Rose Red

by Speer, Flora

  “Perhaps,” Bianca said, “when the snow melts, when spring comes.”

  “No, now,” Rosalinda insisted. “Now, when the cold air will put roses in your cheeks.”

  “And chilblains in my hands and feet.” Bianca sent a teasing look toward her sister. “Do you want me to act as chaperone for you and Andrea? Is that why you are suddenly so concerned with how much exercise I get?”

  “I don’t need a chaperone. I haven’t seen Andrea alone for more than a week.”

  “And that troubles you?”

  “I thought he liked me.”

  “I am sure he does, my dearest. So far as I can see, he likes all of us.” Bianca grew still, the oil shining on her clasped hands. “What are you saying, Rosalinda? Has he made improper advances to you?”

  “I don’t think so. That is, I didn’t mind.”

  “What did he do?” Bianca asked, her eyes going wide.

  “He kissed me, and he put his hand on my breast. Just for a moment, you understand. Then he told me to leave him at once.”

  “An order which indicates that he has a strong sense of honor.” Bianca got onto the bed next to Rosalinda and curled her legs up, sitting so she was facing her sister. Her next words were an intimate whisper. “What was it like, to have a man’s mouth on yours?”

  “I was overwhelmed,” Rosalinda said. “But I liked it. If Andrea had not sent me away, I am sure I could have stayed there in his room all afternoon, letting him do whatever else he wanted.”

  “Oh, my.” Bianca moistened her lips. “And when he touched you? Did it hurt?”

  “It burned,” Rosalinda said. “But not exactly where his hand was. I felt as if a fire had started somewhere deep inside me. Now, every time I see him, the fire flames up anew. I think of what he did, and I want him to do it again. But I never see him alone anymore, and when we are together he will scarcely look at me.” Rosalinda put her head down on her knees.

  “From what I have seen of Andrea, he treats you as he treats me,” Bianca said, “and as he treats Mother or Valeria. I think he is trying to behave honorably toward you. He can hardly kiss you on the mouth or touch your breast in the presence of others.”

  “Do you really think that’s it?” Rosalinda turned her head to look at Bianca.

  “Probably. Of course, you have more experience in these matters than I have.” Bianca’s soft voice was tinged with regret. “No man has ever kissed me.”

  “That’s true. I have wondered every day since it happened just what Andrea meant by those caresses and by what he said to me that afternoon.” Rosalinda buried her face in her knees again, so the request she made was somewhat muffled. “Please, Bianca, don’t tell anyone about this.”

  “Haven’t I always kept your little secrets?” Reaching out to her sister, Bianca smoothed down Rosalinda’s springy curls. “Though this is not such a small secret. Rosalinda, you must not fall in love with Andrea. He will not stay at Villa Serenita beyond the spring thaw, if he stays that long, and we cannot leave here. You know why it is so. Do not torment yourself by longing for what you cannot have. And, please, I beg you, my dearest, do not allow your affection for Andrea to lead you to grant him liberties that will only cause you greater regret when he does leave.”

  Chapter 6

  There was no priest at Villa Serenita. Nevertheless, late on Christmas Eve the entire household, along with the men-at-arms and their families, gathered in the large reception room that was almost never used. The room had been cleaned on the previous day and decorated with fresh, fragrant greenery brought in from the forest. New candles had been placed in the chandeliers and in all the wall sconces for this occasion, and their flames illuminated the gilt trim and the frescoes on the walls and the high ceiling. Beginning a little before midnight, Eleonora read the appropriate Christmas passages from her missal and then added a few prayers of her own.

  From his position between Bartolomeo and Rosalinda, Andrea watched Eleonora. He imagined that she must be wishing she could include among her prayers a mention of the enterprise upon which she wanted to send Andrea. She had not spoken to him about it at all, and neither had Bartolomeo said anything more on the subject after their late-night talk. Andrea believed those two accomplished schemers were simply leaving him alone to make his own decision, because they were already certain what that decision would be.

