“Rubbish!” Father said. “I will order her to eat.”
“And if she should refuse?”
“She can’t refuse,” he said. “I’ll send her to a convent until she acquiesces.”
“But that’s where Maria wants to go.”
Father’s shoulders slumped ever so slightly. “I see.” He straightened again. “Such disobedience is a sin. Her confessor will counsel her to submit.”
“With all respect, Signor Padre, why not allow Maria to take the veil? She’s convinced it’s God’s will for her.”
“It is my will for one of my daughters to wed Lodovico Volpi.” Father leaned his face close to mine. “I have already mentioned the possibility to the marquis, and he is quite interested in pursuing the matter. Therefore, if Maria refuses to marry Volpi,” Father raised his index finger toward me, practically touching my nose, “the obligation shall fall to you.”
“Me?” I felt the blood drain from my face. “But I can’t.” Fathers eyes narrowed. “I mean, I already have a suitor.”
“What!” Father slammed his hand on the desk. I winced at the sound. “How can you have a suitor without my consent?”
“Pardon me, Signor Padre. I meant to say, someone has expressed interest in becoming my suitor, pending your approval, of course.” My voice trembled as I added, “He was merely waiting for the right time to approach you.”
“And who, pray tell, is this ‘someone’?”
Heaven help me. I swallowed and said, “Antonio Bellini.”
“The violinist? Hah!” Father leaned back in his chair. “Bellini is untitled. How can he hope to court you, the daughter of a count?”
“But he will have a title upon his great-uncle’s death. Marquis don Vittore Bellini intends to bequeath everything to him.”
Father waved his hand as though swatting a pesky fly. “It’s a fabrication to win your favor. The marquis disowned the boy’s father years ago.”
“Antonio Bellini didn’t tell me of the inheritance. In truth, he may not even be aware of it. Lady Cavalieri is the one who informed me.”
The smugness left Father’s face. “How would she know of such things?”
“Marquis Bellini told her husband, Count Cavalieri. The marquis is in failing health and may not be long in this world. His heir is a distant cousin in Padua. According to the count, Marquis Bellini hates the idea of the estate falling into the hands of a non-Milanese.”
“Naturally,” Father said.
“The marquis said he’ll gladly leave everything to Antonio Bellini instead, provided his great-nephew betroths a noblewoman.”
“Indeed?” Father placed his hands upright, palms together. Leaning his chin on his extended fingers, he was silent for a long moment.
Please, Lord, I prayed. Let Father see what’s best for Maria and me.
Father finally lifted his chin and said, “If young Bellini does not know of this, what makes him presume he is worthy to court you?”
“Bellini first mentioned courting me last summer, just before he took a position with the Royal Ducal Orchestra. He planned to approach you after he’d saved sufficient funds from his salary and musical compositions. He didn’t know then that our family would soon join the nobility.”
“I see.” Father still held his hands together as though in prayer. A slow smile spread across his face. “God has blessed me beyond my wildest imaginings. I shall have not one, but two sons-in-law who are marquises.”
“But Maria—”
Father held up a hand to silence me. “As I said, it is my will to have Marquis Volpi’s son marry one of my daughters. I care not which one. If you wish to marry Bellini, you must convince your elder sister to wed Lord Lodovico first.”
I pressed a hand against the nausea rising in my belly. How could I even suggest such a thing to Maria?
“That is all, Daughter.” Father dismissed me with a wave of his hand.
Dazed, I left Father’s study. I wandered the halls of the palazzo until I ended up in the harpsichord salon. I gazed up at the painting of the Annunciation and thought of the joyful Magnificat I’d sung only a week earlier. My show of happiness must have caught the attention of il malocchio, for I felt sorely cursed.
***
I said nothing to Maria of my conversation with Father. In truth, I hardly spoke at all.
I spent the following mornings on my knees in the chapel praying for a solution that would allow both Maria and me to be happy. In the afternoons, I practiced in the harpsichord salon.
