Francesca Read online

  “I know, Madre. I know,” Francesca responded wearily. “My grandfather was forever drumming the history of your house into my head.”

  Orianna glared across the litter at her daughter, and Francesca finally grew quiet.

  A faint smile played across Giovanni Pietro d’Angelo’s mouth. His wife and their daughters were well matched. While their lamented eldest, Bianca, had been stubborn and very determined to follow her heart even if it meant losing her family, Francesca was even more like their fiery mother. Once Bianca attained her goal she would settle back to exhibiting a sweet and amiable nature. Francesca, however, fought her battles with great passion, refusing to yield in the slightest. It would take a very strong man to control her. He smiled again to himself. Lorenzo di Medici had come up with an excellent solution to the problem of his difficult daughter. Now he must convince her of it, and it would not be easy at all. Because he was a quiet man, many thought his women ruled him. This could not have been further from the truth. Though Giovanni Pietro d’Angelo spoke softly he was a hard but fair man when it came to having his own way. No one who had ever done business with the respected leader of the Arti di Por Santa Maria, the silk merchants’ guild, would have said otherwise.

  At last the litter reached their palazzo on the Piazza Santa Anna. Its occupants exited the vehicle and entered through the great ironbound double oak doors. Leading the way, the silk merchant brought his wife and daughter to his library. A small fire was burning in the fireplace, taking the chill off the early-spring afternoon. A servant brought refreshments, and when he had departed the chamber Giovanni began to speak.

  “There is a large duchy located well northwest of the Duchy of Milano. It is called Terreno Boscoso. It is an ancient holding ruled by a distinguished family of wealth and good reputation.”

  Francesca yawned, bored. Seeing it, Orianna frowned and, reaching out, pinched her daughter to attention. Francesca jumped with a little squeak, glaring back at Orianna.

  Though he had seen the action between mother and daughter, Giovanni gave no hint of it, and continued smoothly. “Duke Titus has one child, a son, born to him late in life. He wishes to retire from his duties shortly, but first he must see his son wed. To this end he has asked for three maidens to be brought to Terreno Boscoso so his son may get to know them and choose a bride from among the three. Since, like many heads of state, he does business with the di Medici bank, he wrote to Lorenzo himself and asked if Florence might offer up a candidate for his son’s hand. Lorenzo believes Francesca is the perfect choice. He is certain that Francesca will be chosen.” Giovanni looked at his daughter.

  “You would be a duchessa, my daughter,” he said quietly, “but you would be treated like a queen.”

  “A duchessa!” Orianna responded breathlessly, her eyes wide with pride and excitement. “What an honor for you, Francesca, for our family, for Florence.”

  “No!” Francesca said.

  “No?” her mother gasped, disbelieving. “No? You dare say no to such a magnificent offer? You are heartless, you ungrateful girl. Heartless!”

  “I will not be shipped off to some unknown place and put in a contest for the hand of a strange man,” Francesca said. “The man who wants to marry me must court me properly, Madre. I am appalled you would even consider such a thing.”

  Orianna Pietro d’Angelo’s beautiful face turned a very unattractive shade somewhere between crimson and purple. “Refuse, and you will be shipped off to a cloistered convent as far away from Florence as I can find,” she replied angrily. “They will shave your head of your glorious hair. You will be nourished on stale bread and water, and beaten twice daily until you learn obedience again. And there you will remain, imprisoned for the remainder of your days, you wicked child! And do not look to your father for help. You know that in all matters having to do with the household and our children it is my word that rules supreme, Francesca, not his.”

  Having allowed his wife to vent her anger, the master of the house now spoke up once again. “Francesca, cara, you must wed. You have just celebrated your fifteenth natal day.” He smiled warmly at her. “I remember the day you were born quite well. It was a perfect day in early April. The sky was cloudless and blue. The sun bright and warm upon the back. The flowers in the garden had begun to bloom early that year. I had found a large bud on one of the roses several days earlier, which I cut and was forcing into bloom right here in my library. It opened that day, and I brought it to your mother after she had safely delivered you. Father Bonamico said it was a sign from God.”

