[Barbara Samuel] Night of Fire(Book4You) (26 page)

Basilio held her fingers against the crook of his elbow tightly, giving her courage. When the invitation had arrived, he had sent out for a dressmaker immediately to have something made for her, and although Analise had never worn anything like it, she was glad he'd insisted.

It had seemed quite immodest at first, with the deep square neckline and the close fit that displayed her hips and breasts and waist. But she had been seduced by the bold turquoise color that reminded her of the sky over the cloisters where she'd been so happy. It suited her complexion, bringing out golden tones to her skin, exaggerating the darkness of her hair, setting her eyes afire.

Dispassionately, she had seen she was very beautiful in it, and because the summons to be presented to the queen meant so much to her husband, she was pleased. She had donned the diamonds he found for her, and let her hair be dressed in a simple way.

Next to her, Basilio was more splendid than any man at Court. He carried himself as the Count that he was, his Italian manner of dress only a little more romantic than that of the English gentlemen in the room.

But Court was more than a little terrifying. Analise had been attempting to learn a few English phrases with the help of the cook, and she'd believed she had been making progress until she entered this vast room and heard the language spinning out all around her.

Basilio looked down as they approached the monarchs. "Do not fear," he said with a smile. "We are not important enough to warrant more than a word or two."

She nodded.

And it proved to be true. They were presented to the stout king and his kind-eyed wife. Analise could understand nothing of the few sentences exchanged, though the queen had considerately greeted Analise in her own language. She smiled and curtsied deeply, as she had been instructed.

Then they were free. Basilio guided her to one side and fetched a cup of wine for her. "Now we must linger a little while, then we can depart." He squeezed her hand. "Thank you."

"Of course." Her tension easing, she looked curiously at the people, taking it all in to remember for later.

"It looks like a room full of butterflies," she said. She admired a slim blond girl, not much older than herself, who moved so gracefully she nearly seemed to float. "Oh, look at her!" she said softly.

"And this one," Basilio said, nodding to a gentleman in the most outrageous suit of clothes Analise had ever seen, shiny satin in a most incredible shade of yellow-green. Acres of lace dripped from his sleeves and cravat, and he tottered dangerously on high heeled shoes.

Analise laughed, then covered her mouth. "It is sinful to laugh at the vanity of others."

His eyes twinkled. "Then I fear I'm doomed today."

Analise grinned. She wished she could love such a man, so kind and easy to be with. But she felt nothing, even when she tried. It made her a little melancholy.

To distract herself, she lifted her head and looked to the crowd. At the entrance, a footman in splendid livery announced the attendees as they arrived. Each paused at the door, though no one paid particular attention, as he called out their names in a bored voice.

A man and woman appeared at the door, and paused to wait for the footman to announce them. Analise caught her breath. The woman was breathtakingly beautiful, a beauty dependent less upon her features than her coloring. Large dark eyes in an oval face, a glory of red hair piled high. Sapphires in three tiers circled her neck. She spoke to the man at her side, gesturing with her fan. He nodded.

But for all her beauty, it was the man who captured Analise's attention. He was quite tall, and rather soberly dressed in dark green without adornment. His breeches were tucked into tall boots. He was not nearly as handsome as many in the room, but she liked the character in his face much more than the simple prettiness of many of the other men. There was living in the creases of sun lines around his eyes, and a lack of illusion in the firm mouth. "Basilio, look at this pair, with the red-headed woman. Are they not a striking couple?"

"Where?"

She looked up at him, surprised by the hint of urgency she heard in his voice. "Just there, coming in. The very tall blond man."

There was no mistaking the soft intake of breath, quickly hidden. "Ah, yes." He smiled.

"They are siblings. I am acquainted. Would you like to meet them?"

"Oh, I don't know, Basilio" Her throat went dry. "I feel so foolish."

"Lady Cassandra speaks several languages. I believe Italian is one of them." He did not give her time to object again but he hurried her over, as if he was afraid they would disappear.

