The Second Duchess Read Online Free PDF Page B

myself smiling in return. “We have our spätzle, but it is not quite the same.”
    “You will become accustomed to Ferrarese ways. Crezia and Nora will help you. Is that not so, mie sorelle ?”
    Lucrezia d’Este—Crezia—seated on my right as was her due as the elder of the duke’s two sisters, smiled brilliantly. She was already flushed with wine, although her beautiful dark eyes were sharp and cold. Until yesterday, I thought, she was the first lady of the court. Now she was the second. I knew her birth date because I had made it my business to know, and she was four years older than I. I wondered why she had never been married.
    “Oh, yes,” she said. “Banquets and music, dancing and fashion, loving and loathing—everything is an art in Ferrara.” As she said it, her eyes flicked out over the great salon and fused briefly with the eyes of a handsome dark gentleman at one of the lower tables; he leaned forward as if physically drawn by the power of her gaze. So she had a lover. Perhaps that was why she was still unmarried and the prima donna of her brother’s court. I glanced sideways at the duke to see if he noticed this byplay, but he had turned to his left and was absorbed in conversation with his brother the cardinal.
    “You have a task set out for you, mia Serenissima ,” Crezia went on slowly, never looking away from the dark gentleman’s face, “to keep up with us all.”
    With that she laughed. So did her sister, who was seated on her other side. This Leonora—Nora—was the younger of the two, although still two years older than I. Unlike her vibrant sister, she was thin and pale, and her flushed cheeks did not appear to be from the wine but from ill health. As different as their looks were, they seemed at one in their condescension, and I must confess it provoked me.
    “I suppose I do,” I said. “Of course, there is still some possibility you yourselves may marry and go to live in a strange city, and if you do, it is likely you also will find the ways different from those to which you have been accustomed for such a”—I paused deliberately, to put stress on my next word—“long time.”
    Crezia’s eyes narrowed. Nora paled, then flushed again. That will teach you to patronize me, I thought, then immediately felt ashamed of myself.
    “Of course, it is always difficult to leave one’s home,” I said, meaning to placate them. “Whatever one’s age. My sister Johanna, for example, who is only nineteen, will marry Prince Francesco of Florence in a fortnight’s time. And many are obliged to leave their homes when they are but thirteen or fourteen—”
    I stopped. I wished the words unsaid, but it was too late.
    “Yes,” Nora said. Her voice was sharp with spite. “Thirteen or fourteen. Take Alfonso’s first wife, Lucrezia de’ Medici of Florence as you surely know, as your own sister is to marry her brother. She brought her Medici ways to Ferrara, presuming to parade herself as duchess, demanding precedence over Crezia, over me, even over our lady mother, who is of the French royal family and—”
    “Enough.”
    A single word from the duke, softly spoken. Nora pressed her lips together in a resentful line and said nothing more. Crezia pretended to be intent upon a honey-soaked cake in the shape of a scallop shell. I looked down at my tart, surprised by Nora’s venom. Obviously to say anything more would only make matters worse.
    “Here is a person I wished to present to you, Madonna,” the duke went on, as if the awkwardness had never happened. He gestured, and his majordomo approached with a handsome young fellow of twenty or so in tow. The boy’s narrow face, aquiline nose, and large dark eyes with the whites glinting all around them gave the impression of a restive, overbred colt; an aura of charm and genius rested like an invisible olive wreath upon his fine brow and curling dark hair. “This is Messer Torquato Tasso, recently come to Ferrara in my brother’s service,