Lady of Asolo Read Online Free PDF Page B

evening, don’t forget. For the Hapsburg Emperor and his wife.’
    We make our way upstairs to the Queen’s chamber and Dorotea whispers, ‘Pietro Bembo will also be at the feast. He proposed a liaison last time he was here. I would love to be his mistress.’
    I glance at her, torn between disapproval and jealousy. My lady insists her women keep their virtue, and I have done so. Except Bembo, her kinsman, is possessed of such wit and good looks that Dorotea has sought his attention. I pray she will not be hurt, for his station is high and this can only be a dalliance on his part, especially as he is a cleric. It would be wonderful if he decided to read from his discourse on love. He wrote it on the occasion of Fiammetta’s wedding, and I long to hear it.
    I miss my sister. Fiammetta is expecting a child - as she should be after a year of marriage. What is it like to lie with a man? The thought makes my chest squeeze and the blood pulse between my legs. Yet I know that I would not give myself to any man who flattered me; I’m hoping for marriage.
    Stupid Cecilia, your life is here with the Queen. No one will want you as you are poor and, even if the courtiers compliment you on your beauty, none of them will take you to the altar. It has been the greatest surprise of my twelve months at court that men should consider me beautiful in spite of my small bosoms.
    As if reading my thoughts, Dorotea says, ‘Isn’t it about time you took a lover, Cecilia?’
    ‘M . . . m . . . me?’ I stutter.
    ‘I have seen the gleam in men’s eyes – even Bembo’s – yet you seem oblivious to their admiration. What are you waiting for?’
    ‘I’m not waiting.’ I cannot tell Dorotea of my hopes for a good marriage like my sister, and of going to my wedding night pure. Dorotea would think me naive; she would not be wrong, perhaps. ‘My lady keeps me close to her. There has not been the opportunity.’
    ‘Not true and you know it,’ she says and her laughter echoes up the stairwell. She pinches my cheek. ‘This fair flesh will fade before too long. How old are you now?’
    ‘Sixteen,’ I retort and I cannot keep the irritation from my voice. Who is she to talk to me this way? Only one year older, and the daughter of a local aristocrat who has fallen on hard times, she has much in common with me. Except for her easy virtue.
    ‘Let’s hurry,’ I say. ‘My lady doesn’t like to be kept waiting.’ And I bite my tongue before I let it give her a piece of my mind.
    The wooden stairs have been polished until they gleam and the soft soles of my shoes make no sound as I follow Dorotea to the landing. ‘Just a moment. I need to wash my hands.’
    There’s a washstand at the end of the corridor and a jug of water beside it. I glance at my reflection in the mirror. A strange woman stares back at me. Her hair is uncovered, and ’tis unruly like mine. The woman has a look of me, except her eyes are green. I glance behind me, yet there’s no one there. And when I gaze in the mirror again, ’tis but myself that I see. Very strange! I didn’t take any wine at lunch, so I can’t blame my vision on drink. ‘Tis but a figment of my imagination, I decide.
    I wash the black chalk from my fingers, turn on my heel, and go to my lady. She smiles when she sees Dorotea and me. ‘My sweet girls,’ she says. ‘What took you so long?’
    We drop into deep curtseys and, as I rise, I feel as if I am not really there but looking at myself from a great distance. ’Tis the same feeling I had when I was sitting in the loggia. How odd! Pure whimsy, I tell myself and brush the feeling aside. Yet a chill squeezes my heart at the same time.
    ‘Fetch my best pearls,’ my lady commands. ‘And I would like to wear cloth of gold this evening. In honour of our visitors.’
    Running a comb through the Queen’s thinning hair, I wonder about the Emperor and his wife, Bianca Maria Sforza, the daughter of the Duke of Milan. Is she beautiful?
    ‘Ouch,’