Cassandra saw Basilio bearing down on them with purpose in his eyes, a tiny, very young and beautiful girl on his arm. For a moment Cassandra wanted to flee, but something in the girl's terrified expression made her hesitate. She felt a burst of sympathy, and touched Julian's arm. "Do not give me away, Julian,"

she said quietly.

He glanced up and assessed the situation in the blink of an eye. "Good God. She's a child."

Cassandra met Basilio's eye as he approached, and then looked at his wife. No more than five feet tall, she looked like a doll made of china. Her hair was darkest black, her skin honey, her eyes large and blue and terrified. A beauty by any standard. "Good afternoon," Cassandra said to them both, clutching Julian's arm for strength.

In Italian, Basilio said, "Lady Cassandra, I would like you to meet Countess Montevarchi, Analise.

Analise, this is a friend of mine, a scholar who is very fond of Boccaccio."

The girl smiled, extending her hand, and against her will, Cassandra was captured. There was an old, old wisdom in those fine eyes, and an unmistakable sweetness in her smile. "I am so relieved to meet someone with whom I might converse," she said.

Cassandra clasped the small hand in her own. "I can imagine how bewildering it must all seem to you."

She gestured to her brother, who was very still beside her. "Allow me to present my brother, Lord Albury." She switched to English. "Julien, this is the Countess of Montevarchi. The poet's wife."

With a very courtly gesture, Julian bent over her gloved hand. "Delighted."

A knot of fops descended upon them, clasping Basilio around the shoulders, noisily—and a little drunkenly—greeting him. Cassandra watched them attempt to drag him away, and he pushed back, laughing, but his face flushed with consternation. He took back his sleeve and put them off, "A moment, please."

But they were not to be so easily dissuaded.

"Everywhere we go," Analise said quietly, "this is how it is. They are all very eager to—" She frowned. "It is more than talk. I almost think they want to bite him, take away a little piece of his flesh."

Startled by the insight, Cassandra looked at her. "You are closer than you know. They cannot do what he does, but some part of them hopes they might if they tear a bit of him away."

"Yes," Analise said. "Very sad, that they do not look within."

Basilio fought his way back to them, brushing a loosened lock of hair from his face. Looking at Cassandra, he took her hand and Analise's hand, and pressed them together. Cassandra's hand was shaking slightly. She hoped neither of them noticed.

What was he
doing
? She gave him a fierce look, but he appeared not to notice. In English, he said very quietly, "They think her quaint and are unkind. Please."

The absurdity of the situation should have made her scream, but Cassandra sensed there was honor in his request. She found herself nodding, bringing the girl's tiny hand into her elbow. "We will find a quiet corner, shall we?" she said in Italian, so Analise would understand. "Go bow to your audience," she said to Basilio.

He gave a quick nod, one hand touching Analise's shoulder lightly, and rejoined the impatient group.

Julian watched the interchange without a word, his gray eyes going the silvery shade that made them unreadable. Now he looked at his sister. "Are you all right?"

She nodded. "I'm fine."

He turned his attention to Analise, a gentle-ness and warmth in his manner that surprised Cassandra. For a moment, he only looked at her, then abruptly said, "I must have a word with a man. Excuse me."

Which left the two women, linked more deeply than Analise could dream, standing arm in arm in the crowded room. Cassandra knew a moment of panic. What if Analise guessed that Cassandra's feelings were less than pure toward Basilio? What if Analise made some remark that roused Cassandra's well-squelched jealousy?

As if the girl sensed her discomfort, she raised her head. "It is very kind of you to take me under your wing, but if you have appointments to keep, please do not worry too much." A simple, self-mocking smile. "I have learned to be invisible in these places."

She could not be more than sixteen, Cassandra thought. There was that radiance to her skin, the unformed blankness about her mouth. "I shall consider it a pleasure to entertain you while the fops steal your husband. I can't imagine being adrift in a setting like this. It would be terrible."

"My husband allows me to avoid it most of the time," she said. "He only thought I might like coming to meet the king and queen."

"And did you?"

She laughed, bell-like and quiet. "A little, though I could not understand a word."

