Lucianna Read online

  “Good afternoon, Signore Allibatore,” Serena responded, curtsying politely to him.

  “You do not wish to speak with such an important new customer?” Lucianna inquired, already knowing what the answer would be, but asking anyway.

  “Oh no, no, no, matrigna. You are far better with those who seek books than I am. Papa always said so.”

  “Then I shall give him our best service, and grazie, Norberto,” Lucianna responded as her stepson scurried back to his workshop.

  “What a funny man,” Serena noted. “I have always thought so.”

  “He is just shy, and quite awed by the name ‘Pietro d’Angelo,’” Lucianna explained. “He is actually very kind and a wonderful workman. Without him, Alfredo’s shop could not continue on.”

  “How did you bear being married to such an old man?” Serena asked boldly.

  “We were friends, never lovers, little sister. And by being his wife, I married as our parents dictated and escaped their palazzo, not to mention our mother,” the older girl explained.

  “Do you mean you are still a virgin?” Serena dared to inquire.

  “I am,” Lucianna replied.

  “Does our mother know?” Serena asked.

  “She never asked, and it was not something I chose to discuss with her, Serena. Now stop asking questions, or I shall not take you to live with me next autumn, though perhaps you would prefer a lovely winter in the countryside. Hmm?”

  “No, thank you! And now my lips are sealed.”

  The shop bell rang and a tall gentleman entered.

  “Go back to my apartment quickly,” Lucianna ordered the young girl. She wanted no one believing Serena was a shopgirl. “Good afternoon, signore. Is there something in particular you are seeking?”

  “Si, signorina,” he responded.

  “It is signora. I am the widow of Alfredo Allibatore, signore.”

  His Italian was rough. “Poetry,” he told her.

  “In Italian or English?” she inquired politely.

  “You have both?” He sounded surprised.

  “We are a bookshop, signore. We keep books in all languages,” Lucianna explained to him. “Might you be more comfortable if we spoke in English?” And she smiled at the look of surprise on his face.

  “God, yes!” he answered gratefully.

  “Then let us do so. I am quite conversant in your language.”

  “How . . .” he began.

  “I am considered highly educated for a woman,” Lucianna told him. “I speak my own tongue, English, and French.” She led him to a shelf of exquisitely bound books. “Poetry in several languages. Please feel free to browse, and if you have any questions, I shall be glad to answer them, signore.” Lucianna turned back to her counter.

  She couldn’t help but notice him. He was not what she would call handsome, but he was very attractive in a serious sort of way. His face was long, with a dimpled chin. His hair was black, not simply dark, or even the deepest brown. Black. When they had spoken at the counter, she saw he had light gray eyes, and his skin was fair rather than ruddy or dark. His cheekbones were high and his nose long and very straight. He had the most fascinating thick black eyebrows, and thick black eyelashes. It was a serious face. She liked it because it was different from any other face she had ever known or seen.

  “I understand you have come to Florence seeking silk. We have the finest,” Lucianna said, daringly opening a conversation.

  “Aye,” he said. “The stuff in Milan isn’t of a quality I would want for the queen and her female relations.”

  “You are a seller of silk, then,” she said.

  He laughed. “Nay, Signora Allibatore, I am Robert Minton, the Earl of Lisle, the king’s friend. I volunteered for this particular duty because I have never been to Italy before and wished to see it. I have no interest in political office, as so many others surrounding our young King Henry do. The king’s treasury is not particularly full at this moment, but he is very fond of and generous to his bride. She wished Italian silk, and so here I am.”

  “I hope, then, that you will visit my father’s establishment,” Lucianna said. “He is Giovanni Pietro d’Angelo, and the premier silk merchant in Florence, if not all of Italy.”

  “Ah, yes, he has been most highly recommended,” Robert Minton told her.

  “You need no one else if you purchase your silk from the Pietro d’Angelos,” she told him.

