Duchess of Milan by Michael Ennis Read Free Book Online Page B

heard nothing when they greeted her. She saw the lacquered lips move and the metallic brocade camore crinkle into curtsies. She nodded to each supplicant, again and again. Each face was like a mask, not a real woman.
    The woman who would not let go of Beatrice's hand was tall, with a sharp, aquiline nose; a pear-shaped diamond brooch perched just above her cleavage. She had been introduced as Giulia Landriano, one of the Duchess of Milan's senior ladies-in-waiting. “... delightful, were they not, Your Highness.” The words began to enter Beatrice's consciousness and compose sentences. Giulia had been talking about the dancers. “So entirely fresh and simple and quaint. Delightful.” Beatrice could not imagine that Giulia's acerbic eyes had ever found anything pleasing. “But then everything to do with Your Highness has been delightful. We so rarely see such dolcezza here.” Beatrice, accustomed to the oblique speech of courtiers and diplomats, began to hear Giulia's subtext as well. Dolcezza was the code word: sweetness. Sweet, delightful, simple. What was really meant was that Beatrice and the Ferrarese were perceived, like the dancers, as provincial and vulgar. “You bring dolcezza to Milan, Your Highness.”
    The Marquesa took a half step toward her sister's antagonist. “And we rarely see such art as we have beheld here this evening, Madonna Giulia.” The Marquesa's ripe lips contorted with sarcasm. “An art so expertly contrived that at first glance one is scarcely aware of the common substance beneath such extravagant ornament. Rather like pouring gilt syrup on stale pastries.”
    The surrounding conversation hesitated; the crowd contracted. Giulia inclined her head slightly, as if to signal that she had accepted the Marquesa's escalation of hostilities. “If one's tastes are limited to pastries, then one might indeed be overwhelmed by the ornament one sees here.” Giulia conspicuously caressed the diamond-studded gold chain that draped her bosom; the gold links were an exquisitely detailed miniature garland. “Is Your Highness familiar with the work of Maestro Caradasso?” The Milanese goldsmith Caradasso del Mundo was renowned throughout Europe. “Of course one must be able to pay for such skill in order to appreciate it. It is rather more dear than a confectioner's wares.”
    The Marquesa flushed at the allusion to the Este family's relatively modest means; more than a few of the ranking Milanese nobles were wealthier than the ruling family of Ferrara. She stroked the choker around her neck; the pearls were spaced with intricate gold rosettes. “I prefer the work of our own Enrico da Fidele. Maestro Enrico is that sort of artist who emphasizes subtlety over contrivance, assuming as he does that his patrons are able to complement his creations with their own charms.”
    Giulia nodded curtly at the Marquesa, then looked directly at Beatrice. From Beatrice's vantage the reflections of the torches gave the woman's pale irises a gold tint. “How charming that your sister has retained her native simplicity. But I can see that the Duchess of Bari already favors Milanese elegance.” Giulia stepped closer and appraised the floriate gold links of the ruby pendant Il Moro had given Beatrice. “I immediately knew this as the work of our Caradasso. He did a piece with virtually identical pendants for Cecilia Gallerani.”
    Giulia had mentioned the name casually enough, but then she immediately pulled back as if startled by her own voice. Her eyes dilated with alarm. She made an abrupt curtsy. “Forgive me, Your Highness,” she said urgently. “I ...”
    The conversation in the room fell away precipitously. The Marquesa snapped her head around, confronting her mother. Eleonora's jowls were slack, her eyes so intense they looked like emeralds.
    Beatrice's forehead prickled, and then the cold realization rushed through her torso. She turned to her mother. “Mama?” she asked in a small, brittle voice. But she