The Scarlet Contessa by Jeanne Kalogridis

Author:Jeanne Kalogridis [Kalogridis, Jeanne]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Harper Collins, Inc.
Published: 2012-03-29T06:00:00+00:00

I could have remained all night on the balcony speaking to Luca; I told him of my amazement over discovering that Matteo and I were related, of my grief over his death, of my hope to someday decipher the little diary, still in my possession. I mentioned my desire to live in Florence and my great disappointment at being ordered to go to Rome with Caterina. I said little of my meeting with the Medici, for I did not truly know the angel, and considered myself a fraud—a fact I did not want Luca to know, lest he realize that Matteo’s sister was not as perfect as he presumed.

After speaking his heart, Luca grew charmingly flustered, and at one point, gestured sweepingly as he spoke. His hand struck his brass goblet, still balanced uncertainly on the stone railing, and sent it clattering down to the courtyard below—not without first splattering both of us. My neck and décolletage were soaked, and I laughed gently as I took his proffered kerchief to dab at myself, a feat that could not be performed with any discretion, as the wine had quickly trickled down between my breasts.

We parted with me grinning and thoroughly won, and Luca roundly embarrassed. I could not, after all, remain all night. There was Caterina to worry about, and I had spent two hours instead of the quarter hour I’d planned at the banquet spoils.

To my relief, the contessa was still sleeping soundly when I arrived, and did not stir as I undressed and took my place beside her in the bed. For hours, I lay happily awake, recalling again and again Luca’s words about my brother failing to describe my virtues adequately.

Morning, however, brought renewed worry. I woke to the sound of Her Illustriousness heaving. She stood beside the bed in her nightgown, and as I leapt up and hurried round to her, she clutched the thick bedpost, slid slowly down onto her haunches, and closed her eyes. She was frighteningly pale.

“Let me die,” she murmured crossly as I hovered, pelting her with inane questions. “Just go away. . . .”

I did, but brought back towels and the basin. I cleaned up the small mess and was dabbing her white brow with cool water when she slowly opened her eyes again.

“Bread,” she said with abrupt certainty. “Bring me some plain bread, and some salt. I’m so queasy I could die, but if I had something in my stomach, I know I’d feel better.”

I looked down at her with dread and tentative joy.

“Madonna,” I asked, “when did your monthly bleed last come?”

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