As had become our custom, Isabella promised to make my excuses and attend to Madonna Lucrezia should she call for me. She gave me a lusty wink as I left. “Off to see that handsome footman, I’ll warrant,” Isabella said. “Don’t hurry back, and don’t behave yourself.”
I blushed at her words but could not help a wide smile all the same. “Grazie, Isabella,” I said, slipping out the back door and into the late summer twilight.
The first time I had gone walking with Federico after my lustful dream had been a bit awkward; I couldn’t quite meet his eye. Yet he engaged me in conversation as usual, making me laugh as only he could, and my embarrassment soon left. I had confessed my sin of lust—not to Federico, of course—and was given a week of eating only bread and water as penance. I obeyed gladly.
Our meeting had been hastily arranged, via a message from Federico saying that he had something he urgently wished to tell me. As such, I walked swiftly to the market, but not without some trepidation. Federico’s note had said to meet him at the stall where we usually shared a meal of bread and cheese. I had treated myself to a slice of beef last time we’d met, what with the increase in my wages that Lucrezia had given me for my embroidery work. My stomach growled at the memory.
My footsteps quickened when I saw Federico, and a smile spread across my face. Yet when he turned and saw me approaching, his face remained solemn.
“Federico,” I said, smile fading as I neared him. “I … I am glad to see you. You do not look as if you are glad to see me, though.”
He sighed, running a hand through his sandy hair. “I am thrilled to see you, bella Maddalena, as always,” he said. “It is just…”
When he did not finish, I pressed him. “What is wrong?” I asked. Fear clutched at my heart.
He did not answer immediately. “Do you mind waiting a bit for our supper?” he asked. “Will you walk with me first? Perhaps share a glass of wine with me?”
“Of course,” I said, puzzled but no less alarmed. I relaxed only slightly when he offered me his arm as always. I took it, and we made our way through the throngs and out of the market. We strolled along the edge of a grassy field, where a few cows grazed—I still marveled that even within the Eternal City, there were such patches of countryside. But perhaps it was no wonder, when one considered the disrepair into which the city had fallen since the days of the mighty Roman empire, most especially when the popes had removed to Avignon. Only of late was Rome returning to its former glory, with the popes undertaking building projects and encouraging the cardinals and other wealthy citizens to do the same.
“Whatever is the matter, Federico?” I asked, when he still did not speak.
“I have had some bad news from home,” he said at last.
“What news? Your parents?”
“My elder brother, Samuele,” he said heavily. “He is dead.”
I gasped, pressing my free hand to my mouth. “Oh, Federico,” I said. I crossed myself. “May he rest in peace, and may God have mercy upon him. I shall light a candle for him and pray for his soul.”
Federico smiled—a genuine, if wan, smile. “You are the sweetest and best of women, Maddalena,” he said. “I thank you for your prayers and condolences. Samuele was a good man, and I have no doubt he rests with our Lord Jesus.”
“Surely he does,” I said, though I had never met the man. Federico said that he was a fine man; that was enough for me.
By then, we had reached a wine shop we had visited before, as a friend of Federico’s owned it. Soon enough we had two glasses of a fine red, with the proprietor waving away payment and showing us to a table by the window.
“Did some misfortune befall him?” I asked, when Federico did not continue. “Your brother?”
He shook his head. “A fever,” he said. “Though I suppose that is misfortune enough. Why an illness should take him, young and strong as he was, I do not know. That is only for God to say.”
He took another swig of his wine and stared through the window, his eyes vacant.
I laid a hand on his arm. “I am truly sorry, Federico. Is there anything I can do? To help ease your sorrow?”
He looked over at me and seemed to come back to himself. “In truth, there was something I wanted to ask you. You see, while I shall miss my brother very much, I have another cause for sorrow at his death, though it seems selfish to speak it aloud.”
“You can tell me,” I said. “I shall not judge you. Only God in his wisdom can do so.”
“I can only hope God does not find me wanting.” He took another long swig of wine. “My brother and I are the only sons of our family. Thus my father has summoned me home, so I might learn the vineyard business. My sister’s husband has no desire to take over, and Father would rather leave it to his own son in any case.”
My heart seized at this. “You … you are leaving Rome?” I whispered.
He turned sorrowful eyes on me. “Eventually, yes. My father said I might stay on a bit longer if I choose, but within a year or two I must return home and stay there.”
Silently I bowed my head, trying to blink back the tears that had formed in my eyes. Federico’s sorrow for the loss of his brother was far greater than my own, yet I could not help but be sad at the thought I would soon never see him again. His companionship—and his letters and sweet compliments and bright smiles—had made my life all the better. My days would be dimmer without him.
