Page 12 of Much Ado About Mistletoe
Lysander sketched a bow in my direction. “I should go and clean up. Thank you for the invitation to hunt, Lord Romeo. As you said, it did me good to get out of the city and challenge the wintery mountains.”
The ever-tactless Papà spilled thececi. “Prince Escalus suggested I take you.”
I looked sideways at Cal. Take Lysander to separate him from me? To give Cal time alone with me without the brooding ex-lover hanging about? No doubt, yet Lysander’s now-proven hunting prowess had enhanced his allure if the adoring Princess Isabella and Katherina were to be believed.
As Lysander turned toward the door, Mamma called, “Don’t forget our feast to celebrate St. Lucy’s arrival on her little donkey. Early afternoon. Bring any of your family. Now go sleep and happy dreams!”
Lysander gave a jerky nod and stumbled out the door escorted by Dion and Holofernes. “They’ll make sure he gets safely home,” Marcellus explained to no one in particular (me).
Cal apparently felt he could now loosen his grip on my body, and he knelt beside Emilia. “Are you ready to go to work at the palace?” he asked her.
She grinned in delight. “Can we go now?”
“If your mother agrees?” He looked to Lady Juliet.
“I’m pleased to hear you remembered to consult me. You may take her, and I make you personally responsible for her safety and comfort in all things.” Cal’s exalted station held no awe for Mamma. “Emilia, dress warm, stay within the confines of the palace and obey our prince in all things.”
Emilia curtsied—she was a scamp, but she knew her manners when she chose to—and off she went with Prince Escalus and Marcellus in the sedan chair marked with the crest of the Leonardi family.
Baldissere, who fit into our family for his occasional blunt observations, said to Susanna, “If a single meeting can be so fraught, what will the wedding be like?”
Mamma drew a breath so deep it might have been her first since Cal and I walked through the door. “One thing at a time. First, we have the joy, the harmony, the quiet family time of St. Lucy’s eve, the feast, the gift-giving, and the midnight mass. I’m determined the Montagues and all of Verona shall experience a peaceful start to this holy Christmas season!”
CHAPTER EIGHT
The atrium of Casa Montague
The sunny afternoon of St. Lucy’s Eve
“Where are Cesario and Emilia?” Mamma swayed back and forth, back and forth, holding a fretful Efron in one arm and a sleepy Adino in the other. “It’s not like them to be late for a meal, much less the feast of St. Lucy’s Eve!”
“They’ll be here.” Papà shoved the benches close around our long table, placed a cushion on a chair for Mamma and another on a chair for Susanna, helped Tommaso carry in the giant salver bearing the spit-roasted kid surrounded by glazed fruits and vegetables that gleamed in the sun.
Princess Isabella, Katherina and Imogene followed like hungry puppies sniffing the air and hoping for a fortuitous accident, and I knew they wouldn’t hesitate to lunge if something dropped to the floor. After all, what was a little dust compared to a turnip, an apple or a leek?
Susanna settled into her assigned chair. “Where is Baldissere? He went to the market, not the moon. I’m surprised he’s late to dinner, too.” She patted her belly. “As I expand, he expands.”
Mamma chuckled. “Some men do that.”
Nurse bustled in bearing bowls of marinated olives and cardoons, bread plates of almonds, cheese and salumi. “It’s not like those young scamps to be tardy, but my lady, it is an exciting day for all the children. Probably Cesario got distracted playing with his friends’ new toys and for certain Emilia’s in the palace kitchen helping and testing all the dishes. They’ll arrive when their appetite sends them home.”
“I could give them some of my appetite,” Katherina grumbled.
Nurse waved the servers toward the table, and they placed a salad of veal feet, sliced cold hare stuffed in the Lombard style, grapes sprinkled with sugar and cinnamon, frittata with sweetbreads…
Really, where were those children?
“Where’s Princess Isabella?” Katherina wondered. “And Lysander?”
Oh, it would be so much better for all if Lysander waited until after Prince Escalus had appeared…
Going to Mamma, I urged, “Give Efron to me.” Taking the baby and the rag Mamma used to protect her clothing, I walked with him until he stopped fussing. During her pregnancy, Mamma had complained the child in her belly kept her up because he liked to be walked, and she was right—about one of them. Adino was a more placid baby, and as she shifted him in her arms she watched me firmly pat Efron’s diapered bottom. “You do well with him, Rosie, I suppose because you’re so alike.”
Papà looked up from tapping the spigot into the first wine cask. “That’s true. Sweet Jesu, we’re about to get rid of one and we’re saddled with another one!” He laughed when I glared, and pinched my cheek. “I used to have bruises on my ribs from your kicks, and that was before you were born. Why, when I think you’re going to be married and leave home—” He stopped as if suddenly stricken by the reality of the thought, and cleared his throat and blew his nose.
I bumped him with my shoulder. “I know, Papà, I’ll miss you, too, but I’m not going far. As all those men at the market said to Cal, ‘Moglie a buoi dei paesi tuoi.’”
“What did he respond?” Papà asked.
