Giggling, I responded with, “And honor thy Father and Mother.”
That earned me a pat on the head. “You will not speak of this to your mama. Do you understand?”
Nodding, only too happy to please him, I took up the cards and let the unease slip from my shoulders. We played until daybreak. The following morning, I may have looked tired, but I was perfectly happy to go through my day under the light burden of exhaustion.
As Papa had claimed, my chambermaid was cast out of the house. The excuse given was theft, but I knew the real reason. Bartolomeo pouted for a day or two, and then I noticed he had begun making eyes at the new girl.
She lasted a month.
“Are you forgetting something, Lady Agnese?” A strong Roman accent overpowered the softer lilt that made Italian the most exquisite of all languages. It clashed with the holy man’s beauty, but matched the hungry look in the Cardinal’s eyes.
I had been staring at him, rudely unsmiling as if he’d given me cause to be suspicious. Absolved one minute to be tainted again in the next; perfect fodder for tomorrow’s confession.
Clearing my expression with an embarrassed jerk, I fell into the deepest of curtseys, and set my lips to his ring. I kissed the gold, not wanting to think of maids, or lifted skirts, or tears, or pleas at the door for mercy. “Forgive me, Your Eminence. I am overwhelmed by the power of this place.”
“Perhaps confession was not comfort enough. You look troubled.” Raising me, he took my chin as my father would have, turning my face up so he might see behind the veil. “Do you seek my favor, lady? Some private study, perhaps? I can think up soft penance to soothe a maiden’s troubled soul. Ask any renowned beauty from court. There are many paths to heaven.”
The lilt… was he teasing?
Cheeks heated for reasons beyond my comprehension, I muttered, “I have never been to court, Your Eminence.”
Changeful, that was the only way I could describe Cardinal Beluni’s expression. One moment dark eyes glowed like set to flame, and now they were mild and warm. Now they were the eyes of God’s disciple. The eyes of a calf, of innocence and purity, set in an angel’s face. “That is as your mother swore to us. But from your lips, child, tell me of the company you’ve kept. Who are your friends? Their names, at once.”
Friends? Ladies kept in convents were not permitted friends. “Sister Mary and Sister Giovanna have been kind to me. I was not permitted to speak with my servants.”
“And did you obey this rule?”
“To obey is to be close to God.” And there was honest truth in that. I might have been young, but I knew holiness came from simplicity. If something felt wrong, that was the Holy Spirit whispering its warning. And I had learned young that the strap and cane would correct what the Spirit could not.
“And what do you know of men?”
At this, a smile bloomed on my lips. “I love my papa very much.”
That was not the answer anticipated, and I earned a firmer pinch on my chin as the Cardinal led me to speak on a different male. “And the Doge of Venice, what are your thoughts of your future husband?”
This line of questioning was so unusual. No one had ever asked my opinion on… anything of consequence. “I was told he favored my portrait and sent a kind letter to my father when dowry was discussed.”
“Do you not desire a young husband? One who has not had two wives before you and an heir already born?”
It felt as if the polished ground under my feet cracked open to swallow me. Not once had Mama or Papa mentioned such things. Old? Two brides
before me? My heart twisted and I am ashamed to admit water collected in my eyes.
“You were not told?” My chin was set free, Beluni daring a chuckle as he lifted my veil and stroked a finger over my pallid cheek. “Shall I offer comfort? There is nothing I cannot forgive. To know my attentions is to know the touch of Christ, and I do so hate to see a young girl disappointed…”
Clammy hands reached for my veil, pulling it forward to shield my face from male beauty and disconcerting agendas. The nuns often tested me, and I knew the smell of it in the air. God tested us all.
“I trust my father’s judgment.” The same father who expected me to cry on my wedding night. Because the bridegroom was old, and I would not find him appealing… and he knew it.
And now, so did I. Now I could prepare.
“Old husbands lead to young widows; many ladies fail to consider what a few hard years will earn. Freedom. Furthermore, I imagine my cousin is very eager to adore his young, innocent bride. And you might find there is something to be said about experience. The old goat will treat you well. That is, if your godfather is willing to give you up. He will be taken the moment he sees your face.”
Still confounded by Cardinal Beluni’s revelation, I staggered on his arm when he turned us toward the gilded doors.
“Come, Lady Agnese. Let’s not keep His Holiness waiting.”
***