by Kris Tualla
Avery closed her eyes and relaxed against the edge of the small copper-lined wooden tub, inhaling the soothing aromas and trying to shush her accusing thoughts.
I meant to be gone from Barcelona before he arrived.
Of course she knew Jakob was coming to Barcelona, but she didn’t expect him to arrive before December. She planned to deal with Paolo’s holdings and garner all that she could from them, before deciding where to spend the second half of her life—and with whom.
Returning to England to spend the rest of her days as a lady of influence in Catherine’s court was as a possibility. The weather in Spain, however, was much preferable to the damp chill of England; remaining here as a titled widow also opened many doors.
Avery hoped to accomplish these tasks and make her decision quickly, because she firmly believed Jakob would come looking for her. And even with the wrong name and wrong location, he was intelligent enough to search out her royal connections and make enquiries.
But when she first arrived in Barcelona, optimistic about her soon-to-be unfettered future, Avery had no inkling of what an incomprehensible mess into which the sick man had allowed his empire to fall. She would not have believed anyone could spend so much money in such a short amount of time.
Now, rather than take up a peaceful and independently dignified existence, she was presented with bills and debts and demands, which she had not yet begun to sort out. She feared it would take weeks for her to make sense of it all—now that Paolo was dead, and the bankers and lawyers were at last forced to deal directly with her.
Depending on what she discovered, it might require months to recoup what was left, if anything.
Why didn’t she simply leave? Return to London now, and make her appeal to Catherine? Avery drew a ragged sigh,
Though living as a servant in the Tudor court would assure she had plenty of food, clothing, and solid walls surrounding her, she would not have any say about her own life’s situation ever again. The queen might even marry her off to a nobleman from whom she wished a favor.
Perhaps she should enter a convent, and dedicate the rest of her otherwise useless life to God’s service. Again, she would be taken care of, and no one would be able to reach in and destroy her further, no matter what Paolo had done. Perhaps that choice was preferable.
Fresh tears rolled hotly down her water-cooled cheeks. She could not bring herself to leave Barcelona now, and she knew it. Unwelcome as the realization was, Jakob Hansen’s strong and solid presence was the reason.
But she had ruined everything with her mishandling of their admittedly more-than-friendship. And when Jakob left her today, he slammed a silent door, the impenetrable obstacle now standing between them. At that moment, Avery realized she had handled their relationship wrong, even from the very beginning.
I should have trusted him. He is right.
Was there any hope for restoring their friendship? Even if Jakob could never love her again, she realized with horrific clarity that the angry Norseman was her only true and trusted friend in Barcelona.
She slid a glance toward Zurina from under half-closed lids. The woman had come to the Mendoza household sometime after Avery abandoned it. She did not know where the woman’s loyalties lay, and wondered how she might accurately determine that.
Esteban was Paolo’s man to the core—which was fortuitous because, in the last few years, her husband’s syphilitic mind was too far ravaged to attend to his business with any sort of lucidity. Without Esteban’s help, there might not have been a home for her to return to, no matter the condition.
Avery shifted in the water, stirring it so it felt warm again and released more of the fragrant scents. To be completely honest with herself, it felt quite odd to be back home in Barcelona after spending so many years absent from this place…
No, not home.
Homes should be comforting places. Welcoming places. Places where one could relax, enfolded by safety and the love of others. Even though everything in this house was familiar to her, she had never felt any of those emotions while living in the grand palazzo.
She felt fear, that was certain. And revulsion for her husband, an unkind and demanding man, who used women harshly before discarding them like worn rags.
Whether he was married or not was never a concern for him—all that he desired was to plant his seed in someone’s fertile ground, and extract the maximum amount of personal pleasure possible in the frequent attempts.
He received the reward he earned, she mused. And now I am free of him.
Was she, though?
The mountain of Paolo’s finances was convoluted at best, as if the truth was to be obfuscated, not illuminated. His accountant spoke to her like he might to an imbecile, and his lawyer did little more than flash contracts in front of her and explain she had no choices, only obligations.
Avery needed an advocate of her own, someone whose intent was for her to emerge from this debacle in the best possible manner: with her dignity intact, and an income to sustain her. How might she find such a person?
She daren’t ask Esteban, lest he think she either did not trust him, or that she was not grateful for his years of faithful service to her husband.
With the scheming leech Carlotta firmly attached to his side, her brother Reynaldo would be of no help. Besides, Avery noticed a distinct touch of shabbiness in his clothes. Though she initially attributed that to his journey here from their family’s estate outside of Madrid—no one wore their best attire when traveling—she really had no idea how her family’s estate was currently faring.
To complete the depressing scenario, today she had completely alienated the Nordic knight, the single person who might have been able to assist her, and had no economic stake in her situation.
Avery heaved another shuddering sigh, and waved for Zurina to help her from the bath. She rose on weak legs, accepted the maid’s assistance in stepping over the rim of the tub, and waited while she was toweled dry.
The older woman clucked disapprovingly. “You have grown too thin, my lady.”
“I have not had much of an appetite, I am afraid.” She lifted her arms, and Zurina slipped her embroidered nightdress over her head.
