CHAPTER 3

Lucianna gazed down at the three silver needles bedded against the red silk lining of the tiny but beautifully carved casket that held them, and nearly burst into tears. Even in the house of Siri’s first husband, a wealthy Venetian merchant, she had never embroidered with needles other than iron or bronze. These must have been shockingly expensive. Even with his prominent position in Triston’s household, the pins must have cost months of Sir Balduin’s pay. He still looked a little pale as he waited for her response, as though he had not quite recovered from the massive loss of his coins, but he also looked touchingly hopeful that they would please her.

Please her? No man had ever given her a finer gift. Lucianna prided herself on her embroidery, and these would make her threads slide through cloth like butter.

Her lips trembled to thank him in the sweetest way for a couple in love, with a kiss that forgave everything in the past and promised only joy in their future. But even as her feet twitched to carry her into Sir Balduin’s arms, Serafino spoke from where he gazed at the gift over her shoulder.

“There, you see, cara? You have been cross for no good reason. Today Sir Balduin lavishes silver needles on you. Tomorrow it will be gold threads for your embroidery and silk gowns for you to wear and black pepper at every meal, imported all the way from Venice.”

Siri’s first husband had dabbled in the import and sale of black pepper, known as “the king of spices” for its expense. Lucianna had developed a fond taste for it when she had companioned Siri in her first marriage and had often lamented its absence from Triston’s table. But Lucianna shrank at her brother’s words. They were only a reminder of the poison he would pour into her marriage if she allowed the needles to melt her heart, as she had the sweet posy of flowers Sir Balduin had brought her after she had rebuked him for missing dinner.

She snapped the pretty little casket shut. “All I see is a man who expects me to sew my fingers to the bone for him. Shirts, hats—no doubt he will even want embroidery on his shoes!” She shoved the casket back into Sir Balduin’s hands. “No. I will not live my life as a drudge, just to wipe away the shame of never being a wife. Take him away, Serafino, out of my sight!”

She tried to slam the door of her bedchamber, but Serafino, who had stepped into the corridor outside to view the needles, stuck his foot on the threshold and blocked it from closing.

“Signore,” he said with a reassuring smile at Sir Balduin, “you must not heed her. I’m afraid I carelessly reminded her this morning that she is no spring maid as I sought to laud her good fortune in winning the favor of so generous a knight as yourself, but she took my remarks quite amiss. See, Lucianna, how I was right to praise him, though. You will lack for no luxury as his wife, while all he asks in return is to show off a bit of your fine embroidery to his friends. Be reasonable, cara.”

Lucianna determined to be anything but. If nagging and scolding and peevish rebukes had failed to break Sir Balduin’s affection for her, then she must leave him in no doubt that his “insulting gift” had broken hers.

“I will not be a slave to his vanity, any more than I will tolerate his disrespect for my feelings or aspersions upon my appearance.” She met Sir Balduin’s earnest eyes, allowing the blaze of fury she felt for Serafino to fill her own. “Go. Leave me. Do not ask to see me again. I am returning to Venice, where I shall wipe the dust of this vile land and all who live here from my shoes.”

Sir Balduin opened his mouth to protest. She did not dare let him speak, not when she already felt her throat thickening with tears. She jerked off his emerald(?) ring and flung it at his chest.

“Take it and go!”

As Sir Balduin fumbled to catch the unexpected missel(sp?), Lucianna lifted one of her still Poitevin-dusted shoes and stomped it on Serafino’s foot. Serafino flinched and howled, allowing Lucianna to kick his foot away from the threshold and slam her chamber door.

She flung herself on her bed and wept as she had not wept for twenty-eight years. She should have known better than to open her heart to love again, not after Serafino had ruined everything when she had been sixteen. She had not even known she had a brother until he had shown up on the doorstep of Elisabetta’s father’s house. Even then, she and Elisabetta had managed, with Serafino’s cooperation, to conceal their relationship from everyone, except the one person who had mattered most to Lucianna…Vincenzo Mirolli. Elisabetta, Lucianna’s best friend and closest confident, had died with the secret still unspoken. Even Elisabetta’s daughter, Siri, had not known until Serafino had come riding into the yard at Vere Castle that Lucianna possessed a living relative in the world.

But now, Serafino had returned to ruin everything…again! How was Lucianna to explain his existence without confessing to the shameful deeds she had participated in all these years?

Lucianna wept so brokenly that she did not hear the soft knock on her door or the muted click of its opening or realize she was no longer alone until she felt a gentle hand stroking her back. The touch startled her into trying to choke off the sobs by pressing her face deeper into the blankets.

“Lucianna,” Siri whispered, “what is the matter? I have never seen you like this before.”

Oh, heavens. That Siri, whose tears Lucianna had dried at her parents death, and comforted when her first husband died, and held weeping after an illness took her brother, should now witness Lucianna sobbing like a child . . . Lucianna pushed herself up and scrubbed at the tears on her cheeks with a brisk, determined hand.

“’Tis nothing, carissima,” she said, though her voice came out thick with the fresh tears welling there. “I am a foolish, foolish woman, is all. This Poitevin air is unhealthy for me. It is my great joy that you have found happiness here, but I—I must return to the tranquility I knew in Venice.”

Though Siri’s eyes remained serious and a little frightened, a mischievous smile flitted over her lips. “Lucianna, you were never tranquil. I know some have called you proud—” Siri’s father “—and meddling—” Siri’s brother when Lucianna had let Siri marry Alessandro in his absence “—and imperious—” ah, that was Siri’s new husband, Triston “—but you have never been anything but a tender second mother to me.” Siri sat on the bed beside her. “I think you have only been discontent. And I have never asked you why.” Siri slid her hand into Lucianna’s and squeezed it.

