Chapter 1 #3
“Stefano’s father is a hard man. He listened.
Then he hit his son a blow that bloodied his nose and sent him to his knees.
Master Rovere went on to explain in that cold, calm voice of his that the sudden disappearance of such a woman of certain reputation as well known as this one was would surely be questioned.
He explained that it would now be necessary to fabricate a story to cover up what had happened, and protect our reputations.
Then he sent me to fetch our father, Bianca.
“When Father came I stood and listened as Master Rovere explained to him what had happened with us earlier; that he had already sent his people to see that the house showed no signs of any sort of a disturbance. Several of the woman’s gowns and other clothing, along with her jewelry box, were removed so that it appeared that she had gone on a sudden journey.
When the courtesan’s servants, such as they were, arrived in the morning, one of Master Rovere’s own servants would be waiting to explain to them that their mistress had been called away suddenly and did not know when she would return.
Her affairs in Florence were now in the hands of her lawyer.
The servants would be paid off generously and the house shut up. Thus would the scandal be avoided.
“Our father thanked Master Rovere, who smiled at him and said that Father would now owe him a debt that must be repaid whenever Master Rovere required it of him. Father agreed, saying that the Pietro d’Angelo family always paid their debts, and returned a favor twofold.
Whatever was required to eventually cancel out the debt would be done.
” Marco then grew silent, looking with pained eyes at his beautiful sister.
And then she knew. Bianca Pietro d’Angelo might be sheltered, but she was not unintelligent. “I am the payment Master Rovere has required of our father,” she said quietly. “He is a widower and seeks another wife.”
“I should rather see you in a cloistered convent, or even dead, than married to that man!” Marco burst out bitterly. “This is all my fault!”
Bianca was silent for several long minutes.
Finally she spoke. “Papa has agreed? Of course he would have agreed, for our mother told him she would never forgive him. Why did he agree, Marco? Would Master Rovere take nothing else in payment? And several months after the fact, would the scandal be so great? His son was involved as well. After all, you did not kill the woman. She simply died while entertaining a pair of young men. Yes, it was wrong to dispose of her body in such a fashion, but you and Stefano are guilty of nothing more than being fools.”
“Father offered him money, even a ten percent share of his warehouses, anything else, but Master Rovere was adamant. He will have you as his wife. Nothing else will satisfy the debt Father owes him. It has now become a matter of honor for our parent, Bianca,” Marco explained to his sister.
“Our father cannot be seen to eschew the debt simply because he now finds he does not like the payment asked of him. After all, he agreed to pay whatever the price, and did not question the cost at the time.”
“Yes, I understand,” his sister replied. “Has a date been set for my marriage?”
“Papa and Mama will tell you of your fate tonight. I don’t know what they have decided. If I know our mother, she will attempt to delay the inevitable as long as she can.”
“Yes,” Bianca agreed, “she will.”
“I had to tell you, Bianca,” her older sibling said.
“I know Papa will not tell you why you are to marry this man. It is too shameful that you must be sacrificed for my sins. I did not want it to come as a complete shock to you. You should have a French duke or a princeling of Venice for your husband, not this man! His reputation is vile, for all his skills in the courts.”
Bianca was frightened and heartsore by what Marco had told her, but he was her beloved brother.
She was closer to him by virtue of the thirteen months that separated them in birth order than to any of the others.
She would do whatever her family requested of her to protect him, to protect their good name.
“It will be all right, Marco,” she assured him.
“I must marry eventually, and I am of an age to do so now. Our mother has raised me to be a good wife and chatelaine. I will have children to comfort me, and he, like all wealthy and important men, will have a mistress to entertain him. When the novelty of having a young wife has worn off, he will leave me in peace. Yes, I had hoped to wed out of Florence, but if it is not to be, then it is not. There is no use weeping over what cannot be changed.” She patted his velvet-clad arm.
“Leave me to absorb this so I am able to behave with some decorum when our father speaks to me. I do not want our parents to be ashamed of their eldest daughter when I am informed of my fate. Nor do I wish to cause a further breach between them. Rather, by accepting what I must with obedience, I pray I will heal that chasm that has opened to separate them.”
