Page 6

A prolonged pause.

Prince Escalus looked around at the Montagues. Mamma was now gripping Papà’s straining elbow with both hands. Katherina kept a straight face. Imogene openly giggled. Emilia was whispering to Cesario what Mamma’s code meant. (Remember, Cesario was only six, and a boy; subtlety was beyond him.)

At last, Prince Escalus’s gaze landed on me.

I explained, “In a large family, a member must always be aware that what one says may be overheard and subject to interpretation by other members. Discretion is advised.”

Prince Escalus looked around again at the Montagues, and I think it was the first time he truly realized that in marrying me, he married the whole family.

I felt obliged to add, “Please recall, I have two sisters not present who are equally opinionated and outspoken.”

Katherina had to spoil my warning with an opinion of her own. “No one’s as opinionated and outspoken as you, Rosie.”

Prince Escalus’s mouth did that sideways twitch, which might indicate horror in this case, but I’d come to suspect might be humor. He bowed first to Mamma and Papà. “I beg your pardon. I hold the greatest respect for your daughter’s virginity.”

Only I recognized that as a thrust (if you’ll pardon the term) at my irritation with that virtue that has given me fame among the vulgar of Verona.

Papà gave another growl, not quite as menacing, but, still, a warning. “Step carefully, my prince. Montague loyalty flows to the house of Leonardi. But above and beyond all other duty, I am the papà. I stand with my noble family in joy and peace, and before my family as a bulwark against harm.”

Imogene’s giggles abruptly halted. The other children straightened and nodded solemnly.

“I understand, Lord Montague.” Prince Escalus bowed more deeply to Papà and Mamma. “And madam.”

“We know our roles in our world,” I said softly.

He viewed my siblings with what I thought must be a new comprehension, inclined his head to them, and offered me his arm. “Would you walk beside me, Rosaline, as we lead our family to the grand walk?”

I placed one fingertip on his velvet-clad arm. “As you command, my prince.”

He looked at that fingertip, then into my eyes, and I knew he saw too much.

He said nothing, and merely led me toward the palace’s massive doors of walnut and worked bronze. At our approach, two footmen in livery flung wide the entrance, and once inside, Prince Escalus waved an encompassing hand.

No one spoke a word, our reticence not because of ennui, as in the garden, but because this place, this home, this monument to beauty conquered us with parts equally glowing and impressive.

The high ceilings, the wooden floors, the long carpets, the statues, the framed paintings, the murals, the gilding, the candles, the fresh flowers .

. . the rich, warm colors of the tapestries threaded with gold and the velvet curtains.

Each breath felt alive with color, as if I was standing inside a sunset, and for the first time in days, my humbled soul eased.

Mamma broke the silence. “My prince, who decorated this?”

“My mother, Princess Eleanor,” Prince Escalus answered.

“I knew it!” Mamma’s eyes sparkled with joy. “When Eleanor walked into a room, she lit the very air with warmth.”

“You knew my mother?” Prince Escalus asked without expression.

“I did. She was my dear friend. Her death robbed the world of light.” Suddenly Mamma looked tired, and she gripped Papà’s arm.

At once, Papà said, “Prince Escalus, the wife of my heart needs rest before our meal. Where may I take her?”

“This way.” Prince Escalus gestured the Montague offspring to the right along the great walk. “If you like, you may preview the works and I’ll be along later to help you understand them.”

While Prince Escalus escorted my parents into a quiet room close by, I noted a great many maids dusting, and a footman or two hovered to give advice.

Such a display seemed excessive to me, but it wasn’t yet any of my business how the prince ran his household.

What was my business was my doleful siblings, who stood eyeing each other and me.

“This is nice,” Emilia said, “but—”

“Art . . .” Imogene moaned softly.

Cesario wasn’t a whiny boy, but he whined now. “Do we have to? Look at the pictures and the statues?”

“Don’t worry, the prince will be ‘along later,’ ” Imogene imitated Escalus’s superior tone, “ ‘to help you understand them.’ ”

The art tour stretched before us in excruciating boredom, and without Mamma’s diplomacy, we had no chance of escaping.

“Psst!” I heard. “Psst! Emilia!”

In unison, we looked around. Princess Isabella stood behind a heavy velvet curtain, beckoning to my youngest sister.

It took only a moment for us to realize Princess Isabella offered escape, and Emilia leaped toward her and vanished into the folds.

Cesario started to rush toward concealment, but Princess Isabella held up a hand. “Wait. You’re the boy. My brother will immediately realize you’re missing. You must stay until almost the end.”

Cesario sagged. “Noooo!”

Emilia stuck her head out. “You get to be the youngest. You get to be the boy. You get to do all the fun stuff. Balls up, kid!” She disappeared again.