  Orianna’s face grew soft as her husband renewed her own memory of that day.

  “I realize,” Giovanni continued, “that Enzo Ziani proved a great disappointment to you, cara mia, but I believe in my heart of hearts that you know now he was the wrong man for you. An unimportant Venetian prince among many unimportant Venetian princes. We can do far better for our daughter. This is a golden opportunity for you. Go to Terreno Boscoso. Show this ducal family the caliber of Florentine maidens. You are certain to win the heart of the duke’s son. The old man has promised as soon as his son is wed, he will abdicate in his son’s immediate favor. You will be a duchessa, Francesca!”

  “A horse fair is what you are sending me into,” she replied, but her tone was less strident and more thoughtful.

  “What do you mean, we are sending you into a horse fair?” Orianna demanded.

  “Are not three fresh young mares being brought to Terreno Boscoso to see which one pleases the duke’s stallion?” Francesca responded.

  Giovanni Pietro d’Angelo burst out laughing, and he laughed so hard tears fell from his eyes.

  His wife, however, exhibited shock. “Francesca! What an indelicate thought. I hope you will not voice such sentiments aloud in Terreno Boscoso.”

  A mutinous look crossed Francesca’s beautiful face. “I did not say I was going anywhere,” she murmured.

  The silk merchant shot his wife a hard look, silently warning her that she should say nothing more. Orianna pressed her lips together as her husband spoke again. “Of course you will go, cara. It doesn’t mean you have to stay. But you will spend an adventurous summer away from your family. You will not have to go to our villa in the Tuscan hills to be bored or aggravated daily by your siblings.

  “You will have a splendid new wardrobe, so that not only will your natural beauty outshine the other two girls, but your clothing will as well. I shall send you with an impressive train of men-at-arms in livery to escort you, a priest, two maids to serve you, and two nuns from your mother’s favorite convent to chaperone you. You will have two horses of your own, which we will choose together, and a casket full of jewels.

  “This is a great honor Lorenzo di Medici has offered you, Francesca. You will represent our city of Florence. Even you must admit that you must wed, and at fifteen you are just on the cusp of becoming too old to be desirable.” He chuckled at the flash of anger that crossed her face. But then, unable to help herself, Francesca smiled ruefully. “Remember, if this young man proves unsuitable I will bring you home again, but God only knows where we will find a husband for you then. You have frightened away every suitable man from Florence and a hundred leagues around, my daughter.”

  “Can I have a stallion, Padre?” Francesca asked sweetly.

  “Perhaps two geldings,” he counteroffered. “A stallion might prove too intimidating and difficult to handle.”

  She nodded her agreement.

  “Would not a lovely white mare be suitable?” Orianna ventured, hoping as she spoke that her suggestion would not prove cause for argument.

  “It is a lovely thought, Madre, but I am not docile and neither should my horse be,” Francesca answered in a nonconfrontational tone.

  “Do you have a preference among the priests?” her father asked her.

  “Bonamico is too old for such a journey,” his daughter answered. “Father Silvio is the youngest among them. He could make the journey easily and he is most amusing.” She turned to her mother. “Will you obtain the two nuns from the convent of Santa Maria del Fiore, Madre? I’m certain the Reverend Mother knows which of her sisters would be suitable.” Francesca gave her mother a small smile. “Hopefully they will not be too dull,” she concluded.

  “Then you will go?” Orianna asked nervously.

  “Of course I will go, Madre. A summer away in a new place will hopefully be entertaining, and I can return in the autumn.”

  “If I find the young man unsuitable, cara,” her father reminded her.

  “Of course he is unsuitable if his father has to send away in order to find a wife for him,” Francesca said, laughing. “He will be a tall gawk of a boy with pimples who will stutter. It will be amusing, and my new clothing and jewelry are a good incentive for me to go. You are thoughtful, Padre, to allow me this respite away from Florence and family. Perhaps I shall never marry,” Francesca told her parents.

