Bianca (16 page)

“You should send to your father,” Agata said.

“Why?” Bianca demanded.

“He can advise you. I do not think it is wise for you to speak with these people without someone there to see to your interests,” Agata replied.

“I want nothing from Rovere but that which is mine,” Bianca said. “I will not profit from his death, well deserved as it was.”

“You deserve something for the time you spent with that demon and the misery he visited upon you,” Agata said indignantly.

Bianca smiled, and patted her servingwoman’s hand. “Whatever he has is cursed in my eyes. I would not bring his bad luck into my house,” she explained, knowing that Agata would understand that.

“Ahhhh, yes!” her loyal servant responded, nodding. “Now I see, mistress. You are so very wise. Your mother would be pleased.”

“I shall invest my dower portion with the di Medici bank,” Bianca said. “Now let us prepare for our guests, for the sooner we can accommodate them, the sooner they will be gone.”

The Rovere brothers and their lawyer came. All were dressed in black as a sign of their mourning. Bianca greeted them in a red gown trimmed in gold thread and tiny black jet beading.

“You do not mourn your husband,
signora
?” the lawyer, whose name was Renzo Guardini, asked her disapprovingly. He was a tall, thin man with a pinched face.

“I had not seen my husband in almost two years, Signore Guardini,” Bianca replied. “Until he arrived at my villa shortly before his demise. In the brief time he was here and before he was driven off, he beat me severely while his men attempted to rape my women servants. I was seeking an annulment of our marriage, and he obviously did not approve. He was a monster. I am not a hypocrite to mourn a man I despised and whose debauchery was legend. I hope he is roasting in hell.” She smiled. “Let us go to my library, which is a suitable place in which to conduct business,” Bianca suggested, as she led them from the entry of the house where she had greeted them into the more comfortable surroundings. “There is a tray with glasses and wine,
signores
. Please help yourselves. My household staff is small and limited to women servants only, although I do have two men for the gardens and stables.” She seated herself, and her guests did too after helping themselves to her wine.

“Your husband has left you a very rich woman,” Signore Guardini began.

“I want nothing but my dower portion plus the interest it would have earned in a respectable bank from the time I was betrothed to him until his death,” Bianca said.

“
Signora
, you do not understand,” the lawyer said. “Sebastiano Rovere left his widow half of his fortune as well as his house and all of his slaves.”

“Did he indeed?” Bianca was genuinely surprised, but then she saw her father’s hand in that. Rovere had agreed because he wanted the most beautiful girl in Florence for his wife, and he didn’t expect Bianca to outlive him.

“He did indeed,” Guardini said sourly, his tone implying she didn’t deserve it.

“I want only my dower portion plus interest,” Bianca repeated. “I certainly don’t want the house where I was so unhappy. I will free the poor slaves he held but for one.”

She turned to Stefano Rovere. “Take Nudara, and sell her along with her damnable donkey to the highest bidder. Then give the monies you obtain to the Reverend Mother Baptista at the convent of Santa Maria del Fiore outside the city’s gates.”

“That slave girl is worth a fortune,” Alberto Rovere protested, “and you would give that fortune to some shabby convent outside the city? I wonder if they would even take monies obtained from such a sale.”

“As they are unlikely to know, and they are poor, I imagine they will be grateful for such an unexpected gift,” Bianca said sweetly. “But should you dare to tell them the origins of their good fortune, Alberto, believe me when I promise you that you will suffer for your perfidy. My Agata will see that the evil eye is put on you. And I will curse you myself with a certain inability to perform. Some good should come from that vile bitch.”

“There is a fortune to be made with the wench!” Alberto insisted. “If you could see how she takes that animal’s doughy cock with little cries of pleasure, and then wiggles her plump ass, you would understand. The public would pay through the nose to see such a spectacle. Give her to me! I will give you half of all I earn with her, and you can give that to your favored convent. No one need know that we are the ones profiting.”

