old gowns.’
‘Oh, no,’ Maria said, her eyes downcast. ‘You have been so kind to me, Kathryn. How could I be so ungrateful as to resent wearing your things?’
‘Well, you shall have a new gown,’ Kathryn said. ‘Come, look, and choose the silk you prefer.’
‘Oh, I do not know what to choose,’ Maria said, her hands fluttering over the bales of beautiful silks that the merchant had spread on trestles before his shop. ‘There are so many…that blue is lovely, and yet so is the green.’
‘Kathryn was thinking of buying the green for herself,’ Elizabeta said, her dark eyes narrowed and hostile as she looked at Maria. ‘The blue would suit you much better—or that grey.’
‘I do not like dull colours,’ Maria said and for a moment her eyes met Elizabeta’s in an expression of such hatred that the older woman gasped. ‘I shall have the blue if Kathryn prefers the green for herself.’
‘No, indeed, I do not need any more gowns for the moment,’ Kathryn said. ‘We shall take both the green and the blue, Maria. You shall have two new gowns and then you need not wear my old ones at all.’
‘You are too generous,’ Elizabeta said. ‘That green was perfect for you.’
‘It does not matter. There will be other silks,’ Kathryn said. She turned away, speaking to the merchant and directing him to send both bales of silk to her at the villa. ‘Shall we have something to drink at the inn or go back to my home?’
‘We are nearer to my house,’ Elizabeta said. ‘Come, we shall go home once I have ordered the silk I want for myself, and my servants will bring us refreshments. It is too warm to shop any more today.’ She smiled and linked arms with Kathryn.
Kathryn agreed that the sun was very warm and they all returned to Elizabeta’s house, which was situated not far from the Campo de’ Fiori, one of the streets of beautiful Renaissance buildings begun by Pope Nicholas in the fifteenth century.
The house was large, almost a palace, for Elizabeta’s husband was wealthy, though some years older than she. She took her guests through the echoing rooms, which were cool after the heat of the sun, into the courtyard garden, then left them to talk while she went to order the refreshments served to them.
Kathryn and Isabella sat down on one of the small stone seats, which had been set with cushions and placed in a shady spot, but Maria wandered off alone to explore the garden, which she had not seen before.
‘She is a strange girl, is she not?’ Isabella said, frowning a little. ‘She boasted to me that she has a lover and that he has promised to wed her. I thought you told me she had been ill?’
‘Yes, she has,’ Kathryn said. ‘I think she meant that she will be betrothed to someone when she goes home.’ She thought Maria foolish to talk of such things, for it would do her reputation no good.
‘She asked me if I had a lover,’ Isabella said. ‘I am sure she meant that she had…well, you know…’
Kathryn shook her head at her as Elizabeta came back to them, her servants carrying out extra chairs so that they might all be comfortable. Maria joined them as they sat down and the drinks were served.
For a while they sat talking about the things they had seen while they were out shopping, and Isabella told them that her father had said he was taking her to Venice in the spring.
‘He says that there is a family he wishes me to meet,’ she said. ‘I think he means to make a marriage contract for me. I hope the man he has chosen to be my husband is as handsome as yours, Kathryn.’
‘That is unlikely,’ Maria said, having been silent for some time. ‘There are not many men who look like Lorenzo Santorini. He is more likely to choose a rich man than a handsome one, for that is the way of fathers.’
‘Kathryn’s husband is very handsome,’ Isabella agreed with a little secret smile. ‘But I like his friend, Michael dei Ignacio. I would be happy if my father chose him.’
Maria pulled a face and then reached for her drink, knocking Elizabeta’s into her lap so that she jumped up, brushing at her skirts as the liquid soaked through the material.
‘Oh, forgive me,’ Maria apologised. ‘I am so clumsy.’
‘Yes, you are,’ Elizabeta said crossly. ‘You should take more care. This silk was expensive and it is ruined.’
‘I dare say your husband will buy you another,’ Maria said with a little shrug of her shoulders. ‘He must be very rich to own a house like this. One gown means nothing.’
Kathryn saw that Elizabeta was really angry, and poured her another drink from the jug on the table. ‘Let me dry it for you,’ she said. ‘Come inside, Elizabeta.’
‘No, no, it does not matter,’ Elizabeta said and shook her head at her. ‘I am sorry. It was an accident, of course. Do not worry, Maria. I have plenty more gowns—but this was a favourite.’
Maria lowered her head, her hands working in distress. ‘I did not do it on purpose,’ she said, but somehow not one of the other ladies present believed her. Her action had been quite deliberate and was meant to punish Elizabeta for some of her remarks earlier that day. It was a small spiteful thing, but somehow it made the other ladies join ranks against her. She was not one of them and they all thought it would be better when she went home to her family.
Kathryn was disturbed by the small incident at her friend’s house. The ruin of an expensive gown was not so important, for it could be replaced, but if it was done out of spite it was quite another thing. She felt uncomfortable as they returned to the house, for if Maria was capable of doing something like that, what more might she do?
She tried not to let it make a difference to her manner towards the Spanish girl. Maria was in a difficult position and she felt sympathy for her, but as the days passed, she could not but be aware of something in Maria that she did not quite like.
The girl had a way of looking at Lorenzo that Kathryn found disturbing. She seemed to hang on his every word, and to follow him about the house and gardens. It was almost impossible for Kathryn to be alone with her husband, other than when they were in their bed.
The time they spent in bed together was very special. Lorenzo’s loving made Kathryn so happy that insignificant things could not really upset her. She wished that he might love her, but there was still a strange reserve in him at times, and she had woken twice to find the bed cold and empty. It seemed that he left her once she was asleep, and that caused a small hurt inside her, for she wanted to wake and find him still beside her. Yet it was but a small thing, for he did everything he could to make her happy, giving her costly presents and encouraging her to spend money when she went shopping with her friends.
‘I want you to be happy, Kathryn,’ he had told her several times. ‘You must tell me if there is anything you want.’
‘I have all I need,’ she said, for how could she ask for the one thing he was incapable of giving her? She loved him, but he could not return that love—something inside him had created a barrier between them. He was good to her and she knew that he wanted her with a fierce, needy passion, but she did not have his heart.
Even so, she was content with her life. They entertained their friends, visited them
