Chapter 31
In a family the size of mine, secrets have a tendency to waft through the air in a voice that carries, or to be overheard by a child who hasn’t yet discovered discretion, or to be betrayed by a lost handwritten note giving instructions on how to light all the torches simultaneously for a beautiful display.
Thus by the hidden smiles and sudden cessation of chatter when I was near, I knew mischief was afoot.
Not bad mischief, obviously. Everyone looked as if they were bursting at the seams with excitement, especially Mamma, especially my sisters, especially Nonna Ursula and Nonna Montague and Princess Isabella.
Even Lady Capulet seemed less sour than normal.
Yet the next morning, when Evella sought me out in the palace kitchen, she delivered her request with such admirable timing and aplomb, the little thespian caught me unaware.
She said I was to go to the palace library to be introduced to a visiting dignitary from Milan.
I said … something quite rude about the timing.
The early hours were my time. Not my time to enjoy myself.
Not my time to relax, bathe my face, pick flowers, do whatever it was elegant aristocratic ladies were assumed by arrogant aristocratic lords to be doing.
No, right now I was chopping onions while discussing with our beloved Cook how to prepare the fourteen-course evening meal using the palace space, supplies, and staff.
(The answer: Bring in half the food from trusted Verona vendors.) Let me be clear, to do these tasks, I do not dress the part of an elegant soon-to-be princess, and meeting an untimely dignitary in my oldest gown, with my hair tied back in a scarf, was not anyone’s notion of ideal.
With fire in my eyes, I gestured up and down with one hand. “Like this?”
Evella said, “Prince Escalus requests that you hurry.” Translated, that meant I, the grand and glorious prince of Verona, demand you, my lowly betrothed, hie down here to entertain some pompous jackass who doesn’t know enough not to pay a morning visit.
Dear reader, you’re right. Cal never talks like that, and after last night, I was a churl to suggest such a thing, but I was married! I was supposed to be physically satisfied by my new husband! Not Cal’s fault, but I was frustrated and not inclined to be fair.
Also every night I kept late hours while entertaining and I was up every morning early handling all the tasks a wife would handle and, thanks ever so much to Friar Laurence, I had received none of the erotic privileges of the marital state.
I may have been cranky.
Reaching behind me, I untied my voluminous apron, pulled it off and, with a vigorous tantrum-like move, slapped it on the floor and announced, “If I don’t get some sleep, someone’s going to die!” and headed for the stairway that led down, down, down to the main floor of the palace.
I considered … yes, I did … changing out of my kitchen garb and into something nicer before I entered the library. Then I thought it would serve Cal right if I embarrassed him, and marched in, fire in my eyes.
Evella held the library door for me.
“Surprise!” The shout made me jump and clutch my chest.
They were all here. All female, all my family, all my friends, my beloved Nurse, and a few of the gentry who were not my friends—a bridal revel to celebrate in a womanly way my upcoming marriage to Cal. I burst into laughter and tears at the same time.
Mamma and my sisters, Vittoria, Susanna, Katherina, Imogene, and Emilia, rushed to envelope me in their arms.
Lady Capulet moaned, “Get yourself under control.”
Nonna Ursula and Lady Pulissena remained in their high-backed and well-pillowed chairs and cackled softly while dabbing at their own watery eyes.
Princess Isabella stood with them, smiling happily.
Together they represented the females of Cal’s family (and in Lady Pulissena, his enemies) all in one small group.
Lady Luce looked, as always, like someone had stuck an iron rod up her spine, and was clearly affronted by the prospect of me being feted as a princess.
Why was she here?
Right. Broad hint, followed by a neighborly invite. Our constant courtesy would be the death of this family.
When I had run through the cloths Nurse thrust at me to handle my tears and laughter, I was led in jubilation to a flower-wreathed throne, where I donned a beaded crown that looked as if it had been created by some child—Emilia and Cesario, as it turned out—and presents were piled at my feet.