Time marched on. When only ten days remained until Father’s next meeting, I still hadn’t discovered any solution to my dilemma. I saw only two possibilities, neither acceptable. If Maria married Lord Lodovico for my sake, guilt would overshadow my happiness at being wed to Antonio Bellini. Yet taking Maria’s place would mean giving up the man I loved.
***
One morning as I knelt in the chapel, Isabella rushed in.
“Emmi,” she whispered loudly. “I’ve been looking all over for you.” She paused to catch her breath. “You must help me!”
I jumped up. “What is it, Isabella? Are you hurt?”
She shook her head. “I’ve just come from Adriana.”
“Oh, no. The baby!” I turned to flee the room. Isabella grabbed my arm.
“It’s not the baby. Adriana’s fine.”
“Then out with it, Isabella. What’s wrong?”
“Adriana told me of Father’s plans, that Maria is to marry Lord Lodovico and you will be betrothed to Antonio Bellini. Is it true?”
I sighed. Now Isabella knew.
I took her arm and began leading her out of the chapel. “Yes, those are Father’s plans. I don’t see how they have anything to do with you, though.”
“But they do.” Isabella pulled away from me and stood before the chapel door. “Adriana was chattering about how Maria’s wedding celebration and yours will have to be at least as grand as Lady Gabriella’s, since your husbands will both be marquises one day. So I asked, ‘What about me? Will I have a grand wedding celebration, too?’ Instead of answering, Adriana tried to change the subject. I badgered her until she finally confessed Father’s plans for all of us.” Even in the dim light of the chapel, I could see that Isabella’s eyes were more gray than blue, just like Mamma’s when she was upset.
“After you and Maria are betrothed,” Isabella went on, Father is going to send Paola and me to a convent. We are to take the veil.”
“What?”
“Adriana said it would require too much dowry money to marry off all four of us. Two of us must profess vows, whether we have a calling or not.” Isabella slumped against the door.
Her posture reminded me of Zia Delia slumped in her chair behind the grille at the Convent of the Annunciation. After Mamma’s death, Isabella had refused to join Maria and me in our visits to Zia—she’d said she couldn’t bear to see our aunt locked away. I realized now there was more to it: Isabella must have shared my own fear of ending up like Zia.
My little sister looked so small and sad. I turned away and my eyes fell on the fresco beside the door—a painting of Milan’s patron, Sant’Ambrogio, blessing the kneeling Emperor Theodosius following his conversion. With a heavy heart, I said, “I’m afraid what Adriana says is true.”
“It’s not fair!” Isabella said, her voice rising. “I don’t want to be locked away in a cloister. I want to live in a palazzo and wear fancy gowns. Maria is the devout one. Why not let her take the veil and let me marry instead?”
A glimmer of hope entered my heart. Perhaps we could convert Father’s thinking, just as Sant’Ambrogio had converted the Emperor.
But then I came to my senses. “You’re too young, Isabella.”
She stretched up her neck. “I’ll be fifteen in less than seven months. That’s old enough to be betrothed.”
Could it be? Isabella always seemed much younger. Of course, there was no denying her age. “But you’re not as accomplished as Maria or I.”
I started to say, “But—”
“Don’t you see, Emmi?” Isabella grabbed me by both arms. “It’s the perfect solution. I’ll simply trade places with Maria. Then she can take the veil as she’s always wanted, and you still get to marry Bellini. We can all be happy.”
“You’d be happy married to Lord Lodovico? He’s so much older than you.”
“He’s not as old as Lady Gabriella’s husband. And Lord Lodovico’s never been married so I wouldn’t have any stepchildren to raise.” Isabella smiled. “Besides, Palazzo Volpi is one of the finest in all of Milan. I will have all the servants I want and dress in the latest fashions. I can’t think of anything that would make me happier.”
“Hmm. I suppose it could work out, provided—”
“Provided what?” Isabella asked.
“Provided we can convince Lord Lodovico that you are the Salvini girl he wants to wed and not Maria.”
Isabella batted her lashes and held her hand against her cheek in a flirtatious pose. “I think I can arrange that.”
