood and glanced around the room. “Signor Grilli is there, on the other side of the harpsichord. The short man in the blue silk suit.”
The musicians were taking a break, so, despite Alfonso Grilli’s short stature, I had a clear view of him. He stood alone.
“Where’s his wife?” I asked.
“He’s a widower like Father,” Maria said.
Alfonso Grilli was obviously watching his daughter as she talked with Father.
“I still don’t understand,” I said.
“I should think it’s obvious,” Gabriella said. “The betrothal your father spoke of is his own.”
“What?” Maria and I said at the same time.
“It’s to be expected,” Gabriella said, “especially with a household as large as yours. Your father needs help raising your siblings.”
I couldn’t believe it. Father remarry? What of his love for Mamma?
Then I remembered—the day I’d warned him of Maria’s health, Father spoke of finding “a remedy for the situation” of managing our household. A new wife could indeed be that remedy. A small “Oh,” escaped my lips.
Maria’s gasp was much louder. “It can’t be. Not so soon.”
“I’m afraid it can,” I said, putting a hand on Maria’s arm. “Father spoke to me last spring of finding a way to ease the burden on Mademoiselle Duval.”
“There, you see,” Gabriella said.
“But why her?” Maria nodded toward Adriana Grilli. “She can’t be any older than I am.”
“She’s at least twenty or maybe even twenty-one,” Gabriella said. “Now that I think of it, I’m surprised she isn’t already married, or at least betrothed. Her father has done quite well. As his only child, her dowry will be substantial.”
The musicians returned and took up their instruments. “You’ll have to excuse me,” Gabriella said. “The dancing is about to begin.”
Maria looked pale. “I need to sit down.”
As she took her seat again, I realized a ray of sunshine might hide behind this cloud. “Console yourself, Maria. This means Father isn’t planning to marry off either of us right now.”
She tried to smile. “Thank heaven for small favors.”
***
To my relief, no one asked me for the first dance. Despite what I’d said to Maria, my head still spun at the thought of Father’s possible betrothal. I knew the truth of Gabriella’s words. Widowers with young children were indeed expected to remarry, but I hadn’t anticipated Father doing so, at least not this soon. And definitely not to someone so young. Perhaps Gabriella was mistaken. Even if Father was planning to remarry, it might not be to Adriana Grilli.
As the musicians began the prelude to an alle
mande, I sat up and scanned the dancers—the ladies were lined up in a row facing their partners, with their backs to me. Finally, I spotted the one emerald green gown. The music started. Adriana Grilli stepped forward, raising her arm as high as she could to meet her partner. She was so small, I saw him easily, even from across the room. Father.
I slumped into my chair. Of course. This explained Father’s strange behavior earlier—the compliment he’d paid to Maria and me, his humming in the carriage. He’d been excited about seeing Adriana Grilli. Now, as he met her in the dance, he was smiling wider than he had in a long time.
I shook my head. Could Father have forgotten Mamma already?
Maria must have been watching Father, too, for she said, “I suppose we must resign ourselves to God’s will.”
“But how do we know it is God’s will?”
Maria didn’t answer.
Chapter Fifteen: Adriana Grilli
The next dance started with a promenade. To put Father out of my mind, I watched Gabriella. She looked uncharacteristically serious as she danced with a fair-haired young man I didn’t recognize. Perhaps he was another of her suitors.
The dance turned out to be a saltarello. I couldn’t help tapping my foot to the lively music.
“Really, Emmi,” Maria scolded. “It’s quite unladylike for you to fidget so.”
I crossed my ankles to keep from tapping. “Doesn’t the music make you want to dance?”
“No,” she said. “I’m content to simply listen and watch.”
“Well, you may not have much choice,” I said as the saltarello ended. “Gabriella’s brother is headed this way.”
I sat up straighter. He would no doubt ask Maria to dance first, since she was older, but I hoped he might come back for me afterward.
Lord Raffaele bowed to Maria. “I am surprised to find you without a dance partner, Signorina.” He reached out his hand. “Would you do me the honor of the next dance?”
Maria blushed. “You are most kind, Lord Raffaele. But I beg you to take my sister as your partner instead. She can barely sit still for want of dancing.”
“Maria, how could you!”
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