  Madre di Dios, Orianna thought to herself. This child of mine has a very hard heart. How on earth did it happen? She must marry or enter a convent. There is no other life for a respectable maiden of good family.

  “If I do not, then perhaps I shall become a courtesan,” Francesca added.

  Orianna grew pale and swayed in her chair.

  “Do not distress your madre,” Giovanni Pietro d’Angelo said sternly to his daughter. “And know that I do not find such thoughts becoming of you. You have agreed you will go to Terreno Boscoso. I accept your word in this matter. Tomorrow I shall go to Lorenzo di Medici and tell him. He will be pleased at the honor you bring to us all.”

  Francesca said nothing more. Her interests lay in all the wonderful things her father had promised her if she would spend her summer in this duchy. She insisted that her horses be chosen first. She wanted to become accustomed to their gait and to their personalities before she embarked on the long journey she would take to Terreno Boscoso. She wanted to have saddles and bridles made that suited them.

  Informing the merchant who sold the finest horseflesh of his needs, Giovanni Pietro d’Angelo made arrangements for a private showing of the animals for his daughter. It was extremely unusual for the wife or daughters of a wealthy or highborn gentleman to appear in public. They went several days later to an indoor marketplace, where the beasts would be displayed. Arriving in a curtained litter they entered the showroom and were greeted by the very effusive merchant who bustled forward to welcome them.

  “I am honored you have chosen my establishment,” the horse seller said.

  “Lorenzo himself recommended your merchandise,” the silk merchant replied.

  “Yes, yes, I supply many of the mounts he stables, Maestro Pietro d’Angelo,” came the answer. “Now, I have picked several horses for your most honorable daughter to choose among.” He turned and called, “Bring a seat for the young signorina,” and a boy ran forth with a small chair for Francesca.

  She sat down, her glance modestly lowered, for she knew what was expected of her in public. She would behave as she had been taught.

  The horse seller snapped his fingers, and at once a parade of young blackamoors came forth, each leading a beautiful animal. “Each of these creatures is well mannered, signorina,” he told her, “and well trained as well.” He snapped his fingers again and one by one the grooms led their animals forward, walking them about so she might gain a better view of them. “Each comes with its own groom as part of the price. They are slaves, so other than feeding them and keeping them clothed, there is no additional expense.”

  “We will want two horses,” Giovanni Pietro d’Angelo said. “Is it necessary to take two grooms?”

  “It is better, maestro, for each horse has been raised with its keeper, who is aware of its every foible and character,” the horse seller explained.

  “I see, I see,” was the silk merchant’s response. Then he turned to his daughter. “Do you see anything you like?” he asked her.

  “The white with the black mane and tail is most striking,” she remarked.

  “You have a sharp eye, signorina.”

  “And the bay with the dark brown mane and tail,” Francesca said.

  “Another excellent choice,” the horse seller enthused.

  Ignoring him, Francesca got up and walked over to where the white gelding stood quietly. She stroked his nose gently, allowing him to sniff her. She whispered to him, “Will you be mine, my beauty?”

  The horse nickered softly and stamped his hoof gently.

  “He says he would be pleased to be yours,” the small black groom murmured to her softly. “He says he will serve you well, signorina.”

  Francesca smiled. “You speak with him?” she asked.

  “Yes, signorina,” came the shy reply.

  “I will take this one, Padre,” Francesca said to her father. Then she walked to where the bay stood, greeting him as she had the white. “And you, my handsome one. Are you ready to join your fate to mine too?”

  The bay looked her directly in the eye and then he nodded slowly up and down, never breaking eye contact with her.

  Francesca clapped her hands delightedly. “Did you see that, Padre? This clever beast answered my question. I must have him as well!” She turned back to the groom holding the bay. “What is your name?”

  “I am called Ib, signorina.”

  She looked to the groom holding the white.

  “I am Adon, signorina,” he answered her.