Out of the corner of her eye, Cassandra saw

Basilio watching them. That she could not bear. Gesturing toward the open doors, she said, "Let's walk in the garden. It is quite beautiful, though very unlike the gardens in your country."

"Have you visited?"

Cassandra frowned, berating herself for this misstep. "Only a little of it. Venice. Have you been there?"

"Yes, when I was a little girl. I thought it was beautiful, like a fairy tale. And you? Did you like it?"

"I did. I was…" she paused, choosing her words carefully, "grieving, and went there to forget. It reminded me of the reasons we live—how precious beauty is, and how rare, and how worth celebrating."

Surprised at this sudden gush of words, she glanced at the girl. "Forgive me. That was more than I intended to say."

"No, no! Do not apologize. It was beautiful." Her head inclined softly. "You are a widow?"

"Yes." She did not say it had not been her husband she grieved in Venice. "How long have you been married?"

"Six months," she said, without elaboration.

"Ah, newlyweds." They settled on a stone bench beneath the spreading branches of an enormous oak tree. "A very blissful time."

"I suppose. He is a very kind man." Her smile was sad as she looked toward the horizon. "He—" She shook her head, raised those innocent eyes.

"Forgive me. Women talk freely in my country. I sometimes forget it is not that way here."

It was very, very wicked of her, but Cassandra could not quell her desperate wish for information. "I have four sisters," she said with a smile. "In such a world, we did not take the same vow of stoic silence as many of the women in my class."

"Four! How wonderful! That is what I liked best about the cloister—being so constantly in the company of other women. They were my sisters, and I miss them terribly."

"A cloister?"

"Yes." A soft radiance, most extraordinary, came over her face. "I went there when I was six. It was Basilio's mother, actually, who fought with my father to let me go there. I thought, all my life, that I would be a nun, you see." That sad smile. "But my father felt my beauty would bring him more in the world."

Cassandra had known these basic facts, but it pierced her to hear the story from Analise's own lips. "So you did not wish to be wed."

"No." A slight shrug. "At least the saints saw me delivered to a man who is kind enough to understand my wish to remain bound to God. It is most extraordinary."

"Remain bound to God? Do you mean you are still a virgin?"

Analise gave a bright laugh. "You are so shocked! I suppose I should not have confessed it, since my father and all believe the marriage to be consummated. But yes, I remain pure, because he has never insisted I join him in that way."

Cassandra swallowed. A queer heat crept up her cheeks to her ears, and even she heard the hush in her voice as she replied. "I had heard that he is honorable," she said. "But you are correct: that is most extraordinary. How can you help but fall in love with such a man?"

"Because I love God," she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I do not wish to love a man."

"I see."

"No, you do not." Analise smiled, that benevolent, somehow old, smile. "But I sense you are a very passionate sort of woman, and I do not mind that you cannot understand that my passion is for God.

Few do." She paused, a puzzled smile on the flawless brow. "In truth, I do not think even Basilio grasps it. He is very much of the world."

As if her speaking his name conjured him, he appeared at the doors to the garden, looking concerned.

"There, see? He will not abandon us for too long."

Cassandra's heart squeezed. An unwelcome rush of memories poured through her, memories that made her feel evil as she sat next to this sweet child. How incredible that he had been so careful of her.

In despair, she realized it made her love him even more. She held her back very straight as he approached them.

"I think," Analise confessed quietly, "that his heart belongs to another woman. He has not said, and he has never shown the slightest interest that I can see, so he is discreet. But I sometimes think he has been weeping over his poetry."

Cassandra did not trust herself to speak.

"Is it not a tragedy, that we should both be so devoted elsewhere and chained by money and family?"

"Yes," Cassandra whispered. Forcing herself to look at Analise, she took her hand. "But you must trust that all will be well. God has given you a kind, good husband. You will learn to love him, in time."

"Will I?"

Cassandra forced herself to smile. "Of course." She gestured toward his muscular figure, moving gracefully over the lawns. His hair shone in the light, and women turned to watch him. "Look at him, Analise. Every woman here is wishing she could be you."