  “How did a successful silk merchant’s daughter end up married to an ordinary bookseller? Did your parents permit you a love match?” he boldly asked her.

  Lucianna laughed. “Nay,” she said. “It is a long story, and you are not really interested in it, I am certain. Have you found your book?”

  He didn’t need to know that the failure of the Medici bank had caused her father to lose a great deal of his monies, and that she didn’t have a respectable enough dower to attract a better name.

  Interesting, the earl thought. But then they had just met, and he was not really entitled to know such personal information. “Yes, I have found a book, but I should like it rebound in a richer leather with gold,” he explained to her.

  “I will call my stepson, who does the binding. If you tell him exactly what you desire, he will see it done properly. Norberto, please come and speak with our new customer about rebinding his purchase.”

  Robert Minton was very surprised to see a middle-aged man hurry from a side room. Obviously the fair Lucianna’s husband had been a much older man. What a waste, he thought, and then turned to the bookbinder. “I wish it bound in the softest, finest, deep green leather. You will decorate it with gold about the edges discreetly. The cover will be inscribed as follows in gold lettering: To Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth of England.” Then he realized he had been speaking in English, and he looked to Lucianna.

  She quickly translated to her stepson, who nodded and said something that Lucianna translated back to Robert Minton. “Norberto said he understood exactly what you require, and he is honored to be chosen to do this work for you. The book will be ready for you in three days, my lord.”

  “Grazie,” he said to the bookbinder, who nodded and then, taking the book, scampered back into his workshop.

  “He is shy, which is why I manage the shop,” Lucianna explained. “Alfredo taught me so that when he no longer could, I could.”

  “Would you attend Mass with me tomorrow, signora, and then perhaps afterwards walk with me?” he boldly asked her.

  “I cannot, signore,” Lucianna said. My husband is not dead a full year yet, and I yet mourn him.”

  “When will he be dead a full year?” he asked her.

  “The fifth of next month,” she replied.

  “Then I must wait until then to escort you to Mass,” the Earl of Lisle said, with a small smile that Lucianna couldn’t help but return.

  She wondered a moment if her mother would approve, but then she realized it was not necessary to ask Orianna. “I shall look forward to it, my lord,” she told him. He was attractive and well-spoken. She wanted to know him better, and going to Mass with this Englishman could hardly be considered scandalous.

  He bowed a small bow, and then said, “I shall return in three days for my book, signora.” Then he was gone through the bookshop door.

  Lucianna found herself disappointed to see him go. She would have liked him to remain and speak with her longer. There were no more customers that afternoon. She found her sister upstairs waiting for her. She had been embroidering.

  “He was handsome, the Englishman,” Serena said.

  “I thought him attractive, but hardly handsome,” Lucianna replied. “Where is old Esta?”

  Serena nodded her head. “Snoozing. It’s all she does anymore.”

  “I shall suggest to our mother that you have a proper serving woman,” Lucianna. “I saw the family litter w
aiting outside from the window when I came up. It is time for you and Esta to go before it gets dark. Awaken the old lady. I will fetch your cloaks.”

  When Esta was full-awake and in her cloak, Lucianna said to her, “I think it is time my sister had her own serving woman, don’t you, Esta?”

  “Bless you, signora, if you could but convince your mama,” the old nursemaid said. “Your papa has promised me I may live out my life at the villa, which would please me, as that is where I was born and raised until your mother chose me to look after my young mistress. I will be happy to go home and not have to return again to this dirty city,” she said frankly.

  “Good, then you will support me when I approach Mama. I shall do so before you go to Tuscany in a few weeks,” Lucianna promised. Then she escorted Serena and Esta to their waiting litter, and watched as the litter made its way down her street.

  “Bless you!” Serena said as she climbed into the vehicle.

  Lucianna smiled. Orianna was really trying to keep her youngest child—the baby—as Serena had always been known. But her three older sisters were wed, though two were widowed. Her oldest brother, Marco, was a husband and a father. Her second brother, Giorgio, was a priest of some importance, now stationed in Rome. And Lucianna’s own twin, Luca, debated between marriage and the military.

