Bertrice Small - Until You

“Patrizio! Santa Maria be blessed, for I never hoped to see you again!” She flung her arms about him, enveloping him in a suffocating hug.

Patrick was hard-pressed not to burst into laughter. This was Celestina after eighteen years. He remembered the seductive, sulky-mouthed girl who had become his mistress all those years ago. He managed to squirm from her embrace, and taking her by her broad shoulders, he kissed her firmly upon her red lips. “Celestina! Santa Maria, there is three times as much of you to love now!” Then he set her back. “You have changed little, cara,” he told her.

“I’ve changed a lot,” she said with a hearty laugh. “For every bit of flesh I have put on my bones I have put as much in my purse, Patrizio! I have six children, as well.”

“And how many husbands have you buried, cara?” he teased her.

“Husbands?” She burst into laughter. “Who has time for husbands, Patrizio?”

Now her gaze swept across the room and lit on Rosamund. “This fair little girl is your latest mistress? We will have to feed her, for she does not look as if she eats. Does she speak some language with which I can communicate with her?” They had been speaking in Italian.

“French, Celestina, but speak slowly, cara. And do not attempt to cheat her. She is the owner of a large estate, which she manages herself, and quite successfully.”

“Scotch?” Celestina inquired.

“English,” the earl replied. “And your father has explained to you that I am here privately to visit my old friend, the duke. You will not gossip, cara, eh?”

“There is an English ambassador here now,” Celestina said, gauging his reaction.

“I know,” the earl replied, “but Rosamund would not be anyone of importance that he should know about. She is not connected with the royal court.”

Celestina nodded. “Madame,” she said, walking across the room to Rosamund, “I have brought a gown that will serve you until I can make you a wardrobe.” She was now speaking French.

“Thank you,” Rosamund replied. “May I see it?”

“Maria! Quickly!” She called to the young girl accompanying her.

The gown was brought, unwrapped from its covering, and displayed. It was pale green watered silk with a very low neckline and full puffed sleeves trimmed lavishly in ecru-colored lace. The seamstress and her helper spread the gown over a chair.

“The color is certainly right,” Celestina said, “considering I did not know what madame looked like.”

“It is plain,” the earl said.

“It is lovely, and Celestina could not waste time or materials decorating a gown without a buyer, Patrick,” Rosamund replied. She smiled at Celestina. “May I try it on?”

The seamstress nodded, and then she smiled at Rosamund. “He says you are a clever woman with a taste for trade, madame. You were right about the gown.”

“My cotters weave wool from the sheep I raise,” Rosamund said. “My wools are noted for their quality.”

“You do not send your raw wool to the low countries to be woven?” Celestina was surprised.

“Why should I pay good coin to have done in a foreign clime what my own people can do? Besides, it keeps them occupied in the winter months when the fields cannot be cultivated. And, too, I am able to maintain the highest caliber in my product,” Rosamund said in practical tones. “Can you put some decoration upon the bodice? Just a little gold thread embroidery perhaps?”

“Of course, madame. The gown but waited for an owner,” Celestina said. “I can have it by tomorrow. Try it on now, and we will see what other alterations need to be done to it. And I have brought a variety of materials for madame’s inspection as well.”

“I will choose the materials for both the earl and myself,” Rosamund said. Then she let Celestina and her helper aid her in getting into the gown and bodice.

Celestina spoke in rapid Italian to her companion, who from the look of her was the seamstress’ daughter. “The waist will need to come in, Maria. And she is larger in the bosom than I would have anticipated, given her slender stature. The length seems fine. The sleeves will need alteration. This lady is delicately made.”

“But she is strong,” the earl murmured, and Celestina gave him a broad grin.

“Aye, Patrizio,” Celestina said. “Your heart is engaged, my old friend, and it does me good to see you happy again. When you left us, your poor heart was broken. This lady has obviously mended it.”

“She has,” he admitted.

“What are you speaking about, Patrick?” Rosamund asked. “I do not understand the tongue in which you babble.”

“Celestina is more comfortable in the Italian tongue, lovey. She says you have mended my broken heart, and I agree,” he told her.

“You flatter me, especially under the circumstances,” she told him.

“I should rather have a year with you, Rosamund,” he told her, “than a lifetime with any other woman on the face of this earth. Now, sweetheart, let us decide upon the materials we are going to want.”

The pale green gown had been pinned where it needed alteration, and so Rosamund removed it carefully.