  The entire population of Villa Serenita had been fasting since early morning. Once the Christmas prayer service was ended, the white-clothed tables that had been pushed against the walls of the reception room were pulled to the center of the room and platters of food were carried in by willing kitchen workers, for it was by now well past midnight and the pre-Christmas fast was over.

  Poached whole fish, roasted chickens, and joints of meat were set in places of honor, while truffles uprooted from the forest added their pungent, earthy aroma to the other inviting smells. Nuts and preserved fruits from the summer harvest, fresh apples and pears, roasted chestnuts pureed and blended with whipped heavy cream and eggs to make a sweet pudding, dried figs and dates brought to the villa on Luca’s last visit, and sweet bread made with raisins all crowded the tables. Large pitchers of wine completed the feast prepared to celebrate the holy day.

  Andrea was invited to sit next to Eleonora. It was an honor he could not refuse, though he would have preferred a place between Rosalinda and Bianca.

  ‘‘Well, Signore Andrea.” Eleonora looked at him over the rim of her jeweled, golden wine goblet. “Here it is, Christmas Day.”

  “So it is, madonna.” Andrea tried his best to sound noncommittal while his heart was beating as hard as if he were about to go into battle. Which, in a way, he was. “I wish you all the blessings of this holy season.”

  “Do not trifle with me, Andrea.” Eleonora’s blue eyes were hard and her mouth was pulled into the firm line it assumed when she wanted her daughters to do something to which they objected.

  “I would not dream of trifling, madonna. Let us say instead that, when I think of all you have done for me, I am overcome with gratitude. And with astonishment.”

  “Indeed?” Eleonora’s finely plucked eyebrows rose. Her eyes were sparkling now, a sign to Andrea that she was relishing their exchange.

  There were men and women, bred in the courts of the Italian city-states, who found the manipulation of others and the bargaining for power and position a far more exciting game than any sport. Andrea recognized Eleonora as one of those souls. He marveled that she had remained quiescent for fifteen long years, though he knew why she had stayed hidden at Villa Serenita. It was for her daughters’ sake. Now, for the sake of those daughters, for the chance of winning back their heritage, Eleonora was willing to risk her entire fortune. And, perhaps, all of their lives.

  “Why should you be astonished by me?” Eleonora asked.

  “Because you are willing to place your trust in a man who is, in all save the most basic essentials, a complete stranger to you.”

  “It is those basic essentials that matter beyond all else. Do not mistake me for a fool, Signore Andrea. I am an excellent judge of men. If my late husband had only listened to my opinions about certain of his advisors, not to mention some of his allies in neighboring states, then he might well still be ruling Monteferro, and I would have no need of your services.”

  “But you do need me,” Andrea said. “And thus, you trust me.”

  “As far as I would trust any man who has much to gain by promising future deeds of valor,” Eleonora said.

  “I will not betray you.” He met her glittering blue eyes. “In this world there are but two things I want. You hold one of them in your possession. If I betray you, or if I cause harm to you in any way, then I will lose my heart’s desire. For all that you have lost in your life, still you are a fortunate woman, madonna. Your daughters love you, and neither of them would willingly give herself to a man who had hurt her mother.”

  “There are men who would not scruple to take an unwilling woman,” Eleonora
said.

  “I am not one of them. If you trust me in nothing else, Madonna Eleonora, believe me in this. The woman I make my own must come to me freely, under no compulsion, because / am her heart’s desire.”

  “I do believe you, for in this you are like my beloved Girolamo.”

  For a moment Eleonora’s eyes softened with memory and her lips curved into a tender smile that made her look years younger. But only for a moment. She returned at once to the business at hand, and her smile disappeared. “Am I to assume, then, that you accept the offer Bartolomeo has made to you on my behalf?”

  “I shall do all that you require of me,” he said. “And more, if I can.”

  “Good.” She did not seem to hear the hidden message in his simple words, but went on with her planning. “We will meet later today to discuss the details. For privacy, I suggest Bartolomeo’s office. Do you by any chance know Luca Nardi?”

  “The banker?” Andrea shook his head. “I have only heard of him.”