  He was at their grandfather’s in Venice right now, inspecting the available young heiresses. Luca far preferred Venice to Florence, which pleased his elderly grandparent, who was a prince. Luca was an outrageously handsome young man, and his charm made him very popular with both mothers and their daughters. From what her mother said, Lucianna suspected her twin brother would find a wife in Venice and settle down there in Grandfather’s palazzo.

  Despite being the youngest son in his immediate family, Luca was likely to be given his grandfather’s title when the old man died, and he would inherit his palazzo. That would not please Mama’s sisters, but then, they only seemed to spawn daughters. Her Venetian aunts had given the Pietro d’Angelo children fourteen female cousins.

  Lucianna wondered if the English earl would visit Venice. One could not come to Italy without seeing Venice. Of course he would go to Venice eventually before he returned to his northern clime. He simply had to go. She sighed. She had never met a man except Alfredo that she really liked. But she did like Robert Minton. She wished she hadn’t had to refuse his invitation to attend Mass, but she could not be seen with him right now without causing a scandal. And when he left Florence, would other men consider her being with him an indication that the widow Allibatore was now accepting callers?

  She didn’t want to be importuned by men seeking a rich wife, or a mistress. Why was there no simple way for a woman to speak with gentlemen without becoming involved or suggesting a scandal? Wasn’t there a way for women and men to be just friends?

  Being seen with a man would encourage her mother to go looking for a suitable second husband for her, especially now that Lucianna had her own wealth. Whatever happened, she wanted to control her own life.

  Her bed beckoned. It had been a long day. Lucianna called to her serving woman, and she was shortly abed. She fell asleep quickly.

  Chapter 2

  She saw him at Mass the following morning. Their eyes met, but other than that he made no approach, either inside the church or outside of it afterwards. He was there the following morning.

  Should she be flattered? She wasn’t certain. All his appearance said to her was that he was a devout man, but to her maidservant, Balia, it said a great deal more.

  “He likes you!” she crowed as they walked home from San Piero. “If you permitted, he would walk out with you. I see the longing in his eyes to know you better, mistress.”

  “You have a great imagination, and a romantic nature,” Lucianna replied. “We have spoken briefly once. About books. Nothing more. Besides, I could hardly walk out with a strange gentleman while I am still in mourning.”

  “You are a good and respectful lady,” Balia said. “Master Alfredo could not have had a better wife in his old age, but the master is dead. He was an old gentleman, and you a young girl. Is it not time for you to find a bit of happiness?”

  “It is expected of me that I mourn my husband a year. I am glad to do so, for he was more than deserving, Balia.”

  “I cannot argue that,” Balia agreed.

  The following afternoon, the Earl of Lisle came to pick up the book of poetry he had ordered rebound for his queen. “Good day, signora,” he said, greeting her with a smile. “I have come to get my purchase. May I see it first?”

  Lucianna handed it to him, watching as he took the volume and examined it closely, turning it over in his hands. “I hope it pleases you, my lord.”

  “It is exquisite, the leather beautiful, the lettering perfect. Please thank Master Norberto for me. He is a true artist, signora.” He handed it back to her for wrapping and drew out his purse, never showing any distress at the price she charged him.

  “I hope your queen will treasure it,” Lucianna said. “When do you plan to return to England, my lord?”

  “Not for another month or two,” he said. “I would see Rome and Venice before I return.”

  “My grandfather lives in Venice,” she told him. “I have never been to Rome, however.”

  At that moment the bell to the shop door jangled, opened, and, to Lucianna’s great surprise, Orianna Pietro d’Angelo entered. Lucianna wasn’t quite certain what to do, but the earl was quick. “I shall bid you good day, Signora Allibatore. And I shall see you on the sixth of next month.” With an elegant bow, he departed with his wrapped package, nodding politely to the visitor as he went. The door to the shop closed behind him.