I laughed. Then I remembered where we were and covered my mouth.
Just then, the chapel door opened. Adriana looked startled to see us standing so close by. “There you are, Isabella. Are you all right?”
“I’m quite marvelous, actually,” Isabella said. She quickly explained our plan to Adriana.
Adriana said to me, “You’re certain Maria has no desire to wed?”
“All Maria desires is to serve God by helping the poor. I tried to tell Father so, but he insists two of his daughters must wed nobility. It hasn’t occurred to him that Isabella could trade places with Maria. If Lord Lodovico chooses Isabella of his own accord, Father will have to agree.”
Adriana said to Isabella. “Well, then, we’ll have to make sure you’re the most beautiful Salvini daughter at your father’s next meeting. Then Lord Lodovico won’t be able to resist you.”
“Grazie, Signora Madre.” Isabella threw her arms around our stepmother.
As I watched them embrace, I felt so happy I could have danced a saltarello. Instead, I said a silent prayer of thanksgiving.
Adriana pulled away from Isabella. “With only a week left until the meeting, I think it best we not mention any of this to your father or Maria for now.”
Isabella and I answered in unison, “Sì, Signora Madre.”
Chapter Thirty-Four: True Character
With Adriana on our side, surely all would be well. Maria would take the veil and serve the poor. Isabella would take Maria’s place as Lord Lodovico’s wife. And I would wed Antonio Bellini.
Yet, one worry still nagged me. I’d had no word from Bellini in over eight months. What if he’d changed his mind, as Lady Elizabeth had changed hers about Lord Lodovico?
I took out the twine Bellini had used to demonstrate the string game. Winding it round my wrist like a bracelet, I considered what to do next. I had to make sure Bellini’s feelings had remained steadfast. And I needed to do so soon, for Father had invited Bellini to attend our next academic meeting.
I unwound the twine and slipped it back into the desk. With Father now monitoring all my correspondence, I couldn’t write to Bellini directly. I decided to visit Gabriella to ask her help.
***
A maidservant led me out to the garden, where Gabriella sat in the shade of a pear tree. The branches above her hung heavy with green pears.
“How wonderful to see you, dear Emilia.” To the maidservant, Gabriella said, “Betta, bring more ice water right away.” She gestured to the empty glass on the table beside her. “And some pastry. I’m craving sweets.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Gabriella smiled up at me. Her face had grown as round and radiant as a full moon. “Do sit down, Emilia.”
“You’re looking lovelier than ever, Gabriella,” I said, taking a seat in the wrought-iron chair on the other side of the table. “You have a glow about you.”
“It’s not a glow.” She fanned herself vigorously. “It’s perspiration from this infernal heat.”
I laughed. “I didn’t think noblewomen were allowed to perspire.”
She pointed her fan at me. “You laugh now. We’ll see how you feel when you’re in my condition.”
“I must wed first, which, in a way, is what I’m here to discuss.”
“What? Have you had word from Bellini?”
“No,” I said. “I was wondering if you’ve had any news of him or of his great-uncle.”
Gabriella was about to answer when the maidservant returned. Betta held her tray out to me and I took one of the glasses of ice water. The tray also held a plate of puff pastries. Fine white sugar covered the surface of the golden pastry balls. I wasn’t in the mood for sweets, though. I sipped my water instead. It tasted faintly of oranges.
Gabriella took the other glass.
The maidservant placed the pastry on the table. “Will there be anything else, my lady?”
Gabriella waved her off. “Not now.”
Betta curtsied and left us again.
Gabriella took a long drink. Then, pressing the cold glass to her cheek, she finally answered my question. “All I know is that the old marquis has retreated to his country estate. I assume, to escape this heat. I wish I could do the same.” She set her glass on the table and reached for a pastry. “Why do you ask?”
I told Gabriella about Father’s plans for Maria, and Isabella’s desire to marry Lord Lodovico in her place.
At the mention of Lodovico Volpi, Gabriella suddenly dropped her pastry. Did she still have feelings for him?
