In the Tudor Court Collection. Amanda McCabe
when addressed and wishing that the evening might be over. She liked none of these people and remembered how kind Aunt Mary’s friends had been to her in London, something that made her heart ache as she wondered if her friend was still alive. Would she ever see her kind friends again? Would she ever be able to return to her home?
Seeing that the Contessa appeared to have forgotten her, Kathryn moved towards the marble arches that opened out into the huge gardens, needing suddenly to be alone. She felt lost and alone and so unhappy that she was having to fight very hard to hold back her tears. She went out into the cool of the night air, looking at the stars. Somehow she must find a way to bear this time of unhappiness.
‘Why are you out here?’ Lorenzo’s voice close behind her made her jump for she had not been aware of him. ‘The Contessa was anxious about you.’
Kathryn turned to look at him. Was he angry with her too? She felt a tear slip down her cheek and turned aside, not wanting him to see. She walked away, wanting to escape deeper into the gardens.
He came after her, catching her arm, swinging her round to face him. ‘What is wrong? Why are you crying?’
‘I’m not crying,’ Kathryn sniffed, brushing her face with the back of her hand.
‘Something has upset you. Tell me, Kathryn!’ She shook her head. ‘Are you crying for your uncle and aunt?’ She shook her head again. ‘Then it is the Contessa…’
‘She hates me!’ The words burst from her.
‘Do not be foolish, Kathryn. Why should she hate you?’
‘She says that I have lost my reputation, that people will think I am your—’ She broke off and turned away from him once more.
‘Ah.’ Lorenzo looked at her thoughtfully, seeing the pride and anger, and the despair. ‘I understand. There was always the risk that this would happen, but the damage is done, Kathryn.’
‘I know. There is nothing anyone can do.’
‘No…unless you become my wife.’ He smiled oddly as she whirled round, her eyes wide with shock. ‘Forgive me. I know the idea cannot please you, but it would stop the vicious tongues before they can start.’
‘But you do not want to marry me!’
‘It is a matter of indifference to me,’ Lorenzo said with a shrug of his shoulders. ‘ have no wish for a wife, but it would be a marriage of convenience only. You have told me that though you may marry one day, your heart belongs to the man you lost so many years ago. Therefore it can make no difference who you marry. As well me as another. Indeed, I may be the only chance of marriage you will have.’
‘That is no reason for marriage!’ Kathryn did not know whether to rage at him or weep. ‘Why should you want me? How does this benefit you?’
‘Did you not tell me you were an heiress? This war is likely to cost me a small fortune. A wealthy wife would be no bad thing.’
Was he teasing her? There was a glint in his eyes, though he was not smiling.
‘It is not a huge fortune…’ She stared at him uncertainly. A part of her wanted to refuse his offer, for it was almost insulting in the manner of its making, and yet she could not help feeling that as Lorenzo’s wife she would be safe. ‘You cannot want me?’
Kathryn could not know how vulnerable and uncertain she looked or that the appeal in her eyes touched something in Lorenzo that he had thought long dead.
‘Believe me when I say I have my reasons,’ he told her, a smile upon his lips now. Surely he was teasing her! ‘You know that I never do anything without profit, Kathryn—believe that I want you. You are beautiful and a man should have a wife, after all.’ He had her fast so that she could not escape. As she gazed into his eyes her heart raced and she longed for him to kiss her, to tell her that he was marrying her because he cared for her.
‘Then…if you truly mean it, I shall accept,’ she said, finding it difficult to breathe. Surely this was but another of the dreams that came to plague her when she slept? ‘I shall try to be what you would have me be.’
‘Do not worry about what I would have of you,’ Lorenzo told her, a faint smile on his lips. ‘We shall be married and then I shall leave you. Only He that they call God—whether he be Christian or Muslim—knows whether I shall return. If I do not, you shall be a rich widow, Kathryn. Choose your next husband with more care, I beg you.’ Again his eyes were bright with mockery and she did not know what to make of him.
‘Lorenzo…’ Kathryn looked at him wordlessly. How could she tell him that she did not care for his wealth, that she wanted him to return to her? He said that he had his reasons for marrying her, but she could think of none—unless she had led him to believe that her father was richer than he really was?
‘I told you not to worry,’ he said, and then, moving towards her, he touched her face, lowering his head to kiss her softly on the lips. A wave of desire coursed through her, making her feel as if she would melt into him, become a part of his very body, though his next words brought her back to her senses. ‘We did not choose this, Kathryn, but it seems that it is our fate. Let fate take its course and we shall see.’
Kathryn wore the gown she had borrowed for the night of the masque, which had been packed in her trunk with the rest of her things. She did not know why she chose it, except that that night Lorenzo had seemed so different, and she wanted him to be the man she had glimpsed then. She wanted him to laugh and tease her, to love her—but of course he did not. She looked at her reflection in her hand mirror, and then decided to let her hair flow on her shoulders, wearing only a small cap of silver threads on the back of her head.
She was still at the Contessa’s house, for Lorenzo had begged her to be patient until he could arrange for the wedding and her removal to a villa he had taken for her stay in Rome. When she went downstairs the Contessa was waiting. She looked at Kathryn with dislike, her eyes moving over her with disapproval.
‘Do not imagine that he loves you,’ she said coldly. ‘No one woman would ever be enough for a man like that. He is marrying you because he feels pity for you—and he will be unfaithful within a year.’
Kathryn held her tongue, for what could she say in answer? The Contessa might be speaking the truth for all she knew. Lorenzo was marrying her for reasons of his own, reasons that he had not chosen to divulge to her. She did not think that he was in love with her, but perhaps he might want her in his bed. She had been told many times that she was beautiful, and she believed that she was comely enough. Perhaps that odd look she had seen in his eyes sometimes meant that he wanted to make love to her.
It was evident that the Contessa was angry as she almost ordered Kathryn from the house, and she suspected that the older woman wanted him for herself. She thought that perhaps they had been lovers in the past and that the Contessa had hoped he might marry her now that she was a widow. Her husband had been dead for six months, and it must have seemed to her when Lorenzo first came that he had come for her, which made it easy to understand why in her disappointment she had felt so hostile towards the girl he had brought with him.
Lorenzo was waiting for them at the small church. Michael was to give her away, and a man she did not know stood up with Lorenzo as his witness. The Contessa was Kathryn’s only attendant, and she left immediately after the ceremony, refusing to attend the small wedding feast. Kathryn could only be pleased.
Michael and the stranger, who told her that his name was Paolo Casciano, and that Lorenzo was a friend of many years, accompanied her and Lorenzo to a villa in the hills overlooking the city. It was not as large as the Contessa’s home, but pleasant with lovely gardens.
‘This will be your home until we can return to Venice,’ Lorenzo told her. ‘I have engaged servants to care for your needs and a lady who will bear you company while I am away.’ He beckoned to an elderly woman with a sweet face, who came forward to curtsy to Kathryn. ‘This lady is Madame Veronique de Bologna. She was born in France, but has lived in Italy since her marriage, and