“Please have a seat, Senator Baldovino, Donna Baldovino.”
My husband and I obeyed, taking the two richly upholstered chairs that sat opposite the barrister’s desk.
Signor Peri pressed his fingertips together, looking at us intently. “I shall get right to the point,” he said. “Your late father’s estate is something of a mess, Donna Baldovino. The details are rather … murky, shall we say.”
I was not altogether surprised to hear this. In the letter scheduling the reading of my father’s will, he had warned us of some complications that had arisen with the estate. “How so, Signor Peri?” I asked.
He sighed and picked up a sheaf of papers. “Unfortunately, Don d’Amato never made a new will after the death of your brother, Claudio. The most recent will we have leaves everything—ownership of the company, the palazzo and all its contents, the share in the glass factory, and all financial assets and property—to Claudio. There are a few smaller bequests which he made to several of his servants, which will of course be honored. But his wishes concerning the estate as a whole, of course, cannot be.” He handed me the papers so that I might examine them myself.
I was not surprised that I had been left out; even had I not horribly disgraced him, this will had been drafted after my marriage. With my dowry paid and me safely ensconced in my husband’s house, there would have been no need for me to receive anything.
Nor did it surprise me that my normally meticulous father had let such an important matter fall by the wayside. He had gone to pieces after Claudio was killed, showing his age in a way he never had before and indulging heavily in drink. I had thought—rather uncharitably—this was less out of distress over his son’s death and more for the disappointment of his fondest hopes: to see a d’Amato dynasty established that would rival any of the great families of the republic. That dream had been mortally wounded when I had become the wife of a minor senator rather than Tommaso Foscari, and it had breathed its last along with Claudio.
His death was not entirely a shock. He had been extremely pleased at Lucrezia’s birth, and came to see her several times a week. I had just begun entertaining the hope that we might begin to enjoy a more cordial relationship when, just eight months after his granddaughter’s birth, he had taken a fever. By then, his health was so ruined by neglect that there was nothing any doctor could do.
Now, several days after his requiem Mass had been sung, we were in the office of Signor Alonso Peri, barrister to both my father and his company, to set his affairs to rights.
“What will be done with the estate, then?” Giacomo asked as I passed him the papers.
“This is where I have good news,” Signor Peri said, breaking into a small smile. “My colleagues and I see no problem with the entirety of the estate passing to you, Donna Baldovino, as Enrico d’Amato’s only living child; and by extension your esteemed husband as well.”
Giacomo looked like a man whose fondest dreams had all come true right before his eyes—and no doubt they had. After all, what more could a patrician with a dwindling fortune ask for when marrying the daughter of a wealthy merchant?
It did not occur to me he might never forgive me for what I said next. All I thought of was the chance to repay a debt that could never truly be satisfied. “And what if my father had another child?” I asked.
Both Giacomo and Signor Peri turned to stare at me.
“Well,” said Signor Peri, recovering his voice first, “that would complicate things, certainly. But as your father had no children other than yourself and Claudio—”
“He did, in fact,” I said.
“Adriana,” Giacomo all but growled in warning.
I ignored him. “My father has another son who is yet living; an illegitimate son, but a son nonetheless, who is older than me by several years. His name is Giuseppe Rivalli, and he currently resides in Venice.”
“Well, this is most fascinating, Donna Baldovino,” Signor Peri said. “Can you provide any proof of this claim?”
I laughed. “Are my words not proof enough? What other reason could I possibly have to relinquish the fortune I stand to inherit, unless it were to see that fortune come into the hands of a most beloved brother?”
“Adriana,” Giacomo said, attempting to sound pleasant and pacifying, “I do not think that this is entirely appropriate—”
“On the contrary, husband,” I said. “It could not be more appropriate. You would not wish to wrongly inherit my father’s estate, would you?”