Princess Isabella blew him a kiss, and she followed Emilia.

Cesario looked around at Katherina, Imogene, and me, and we nodded. “She’s right,” I told him.

He sagged and with dragging feet wandered toward me.

Prince Escalus stepped into the great walk and made a shooing gesture with his fingers.

The servants vanished and my sisters scattered as if admiring the works of art; in fact, they had placed themselves in such a manner to make it difficult for him to realize we had lost a sibling.

I pointed toward the ornate mosaic that covered part of one wall and projected my voice to fill the space.

“You’re right, Cesario, you can see the Moorish influence in the brightly colored tiles and elaborate design. ”

The prince joined us. “Did you recognize the Moorish influence, Cesario?”

Cesario fixed his gaze firmly on the prince’s chin and lied like a trouper. “Uh-huh.”

“Do you know the two reasons we have a Moorish influence in Verona?” Prince Escalus asked in an instructional tone.

“Nuh-huh.”

“Because the Moors captured the island of Sicily and there spread their culture, art, and architecture. What do you think the other reason is?”

Cesario looked like a mouse trapped in the mouth of a scrawny cat. In what was clearly a wild guess based on his tutor’s current teaching, he said, “The Holy Father’s Crusades?”

“That’s right!” Clearly delighted, Prince Escalus hugged Cesario’s skinny little shoulder, while Cesario looked at me in alarm.

Prince Escalus looked around at the girls. “Come with me and I’ll show you . . . Weren’t there more children—”

Katherina joined us and widened her brown eyes, exotic in their upward tilt—Mamma’s eyes—at him. “I can’t wait to see what else you have to show us.”

He fell for it. Of course.

Imogene lagged behind as Prince Escalus led us onward through the gallery, and whenever he glanced back, she would appear to be studying a sculpture or a textile.

He seemed gratified by her fascination, and by the questions with which Katherina and I plied him, and before too long, Imogene had vanished.

When the prince failed to notice, I nodded at Katherina and interrupted him midsentence. “Cesario, do you need to use the facilities?”

Cesario was squirming from boredom, an action easily misinterpreted by Prince Escalus.

“I’ll have a footman take him,” the prince said.

Two footmen popped out from beside the drapes and hurried toward us.

“It’s a large palace and he’s a small boy. With Mamma resting and Papà tending to her, I’m in charge.” I spoke crisply, for I was the oldest sister and I was in charge. “I’d feel more at ease if Katherina escorted him. Perhaps the footman can show them where to go?”

“As you wish, but that leaves us quite—”

Katherina snatched Cesario’s hand and fled, chased by the footman.

“—alone,” the prince finished. He looked around. “Where did the other children disappear?”

“I’m sure they’ll appear momentarily.” I saw a nearby drape move.

A pale, sad-faced female peeked out at me, but as soon as my gaze met hers, she pulled back.

“Who was that?” I asked in a low voice.

“Orsa of the kitchen. She wants to view you, I trow.”

“Yes. I do seem to be a moving display.” I had suspicions that the parade of servants worked to observe their future mistress—she who would hold their futures in her hands. Testing my theory, I said, “The palace seems well tended, if perhaps a little dusty.”

At once, two maids popped out of hiding holding cloths and wiped at vases and tables.

Craning my neck, I looked up. “Especially the cove molding and drapes. There are cobwebs!” I managed to sound scandalized.

Three footmen appeared, one carrying a ladder; in moments, the neglected upper parts of the great walk were being tended.

Prince Escalus seemed not to notice my manipulations. “Your siblings . . . as you said, it’s a large palace, and I hope they’re not lost.”

“I’m sure they’re fine.” As I prepared to launch myself into scintillating conversation to keep him occupied, a large portrait had caught my eye, a man of impressive physique and weathered beauty.

His shoulder-length blond hair had been artfully highlighted, his dark eyebrows served as a frame for his alert green eyes, his unsmiling mouth, sculptured cheekbones, and determined chin bespoke a man of authority and responsibility.

I wandered toward it, trying to comprehend how it was possible for mere wood plank and paint to portray a face so alert his gaze seemed to be watching me. “Who is this?”

“My father, Prince Escalus the elder. Alberti painted him as Papà received the first rumbles of rebellion, and captured a mighty likeness of his sense of responsibility for the unrest and his ongoing schemes to turn the tide. After the uprising, much strife had changed his countenance. When he rescued me from the Acquasasso dungeons, he spoke more wisely and looked more haggard, a man who’d given all for his city and feared for the future of his family. ”

“When was he . . . ?”

“That very night, he was drugged and stabbed in his bed, and I, to my eternal shame, have not been able to find his killer.”