I settled myself at the keyboard. After a brief introduction by Father, I began with one of my most recent compositions—a cheerful sonata in C major. Next, I accompanied myself while singing a hymn in honor of the Blessed Mother. Finally, the maestro and Bellini joined me in performing a pair of sonatas I’d written for the harpsichord and two violins.
As usual, I lost myself in the music and completely forgot I was playing for an audience. At the sound of applause, I looked up. Everyone was on their feet. My heart thrilled at their shouts of “Brava! Brava, Signorina!” Even so, I wondered—were they impressed by my music or by the fact it had been composed by a female?
The maestro signaled for me to stand. I got up and curtsied then gestured toward the maestro and Bellini. The applause grew even louder. Bellini smiled at me. I smiled back. All sound faded away. It was as though we were the only two people in the room.
Someone tapped my shoulder. “My compliments, Signorina!” I turned to Count Riccardi and his wife. “What a most wonderful performance!” the count said. “Your playing was phenomenal, as always. And your compositions—”
The countess finished his sentence, “are simply splendid!”
Adriana and Father joined us. Adriana said to Countess Riccardi, “I agree!”
I waited for Father to say something, but Gabriella appeared then. “That was fantastic,” she said. “I wish I were but half as talented!”
Lady Elizabeth approached with Lord Lodovico at her elbow. Gabriella squeezed my arm.
“I must confess,” Lady Elizabeth said to me. “I truly did not expect your performance to live up to all the praise I had heard. Yet your skill actually exceeds your reputation. You are a most gifted musician and composer.”
I wanted to dislike Lady Elizabeth for Gabriella’s sake. But the lady’s smile seemed so genuine that I couldn’t. I curtsied and said, “Grazie, Lady Elizabeth.”
Gabriella addressed Lord Lodovico. “And what say you, Lord Lodovico? What do you think of my friend’s performance?” If Gabriella was upset about his attentions to Lady Elizabeth, she hid it well.
“I fear I, too, underestimated her abilities.” He said to me. “I hope you will forgive me as well.” I sensed his words were more for Lady Elizabeth’s sake than mine.
“Come, Emilia,” Gabriella said, tugging my arm. “You must be in need of refreshment after your hard work.”
“Excuse us.” I curtsied again and followed Gabriella to the adjacent parlor. The previously darkened room was now ablaze in candlelight. Refreshments had also been laid out.
“Do you believe that woman?” Gabriella said when we were ensconced in a corner. “Openly flirting with him. Why she’s nothing but a—”
“Hush, Gabriella. Do not say something you may regret later.” I glanced around to make sure no one was in earshot. “From what I saw, he was the one doing the flirting.”
“Oh, you are too innocent, my friend. You have not my experience in high society.” Gabriella pulled back her shoulders as though to remind me of her superior station. “I have witnessed how a woman can entrap a man in a snare so fine he doesn’t even see it.”
“And how, pray tell, are you able to see it, Gabriella?”
“Mother has taught me what to watch for—the tilt of a head, the curl of a smile, the turn of a fan.” Gabriella turned her own fan in front of her face to demonstrate.
With the exception of the fan, I had witnessed Lord Lodovico employ the very same gestures this evening, not only with Lady Elizabeth, but with Isabella, too. “You noticed no such clues in the gentleman’s behavior then?”
“Why, of course not,” Gabriella said.
How could she be so blind? Rather than argue, I said, “Even if you’re right about Lady Elizabeth, a loyal suitor would not have allowed himself to fall prey to her charms. Look at Count Cavalieri.” I nodded toward the food table, where the count stood talking with Maestro Tomassini. “The count is taking care to act above reproach.”
Before Gabriella could answer, Lord Lodovico entered the parlor with Lady Elizabeth on his arm. Naldo held a tray of wine glasses out toward them. Lord Lodovico took two of the glasses and, with a tilt of his head and a curl of a smile, he offered one to Lady Elizabeth. She smiled modestly as she accepted the wine.
