The Dark Heart of Florence Tasha Alexander (novels for beginners .TXT) 📖

“It never occurred to me that a husband might forbid his wife to read.”

“I do not suggest it is a common practice. The Bible teaches us that a husband should love his wife as Jesus does the Church. It also tells us that a wife of noble character is her husband’s crown, while a disgraceful wife is like decay in his bones. A husband cannot leave his wife to do whatever she wishes. There may be times when he must guide her behavior.”

“By not letting her read Dante?” I asked, feeling myself growing angry.

“I would not say so, but I shall never be a husband.”

“I wish I would never be a wife.”

“There are other choices, if you feel a spiritual calling.”

“No, I can’t say I do. I just wish…”

“What?”

I did not reply.

“What do you wish, Mina? That you could marry a man you love?”

This made me laugh. “I am young, Father, but not that naïve. I’d like to marry a man who doesn’t repulse me and one who doesn’t stop me reading. Is that not sadly little to ask? If I had a wish, it would for a life that allows for the possibility of higher expectations.”

He raised his hand to my cheek, resting it lightly against my skin. “It is sadly little to ask and it should be reasonable to want more. You deserve more.” My eyes grew hot with tears. “Don’t cry, Mina. It is not all bleak.”

“Forgive me, I am overcome,” I said.

“Let us abandon this depressing course and talk about Dante.”

I blinked, but could not stop the tears from falling. “I haven’t the heart for it today.”

“Come back tomorrow, then. Not for confession. I can’t imagine you’ll need that after only one day. Morning Mass and then we shall go for a walk and discuss poetry.”

 Florence,

190311

In the time between my arrival home from the library and Cécile’s from wherever she’d gone with Signore Tazzera, I wrote letters to the boys and Margaret, read half a novel, and dressed for dinner. When Cécile did return—half an hour before we’d planned to dine—she was glowing. “Will you object if I don’t change my gown?” she asked. “I’m famished and would prefer to eat without delay.”

“I shan’t object so long as you tell me where you’ve been all afternoon,” I said. “Although my mother would be horrified and present this as yet another example of standards slipping to unacceptable lows. If we don’t dress for dinner, how will anyone recognize us as civilized?”

“Alors, there are times the uncivilized proves much more satisfying. And that, Kallista, is all you need know about my afternoon.”

“I take it you will see Signore Tazzera again?”

“I’ve invited him to dine with us tomorrow evening.”

I rang for Tessa, told her we were eager to eat whenever Cook was ready, and asked her to bring us a bottle of Cécile’s champagne as an aperitif.

“Non, Tessa, there was a case of prosecco delivered earlier today,” my friend said. “Bring us a bottle of that instead.”

Would that it were possible for me to adequately describe the shock I felt. Imagine London destroyed by vicious butterflies. Or the Parthenon of Athens felled by a child’s kite. I would have sworn either more likely than my ever hearing what Cécile had just said. “You are knowingly and willingly eschewing champagne in favor of prosecco? Who are you?”

She shrugged with the elegance only a Parisian can possess. “Renzo sent the wine and made me promise to try it. In the circumstances, I could hardly refuse. He had me at an extreme disadvantage.”

“I dare not ask for further explanation.”

Tessa returned with the prosecco as I finished updating Cécile on my progress, such as it was. We fell silent as the maid opened and poured the wine, our conversation not resuming until she’d left the room and I pulled the door open enough to make sure she had well and truly gone.

“You do not trust her?” Cécile asked.

“I don’t think she’s a villainess, but we ought to be careful what we say in front of her.”

“Perhaps you are correct in believing that she is an agent of some sort. If that is the case, surely it is Monsieur Hargreaves who would have hired her.”

“I will press him for information, but don’t expect to learn much.”

“Let us talk more about this hidden treasure.” She eyed the glass of prosecco sitting on the table next to her chair, sighed, lifted it, and put it to her lips. “It’s not so dreadful as it might be.”

“I think it’s lovely.”

“It is not champagne.”

“It’s not meant to be.”

“An unforgivable failing. Now, tell me about the treasure.”

“You know everything I do. I don’t consider Tessa’s story from her great-grandmother wholly credible. The house is an inanimate object and as such was not stopping Signore di Vieri from searching for a treasure or anything else.”

“Bien sûr, but it is possible he believed it to be. Someone could have exploited his fear in order to get whatever it is that’s hidden.”

“We don’t know whether it was ever found,” I said, “or even what it was. It may be an old story dredged back up to distract us.”

“I have no doubt that two ladies so capable as we have the capacity to simultaneously investigate a dead man and search for hidden Renaissance treasure,” she said. “We ought to welcome the challenge.”

I fell asleep that night before Colin returned and did not hear him creep into our room. When I awoke the next morning, I shook him gently, but he did not stir. A bruise was blooming across his cheek, so I let him rest, despite desperately wanting to know what had caused it. Not wanting to disturb him, I slid out of bed silently, went into our bathroom, washed up as best I could without summoning Tessa for more water, and pulled on a tea gown.

Downstairs, I found Cécile and Darius in the dining room, steaming cups of coffee on the table in front