Bianca looked at her stepson with distaste.
Madre di Dios!
He favored his father in his deviant tastes, which was unfortunate, but then with an unpleasant flash she remembered him on her wedding night. Catching herself, Bianca drew a deep breath. “Alberto, your brother will sell Nudara for me to the highest bidder with the monies to go to Santa Maria del Fiore. If, as you say, there is a great demand for this creature, then a publicly announced but private auction will bring out many bidders, and a great deal of gold.”

He looked at her with Sebastiano’s cold dark eyes. “I want Nudara, and if you do not give her to me, I will—”

“Will what, you pitiful little monster? You are about to make a great match, I am told. I wonder how they would feel knowing the kind of man they are entrusting with their virgin daughter. And you will know how to be certain she is a virgin, Alberto, won’t you?” Bianca said softly, but her eyes were like blue ice. “Of course, if your dear father was blackmailing them as he did my father, your marriage may not take place at all. The girl is a very wealthy heiress—pretty, I am told, and a desirable match. I am astounded they would choose you for her husband.”

“We are in love!” Alberto said.

“Then be satisfied that you and Stefano will split your father’s considerable wealth instead of having to share it with me. There are things I know that your family would prefer not be revealed to the public eye. Do you understand me?”

He nodded but then said, “When did you become so hard, Bianca?”

She laughed. “I am not hard, Alberto, except where I must be. If I could survive your father’s treatment of me, however, I can and will survive anything, including your attempts to force me to your will.”

“This is not how things are done,” the lawyer Guardini said, pursing his lips.

“Stefano, you are the eldest. What say you?” Bianca asked.

“I will see that your wishes are carried out, Bianca,” he told her. He turned to the lawyer. “She is to have exactly what she asks for, her dower portion plus interest, and the monies from the sale of the slave will go to Santa Maria del Fiore. The other slaves held by my father will be freed, and given a year’s wages as if they were free men.”

“The di Medici bank will decide the interest owed,” Bianca told them sweetly. Then she said, “Thank you, Stefano, for your generosity.”

“I agree,” Stefano said. “Brother?”

“I agree as well,” Alberto replied, defeated.

“Then is our business done?” Bianca asked the lawyer.

“I must draw up the papers making these changes,” Guardini said sourly.

“Please feel free to use the library. There is parchment in the drawer of the table you can use. And ink too. When you are done I will read it over, and if it suits me I will sign it. You will stay the night, of course,
signores
.”

She could read; why was he not surprised? Guardini wondered. He had heard that Sebastiano Rovere’s widow was a properly raised woman who was meek and obedient. This woman did not fit such a description at all. He had not heard until his client’s death that his wife had left him. He was not a part of Rovere’s circle of friends, and the truth was he hadn’t wished to be. Rovere had wanted his own representation to be competent and dull. Renzo Guardini was just that, and content to be so.

Rovere’s widow was like her father. He realized that, in spite of himself, he was admiring of her. He remembered the silk merchant seated in his chambers with Rovere, dictating the terms of the marriage contract. It was he who had insisted that if Rovere predeceased his daughter, half of his estate would go to the widow. Guardini had been shocked by such a request, and even more shocked that Rovere agreed to the terms. His client had just laughed and said, “If she can outlive me, she will have earned it.” The silk merchant had nodded grimly.

Well, she had outlived him, but chose not to profit from her husband’s death. He shook his head. Yet having met Bianca Pietro d’Angelo now, Guardini could not help but consider if she had a hand in her husband’s death. She would not be the first woman to pay for the assassination of her spouse. But then where would she have gotten the monies for such a deed? She had been in hiding from Rovere, and her honest surprise at learning she had inherited half of his estate, an estate she would not accept, really ruled out any malice on her part. No. Rovere’s wife had simply benefited from the man’s ability to make enemies. And the belief that he could escape justice had been Rovere’s downfall.

The lawyer set to work writing a document to be signed by Bianca and by Rovere’s two sons, who were now each twice as rich as they had believed themselves to be. It took him some time, for he was not used to doing such work himself but rather assigning it to his notary, but by late afternoon he had written the document out four times. A copy for Bianca; one for each of her stepsons; and another for the court. The document stated that Bianca Pietro d’Angelo renounced the bequest made to her by her late husband, Sebastiano Rovere, with two exceptions. Her dower with interest calculated by the di Medici bank would be returned to her, not her father; and the slave woman known as Nudara would be sold, the profit from such sale to go to the convent of Santa Maria del Fiore.