“You have finally lost a burden, I think,” the maid ventured. “But you will need your strength more than ever now.”
Avery shot a look at the maid, wondering if Zurina had somehow read her mind.
“Get into bed and I will bring your supper.” The maid collected the wet towels before she faced Avery again and spoke with authority. “And I will remain until you finish the tray.”
Avery climbed into the big bed, the understanding of Zurina’s words prompting a fresh wash of tears. Even her lady’s maid knew that Avery was facing an adversary—probably more than one—and that no visible hero awaited outside the walls of the palazzo to save her.
I truly have no home.
Chapter Five
November 21, 1518
Avery sighed as Zurina combed and braided her hair the next day. “Obviously my absence for the last nine years has been noted by the residents of Barcelona.”
The maid kept her eyes on her task and did not look into the silvered glass. “Yes. I would imagine so.”
“And the cause of Paolo’s lingering demise was no secret either, was it?”
The maid did shoot her an empathetic glance at that. “No my lady, it was not,”
Avery pinned the older woman’s gaze. “You arrived here after I was gone. What did they say about me?”
Zurina’s expression took on a hunted mien. “They?”
Avery turned around in her seat to face Zurina. “Let us begin with the household staff. What was their opinion of my sudden… desertion?”
The maid worried the comb with fingers swollen with arthritis. “You must understand that everything I know is hearsay—I was not here.”
Avery nodded and removed the comb from Zurina’s surprisingly strong grip before the maid broke it in half.
; “Please sit. And be honest, I beg of you. Nothing you say will anger me, I promise you that.”
Zurina turned a chair to face Avery, her movements hesitant. She lowered herself slowly and clasped her knobby hands in front of her.
“There were two differing opinions among the staff,” she began. “The ones who were loyal to Señor Mendoza, of course, felt that you betrayed him and willingly denied him an heir.”
“Of course.” That was what Avery expected to hear.
“But not the others.” Zurina allowed a hint of a smile, which deepened the creases by her eyes. “The ones who were loyal to you, my lady, talked among themselves, rather than risk the wrath of Señor Mendoza.”
Avery straightened on her bench seat. “There were servants loyal to me?”
The maid’s brows shot upward. Her forehead became a field of ridges. “Of course there were. Did you not know?”
Avery looked away and tried to remember the names of those men and women who served her nearly a decade ago. Only Maria came to mind, her lady’s maid and Zurina’s predecessor. She returned her regard to the older woman.
“Was Maria one of them?”
Zurina nodded. “And it would seem that is why she was let go from her position. Apparently, I was hired in her place.”
Avery groaned at that. “I am so sorry to hear that.” Then catching Zurina’s expression, she hastened to add, “But you have been wonderful to me since I arrived. I truly do appreciate your service more than I can say.”
She did smile then. “I am honored, my lady.”
Avery leaned forward. “After hearing all the talk, what conclusion did you arrive at?”
“It is not my place,” the maid demurred.
“It is your place if I ask you,” Avery prodded. “Please. There will be no repercussions, I promise you.”
Zurina swallowed audibly. “Well, from the beginning I agreed that you should not have left your marriage. You took sacred vows before God, and it was your duty to uphold those vows. I took the side of those loyal the Vizconde.”
Avery nodded, her lower lip caught in her teeth. She should not be surprised, considering that she had not been present to defend her own actions.
Zurina sucked a small breath and held it for a pace. Her eyes narrowed as she considered what to say next.
“Go on,” Avery whispered.
“Forgive me.”
Avery wagged her head. “There is nothing to forgive.”
“Not as yet, but…”
“Please. Go on,” Avery urged, her curiosity piqued.
“I came to realize that—” She faltered, and tried again. Her voice was soft, as if she was afraid she might be overheard. “I came to realize that Señor Mendoza was a horrible man.”
A breathy sob escaped Avery’s mouth as a flush of relief washed through her veins. She pressed her fingers against her cheeks and closed her eyes.
“Thank you.”
“He did not keep his vows to you. Nor had he kept them to his first two wives.” Now that the precarious damn was breeched, Zurina’s words poured out in a rush. “The women he brought here—sometimes two at a time—I had never seen such lewd behavior.”
Avery opened her eyes. “So why did you stay?”
A violent blush crept up from Zurina’s neck. “I needed the position. He paid us very well, and my mother was ill.”
Then she gave an apologetic shrug. “I knew I should not stay, that God was not pleased with the things happening in this house, but I turned a blind eye. Medicines are expensive, you see.”
Avery risked the obvious question. “And how is your mother now?”
“She went to Heaven almost a year ago. She was eighty-two.” Zurina made the sign of the cross. “But by that time, the Vizconde was near to dying himself. And all of the servants assumed you would return when he passed.”
Avery gave her a puzzled look. “Did you know where I was?”
“No, my lady. But we knew the priest who visited the Señor to pray over him knew. He told us that he had written to you and asked that you return.”
That explained why her chambers were ready when she arrived, and why no one asked her too many questions when she suddenly appeared outside the gate two months ago.
“So you waited for me? Before you even knew me?” Avery was deeply moved by the idea.