“Ha!” Gabriella said. “She thinks that as the next Duchess von Hildebrandt she can have any man she sets her sights on. But I won’t let her win that easily.” Gabriella hurried over to Lord Lodovico.
Poor Gabriella. She saw only what she wished to see. I thought of Maria’s demonstration, how the light passing through her crystal wasn’t really white but a multitude of colors. Gabriella perceived only the white light, and not the rainbow—Lord Lodovico had set his sights on Lady Elizabeth.
Chapter Nineteen: Godsend
After the last of the guests had left, Adriana said to Father, “We should toast our marvelous success this evening, Husband!” She reached for two glasses of wine from the refreshment table. Maria was sitting on a sofa nearby. I collapsed beside her, exhausted.
“Our meeting will be the talk of Milan for days,” Adriana went on, “and not just because our daughters performed brilliantly.”
I cringed when she said, “our daughters.” I was not Adriana’s daughter and never would be.
My stepmother raised one of the glasses toward Father. “The presence of Duke von Hildebrandt and Lady Elizabeth will certainly be lauded.”
Father pushed the wine away. Why was there anger in his eyes? The meeting had gone exceptionally well.
He crossed his arms over his chest. “The gossipers will also note the absence of Marquis don Cesare Volpi.”
“Of what consequence is that?” Adriana said. She set both wine glasses back on the table. “His son was here, and he expressed his father’s regrets.”
“The only thing the marquis regrets is that Lord Lodovico accepted our invitation.”
“But why?” Adriana asked.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Father replied. “Marquis don Cesare Volpi believes his title makes him too good to associate with the likes of us.”
Interesting. Gabriella had said the same to me earlier.
“Don’t let it perturb you, Husband,” Adriana said. “There are plenty of noblemen who disagree with him.” She began numbering them on her fingers. “Duke von Hildebrandt, Senator Cavalieri, Count Riccardi—”
“Enough!” Father slammed his hand on the table, giving us all a start. The wine glasses trembled momentarily. “I tell you, the list of unenlightened aristocrats is much longer. However, I will show them all. After I am granted a title, not even Marquis don Cesare Volpi himself will have the audacity to slight me!”
Father turned to Maria and me. “Meanwhile, I expect you both to work harder than ever so that when I am named a nobleman, my daughters will be the two most accomplished noblewomen in all of Italy. Understood?”
Maria and I answered in unison, “Sì, Signor Padre.”
Father stormed from the room.
For a moment, Adriana stood speechless. Then she took a deep breath and said, “Girls, we must do all we can to help your father secure that title.”
***
The day of my next music lesson, I was surprised to find Antonio Bellini already in the harpsichord salon when I walked in. He sat beside the harpsichord, his shoulders hunched and his back to me. He seemed busy with something, but his violin case rested unopened on a nearby chair.
Curious, I crept closer without speaking. I soon saw that Bellini was working on a long piece of flax-colored twine tied together at the ends. He had looped the twine between his palms and was now weaving it back and forth.
“What are you doing, Signor Bellini?”
“Signorina!” Bellini rose from his chair. “I didn’t hear you come in.” His cheeks flushed pink as he held out his hands. Suspended between them, the twine had taken the shape of a basket. “It’s a game, for flexibility.”
“I’ve never heard of using string to imp
rove flexibility.”
“It was my mother’s idea,” Bellini said. “When I was five years old, I begged my uncle to teach me to play the violin. I was determined to be a great violinist. But even with a child-size violin, I had difficulty with the fingerings.” As he spoke, Bellini undid his string basket and began reweaving the twine. I was intrigued, not only by his movements, but by the mention of his mother. Bellini had never spoken of her before.
He continued working the twine. “Seeing my tears of frustration one day, Mamma started teaching me string games. She said they would make my fingers nimbler, and stronger, too.” Bellini turned his hands outward, palms facing me, with only his index fingers and thumbs pointed upward. Two strands of twine now ran horizontally from one hand to the other, with three rhomboid shapes stretched vertically between them. “This one’s called ‘The Three Diamonds.’”
“How clever,” I said. “But what makes it a game? You’ve simply woven the twine into an interesting pattern.”
