Bianca (10 page)

The day before Rovere’s victim died, and while he lingered in prison, Bianca was moved from Santa Maria del Fiore many miles from the city of Florence to a small coastal villa with the silly yet charming name of Luce Stellare, which simply meant “Starry.” Her parents came to bid her farewell, but they did not go with her. Even though Rovere was imprisoned for the moment, and Giovanni had removed the minions he had sent to watch their palazzo, the Pietro d’Angelos would draw no attention to themselves by leaving the city. Bianca traveled by horseback with Agata, surrounded by a group of men-at-arms sent by her grandfather in Venice. There was no one to return to Florence and gossip. Every precaution had been taken to keep her safe.

She wept, knowing she would not see her family for some time. “Will you ever be able to come to me,
Madre
?” she asked Orianna.

“Not until Rovere either grants you an annulment, or is dead” was the reply. “We can take no chances in him finding you, my daughter. Every day he does not have you in his clutches, his anger and need for revenge against you grow.”

Bianca nodded. “I understand,” she said sadly, and she did. She had convinced her husband that she was finally becoming his willing whore. Now he knew she had done it to gain a victory and escape him. He would not be merciful. “I would kill myself before I allowed him possession of me again,” she told her parents.

“It should not come to that,” her father told her. “No one knows of my mother’s villa, not even your brothers. You will live peacefully, and be safe there.”

It had been so difficult to see them go. Ever cautious, they had come and departed under the cover of darkness in the hours before the dawn. She and Agata had left immediately afterwards, bidding Reverend Mother Baptista farewell, giving her their thanks for tendering them her protection.

“I will pray for you each day, Bianca, my child,” the nun said. “The blessed Mother will protect you, I know.”

Then they were absorbed into the middle of an armed and mounted troop of horsemen to begin the journey to the coast. The silk merchant had instructed the captain of the guard not to allow Bianca to be seen if he could avoid it. They were not to stop in any public place. Consequently, a small pavilion was set up for the two women when they stopped for the night. The captain himself brought them supper and made certain that the charcoal brazier that heated the tent was properly lit.

“We should reach the seacoast by tomorrow,
madonna
,” he told Bianca. “There will be no need for you to spend another night in the wild. Your grandfather would not be pleased with these arrangements at all.”

Bianca could not help but smile at the remark. She had met her grandfather only twice, but she understood exactly what the soldier was saying. “Please tell the
principe
that I am very grateful for his help,” she responded.

“He wishes you had come to Venice,
madonna
,” the captain said. “He would have protected you.”

“But then the matter with my husband would have become public knowledge,” Bianca said. “My father did not wish that. Perhaps one day I shall come to Venice.”

“That would please the
principe
,
madonna
,” was the reply. Then the captain politely withdrew, leaving the two women alone.

“I miss the bells,” Bianca said to Agata. “And the incredible quiet of the convent. I felt at peace there, although I have no wish to become a nun. It is strange being free and out in the world again.”

“We are not so much out in the world as we might be,” Agata said. “The villa will be a quiet place too.” She helped her mistress from her garments and brought her a small basin of water in which to wash.

“There will be new sounds,” Bianca noted. “The sea, the wind, birds, and farm creatures.” She quickly washed her face and hands, drying them on a linen cloth that Agata handed her. Then she lay down upon the small camp bed that had been provided for her as Agata drew up the silk quilt.

“I hope we can sleep on these things,” she said as she took her place on the second narrow camp bed and drew up the coverlet. “They have not built them for comfort.”

But sleep the two women did. It had been a long day, their journey beginning before dawn and not ending until sunset. Agata awakened before the dawn, hearing the encampment stirring about them. She arose and quickly dressed, going outside to hail the captain. “Shall I wake my mistress?” she asked him.

He nodded. “If we leave before first light we shall reach our destination in early afternoon. Go and get something to eat.”

Agata followed his instruction, fetching bread, fruit, and cheese for herself and for Bianca. Then she returned to the pavilion to awaken the younger woman. Like her mistress, she had lived in Florence her entire life, and other than trips to the Pietro d’Angelos’ villa in the countryside, she had never left it until now. She was curious to see the sea.