“It’s a simple enough document, but quite legal,” Guardini said. “You are empowered to act for yourself as Rovere’s widow. Sign here,
signora
.”

Bianca signed the four documents, passing them next to Stefano, who then pushed the parchments to his younger brother. All three parties having signed, Guardini put his own signature and seal to the documents. Then he gave one to Bianca and one each to Stefano and Alberto Rovere. They then adjourned to the dining room for the meal, and afterwards were shown to their chambers by Filomena. The next morning the three men departed after being fed a simple breakfast of bread, cheese, and wine.

“Will you be returning to Florence now?” Stefano asked her as his horse was brought from the stable.

“No, Luce Stellare is my home now,” she told him. “I am content.”

“Your father will want to make another marriage for you, Bianca. I hope it will be a happier one.”

“I want no more husbands,” Bianca said quietly. “Tell me, Stefano, do you know how your father found me? Few knew where I was.”

Stefano Rovere nodded. “Yes, I do, although I am ashamed to tell you,” he said, looking embarrassed.

“But you will nonetheless,” Bianca said.

He nodded again. “He kidnapped your brother Georgio, off the street one afternoon, brought him to the house, and showed him that damned donkey violating a whore. Your brother fainted with the shock of what he saw, for the whore screamed and screamed. When he was brought around to consciousness, my father threatened to put the donkey to Georgio unless he found out where you were hiding and told him. Of course the boy was terrified. He did my father’s bidding. I know this because my father insisted I be in the chamber when the violence was done so your brother would not run. And afterwards I took Georgio home. I am sorry, Bianca, and I am very ashamed.”

“You are forgiven, Stefano, for I know what a frightening man your father could be. He was not someone to pronounce idle threats. If he said it, he did it,” Bianca told the young man. “I suffered at his hands enough to know that.”

“Thank you,” Stefano Rovere said, kissing both of Bianca’s hands.

“We will not meet again,” she told him.

“I understand,” he said. Then he mounted his horse, joined his younger brother and their lawyer, and rode away.

She watched them go as relief swept over her. At last the Roveres were out of her life. She looked at Ugo, who stood waiting for the order he knew was coming. “Go to Prince Amir and tell him my guests have gone.”

“At once,
signora
,” the man said, bobbing his head at her and smiling.

Bianca laughed aloud, and twirled about. She was happy. She was happy! The darkness that had filled her life the past three years was finished. She was in love with a prince, and he with her. Her life was going to be perfect.

Amir came that evening, and their idyll continued as they spent the days walking, riding, and talking—and the nights in an ecstasy of endless passion. A look, and she was afire. A touch, and his desire flamed. Neither had ever imagined that a love like theirs could exist. They cherished each other, and the time they spent together.

Giovanni Pietro d’Angelo wrote to his daughter requesting that she return to Florence now that the danger was past for her. Bianca wrote him back that she preferred to live in the country. Master Pietro d’Angelo wrote again reminding his eldest daughter of her duty to him. Bianca wrote back that as a widow she was now free to make her own decisions, and she had made the choice to remain at Luce Stellare. Master Pietro d’Angelo pointed out to his daughter that he owned the villa in which she lived. Bianca replied that she would like to purchase the villa from him. He wrote that he would not sell it to her. She wrote that she would find another villa by the sea to buy.

Orianna Pietro d’Angelo arrived two weeks later. Mother and daughter greeted each other lovingly. Bianca invited her parent to join her on the terrace that overlooked the sea. Agata brought sweet wine and sugar wafers, then discreetly withdrew just far enough not to be seen, but close enough to hear the conversation.

One look at her daughter had told Orianna what she needed to know. Bianca had taken a lover. She was radiant with happiness. It would be the Turkish prince, of course. There was no one else nearby, and Bianca was too fastidious to take one of her male servants to her bed. Orianna had seen both Primo and Ugo. They were rough men of the earth, and hardly the type to sweep a girl like Bianca off her feet. No. It would be the prince.