  “You will be dealing with him about the money you will require. Signore Andrea, I have a new request to make of you.”

  “‘Which is?”

  “For their own safety, I do not want my daughters to know about our enterprise until it is completed and Monteferro has been secured.”

  “There we are in complete agreement, madonna.”

  “Then I wish you not only a blessed holy season, Signore Andrea,” Eleonora said, lifting her wine goblet, “but a most successful year to come.”

  * * * * *

  The time for giving gifts was not on Christmas, which was a solemn, if joyous, holy day. Rather, the Feast of the Epiphany, the day of the three kings who had traveled to Bethlehem bearing gifts to the Christ Child, was the traditional time for generous folk to emulate those most famous gift-givers by doing the same for family and close friends.

  On the morning of January 6, Eleonora once more stood in the large reception room to read from her missal to the assembled company and to say a few prayers. Afterward, she and her daughters handed out the gifts that had been piled on the tables. There were special sweetmeats or toys for the younger children, trinkets for the older ones, and for the grownups, presents that could not be made at the villa or lengths of fabric for new clothes.

  “How did your mother acquire all of these gifts?” Andrea asked Rosalinda as the last of the children were led from the room by their parents.

  “Luca brings them.” Rosalinda’s smile tugged at Andrea’s heart. Too soon he would have to leave her, and she might think he was deserting her. Indeed, after the last few weeks of care on his part not to show any open preference for her over her sister, Rosalinda might imagine he had no special interest in her at all.

  “Luca?” he asked, to keep her by his side while she explained who Luca was.

  “He is Valeria’s brother. He comes to visit us two or three times a year and when he comes, he brings pack animals loaded with whatever we need.”

  “Luca Nardi is Valeria’s brother?” Andrea exclaimed, not hiding his surprise. “I did not know that. No one told me.” He wondered what else Eleonora and Bartolomeo had not told him.

  “How do you know Luca’s family name?” Rosalinda asked. “I didn’t mention it.”

  “Bartolomeo said something about him,” Andrea answered, making up a hasty excuse. “For some reason, I didn’t connect him with Valeria.”

  “You will meet him the next time he comes here. I think you will like Luca.”

  Andrea said nothing to that. He knew he was going to have to tell Rosalinda he was leaving the villa, but for days he had postponed the moment. They had settled into a routine in which either Valeria or Eleonora always seemed to be present when Andrea and Rosalinda were together, and he was doing his best to treat her as if she were a sister or a dear friend. But he could not deny to himself the passion he felt for Rosalinda, and all too often he saw her puzzled gaze on him, as if she were trying to reason out in her own mind why he was no longer playing the part of the eager would-be lover.

  With the men-at-arms and their families gone to their own quarters, Eleonora and her companions retired to the sitting room. There a more private gift-giving ceremony took place. Most of the presents exchanged were small items, made by hand, but the sisters received gifts of some value.

  “Mother!” Bianca exclaimed, “these are your pearl earrings.”

  “I have more than enough jewelry,” Eleonora said, “and you are old enough now to wear such jewels. Rosalinda, this bracelet is for you. It was my mother’s.”

  “There is a ruby set in it. How beautiful. Oh, Mother, thank you.” Rosalinda embraced her mother.

  “Perhaps you ought to give Andrea his gift,” Eleonora suggested.

  “I hope you like it,” Rosalinda told him. She picked up a neatly folded pile of bright blue cloth and held it out to him. “Valeria said wool would be warmer than silk and much more sturdy. Bianca and I made the doublet, and Valeria made the hose, because Mother said unmarried girls ought not to sew such an intimate garment for a man.”

  “I do hope it fits well,” Bianca added in her soft voice.

  “I am sure it will.” Andrea held up the doublet, measuring it against his chest and arms. “Dear ladies, I do not know how to thank you for this.”

  “Signore Andrea will be doubly glad of his gift,” Eleonora said. “Since he will be leaving us in a few days, he will require new clothes.”

  “Leaving?” Bianca whispered, looking stricken.

