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  Francesca

  The Silk Merchant's Daughters [2]

  Bertrice Small

  NAL (2013)

  * * *

  Rating: ****

  Tags: Romance

  New York Times bestselling author Bertrice Small continues her glorious historical-romance series featuring four sisters in Renaissance Florence who have anything but marriage on their minds….

  Giovanni Pietro d’Angelos selected his oldest daughter’s husband, and the marriage proved to be a disaster. He offers to give his next oldest daughter, Francesca, more latitude in choosing a husband than her sister had. But the arrogant beauty has no desire to marry, and she drives every potential suitor away.

  The Duke of Terreno Boscoso seeks a wife for his heir, Rafaello, and invites Francesca, along with several other possible brides, to come meet him. Francesca’s parents think it’s a good match, but she refuses to consider it until her father makes her a promise: If he does not suit, you may return. She is therefore shocked when, not long after they meet, Rafaello chooses her as his bride and her parents agree to his proposal—without her consent.

  Furious and feeling betrayed, Francesca flees into the woods and takes shelter at an inn. There, she earns her keep as a servant—and meets an unlikely suitor who steals her heart. But the future remains uncertain for the runaway bride, who is still promised to another.

  Praise for Bertrice Small,

  “THE REIGNING QUEEN OF THE HISTORICAL GENRE”*

  and Her Novels

  “Bertrice Small creates cover-to-cover passion, a keen sense of history, and suspense.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Ms. Small delights and thrills.”

  —Rendezvous

  “An insatiable delight for the senses. [Small’s] amazing historical detail . . . will captivate the reader . . . potent sensuality.”

  —*Romance Junkies

  “[Her novels] tell an intriguing story, they are rich in detail, and they are all so very hard to put down.”

  —The Best Reviews

  “Sweeps the ages with skill and finesse.”

  —Affaire de Coeur

  “[A] captivating blend of sensuality and rich historical drama.”

  —Rosemary Rogers

  “Small is why I read historical romance. It doesn’t get any better than this!”

  —Romantic Times (top pick)

  “Small’s boldly sensual love story is certain to please her many devoted readers.”

  —Booklist

  “[A] delight to all readers of historical fiction.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  “[A] style that garnered her legions of fans. . . . When she’s at the top of her form, nobody does it quite like Bertrice Small.”

  —The Romance Reader

  “Small never ceases to bring us an amazing story of love and happiness.”

  —Night Owl Romance

  BOOKS BY BERTRICE SMALL

  THE SILK MERCHANT’S DAUGHTERS

  Bianca

  THE BORDER CHRONICLES

  A Dangerous Love

  The Border Lord’s Bride

  The Captive Heart

  The Border Lord and the Lady

  The Border Vixen

  Bond of Passion

  THE FRIARSGATE INHERITANCE

  Rosamund

  Until You

  Philippa

  The Last Heiress

  CONTEMPORARY EROTICA

  Private Pleasures

  Forbidden Pleasures

  Sudden Pleasures

  Dangerous Pleasures

  Passionate Pleasures

  Guilty Pleasures

  THE O’MALLEY SAGA

  Skye O’Malley

  All the Sweet Tomorrows

  A Love for All Time

  This Heart of Mine

  Lost Love Found

  Wild Jasmine

  SKYE’S LEGACY SERIES

  Darling Jasmine

  Bedazzled

  Besieged

  Intrigued

  Just Beyond Tomorrow

  Vixens

  THE WORLD OF HETAR

  Lara

  A Distant Tomorrow

  The Twilight Lord

  Crown of Destiny

  The Sorceress of Belmair

  The Shadow Queen

  Crown of Destiny

  MORE BY BERTRICE SMALL

  The Kadin

  Love Wild and Fair

  Adora

  Unconquered

  Beloved

  Enchantress Mine

  Blaze Wyndham

  The Spitfire

  A Moment in Time

  To Love Again

  Love, Remember Me

  The Love Slave

  Hellion

  Betrayed

  Deceived

  The Innocent

  A Memory of Love

  The Duchess

  The Silk Merchant’s Daughters

  NEW AMERICAN LIBRARY

  New American Library

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street,

  New York, New York 10014, USA

  USA | Canada | UK | Ireland | Australia | New Zealand | India | South Africa | China

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  For more information about the Penguin Group visit penguin.com.

  First published by New American Library,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  First Printing, April 2013

  Copyright © Bertrice Small, 2013

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA

  LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA:

  Small, Bertrice.

  Francesca/Bertrice Small.

  p. cm.—(The silk merchant’s daughters)

  ISBN 978-0-451-41373-4

  1. Florence (Italy)—History—1421–1737—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3569.M28F73 2013

  813'.54—dc23 2012043575

  Designed by Spring Hoteling

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-101-61509-6

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  Contents

  Cover

  Praise

  Also by

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  To the man who first believed in me,

  who always believed in me, and

  who always encouraged me,

  my late husband, George, my hero, my love.