Giacomo looked positively apoplectic at my words. “But surely this bastard cannot—”
“Not necessarily,” Signor Peri said, somewhat reluctantly. “Again, the fact that we do not have a current will muddies matters. Though this—Giuseppe Rivalli, is it?—man is not Don d’Amato’s legitimate son, there would have been nothing stopping him from leaving this son the estate, if he so chose. So we cannot assume—”
Giacomo leaped from his chair with such force that it tipped over. “Like hell we cannot!” he shouted. He pointed one finger at me accusingly. “Your father would never have left anything to that conniving bastard, and you know it!”
“He did not trouble himself to leave it to me, either,” I said. “Who are you to say which one of us my father hated more?”
“You will not take this out from under me, Adriana, I swear,” Giacomo said.
I rolled my eyes. “Please, husband,” I said, placing one hand on my again-growing belly. My pregnancy was already noticeable, although it was only my fourth month; this led Giacomo to hope it would be a strapping son this time. “It does not do to upset a woman in my condition.”
Giacomo turned back to a rather embarrassed Signor Peri. “Tell her this cannot be, signore,” he said. “This is folly, all of it.”
“I am afraid it is not,” Signor Peri said. “I will have to have my agents investigate your claim, Donna Baldovino, but if what you say is true, then perhaps we can divide the estate and its assets in half—”
“Half!” Giacomo roared.
“Giuseppe can have it all,” I said. “I do not want any of it.”
With one last, frustrated scream, Giacomo whirled around and stormed from the room.
I rose to follow him, but Signor Peri lifted a hand to detain me.
“Wait, Donna Baldovino. A moment, if you please.”
I sat down again.
“Is this truly what you wish?” he asked me. “I do not doubt that you are in earnest, but it is a rare individual who would turn their back on such good fortune.”
“Giuseppe is my brother,” I said. “I love him more than anyone on earth, save my daughter.” Daughters, I amended silently. “It is not his fault he was not born in the marriage bed. And I owe him a great debt.”
Signor Peri smiled. “I understand, madonna. At least, I think I do.” He sighed. “I will do what I can to see that he inherits at least some of the estate—you are entitled to some of it, as well, no matter your preferences.” I opened my mouth to protest, but he continued. “Think of your daughter, and the child you are carrying, and their futures, if not of yourself.”
I remained silent, knowing that he was right. Giacomo’s own estate was not so diminished as that of many other members of the Venetian nobility, but if I wished for there to be enough money for my children—my daughter—to lead lives of their own choosing …
“Perhaps you are right, signore,” I said. “But we shall leave the details to a later date.”
He nodded. “Very good, madonna. I must first seek out this Giuseppe Rivalli, though I fear I will make an enemy of your husband by doing so. You may have made him an enemy as well.”
I waved a hand carelessly as I rose. “I will handle my husband,” I said. “I look forward to hearing from you soon, then, signore.”
“Indeed,” he said, rising as well. “And my condolences on your loss.”
I smiled briefly. “Thank you, signore.”
When I stepped into the hallway, I found a furious Giacomo waiting for me. “What in heaven and hell is wrong with you, Adriana?” he demanded, seizing my arm in a punishing grip. “We were about to inherit a vast fortune! We would have been wealthy beyond imagining!”
I wrenched away from him. “Unhand me,” I said. “Think of your child, if nothing else.”
“I am the only one thinking of our children, it seems,” he hissed. “Do you realize what you have just done? You have deprived them of a future filled with everything they could ever dream of!”
“We shall still receive something, marito,” I said, with a touch of guilt. “Which you would have heard had you not stormed out of the room like a petulant child instead of comporting yourself as befits a patrician and senator of the republic.”
He looked slightly chastened at my words. “You gave everything away, or almost everything,” he said through gritted teeth. “How can you—”
I laid my hand gently on his cheek. “I promise that I did not do this to hurt you, Giacomo, nor our children,” I said. “But Giuseppe … you do not know the extent of the debt I owe him.”
