crossing himself piously, “was not a woman to inspire passion. She understood it and accepted her lot. She was loyal and devoted. She did her duty. I could ask no more of her, and I gave her my respect and loyalty in return. I found love in other places, although I wonder if there was not more lust than love.”
“It is usually more lust,” the earl said quietly. “But not this time. I am old enough, and hopefully wise enough, to know the difference.”
“Then I envy you, Patrick Leslie,” the Duke of San Lorenzo said. “Now, let us have some of our good wine and toast the memories we have made and the memories we will make.” He clapped his hands, and his servitors were immediately by his side.
Afterwards, the Earl of Glenkirk returned to the ambassador’s residence, walking in a leisurely fashion through the city. He stopped in the main market square to purchase a large and colorful bouquet of mimosas from a flower vendor. Walking on, he entered a narrow street, going into a jeweler’s shop, where he bought a delicately wrought filigreed golden collar dotted with pale green peridots. It would adorn the green silk dress very nicely. It was the first piece of jewelry he had ever obtained for Rosamund. He hoped that she would like it. The late afternoon was warm, and he was damp about his collar when he finally reached the top of the hill where the Scots embassy was located.
Lord MacDuff greeted him as he entered the building. “You have been to the palace? Come and tell me what has transpired between you and the wily fox, yon duke.”
The earl signaled to a servant. “Take these to Lady Rosamund,” he said, handing the woman the bouquet of mimosas. “Tell her I will see her shortly.”
Smiling, the servingwoman curtsied, then took the floral tribute and hurried up the stairs.
Patrick joined his host. “He hasn’t changed,” he began, accepting a small silver goblet of wine as he sat down.
“What did you tell him?” Lord MacDuff wanted to know.
“What he needed to know. We have put him in a delicate position, situated as San Lorenzo is between France and Italy,” the earl chuckled. “If the truth should ever come out, Sebastian di San Lorenzo will profess ignorance, outrage, whatever the situation calls for, my lord. He will protect San Lorenzo at all costs, which he should and which is his right. And if Lord Howard is curious as to my presence, you will adhere to the story that I am here with my lover. You will profess ignorance of all else.”
“Do you believe we can weaken the alliance, Patrick?” the ambassador asked.
“Nay, and neither does the king, but he felt that we must make an attempt at it. Even if Venice and the Holy Roman Empire insist on adhering to their agreement with the Holy League, they will have certain doubts, which I shall plant in the minds of those who come to treat with me. They will be less enthusiastic and more cautious than they have been. That is the best that we shall do, Ian. But we shall do it! Henry Tudor has not won yet.”
“Do you know who it is you will meet with yet?” Lord MacDuff asked.
“Nay. But I have a suspicion that the artist from Venice who is arriving in another day or two, and who the duke is feting, may be one of the gentlemen I am to deal with. He is a member of the Loredano family, and he has made a name for himself as a former student of both the Bellini brothers. No one would suspect a Venetian artist of political intrigue,” the earl chuckled. “But I do not know. I shall have to wait and see. Sebastian insisted that Rosamund and I attend this fete. He is curious, of course, to meet her, and still, I suspect, fancies himself a great lover.”
“His adventures have not been quite so public in recent years,” Lord MacDuff said with a smile. “As he has grown more portly and less fleet of foot, he is not so apt to want to find himself facing an angry husband or father.”
“His son, I imagine, has taken over for him,” the earl said dryly.
“Nay! Lord Rudolpho keeps a mistress, but he is discreet,” the ambassador noted.
“I thought he would be like his father,” Patrick said. “I remember saying so to my daughter once. He has fathered enough children.”
“Aye, and all those lasses, to boot,” Lord MacDuff chortled.
The earl stood up, draining his goblet. “I want to thank you for your hospitality, Ian MacDuff. Rosamund has never been out of England until now, except for her brief visit to our court. She has been made to feel most welcome.”
“She is a fair lass, Patrick,” Lord MacDuff said, “and has beautiful manners, according to Pietro, who, as you will remember, values such things. The servants are happy to have a woman in the house being that I am a crusty old bachelor.”
“I would like to remain until spring,” the earl said.
“You are more than welcome,” came the smiling reply. “I think if I had such a lovely woman to love, I would want to remain here until spring, too.”
Patrick left the ambassador and hurried upstairs to his apartments, where he found Rosamund being fitted for her gowns. He sat down to watch, giving Celestina a friendly nod.
“I hear,” the seamstress said, “that you are going to the fete for the Venetian, Patrizio. It will be a grand event, for the duke will be anxious to impress the artist Loredano. The festivals and fetes they have in Venice are said to be spectacular. Our duke will have to go to some effort to affect any admiration from his visitor.” And she chuckled.
He laughed. “How the hell do you know we are going to the duke’s fete? I have only just now come from the palace.”
She rolled her black eyes at him, a gesture he realized he well remembered. “Patrizio, this is San Lorenzo. Here, everyone knows everyone’s business. The English ambassador is curious to meet you, by the way. He wonders why a former Scots ambassador to the duchy has suddenly shown up here. Now.”
“The English are always suspicious of the Scots,” the earl said casually. “Is that not so, my love?” He addressed Rosamund.
“Always,” Rosamund agreed pleasantly. “The Scots, you see, cannot be trusted, Celestina. Should the neckline be that low?”
“It is the fashion here, madame,” Celestina answered her.
“It is higher at the Scots court,” Rosamund noted.
“It is colder at the Scots court,” the seamstress said pithily. “Here in the south we like the breeze to caress our skin on a warm winter’s night. Is that not so, my lord?”
“I think the neckline is most correct,” Patrick agreed with her.
“Will you think it so correct when this duke ogles my breasts?” Rosamund asked innocently.
“He is permitted to ogle, my darling,” the earl told her. “But nothing more.”
The two women laughed.
“I am doing the bodice of the pale green gown more elaborately, madame,” Celestina said. “You will wear it to the duke’s fete along with the gift Patrizio has purchased for you on his way from the palace.”
“You bought me a gift?” Rosamund squealed. “I mean, besides the flowers?-which are lovely, my lord. What are they called? And where is my gift?”
“The blooms are mimosas, and as for your gift, I am not certain I shall give it to you now. You are much too greedy,” he teased her.
“That is your decision, of course, my lord, but I should dislike seeing a lovely piece of jewelry go to waste,” Rosamund murmured.
“How can you be certain it is jewelry?” he asked her, smiling.
“Isn’t it?” she asked mischievously. “Or perhaps you have bought me a villa here and could not carry it with you.”
Celestina chortled. “You have finally met your match, Patrizio, and how glad I am to be here to see it. There! I am done. Maria! Take madame’s gown, and be careful, girl. The fabric is delicate.” She gathered up her tools and put them in her basket. “In just a few more days’ time, madame, you will have a new and beautiful wardrobe to get you through the winter here.” Then, with a curtsy, she departed the earl’s apartments.
“We are remaining the entire winter months?” Rosamund asked Patrick.
He nodded. “It will be easier traveling in late spring or early summer, my love.”
“I had not thought to be away so long,” she replied.
The Earl of Glenkirk put an arm about her. “Your uncle Edmund and your cousin Tom are husbanding Friarsgate