  March 6, 1923–July 5, 2012

&nbsp
; Till we meet again, Toodle.

  R.I.P.

  Prologue

  “You will choose a wife and wed within the next year,” Titus Cesare, Duke of Terreno Boscoso, told his son and heir. He was a tall, distinguished man with a head full of wavy snow-white hair and had warm brown eyes that now looked directly at his only child.

  “I am too young to marry,” his offspring replied casually, sprawling in a tapestried chair by the fire in his father’s library. He was taller than his sire by at least two inches and had rich dark auburn hair and his deceased mother’s green eyes. Those eyes were a slightly deeper shade than an emerald, more the color of a pool in the forest—dark yet filled with golden light.

  “Need I remind you, brash youth, that we have both just celebrated our natal day?”

  It was considered a rarity that both father and son had been born on the same day in May. The Duchess Antonia had always considered it her greatest achievement to have delivered her husband’s only child on the day he celebrated forty years upon this earth. She had been twenty years old, and his second wife.

  Duke Titus adored her not just for the precious gift she had given him, but for her loving and sweet nature. His first wife, Elisabetta, had been plucked from the convent where she had been educated and seriously contemplating taking the veil. She had tried very hard to be a good wife to him, but she was frail of body and died at eighteen years of age, having been married to him for but four years. Duke Titus had not remarried until he was thirty-eight to his beloved Antonia, who in less than two years’ time delivered him his son, Rafaello.

  Antonia had been a wonderful and nurturing mother to their son. He was fifteen when she had died, and remembered her well. She had fostered a strong bond between father and son. When she had died suddenly of a winter flux they had had each other to lean upon and mourn her loss. Now as the duke contemplated his son he thought of how Antonia might have handled this situation.

  “You are twenty-nine,” he finally said. “I am sixty-nine. I want to see you happy with a bride before I die. I want to see my grandchildren. I am considered very old.”

  “You are an old fraud,” his son replied, laughing.

  “How can I go to my grave unable to tell your sweet mother that you are happy?” the duke said.

  “Are you ill, Papa?” the younger man asked anxiously.

  “No, but remember your mama was in the best of health before that flux struck her and she was so suddenly carried off,” the duke reminded his son. The duke saw that his words had caught his son unawares.

  “You have already made a plan to accomplish your purpose,” Rafaello said quietly. Then he smiled at his father. “Tell me. When does my bride arrive? And who is she, Papa?”

  “Actually I have sent for three young women to come so you may have a small choice in your selection of a wife,” the duke said, surprising his son. “I know damned well if I waited for you to go courting, God only knows if you would ever find a maiden to suit you. On my seventieth natal day I will retire and turn my dukedom over to you and your bride, Rafaello. You are more than capable of governing Terreno Boscoso. You’ve been sitting by my side in all matters of governance since you were ten. I think you can learn no more from me. It is time for you to make the decisions.”

  Rafaello Cesare was astounded. “Three women? You sent for three women, Papa? What will happen to the losers, then, and how will their angry families feel about my rejecting two? And who are these three peerless virgins you think suitable to marry your precious son?” Then he laughed, for the situation, he thought, was ridiculous.

  “I have investigated carefully and chosen as carefully,” Duke Titus answered his son. “The maidens are Aceline Marie du Barry, the daughter of the Comte du Barry. The family line is ancient, and the comte wealthy. The second girl is Louisa Maria di Genoa, a bastard daughter of the Duke of Genoa. She is particularly loved by her father, and he has offered quite an enormous dower portion for her. The third virgin is Francesca Allegra Liliana Maria Pietro d’Angelo, the daughter of a very important Florentine silk merchant who stands quite high in Lorenzo di Medici’s favor. The dower her father offers is even larger than the one Genoa proffers me for his daughter.”

  “Large dowers usually mean ugly faces or some physical deformity,” Rafaello noted dryly.

  “No, I have sent my own agent to observe these three candidates for your hand. He did not make himself known to the families, but obtained a place in each household for a brief time so he might view these girls within their own familial setting. He claims he was almost struck blind by the beauty he saw. The faces are flawless, and he saw no physical deformity on any of the trio.”

  “So when do these paragons of virtue—for I assume they are virtuous virgins—arrive, Papa?” Rafaello chuckled.

  The duke grinned at his son. “Next month,” he replied. “I expect that by next June you will have chosen one for your bride and will marry. If you are quick perhaps you will have already planted your seed in her belly, and I may look forward to a grandson or granddaughter.”