He snorted. “Oh, do I not? I know that without him, you would not have been able to carry on your disgraceful love affair.”
“He protected me from my own father,” I said. “Numerous times. I know you do not want to hear this, Giacomo,” I said, as he blanched at my words, “but my father was cruel, violent, and angry from the day my mother died. Giuseppe was my only friend in that house.”
“It does not do to speak ill of the dead, Adriana.”
“The ill was my father’s own doing. I speak only the truth, because I wish you to understand.”
“Be that as it may,” he said, after a long moment had passed, “you had no right, Adriana—”
“It is my inheritance to give away,” I said, lifting my skirts and starting down the stairs that led to the water entrance. “And you would not have come within miles of it had it not been for me.”
He said nothing further the entire the trip back to our palazzo.
* * *
And so, after several weeks of paperwork, correspondence, and further meetings, a settlement was reached. Giuseppe inherited the d’Amato palazzo and all its contents, ownership of the company and all its assets, and half of the money and other assets my father had left behind, of which there was far more than I realized. Despite the luxury in which I had grown up, my father had spent his wealth far more prudently than the majority of Venice’s nobility. And in the interests of Lucrezia and her as yet unborn brother or sister, Giacomo and I inherited the other half of the financial assets.
Signor Peri suggested Giuseppe take the d’Amato name, in order to help smooth his transition into both Venetian society and his new role at the company. After some reluctance, Giuseppe relented partway, taking it as his second name. Thus, seemingly overnight, he became Giuseppe d’Amato Rivalli, one of the richest men in Venice.
Our reunion, once everything was finalized—for, given my brother’s new status, Giacomo could hardly continue to deny me his company—was a joyous one. Despite our regular correspondence, I had not seen Giuseppe in the two years since my wedding. I introduced him to his niece, and saw his eyes glisten when he learned that she had been christened not only in my mother’s honor, but in his as well.
“Oh, Adriana,” he said, once our near-hour of excited exclamations had passed. “How could you do this for me? You might have had everything, for yourself, for your children, and yet—”
“Do not speak of it,” I cut him off. “Surely you know that it does not begin to make up for everything you have done for me, Giuseppe.”
“I just feel as though I do not deserve it.”
“Nonsense,” I said. “You are his son, are you not? It is only reparations for how he treated you. Think of it that way.”
“Perhaps,” he allowed. Then he chuckled. “What would Enrico say to see me sitting atop his throne, and it all your doing? I accepted it just to spite him, you know.”
“I suggested it for the same reason,” I joked.
Our talk turned to other things then, and it was late into the night when he reluctantly rose to take his leave. “I should return to the palazzo and get some rest,” he said. “It has been a trying several days.”
“‘The palazzo’?” I teased. “Still not home, even after all these years?”
He shuddered. “Dio mio, no. Now that all this business is settled, my first act will be to sell it and buy a new one—if you are agreeable, that is, sorella. There are more ugly memories in that house than any other kind, I think.”
“Yes,” I agreed; then unthinkingly added, “Save for in the parlor with the harpsichord.”
Giuseppe looked almost dumbstruck at my bringing up such a thing, then he laughed. “Fair enough,” he said. “I will have the harpsichord sent to you without delay.”
I smiled. “I will be most willing to accept it.” I rose and saw him to the door. “I shall see you again soon, si?”
“Oh, certainly. Now that I am a respectable member of society, you will not be able to be rid of me.” He grinned. “I suppose I must start participating in all of the required social events: the opera and scandalous parties and I know not what else. If anyone invites me, that is.”
“I shall begin by extending you your first invitation,” I said, smiling. “You must accompany my friends and me to the opera next week.”
“That sounds splendid,” he said. “I look forward to meeting these friends of yours.” He kissed me on the cheek. “Of everything that has happened in these last weeks, I am happiest of all to have seen you again, and to see that you are doing well.”
“I am,” I assured him. “I truly am.”