It shamed Lucianna to be caught thus in a mire of self-pity. The young should not have to comfort the old. She blinked away her lingering tears and forced one of her proud smiles to her lips.

“It is the silliest thing, carissima. I am merely overcome with homesickness. I shall be quite content once I am in Venice again.”

“With Serafino? Why did you never tell me you had a brother?”

Lucianna pulled her hand gently free of Siri’s and rose from the bed. She crossed to the wardrobe where hung the many fine gowns Siri’s first husband had bestowed on Siri’s companion to make his young wife happy. The blue was missing now, as so many others had vanished through the years to keep Serafino quiet. It had to stop, finally and forever. And that could only happen if Lucianna returned to Venice.

She could not tell Siri or anyone the truth, not all of it, anyway. But since Serafino was not listening, she decided it safe to confess this much.

“Because he is and always has been an embarrassment to me. He is a gambler and a spendthrift and revels in many other vices that it would shock your ears to hear and shame my tongue to speak. I have spent my life trying to avoid him.” And failing miserably. “I left Venice hoping never to see him again, but now he has found me here. He will ruin the peace of all of us if I let him stay. But he will follow me back to Venice if I go, and leave the rest of you untroubled.”

She folded fast her hands that almost flew to her mouth. Had she spoken too much, cast too much suspicion on Serafino, when she stood nearly as guilty as he? He wished to appear as innocent as the angelic face nature had blessed him with. If he knew that she had “maligned” him to Siri—

“Even if it means leaving Sir Balduin?” Siri asked.

“Love is for the young, carissima. It was foolish of me to forget that.”

Siri smiled at her from the bed. “I think one is never too old to love, and Sir Balduin adores you. You will break his heart if you leave us.” She rose and crossed to take one of Lucianna’s hands in hers. “Are you afraid he will judge you for your brother’s sins? I am certain he loves you too much for that. But if Serafino’s presence worries you so, I will have Triston speak with him. He can drop Serafino a very strong hint to behave himself while he’s here.”

Oh, heavens, a conversation like that and Lucianna might find herself evicted from Vere Castle rather than leaving it of her own choice with her head still held high.

“Nay, that is not necessary. I am not leaving because of my brother, but because this marriage would be a mistake. We may or may not be too old to love, but one thing is sure, we are each too old to change. Balduin has too many faults I cannot tolerate and try as I might, I cannot control my tongue. I will become a wretched nag. I will pick apart his love until he despises me instead, and that I could not bear. It is best this way, that I go while we each still bear fond memories of the other.”

Siri’s pearl-white teeth chewed on her berry-ripe lip for a moment. Her lovely brow puckered in such a manner that Lucianna began gathering together more arguments to counter whatever protests fell next from Siri’s tongue.

“Would you grant me one favor before you go?”

Lucianna gazed at Siri, startled. She had expected more resistance to her words.

“Of course, carissima.” Lucianna reached out and brushed Siri’s golden locks with loving fingers.

“Then will you at least wait until after the baby is born?”

“Oh!” Lucianna gave a quick shake of her head. “That will be another three months. I cannot possibly linger here that much longer.”

Siri’s blue eyes darkened with an expression Lucianna had rarely scene. Fear?

“Please, Lucianna? I am so happy and joyful for this babe, but I—I am also a little afraid. It would be easier if my mother was here, but you have been as a second mother to me. Lucianna, I need you with me for the birth. Please!”

Lucianna felt the tug of both affection and reluctance. She had never borne a child herself, but she had helped Siri’s mother through the births of her two babes. But three months! So long for Serafino to cause more mischief! So long to hold Sir Balduin at bay while her heart ached day and night to spend her life with him.

Siri squeezed her fingers imploringly. “Please,” she said more softly. “I need you. And I want little Simon to meet you before you go.” Her other hand moved to rest caressingly on her swollen belly while her smile warmed with love.

Lucianna felt herself embraced with the babe in that smile. “That is foolish, carissima. He will not remember me.”

“He will know you as I do, for I shall tell him of you every day.”

Lucianna felt her resistant core melting against all her better judgment. “What if it is not a boy?”

“Then I shall tell Elisabetta.”

“Triston has agreed to name a daughter for your mother?”

“Well . . . that, or Alyne, for his. I still have time to persuade him.”

“And win yourself some more costly paints if you turn on him the pout you gave him when he rejected Cosimo.”

Lucianna almost joined her laughter with Siri’s over that memory, until she remembered Sir Balduin’s own costly gift of the silver needles and felt her breast pang again. But she had loved and cared for Siri far too long to turn her back on Siri’s plea.

“Very well, carissima, but only if you promise me that you will respect my decision about Sir Balduin and not seek to make me change my mind.”

From the way Siri bit her lip again, Lucianna knew she had hoped to make use of Lucianna’s consent to do just that, but Lucianna held the blue gaze sternly until Siri finally nodded her head. Then it would be well. Siri had been the most enthusiastic supporter of Sir Balduin’s courtship of Lucianna. Triston would be no trouble. She had frequently glimpsed doubt in his eyes at his most trusted retainer’s object of affection. Triston would offer no encouragement to Sir Balduin to continue his pursuit if Lucianna continued to treat him with disdain. As for Serafino . . . so long as Lucianna held firm, there would be nothing he could do but follow her to Venice in failure once Siri’s baby was born.