Zurina straightened and shot her a determined look. “I wanted to decide for myself.”
Avery’s chin quivered. “And you are still here.”
The maid gave a little shrug. “At first, I stayed to make certain that nothing happened to you.”
Ice skated up Avery’s spine in a chilling path. “What do you mean by happened to me?”
“There was always quiet speculation, whispers in the dark that the two Vizcondesas before you might have been…” Zurina’s voice trailed off.
Avery’s throat tightened. Her voice sounded thin. “Murdered?”
Zurina nodded and crossed herself again. “But the Señor was too ill to consider this, I think. And you were safe, because now we all must depend on you for our livelihood.”
Avery drew a deep breath. “We are all in trouble on that count, I am afraid.”
Zurina’s somber gaze fell to the floor. Avery’s statement had not taken her by surprise.
“I have treacherous waters to negotiate in these next months,” Avery said slowly. “I need to know which men and women are my allies, and of whom to be wary.”
Zurina slid from her seat to kneel in front of Avery, her head bowed. “I pledge to you my full allegiance, Averia Galaviz de Mendoza, Vizcondesa de Catalonya. On pain of death.”
Avery reached down and grasped the woman’s hands. Zurina lifted her brown eyes, their edges displaying the beginnings of cataracts.
Tears threatened, yet again; these past months were a season for them, it seemed. “Thank you, Zurina. I accept your pledge.”
The blush returned to Zurina’s cheeks. “I prayed for you, my lady. Once I saw what he was.”
Avery’s words abandoned her then, even as tears began to dribble down her face. All she could do was nod and press Zurina’s hands tightly in her own.
Finally, she managed a thick, “Thank you.”
Zurina climbed to her feet with a little grunt. “I am getting too old for this.”
Avery turned to face the mirror again, examining the unhappy face that stared back at her. “And now, I shall have an audience with my brother. This should prove interesting.”
Zurina quickly put a few final pins in Avery’s hair. “I have finished with your hair, my lady. Let us get your skirt on.”
Zurina lowered the brocade skirt of Avery’s newest Spanish-styled gown over her head. Here in Barcelona, the front of her skirt was not split and pulled back to display an underskirt every bit as elaborate as the overskirt. The sleeves were narrower than in England, as well.
She twisted in front of a tall mirror in a standing cherry-wood frame. “My face looks appalling, but the gown is beautiful.”
Zurina handed her a linen cloth, damp with cold water. “Your beauty cannot be dimmed by a few tears, my lady.”
Avery washed her face, scrubbing hard to bring its color back. There had been more than just a few tears. In these last months, she had shed enough tears to fill a brace of buckets.
As she handed the cloth back to Zurina, a thought came to mind. “Do you know what happened to Maria once she was dismissed?”
“Yes, actually I do.” Zurina rinsed out the linen. “She was taken on by a man who leases houses in Barcelona. The houses are fully staffed as part of the contract.”
That was a relief. “I am glad to hear that she has not been left destitute.”
“No, my lady.”
Avery pulled one last steadying breath. “It is time to enter the fray once again.”
*****
Avery sat in her favorite of the three ornate drawing rooms in the huge Mendoza palazzo, waiting for her brother Reynaldo, Earl of Segovia, a
nd his witch of a wife, Carlotta Engracia Federico de Galaviz, to join her. Nothing about the coming interview portended anything pleasant.
Carlotta entered the room first, a sweeping cloud of olive green velvet, embellished with gold embroidery and pearls of varying sizes. Reynaldo followed close behind. He, on the other hand, was wearing the same garments he wore on the day the couple arrived in Barcelona.
Avery rose slowly. “Good morning.”
“Good morning, Sister.” Carlotta’s evaluative gaze took measure of Avery, even as she took Avery’s hands and kissed her sister-in-law on the cheeks. “Is that a Spanish gown?”
Avery smoothed her skirt. “Yes. I felt that I should dress acceptably for the people of Barcelona.”
Carlotta made a little moue, arched brown brows gathering over grey eyes. “I had hoped to see you in the English and Tudor styles. Henry the Eighth is so fascinating, is he not? I understand their fashions are more daring than this.” She flicked a wave over Avery’s body.
In truth, the Spanish styles were more conservative than either the French or the English, who often copied the French styles. The neckline of her gown’s bodice reached to her throat, modestly covering her bosom, and the solid-fronted skirt did not reveal her ankles or slippers.
In her particular situation, Avery was glad about that. Enough of the men who came to pay their respects had hinted about their willingness to take her dead husband’s place, and quickly. Avery had no wish to appear encouraging in that aspect.
“I am freshly a widow, Carlotta,” Avery reminded the woman.
“You are not dressed like one,” she challenged. “Where are your mourning clothes?”
“I said I am a widow, I did not say I am in mourning,” Avery snipped.
Reynaldo stepped forward and kissed her cheeks as well. “You look tired, Averia.”
“And you look ragged, Reynaldo.” Avery launched her first salvo. There was no point in extending this audience longer than necessary.
Carlotta hit his chest with her fan. “I told you not to wear your traveling clothes.”