  “You are in a great hurry, Papa,” Rafaello responded.

  “I hardly consider requesting my twenty-nine-year-old heir to settle down and produce an heir an onerous task. You have a summer before you and three beautiful girls to court. I am sure that Valiant and the rest of those young rascals you run with will be delighted to help you out, Rafaello,” the duke told him. “Ahh, were I young once again and my Antonia with me.” His handsome face briefly grew sorrowful.

  Seeing the look, his son answered him, “I thank you for all you have done in this matter. I will dutifully inspect my three virgins, and hopefully I can find one suitable with whom I can live. I promise to do my duty as I know Mama would want.”

  Duke Titus smiled and lifted the wineglass on the table by his arm. “To my Antonia,” he said.

  “To Mama,” Rafaello Cesare replied, lifting his own glass. “To Mama!”

  Chapter 1

  “He is too fat, Madre. I will not wed with an overdressed pig,” Francesca Pietro d’Angelo said irritably to her anxious mother.

  “He is an Orsini!” her mother exclaimed. “They are one of the richest and most distinguished families in Rome. They descend from emperors.”

  “He is still too porcine, and if he were emperor I still would not have him,” Francesca declared. “Besides, he is from a lesser branch of his family. I doubt there is any money there. He has come to Florence to obtain a rich wife and restore his fortunes.”

  Lorenzo di Medici, who had been listening to this exchange between mother and daughter, chuckled. “She is absolutely correct, signora,” he said, and he turned to Francesca. “You would be wasted on such a buffone.”

  “Do not encourage her, signore, I beg of you,” Orianna Pietro d’Angelo pleaded. “Have you any idea how many fine young men she has turned away? I thought when she returned home from my father’s house in Venice, so properly contrite over her bad behavior, I might add, that she might prove reasonable. But no! There has been something wrong with every young man who has sought her hand. One walks like a duck! Another has the face of one of the apes your daughters keep, or legs like a stork, or breath like the banks of the river Arno at low tide, or looks like a gaping fish just caught. She asked Paulo Torrelli where he hid his tail, because she declared he resembled a rat!”

  Lorenzo di Medici restrained the great guffaw that bubbled up in his throat. The truth was, young Torrelli did look a bit like a rodent, even as his father did. Gaining a mastery of himself he said, “I asked you to my reception tonight, signora, with a specific purpose in mind. I have already spoken with your good husband about it. I see how the local gentlemen avoid your company. Francesca’s shrewish reputation is beginning to spread, and we cannot have the loveliest maiden in Florence since the fair Bianca scorned. Her behavior could indeed reflect on your two younger daughters.”

  Orianna Pietro d’Angelo grew pale. Her eldest daughter was no longer spoken of in their house, for he
r audacity in running off with an Ottoman prince.

  Lorenzo di Medici saw her distress and immediately apologized for his thoughtlessness. Then he said, “Go home, signora, and see if my solution to your problem suits you. Your husband was quite pleased by it.”

  “Thank you, signore,” Orianna said, curtsying to him. “We are grateful for your concern.” Then she turned away and moved off in the direction of where her husband stood waiting for her and for Francesca.

  Francesca did not immediately follow. Raising her beautiful green eyes to Lorenzo di Medici, she smiled at him flirtatiously. “What have you done, signore? Would you send me to some convent away from Florence?” She put a hand on his silk sleeve.

  He chuckled. “Do not attempt to wield your wiles on me, Francesca,” he told her. “If you weren’t a virgin I would have probably made you my mistress by now. But, like your parents, I want you happy, and you must marry if you are to be content. Now go and join your madre, inamorata.”

  Francesca pouted prettily, but then seeing he couldn’t be moved, left him. Crossing the crowded reception chamber, she rejoined her parents. Together the trio departed the Medici palazzo in the family litter to return home. While they traveled through the busy late-afternoon streets, Francesca asked her parents, “What is it that Signore di Medici would have me do?”

  “We will speak on it when we get home,” Giovanni Pietro d’Angelo told his daughter firmly, “and not before.”

  “It is my life you are deciding,” Francesca replied sharply. “Am I to have no say in it at all?”

  “Madre di Dios!” Orianna exclaimed. “Be quiet! Your father has said it will be discussed when we reach home and not before. Just once, you impossible child, do as you are told. I raised you to be dutiful, but you seem to have left all your manners behind since your return from your grandfather’s palazzo in Venice. He has spoiled you and allowed you to run wild. We are fortunate you caused no greater scandal than you did running after Enzo Ziani so shamelessly and giving rise to rumors that your virtue was not quite all it should be. You offered up my family, the Veniers, to ridicule, and we have been leaders in Venice for centuries, even having a doge among our antecedents.”