“Running a vineyard is not the life I envisioned, as you know,” he went on. “I wanted an adventure, to see as much of Italy as I could. To work in Rome for a bit, then move on somewhere else, and somewhere else after that. Yet that is not to be. I must not abandon my family, nor turn my back on what they expect of me.”
“I am sorry, Federico,” I murmured. “So often our lives do not go the way that we wish. I certainly understand that.” I thought of my unhappy marriage, and of Madonna Lucrezia’s and how it had disappointed her, and the hopes she had had.
“Yet it need not be all bad. You see, I have a hope of something that may make my life in the country more palatable. Even pleasurable.”
“Oh?” I asked. “And what is that?”
He set his now-empty wine cup down on the table and took my hand in his. “I cannot help but hope you would consent to become my wife,” he said softly, his eyes warm with hope and tenderness as they gazed into mine. “And that when I leave Rome, you will come with me. With you by my side, I think any life shall be a paradise.”
I was struck speechless by his proposal. I had anticipated it, but now that it had come, I did not know what to say.
I should give no answer but yes, I knew that. But was I really eager to enter into another marriage, even with so kind and good a man as Federico? Did I want to marry again? When I finally had a measure of independence, a life to call my own?
As though reading my thoughts, Federico went on. “You have not spoken much of your marriage, or your late husband, but I have gleaned the marriage was not a happy one, nor was it of your choice. I understand any hesitation you might have. But in this, you do have a choice, dearest Maddalena. And I would be most honored if you would choose me as your husband.”
I had to say something. “Federico, I…”
He hurried on, as if afraid I was about to refuse. “I am not a man of great wealth and never will be, but you would be mistress of a farm and vineyard. You would never need to serve anyone else ever again. You could devote more time to your embroidery, which I know you enjoy, for your own pleasure. And no one in my family has ever gone hungry.”
I could picture it all. I could. I would run Federico’s household, see to the making of cheese and bread, and oversee the storage of meat for the winter. He would take charge of the vineyard, the planting, the winemaking, the purchase and slaughter of livestock. Our days would be quiet and simple. Maybe eventually there would be children to care for, though I had never conceived with Ernesto. And our nights …
Our nights would be spent in our marriage bed, where he could exert his husbandly privilege whenever he wished. Where we might perhaps get those children, if God willed. The act would be so different with Federico than with Ernesto. Enjoyable. Warmth flooded between my legs, and I blushed. I had dreamed of that, had I not?
“You are quiet, Maddalena,” Federico said anxiously, when I did not speak. “What say you?”
I shook my head slightly to clear it. I knew marriage to him would be so different from my marriage to Ernesto. And yet …
“I … I find I do not know what to say, Federico,” I said at last. “You are right, my first marriage was not a pleasant one, and so I hope you understand why I hesitate.”
“I do,” he assured me. “I do. If you need time to think, I shall wait for you to come to a decision. Please know, I promise to treat you with naught but respect and love for all our days.”
Love. It was the first time the word had passed his lips.
I remembered my dream anew, my desire for love and affection and even passion. Here was the opportunity for me to have those things, within a marriage blessed by God. Where else would I find that? With what better man than Federico?
I appreciated his willingness to give me time to think, yet what would be the point? My situation would not change. Nor his. I was not ready to leave Rome just yet, but there was no reason for me to not give him his answer.
“No need,” I said. “I know my answer. Yes. Yes, Federico Lucci, I will marry you. I will be your wife.”
He let out a shout of joy and leapt up from his seat, pulling me up and into his embrace. He was laughing as he began to dance me about the room. “Did you hear that?” he cried to the other patrons. “This beautiful woman is going to be my wife!” There were some whistles and shouts of congratulations as Federico picked me up and swung me about. Laughing, I implored him to put me down, which he eventually did. “We will not leave Rome just yet?” I asked, looking up at him.
“Not if you do not want to, my beauty,” he said, still beaming. “I am inclined to stay on a bit myself before returning. We shall stay as long as you like. Although,” he said with a heavy sigh, “that shall delay our wedding. My parents would never forgive us if we did not marry in our village church.”
“I believe Scripture counsels patience at moments such as this,” I teased.
“But did any of the writers of Scripture ever have so beautiful a woman in their arms?” he asked. With that, he cupped my face in his hands and bent his head to kiss me. It was a chaste enough kiss at first, but soon his tongue gently parted my lips and slid into my mouth. I returned the kiss as best I could, uncomfortably aware of the whistles from the other patrons. I tried to relax the stiffness of my body as his tongue wetly explored my mouth, but found I could not.
I tried to push away the quiet but insistent voice asking if perhaps I was making a mistake.