“There’s a bit more to it,” he said. “Slide your hand through the center diamond, if you will.” He extended his hands toward me.
“Very well.” I did as he instructed.
Bellini let go of the twine in his left hand and tugged with his right.
“Oh!” To my surprise, my wrist was now ensnared by the string.
He laughed. “You’re my prisoner now.” Bellini pulled the twine, and my arm rose like a marionette’s, completely under his control.
“So I see.” I laughed, too. “And what will you do with me?”
“Well, if you were my little sister, I’d make you promise to stop snitching figs from the pantry.” He smiled, exposing his elusive dimple. My heart fluttered. I suddenly realized we were standing quite close together, probably closer than decorum allowed.
“However,” Bellini went on, “I was hoping to extract a different promise from you. I confess, that’s why I’m here early. I wish to have a word before the maestro arrives.”
Our proximity made it difficult to concentrate. Had he said promise?
“Of course,” he said, “I have no intention of employing coercion.” His face grew serious as he lowered my arm and reached down to remove the twine. The touch of his fingers on my wrist sent a shiver up my arm, across my chest, and down into my legs until every part of me hummed like the secondary strings on his viola d’amore.
He snatched away his hand. Had he felt it, too?
Bellini stepped back. “Forgive me, Signorina. I shouldn’t have …” He was blushing again. “I think it best you remove the twine yourself.”
I nodded. As I fumbled to free my wrist, the wild thumping of my heart pounded beneath my fingers. What could he have to say that he wouldn’t want Maestro Tomassini to hear?
I tried to keep my voice light as I asked, “Pray tell, what would you have me promise?”
Bellini seemed at a loss for words. He stared at my wrist. After I finally managed to slide off the twine he said, “I spoke to you once of how our lessons together would one day come to an end.”
“Yes, I remember.”
“Well, that day has arrived.” Bellini raised his eyes and fixed his gaze on me. “I’ve accepted a commission in the orchestra at the Royal Ducal Theatre.”
“The orchestra? Aren’t you young for such a commission?”
“Yes, I thought so, too. However, the maestro assured me I’m as skilled as many of the older violinists. With his encouragement, I dared apply for an audition.” He raised his chin ever so slightly. “I was most honored to be offered the position of second violin.”
I squeezed the twine in my hand into a ball. “But … but … why?” I took a breath to compose myself. “I mean, I’m not surprised they hired you. You play beautifully. But why do you want to perform with the orchestra?”
“I’m afraid my family needs the income.”
“Oh, forgive me. I shouldn’t have pried.” My legs trembled. I leaned against the harpsichord for support.
“No, I want you to know. I wouldn’t quit our lessons together if there were any other way.” Bellini came to stand beside me, though he kept a careful distance between us now. He ran his fingers over the waves carved into the harpsichord’s side panels. “You see, my father doesn’t have much of a head for business. My mother always ran the shop. Ever since she died …” His blue eyes filled with sadness.
“I’m sorry. When you spoke of your mother earlier, I had no idea she was dead.”
“It’s been over two years, yet sometimes it seems only two weeks.”
I understood all too well. I still had sudden flashes of longing for Mamma even though nearly a year and a half had passed since her death.
Bellini sighed. He stared at the painting inside the harpsichord’s lid. A small white ship sailed across a blue-green expanse. At that moment, I felt as though we were standing together on that ship, surrounded by a sea of sorrow.
Finally, he said, “The orchestra commission will be a great help to my family. My sister will soon need a dowry. She’s nearly fifteen.”
Like me. I thought of my own dowry. For years, I’d been praying Father wouldn’t force me to become a nun, but even that required a donation to the convent, though much less than a marriage dowry. Whatever Father’s plans, he had no doubt set aside the money to carry them out. My brothers would never have to concern themselves with such matters.
How unselfish of Bellini to want to provide for his sister. Yet what a shame he should have to end our studies together to do so.
“I hope you won’t mind my asking,” I said, “but isn’t your uncle Marquis don Vittore Bellini? Surely he could help.”