I looked out over the ladies seating themselves in a large circle. They’d come from far and near to engage in the primitive ritual of preparing the bride by offering gifts and advice, and my eyes filled with tears again. How dear they were to me. How much I would miss my life in Casa Montague!
“Enough of that, girl!” Lady Capulet handed me another cloth. “You have duties!”
Trust my unsentimental grandmother Capulet to deliver the appropriate slap to the side of my sentimental head.
Evella directed the servers to swamp the celebration with trays of bread, cheese and fruit, olive oils and flavored butters, and sugared fruit concoctions.
Tommaso carried a wine cask on his shoulder, servers followed him with trays of goblets, and he made his way to me, the guest of honor, and poured me the first cup.
I accepted it with a smile to cover my queasy apprehension—I hadn’t shaken the memory of my papà’s near death—but my smile did not fool Tommaso.
Leaning close, he said, “The cask came from the Montague cellars, one of your grandfather’s fine wines.
A taster drank a glass this afternoon and remains well and untainted by illness. ”
Like any gracious lady, I nodded and, mindful of Greatuncle Magno’s exhortations, I swished the wine, put my nose in the goblet, and breathed.
Kidding! Actually, Magno had nothing to do with that.
As I’ve said, I’ve got a good nose, and the scents of berries and spices (elderberry, nutmeg), a deep woodsy scent, and the finish of warm leather almost made me giddy.
I sipped and closed my eyes in pleasure.
“This is lovely! I must remember to thank Grandpapà Montague when next I see him.”
Everyone else, it seemed, had been breathlessly awaiting my pronouncement.
Tommaso poured, the server presented the tray to the guests, who took their goblets, and each guest followed my example and sniffed and sipped.
And smiled. Good to know everyone feared poisoning and allowed me to take the first taste.
“That gift first.” At Lady Capulet’s signal, Nurse lifted the cassone, the ornately carved and painted chest that by tradition would carry my trousseau to my new home, and placed it at my feet.
I recognized by the style that Lady Capulet’s favorite casket maker had created it, for she’d given one to both Susanna and Vittoria in a similar style, and Mamma’s also resembled theirs and mine.
Traditionally, the cassone was kept in the master’s bedroom, but Mamma kept hers in a place of honor in the entry.
Personally, I suspected she did it because Papà wouldn’t allow any reminder of his mother-in-law anywhere close to the marriage bed.
But perhaps it was because while on the curved top, the decorations included a smiling, serene representation of the Virgin Mary holding the baby Jesus, demon faces leered from every side as they poked sinners with pitchforks and lit fires under their throbbing red toes.
This chest, like Susanna’s, like Vittoria’s, like Mamma’s, took the viewer like a sled down a mountain from heaven to hell in one swift glance.
Already I plotted where I would hide the cassone in an isolated corner of the palace, but of course, I said, “Lady Capulet, how you honor me with your glorious marital gift.”
“Open the lid. Open!” Lady Capulet urged me, and inside the cassone I found a soft miniature blanket, a stuffed dog with a realistically carved head and floppy ears, lace woven of the finest thread and stitched onto a small linen gown and cap meant to fit a tiny head.
… Each I passed to Nurse or Evella, and they carried the baby gifts around the circle of women so they could exclaim and coo, envisioning the princely heir I would carry for Prince Escalus.
I stood and curtsied to Lady Capulet, allowed her to kiss my forehead in benediction, and as I pressed my cheek to hers, in my ear she murmured, “I never expected it of a Montague, but you’ve made me proud, Rosaline.”
Her pronouncement would have made me happy … if I could excuse the slur on my father’s family. I shared a grimace with the winking satyr on my cassone. As if I cared.
But for now, I appreciated the fine wine for its scents and flavors and ate the tidbits presented to me by Evella. The gifts and the laughter overflowed, and if we all seemed overly abandoned in our behavior, no one realized it until too late.