  “I must have both horses and their grooms, Padre. My animals must be happy and they cannot be without their familiar companions.”

  Giovanni Pietro d’Angelo smiled and agreed. It had been quite a while since he had seen Francesca enthusiastic and happy over anything. She must remain this way if they were to get her successfully on the road to Terreno Boscoso. Her show of greediness actually delighted him, and he could well afford the cost, he thought as he negotiated the price with the horse seller, took out his purse, and paid. “I will ask you to send them to my own stables on the morrow,” he said.

  “It shall be done, Maestro, as you instruct.”

  As they returned to the palazzo Giovanni grumbled to his daughter, “Those two black extravagances you have wheedled me into taking will have to have suitable wardrobes. I can guarantee they will be sent to us in rags. You are becoming a great expense to me.”

  “But I am so happy, Padre,” she said with a mischievous grin.

  “You are happy with new clothing and all the accoutrements that go with a young girl who might wed in several months,” he said.

  “Or who will return to you, Padre. This boy may find me not to his taste at all. He may decide one of the other two maidens is far more suitable to take for a wife,” Francesca told him. And I shall see that he does, she thought to herself. I have no intention of remaining in some rural duchy away from my family, even if they do irritate me.

  He looked sharply at her, but Francesca’s green eyes were delicately lowered. He could only imagine what she was thinking. God help them all if she was returned to them. He must pray more diligently. Like most men he remembered to pray only when he found himself in a situation that he was unable to handle by himself. But he did attend Mass more than most men. Hopefully that would count in his favor with God.

  Francesca wanted to help pick the fabrics that would be used in her new wardrobe. Disappointed but taking direction from her husband’s behavior, Orianna said she would go to the convent of Santa Maria del Fiore and request two nuns who would serve as Francesca’s chaperones while she was in Terreno Boscoso. “I am certain two of the nuns can be spared.”

  “Do not let the Reverend Mother palm off two old ladies on you,” Francesca said. “I will have no patience with them, for they will complain the entire journey about their aches and pains. It is too long an expedition for such elders to make.”

  Orianna had to admit that her daughter was correct, although she had hoped to send Francesca with two stern older women who would keep her daughter’s behavior as it should be. She wasn’t surprised to have her cousin, the Reverend Mother Baptista, agree with Francesca’s assessment.

  “It’s too long a time for any of my elders to be away from their home. Do you even know how long it will be before you return my sisters to me, Orianna?”

  Orianna shook her head. “Francesca leaves at the end of May. It will be a good month or more before she reaches Terreno Boscoso. She will remain at least for several months, until Duke Titus’s heir picks his bride from among the three maidens who have been sent for. Lorenzo believes the duke’s son cannot fail to fall in love with my daughter, but we cannot be certain.”

  “Yes,” Reverend Mother Baptista said, “especially given Francesca’s reputation for discrimination when dealing with her suitors. I heard she said the Torrelli boy resembled a rat. Is it so?”

  “Yes,” Orianna said, openly mortified. “You are well informed, cousin.”

  Reverend Mother Baptista laughed a short sharp laugh. “I think I should rather like the girl,” she remarked. “Too bad she doesn’t have a calling, but let us get to your problem. I have thought about your request ever since you wrote to me, Orianna. I believe I have two young nuns who would be very suitable traveling companions and chaperones for your daughter. One has already taken her final vows. The other has not. I did not believe she was quite ready. This foray into the world may help her decide if she would really join her life to ours forever.” Reaching out, she rang a small bell on the table next to her chair. “Fetch Sister Maria Annunziata and Sister Maria Benigna,” she told the answering postulant, who nodded silently and scurried off.

  “Annunziata is the elder and quite sensible. Benigna is gentler, and perhaps a bit shy. Together they will keep Francesca’s behavior as it should be and see that she says her daily devotions. You’re sending one of your priests?”

  “Silvio, the younger of the three. The other two are too old to make such a trip.”

  “Do you expect to get her back?” the nun asked candidly.