  “Who was that attractive gentleman, and why was he not speaking Italian?” Orianna wanted to know.

  “He is an English lord, Mother. The Earl of Lisle. He purchased a book of poetry and had Norberto rebind it to his fancy,” Lucianna said.

  “Ah, that is the gentleman. He purchased a large quantity of your father’s finest silks this morning. And he paid with gold as easily as if he were counting out pennies,” Orianna said. “Your father told me he was buying the silks for the English king to give his bride.”

  “The book was also for his queen,” Lucianna told her mother. “I am so glad Father got his custom.”

  Orianna looked closely at her daughter. “Perhaps you recommended your father’s silks to this man?”

  “It might have come up in the conversation,” Lucianna said.

  “Thank you,” Orianna responded, smiling. “It was a large order, and he was pleased. You have a head for business, Lucianna. More than Marco, certainly. I wish you would leave this dusty bookshop and help your brother. Could not Norberto run it?”

  “He is too shy, Mother. He simply wishes to do his beautiful binding, nothing more,” Lucianna told her mother. “Alfredo loved his business and his books.”

  “Alfredo was a good man, and he did very well by you, I will admit,” her mother said. “But you have no children by him. Your first loyalty should be to the Pietro d’Angelos, who are your blood kin.”

  “I will consider it, Mother,” Lucianna told her parent. When later she thought about it, she realized she should far prefer to work with her father’s silks than within the old bookshop. Still, she had no intention of moving back into her mother’s house. She knew Orianna’s real intent was to marry her off again to another suitable man. Yet she could remain in her own house and hire someone to manage the bookshop while she helped her brother Marco.

  Marco was a good man, eleven years her senior. He had a lovely wife, Maria Theresa, and three daughters, but Lucianna knew he also kept a mistress, Clarinda Pisani. Her brother was charming, but far more interested in his pleasure than in managing the business their father had built up. Giovanni Pietro d’Angelo was becoming an old man now. He wanted a little peace in his life, and not
the responsibility of a business, but he knew that Marco was not entirely responsible. He would not admit it even to himself, but Orianna saw it. She saw the two men needed help.

  Lucianna, to Orianna’s surprise, seemed to have business sense. She had obviously learned it from her late husband. Lucianna, in her mother’s opinion, owed it to her family to help them. She had, after all, been clever enough to direct this English lord to the family’s silk establishment, where he spent his king’s gold lavishly. Her beauty would draw other rich men to their silk shop. Perhaps there was another wealthy man among them who would offer for Lucianna.

  Lucianna told her mother she would consider helping out her father and her brother, and she actually was considering it. The bookshop was quiet, for Florence was not particularly prosperous. Books were not a necessity, as was food. People had little to spare on luxuries like books. But the one thing Lucianna determined was that she was not going to give up her home, and so she agreed to help her brother.

  “If someone wishes to purchase a book,” she told her stepson, “it will be you who must come from your workshop to help them. I have no experience hiring people, and I see no necessity in spending the money to pay someone. It is that, or I must close the shop, and then how will you gain your trade?”

  Norberto’s wife was not pleased upon hearing this news. “How can you thrust that responsibility upon him?” she demanded of Lucianna when she came to visit the shop. “You know how frail he is, but then, I suppose it is better. There has been talk, you know.”

  “Talk?” Lucianna said. “What kind of talk?”

  “Well,” Norberto’s wife said, “there is no denying you are a beautiful young woman alone much of the day with a man not your husband. I have had to defend my husband’s good name on several occasions, Lucianna.”

  Lucianna laughed, and she laughed until her sides ached while her stepdaughter-in-law stood, looking outraged. Finally she managed to say, “If there has been talk, it cannot involve me. Certainly my loyalty to Alfredo could suggest nothing more than my faith and devotion to him. I defy anyone to suggest anything else. I would hardly take up with his son upon my husband’s death. I am insulted you would even suggest such a thing, Anna Maria!”