He nodded and kissing her on the forehead, left her bedchamber.
In the corridor outside he found, as he had anticipated, Francesca lurking and eager to know what had transpired between her elders.
“Nay, ficcanaso, you may not go in and badger Bianca. What we have spoken about will remain between us. She is resting now.”
“Marco!” Francesca gave him her prettiest pout and a little smile.
“No,” he said, taking her by the arm. “One of the house cats has just birthed a new litter of kittens,” he said, cleverly distracting her. “I’m surprised you didn’t know about it. It’s the red, white, and black one we call Tre. Let’s go and see what she has spawned.”
“Aren’t you too sophisticated to look at litters of kittens?” Francesca demanded.
“Not when it’s with my little sister,” Marco replied, taking her around the corner and off to the kitchens, where the cat was certain to be found. The cook loved cats, for they kept the rodent population down and her stores in the storeroom safe.
Bianca had heard Francesca’s voice outside her chamber.
She was grateful that Marco kept the younger girl from the room.
She wanted to be alone to consider what was about to happen to her life.
She had met Stefano Rovere several times, for he was Marco’s best friend and was often invited to eat at their table.
He was a serious boy. It would not be so bad if she were betrothed to him.
At least he was young. But to marry his father?
Bianca shuddered. And there was a younger brother.
Could she tell her parents that she had heard a sudden calling from God and wanted to become a nun?
It was doubtful they would believe her, even if she insisted it was true.
The morning ended and the afternoon passed slowly until it was time for the main meal of the day.
Her parents were unusually quiet during the meal, although the younger children were so lively it was not likely that anyone noticed.
The family and their servants crowded about the table in the sala da pranzo eating the pasta and meats the cook had prepared for them.
There was a large bowl filled with grapes and oranges.
Neither Bianca nor Marco could eat a great deal, something their mother noted to herself.
Francesca had told Orianna that the two had been closeted for a brief time in late morning.
“Bianca.” Their father spoke.
“How may I serve you, signore?” the girl replied.
“You will leave the table and go to my library. Your mother and I would speak with you shortly,” Giovanni Pietro d’Angelo said. Then he picked up his silver goblet and drank deeply. That he looked troubled was not reassuring.
“At once, signore,” Bianca responded. She did not look at any of them about the table but rose and hurried from the room. Entering the library, she stood awaiting the arrival of her parents. They did not keep her long.
Her parents seated themselves in two high-backed chairs and beckoned Bianca to stand before them. Her father’s face was serious and pained. Her mother looked as if she had been crying. There were actual tears in her eyes now.
“You are to be married,” her father began. “Your bridegroom is a man of both wealth and importance here in Florence. You are a most fortunate girl, Bianca, to have attracted such a husband.”
“May I know the name of this illustrious gentleman, signore?” Bianca asked in a quietly measured voice. She was amazed by her tone, for her legs were slightly shaking.
“He is Sebastiano Rovere, Stefano’s sire,” her father replied.
“Stefano is only older by several months than my brother Marco,” Bianca heard herself saying.
She had no choice in this matter, but suddenly she was angry at her father for not fighting harder to protect her; for the bitter and hopeless tears her mother had shed this day, and would continue to shed.
“You are giving me in marriage to a man old enough to be my father? How could you, Papa? How could you?” She hadn’t meant to lose her temper, but the situation facing her was intolerable.
“A young wife needs the firm hand of an older husband,” her father answered sharply. Her words had stung him. “You must learn to curb your temper, Bianca.”
“I am told this man’s reputation is less than respectable,” Bianca persisted. Did the gossips not hint that he had murdered his first two wives?
“Who has told you such things?” her father demanded angrily.
“It is not your place, daughter, to speak disparagingly of a man you have not yet met. Sebastiano Rovere is the most skilled attorney in all of Florence. He is respected and he is rich. No maiden of good family could ask for more than that.”