“What a waste.” Gabriella watched the sugar-coated morsel hit the ground. It rolled under the table and came to a stop near my right foot.
Gabriella’s face looked calmer than I’d expected. Perhaps I’d misread her reaction and the pastry had simply slipped from her hand.
She picked up another pastry and took a dainty bite. “I’d heard Volpi was back in Milan,” she said between chews, “but I had no idea your father was planning a match between him and Maria.” She popped the rest of the pastry into her mouth, then brushed off her fingers. “Your father must be unaware of the reasons behind Volpi’s return.”
“Father told me Lady Elizabeth had changed her mind and called off the wedding.”
“Actually, it wasn’t Lady Elizabeth who canceled the wedding. It was Duke von Hildebrandt.” Gabriella began fanning herself again. “When Lodovico Volpi tried to call on Lady Elizabeth to see if there was any hope of a reconciliation, the duke had him forcibly removed from the premises.”
“Forcibly removed? Why?”
“I don’t like to repeat such things,” Gabriella said, “however, considering your father’s intentions, I feel bound to tell you.”
She leaned toward me. “My brother warned me long ago that Volpi was a notorious gambler, but I thought he was exaggerating. Well, Raffaele happened to be in Austria when Volpi’s betrothal to Lady Elizabeth was first announced. Almost immediately, Volpi left for Paris, saying he had business there. Turns out his ‘business’ was conducted at the gambling tables, with notes borrowed against the generous dowry he would soon receive by marrying the future Duchess von Hildebrandt. However, Lady Luck was not with Volpi. He sustained heavy losses.”
“And the duke found out?”
“That’s not all the duke found out.” Gabriella lowered her voice. “Volpi is the worst kind of scoundrel. He has numerous mistresses, of all classes, scattered in cities across the empire.”
I gasped. “Are you sure?” My hand trembled as I set my glass on the table.
Gabriella nodded. “I overheard Raffaele tell Father all about it—while Volpi was in Paris, he visited his mistress there, a married noblewoman, no less! When
the woman’s husband walked in on them, he challenged Volpi to a duel. Instead of giving the man satisfaction, Volpi ran back to Austria with his tail between his legs. The husband, being a persistent man, had Volpi investigated and learned not only of his engagement to Lady Elizabeth, but also his other liaisons. Unable to travel to Austria himself, the man sent word to Duke von Hildebrandt, informing him of Volpi’s true character.”
“Incredible!” I knew Volpi was a flirt, but I’d never imagined him a womanizer. The idea of such a man marrying my sister made my stomach sick.
“I’m sorry, Emilia.”
“You’re not to blame.”
“Someone must tell your father,” Gabriella said. “Do you want me to ask Raffaele to speak to him?”
“No,” I said. “Father would be ashamed to have anyone outside the family know he’d been planning to marry his daughter to such a scoundrel. I’ll have to tell him myself.” How would I even bring up such a subject? My cheeks burned at the thought.
Gabriella didn’t seem to notice. She reached for another pastry. “These are quite delicious. You must try one.”
The feeling of nausea resurged. “No, grazie.”
After finishing the last of her pastry, Gabriella said, “Really, you should have one. Something sweet will improve your humor.”
I shook my head, but her words gave me an idea. “Father will certainly be outraged when I tell him about Volpi. But perhaps I can share some good news to counterbalance the bad.” I took a sip of ice water. The nausea eased a bit. “In truth, that is what I came to discuss with you.”
Gabriella licked the sugar from her lips. “How can I be of service?”
“I need to know if Bellini is ready to court me, but I cannot write him directly.” I didn’t mention that I also needed to confirm Bellini’s feelings had remained constant. “I was wondering if you might help me get word to him.”
“Well, I don’t see why you can’t speak to him here, in person, with me as your chaperone.” Gabriella gestured toward the palazzo. “I’ll tell my husband I have an urgent desire for musical entertainment.” She smiled, patting her abdomen. “The count has been most indulgent of my whims lately.”
Playing by Heart Page 20
