Page 2 of Much Ado About Mistletoe
Oddly, our Papà, who is known as the best swordsman throughout Veneto and never hesitates to take offense at any small slight to himself, his family, and most especially to his darling Juliet, cannot bring himself to kill a deer. When I once asked him about his reluctance, he mumbled something about their big brown eyes looking at him.
My papà (Lord Romeo, I should mention) is exuberant, passionate, fierce, short-tempered, but so soft-hearted every child who lives on the streets knows his name and reputation for generosity. He also has a fart for every occasion. But I digress…
The doorplate on our great front door thumped once, loudly.
“It’s early for guests to arrive,” Mamma observed.
For the wedding, she meant, friends and relatives who would travel from out of town to see poor Rosaline get married at last—and to a prince!
The outpouring of surprise had been less than flattering.
Our footman and my assistant, Tommaso, put down the manger and strode toward the door to answer it.
Imogene said, “Not guests, Mamma. Visitors. Visitors are to be expected. They attend the Christmas market in the square and come here bringing their tired feet and their heavy purchases.”
“You’re right, dear.” Mamma stuck her finger between the paper pages of her book. “But a few days alone with the family before we’re inundated with company would be appreciated.”
“Mamma, you always say visitors are a blessing on our home.” To me, Imogene’s voice sounded a little deeper, more mature.
Some girls slipped slowly toward womanhood. Some crashed into it as if it was a brick wall they would demolish. In the last weeks, it seemed as if, unsuspected by the rest of us, Imogene had leaped the wall and settled on the other side.
Mamma saw it, too, for she reached across to Imogene and cupped her face. “You’re so right, thank you for reminding me. You grow in wisdom and beauty every day.”
“Thank you, Mamma.” Imogene smiled with a return of her youthful mischief. “For now, I predict you’ll be pleased with these visitors.” She looked toward the entry.
I followed her gaze.
There stood our sister Susanna, arrived from Venice, glowing with cold and pleasure and a pregnancy which she hadn’t yet announced to us.
CHAPTER TWO
Mamma knocked her chair back and flung the book.
Nurse caught it, thank the dear Virgin.
Susanna ran into Mamma’s arms.
Both were laughing and weeping at the same time, and within moments a family pileup of arms extended in hugs and joyful cries of welcome buried Susanna. It was as if mistletoe engulfed the entire family.
After a nod at Nurse, I stood back, delighted but unwilling to shove aside the smaller children, and took a moment to embrace Baldissere, my former betrothed and now brother-in-law, who beamed as I thanked him for bringing Susanna to us so soon. “Once she received the news of your betrothal, she wouldn’t be nay-sayed,” he told me.
Indeed, Susanna broke free of all embraces to rush at me. “You! You imposter! You claimed you wished only to stay at home and manage the household, and you caught a prince! And not an old, warty prince, either. Prince Escalus of the House of Leonardi!”
“If only you knew,” I said wryly.
Imogene tugged at Susanna’s hand and when Susanna looked around, Imogene slightly shook her head.
Susanna’s expression changed to concern. “Are you not happy, Rosie?”
“Indeed I am. Happy and honored.” I had promised to accept the betrothal with good grace and I’d committed myself entirely to Prince Escalus, and any lingering doubts were vanquished. Mostly. Most of the time. Before Susanna could question mefurther, I said, “Come and meet your two new brothers who are now awake and squalling their desire to greet you!” I herded the family back to the table, and Susanna and Baldissere cuddled the twins, exclaimed at their bright-eyed interest in the world, and laughed about how they’d surprised us with their own upcoming offspring.
“It’s so cold. Why are you out here?” Susanna cried.
“Rosie won’t let us crack walnuts anywhere inside. She says we make a mess.” Seven-year-old Emilia seemed not to notice the far-flung shells that radiated in all directions around the table.
“Imagine,” I said dryly.
“For Papà’s candy!” Susanna clapped her hands. “I’ll help!”