  “No, you can’t go,” Rosalinda cried.

  “You knew he could not stay here forever,” Eleonora said. “Young men have interests of their own to pursue, in the world beyond these mountains.”

  “Andrea, please don’t go,” Rosalinda begged, with tears in her eyes.

  “I will return one day.” Silently, Andrea cursed Eleonora for being so blunt, until he saw the look on her face as she regarded her younger daughter. Rosalinda moved to the window, where she stood with her back to the room. By the rigidity of her shoulders Andrea suspected she was trying hard not to cry. Eleonora gave him an abrupt little nod, and he understood that she had taken on the unpleasant task of telling the girls so he would not have to do it.

  “We will miss your pleasant company,” Bianca said to him.

  “As I will miss yours, Madonna Bianca.” He took her hand to bow over it and Bianca leaned close to him.

  “Go to her. Talk to her,” Bianca said under her breath, and Andrea obeyed.

  “Rosalinda.” When he tried to take her hand as he had taken her sister’s, she pulled it out of his grasp. “You must know that your mother is right. I cannot stay here forever.”

  “Of course not. Your life is elsewhere,” she said in a small, lost voice. “Go, then. I do not care.”

  “I swear to you, I will return, and sooner than you think.” He sought for a way to cheer her up without revealing too much. “When the snow melts so you can ride in the mountains again, remember the bear you once met on a dangerous path and know that he will never forget you.”

  “I wish I had not met that bear, and that you had never come here,” she said, still in that broken little voice, so unlike her usual tones. “Before I knew you, I was at least reasonably contented.”

  “Would you rather I had died in the mountains?”

  “No.” She turned upon him the full force of gray eyes swimming with tears. “I am glad you did not die. But I wish with all my heart that you would not go away.”

  Andrea had never in his life wanted anything more than he wanted at that moment to take Rosalinda into his arms, to kiss and comfort her, to reassure her of his deep affection, to make her understand why he must go and that he would certainly return to her as soon as he could. But there were other people in the room, and Rosalinda and Bianca must be kept in ignorance of the plan their mother had set in motion. Andrea sent a helpless glance in Eleonora’s direction. She reacted at once.

  “Rosalinda,” said her mother in a bracing way, “sto
p being silly. You will make Andrea regret that he knows you.”

  “I could never regret that, Madonna.” Andrea could tell by the way Eleonora was looking at him that she was wondering if he would break his word by revealing to Rosalinda any part of their plans.

  “I have obligations,” he said, trying to put both mother and daughter at ease. “I cannot discuss them with you, Rosalinda, but as soon as those obligations are discharged, I intend to keep my promise to return.”

  “Come,” Eleonora said. “It is time for us to eat. I have given the kitchen staff the afternoon free so they can join their families. If they are to finish their work in time, we must take our midday meal early.”

  Rosalinda went to the dining room reluctantly and, once there, she ate little. However, after the meal she appeared to recover a little and for an hour or so she sat at the table in the sitting room, playing a board game with Bianca.

  “You have not spoken to Andrea at all since you learned he is leaving us,” Bianca observed in a quiet voice.

  “I do not care what Andrea does,” came the whispered response from across the round table.

  “If you regret this sulkiness after he has left, it will be too late for you to apologize,” Bianca pointed out with perfect logic.

  “He could have told me before today what he was planning to do. He could have been honest with me. Instead, he has avoided me for weeks. I thought it was because he – well, you know why I thought he was keeping his distance from me,” Rosalinda said. “Now it seems he was not gallantly restraining his passion at all. He was hiding his secret plans.”

  “If a handsome man were as obviously interested in me as Andrea is in you,” Bianca said, “you would not find me seeking flimsy excuses to quarrel with him. I would be thinking about ways to make him eager to return to me at the first opportunity.”

  “What if he cannot return? What if he does not want to return?” Rosalinda bit down hard on her trembling lower lip. If Andrea left and she never saw him again, she feared her heart would break in two. Perhaps it had already broken, for there was a constant hard pain in her chest and she could not swallow past the lump in her throat.