“Actually, he’s my father’s uncle.” Bellini tightened his jaw, making the cleft in his chin stand out. “And Father would sooner die of hunger than ask his assistance.” Anger flashed in Bellini’s eyes. “You see, the marquis refused to acknowledge my parents’ betrothal because my mother was from a merchant family. When they wed anyway, he disinherited Father. The two haven’t spoken since.” Bellini clenched the harpsichord’s side panels with both hands as though to steady himself. “I’ve never met the man myself. He didn’t even have the decency to come to my mother’s funeral.”
“Oh. I see.” Marquis Bellini sounded a lot like Marquis Volpi. My heart sank.
What more could I say? That I was happy Bellini had found employment he would enjoy? In truth, I was. But I was also sad for myself.
“Well then.” I tried to sound enthusiastic. “I should be congratulating you. What a wonderful opportunity—playing in the orchestra!”
He relaxed his grip on the harpsichord. “Yes, indeed. And I hope to sell some of my compositions, too.” He smiled. “By God’s grace, I’ll soon have more than enough money for my sister’s dowry. And then …” Bellini’s face grew serious again as he stepped toward me. “There’s something I wish to ask, Signorina.”
The promise he’d spoken of earlier? My heart skipped a beat. Could Gabriella be right? Could he really want to be my suitor?
He cleared his throat. “I wish to ask …” He looked down at his empty hands. “I wonder if—”
“Bellini!” the maestro called from the doorway. “I didn’t expect you here today.”
Bellini’s head jerked up. He said to Maestro Tomassini, “I wanted to give Signorina Salvini the news myself.”
“I understand,” the maestro said striding toward us. “But you’d better hurry, Boy. You don’t want to be late for your first rehearsal.”
“Indeed.” Bellini said to me, “Arrivederci, Signorina.” Our eyes met for the briefest of moments. Then he made a quick bow, grabbed his violin case, and hurried from the room.
I wanted to call after him, “Wait! Come back and ask your question.” Instead, I said only, “Buona fortuna!”
After he’d gone, I realized I still held the strand of twine, now a tangled heap.
“The orchestra commission is a true godsend for his family,” the maestro said. “And a tremendo
us opportunity for the boy.”
I nodded, only half listening. I stared down at the flax-colored mass in my hand. Such dreadful timing on the maestro’s part. A moment more and Bellini would have asked his question. Now I could only guess what it might have been.
***
I told Maria all about my conversation with Bellini as we prepared for bed. She sat at the dressing table. I stood behind her brushing her long brown hair.
She met my eyes in the mirror. “What do you think he was going to ask?”
“Lady Gabriella believes he’s smitten with me,” I said. “So I can’t help wondering if he wanted to ask to court me or for me to promise to allow him to do so when he’d proven himself a worthy suitor.”
“Have you been encouraging his attentions?”
“No. Of course not.” I set the brush on the table. “I’ve always treated him as a fellow musician, nothing more.”
“But you’d like him to be more, wouldn’t you?”
“In truth, I would.” I thought of how his touch on my wrist had sent a shiver through my whole body. I didn’t tell Maria of the string game, or of the flax-colored twine that now sat in my desk drawer. “I’ve been hoping all along that Gabriella was right. He is kind and handsome, and he loves music as much as I do.”
“He’s obviously devoted to his family, too,” Maria said, “to put his sister’s future ahead of his own. Perhaps that is why God has blessed him with an orchestra position at such a young age. But you seem to have forgotten one thing, Emmi. If Antonio Bellini wishes to court you, he needs Father’s permission, not yours.”
“Yes, of course, you’re right,” I said. “I hadn’t thought of that. Bellini probably wanted to ask something ordinary. And in that case, I may never know what it was.” I took off my dressing gown and climbed into bed.
Maria blew out the candles and came to bed, too.
Staring up into the darkness, I couldn’t stop thinking about Bellini. What if he had wanted to know my feelings first, before he approached Father? And what of Father? Would he allow me to wed? If so, would he approve of Bellini?
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