They reached Villa Luce Stellare, as the captain had promised, in midafternoon. Their party came down the hillside road they had been traveling to find the blue waters of the Ligurian Sea spread out before and below them. They had passed through no villages that day. Now they turned off onto a narrow dirt path that went down a rocky slope. At the bottom of the path lay a small villa that was painted yellow. They stopped.

The captain hurried to help the two women from their horses. “Here we are,
madonna
. This will be your refuge.” He walked to the large oak door and banged on it.

Bianca looked around her. It was certainly isolated, and the little villa could not be seen from the road.
Perhaps,
she thought, a tiny tendril of hope curling in her,
perhaps I will be safe here from Sebastiano. I can make a life for myself at last.

“Here is the mistress of the house,” she heard the captain say.

Bianca turned her eyes to the door of the villa.

A small, plump woman stood there, smiling broadly. “Welcome to Luce Stellare,
signora
. Your father sent us word to expect you. Come in! Come in!”

Bianca turned to the Venetian captain. “You will remain the night?” she asked.

“Nay,
signora
. We were instructed to deliver you safely, but then be on our way immediately in order not to attract any unwanted attention to your arrival. The
principe
and your father were most firm in their instructions. We will begin our return today and follow the road above along the coast into Modena. Its
duca
has given your grandfather permission for us to travel through his domain into Venetian territory. I thank you for the offer of hospitality. I will tell your grandfather of your kindness,
signora
.”

“Mille grazie,”
Bianca said. “Please tell the
principe
that I am grateful for his protection, Captain.”

He bowed smartly, and then mounting his horse, led his men back up the path to the coastal road they would travel.

Bianca stood a moment and looked about her. It was quiet, and the air was so sweet. There was a beach below the house. It was a narrow sandy strip that ran into a narrower span of small rocks. She would ask the servants if it could be walked, and how to get down to the beach. She turned and saw that the front door of the villa was flanked by a large, glazed blue pot on either side. The pots were planted with white roses, her favorites. She was certain her father had seen to that.

Giovanni Pietro d’Angelo could be a sentimental man. The roses, she suspected, were a peace offering. He had apologized to her for having insisted upon her marriage instead of seeking another solution to Sebastiano Rovere’s blackmail. She had forgiven him easily, for he could not have known how brutal Rovere would be to a wife. The silk merchant was more than aware of the reputation for debauchery that his son-in-law possessed, but he had assumed that Rovere would not visit his vices upon his bride, an innocent girl of good family. That he had would trouble him for the rest of his life.

Bianca stopped to smell one of the beautiful roses. Its almost exotic fragrance was intoxicating. “Have it cut and brought to my bedchamber,” she said to the patient servingwoman, who was still waiting for her to enter the villa.

“Si, signora,”
the servant said. “You enjoy the flowers?”

“I do,” Bianca told her. “Very much.”

“I am Filomena,
signora
. It is my duty to oversee your servants. All, of course, but your own personal servingwoman,” she amended carefully. “Come in now. Come in! They are all awaiting you. It is a small staff, for the
signore
, your father, said you would prefer your privacy and are little trouble.”

Bianca chuckled at this observation. “My father knows me well,” she agreed.

The servants had all lined up in the beautiful entry of the house to meet her.

There was Gemma, the cook, and two young maidservants—one to help Filomena and the other to help the cook. Along with Agata, they constituted the household staff. There would be no men in the house, and again Bianca saw her father’s hand in this arrangement. The outside staff consisted only of two brothers of indeterminate age, Primo and Ugo. They would care for the gardens and the animals.

“We grow much of our food,” Filomena explained. “When your father came to open the villa after so many years, the old gardens were still visible among the weeds. The brothers have reclaimed much of it in the past few months, and will regain all of it by next year. There is a small grove of olive trees, and another of lemons. Primo says it may be possible to put in a little vineyard high up on the hillside. He says there was one there once, long ago. Some of the vines still survive. He brought some of the grapes for you this morning.”