Celestina snapped her fingers at Maria, and the girl brought forth a silk garment in the most incredible shade of blue that Rosamund had ever seen. “Wear this instead of that pretty chemise,” she said, proffering it.

“What is it?” Rosamund asked.

“The people across the sea here, where they are ruled by the Turkish sultan, wear them. They call them caftans. They even go out into the streets there in them, I am told. I thought it might make a better garment for you indoors than your chemise. Do you like the color? It is the color of the Persian turquoise.”

“It’s lovely,” Rosamund said. “Thank you, Celestina! I shall very much enjoy wearing this… caftan.”

“And now,” the seamstress said, “let us look at the materials I have brought for you and Patrizio, madame. Maria! The samples. Vite! Vite!”

The fabrics were brought, and they were indeed a rich assortment in wonderful colors. Silks and brocades and lightweight velvets along with delicate cottons and linens.

“How Tom would love all of this,” Rosamund said to her lover. “He has such exquisite taste. I can but hope I have learned from him.” She fingered a brocade in a rich shade of green. “It would suit me,” she noted.

Celestina nodded. “And this sea-blue silk and the russet velvet that matches your lovely hair. Perhaps this cream and gold brocade?”

“It’s beautiful,” Rosamund agreed, and the seamstress set it aside. “Oh, what a wonderful shade of lavender!”

Patrick watched indulgently as she chose. And then she turned to him and began to seek his advice on the colors he would wear. “I am a gentleman, and so will be less flamboyant,” he told her.

The two women gave each other a look and ignored him after that, picking and choosing what they thought was right for the earl’s garments. When they had finished, Celestina gave orders to her helper to pack everything up again.

“It but remains for me to measure Patrizio,” she said with a wicked smile. “Come, my lord, and let me see how you have grown over the years. You do not look greatly changed, but one can never tell.” She took out her tape and began, muttering to herself beneath her breath, making little scratches with her charcoal stick on the tiny piece of parchment she had brought with her. When she had finished, she arose and tucked the notations she had made into the pocket of her skirts. “You are as fine a figure of a man as you ever were,” she chuckled. “I shall be back for a fitting tomorrow, and I shall bring the pale green gown with me when I come, madame. Its bodice will be nicely, but simply, embroidered,” Celestina promised. Then she turned and was quickly gone from the apartment.

“She moves swiftly for a lady of such girth,” Rosamund noted.

He chuckled. “So you are no longer jealous?” he teased her.

“I did not say that, my lord, for her hands were all over you, especially when she measured the length of your legs. I thought she came a bit too close to your manhood, and I thought that you seemed to enjoy it,” Rosamund said with a small smile.

“Celestina always had the most clever hands,” he remarked, and then, pulling her into his arms, he kissed her soundly. “But you, my darling, seem to be clever all over, and I adore you for it.”

“Is there anything that we need to do now, my lord?” Rosamund asked him.

“See that Dermid and Annie have supper on the sideboard when we want it and then disappear so we may be wanton together without fear of being disturbed?”

“Are you suggesting, my lord, that we go back to bed?” she asked him innocently.

“Aye, lass, I am,” he replied, a slow smile lighting his eyes. “We have several weeks of loving to make up for, Rosamund, and I am ready to begin.”

She smiled back at him. “Then I shall not need this caftan for a while,” she said. “Shall I, my lord?”

“Nay, sweetheart. You will not need it for some time to come,” he agreed, and taking her hand in his, he led her back into her bedchamber.

Sebastian, Duke of San Lorenzo, was a man now closer to sixty than he was to fifty. He was still what would be considered a fine figure of a man, if perhaps a bit portly. His once black hair was now steely gray, but his black eyes were as sharp as they had ever been. He pinned his gaze upon the man he had never again thought to see. They had not parted amicably. How could they have? The Earl of Glenkirk’s daughter was to have married his heir, Rudolpho. But then the girl was stolen by slavers. Even if they had gotten her back, and the Blessed Mother knew he had attempted to retrieve Janet Leslie, there could no longer have been a question of her marriage to his son. She would certainly have been despoiled. His negotiations with Toulouse for one of their princesses had been, he thought, secret. But Patrick had known immediately, even before it was confirmed his daughter was lost forever, that her match with Rudolpho di San Lorenzo was no longer a possibility and that the formal betrothal celebrated just a brief few weeks before was annulled and San Lorenzo’s duke was seeking another bride for his son. The duke and the Scots ambassador’s previously cordial relationship had soured badly. They had parted formally, neither expecting to ever see the other again.