Bianca turned and smiled at Primo. “Thank you,” she said.

Filomena nodded for the little group of servants to go about their business. “I will show you your new home,” she said. “I imagine it is smaller than what you are used to,
signora
, but you will be comfortable. Your esteemed father has told me that you have been ill, and that life in the city is no longer for you. Is your husband dead?”

“No,” Bianca said.
But I wish he were,
she thought silently. “I am seeking an annulment, Filomena. It was only discovered what an evil man my husband was after the marriage had taken place. He is now in prison awaiting his fate.”

“Perhaps they will execute him, and then you will not have to bother with an annulment,” Filomena said cheerfully. She was a country woman, and for her, simple solutions were always the best resolutions to any problem.

Bianca burst out laughing. “Yes, that would be a good result, but it is unlikely to happen. My husband is a wealthy and powerful man in Florence. He will escape his just due, but I will eventually get my annulment. For now, I hope I am well hidden.”

“We will protect you,
signora
,” Filomena said. Then she showed Bianca her new home, and was content to see that her
signora
was very pleased.

The entry to the villa was open and spacious. It had a center staircase leading up to its second floor. The main level of the house consisted of two small salons that were furnished with upholstered wooden chairs and tables. There was a little library with a long table and a straight-backed chair, as well as a dining room that held a table for six, and chairs to match. All of the rooms had doors leading outside into the gardens. The walls were paneled in light-colored fruitwood, and the floors were tiled in squares of pale beige. The dining room walls, however, were painted in a mural depicting a stag hunt. The library walls were built-in bookcases. Its ceiling was coffered.

Bianca followed Filomena up the wide staircase to the second level. There were three bedchambers, each with a tiled fireplace. Two of the bedchambers had alcoves to house a servant. But the chamber that was Bianca’s had a small separate windowed room for Agata. Bianca’s canopied bed was hung with pale pink silk brocade. Her windows overlooked the gardens and the sea. There was a tall painted armoire on one wall, and a matching chest at the foot of the bed.

“I hope this chamber will be suitable,
signora
,” the housekeeper said.

Bianca looked around the chamber. The tiles surrounding her fireplace were painted with a vine that had magenta flowers. The vine with its flora twined from tile to tile, giving the impression of a living plant. “It’s lovely!” she said, smiling.

“I will leave you then to settle yourself,
signora
. Agata will be with you shortly.” Then Filomena hurried off.

Bianca quickly realized that the windows overlooking the sea were actually doors that opened onto a balcony with a decorative black iron railing. Opening the doors, she stepped out and looked about her. To her left, she could see nothing but the steep, rocky green hills, but to her right and perhaps a mile in the distance there was another villa. She wondered if it was occupied.

Agata bustled into the bedchamber, calling her inside. “It is not your father’s palazzo in Florence, but it is charming, mistress. Can you be happy here?” She looked anxiously at Bianca, her warm brown eyes filled with concern.

“Yes,” Bianca said, “I can be happy here. I could be happy in a peasant’s hut as long as I do not have to put up with Sebastiano Rovere, Agata.”

“May he burn in hell, and soon!” Agata said, making the sign of the evil eye.

Bianca settled easily into country life at Luce Stellare. She actually had more freedom in her life than she had ever had. She spent time exploring the gardens that Primo and Ugo were restoring. Unlike her father’s palazzo, which had its kitchens on the lowest level of the house, the villa’s kitchens were in the rear of the main floor. Outside its door was a thriving herb garden with both sweet and savory herbs. There was a small kitchen garden of vegetables, but there was also a large vegetable garden in another area that had two apricot trees as well.

The flower gardens were a delight not only to the eyes but also to the nose.

As autumn progressed, of course, the gardens died back, but the roses would continue to bloom until a frost signaled to them that it was time to rest. Frosts were light here on the coast, as the sea warmed the air. In Florence, it would grow wet and chilly, but here at Luce Stellare the weather would be mild.