The Virgins of Venice

by Gina Buonaguro

Genres: General Fiction; Renaissance; Women's Fiction

Synopsis

In sixteenth-century Venice, one young noblewoman dares to resist the choices made for her

Venice in 1509 is on the brink of war. The displeasure of Pope Julius II is a continuing threat to the republic, as is the barely contained fighting in the countryside. Amid this turmoil, noblewoman Justina Soranzo, just sixteen, hopes to make a rare love marriage with her sweetheart, Luca Cicogna. Her hopes are dashed when her father decides her younger sister, Rosa, will marry in a strategic alliance and Justina will be sent to the San Zaccaria convent, in the tradition of aristocratic daughters. Lord Soranzo is not acting only to protect his family. It’s well known that he is in debt to both his trading partners and the most infamous courtesan in the city, La Diamante, and the pressure is closing in.

After arriving at the convent, Justina takes solace in her aunt Livia, one of the nuns, and in the growing knowledge that all is not strictly devout at San Zaccaria. Justina is shocked to discover how the women of the convent find their own freedom in what seems to her like a prison. But secrets and scandals breach the convent walls, and Justina learns there may be even worse fates for her than the veil, if La Diamante makes good on her threats.

Desperate to protect herself and the ones she loves, Justina turns to Luca for help. She finds she must trust her own heart to make the impossible decisions that may save or ruin them all.

Release date: December 13, 2022

Publisher: HarperCollins Canada

Print pages: 432

Sample

Chapter 1

Venice, April 1509, Easter Monday

Bastard!”

“Son of a nun!”

Coarse insults bursting from passing gondoliers intruded on my peaceful nap, where I dreamt of writing poems and exchanging drowsy kisses. I sat up from my chaise with a wince, the opened book of Seneca tumbling from my knees to the ground with a thud, a page of my scribbling floating to the terrazzo floor like a forlorn flower. Mama would not be pleased my younger sister Rosa and I were exposed to such filthy language, but what could she expect with us cloistered on the terrace within earshot of the busy Grand Canal, its fetid smell wafting upward? Our little white dog, Dolce, twitched his ears and sat up straight on Rosa’s lap.

“What is it?” The heat was having a soporific effect on Rosa as well, although a fast-moving dark puff from the northwest bullied the otherwise blue sky and cast shadows on the nearby palazzi, dimming their facades from pearl white to dove grey, from ripened apricot to rotten brown. She peered over the stone rail.

I placed a hand on her arm. “Just some foul-mouthed gondoliers. Nothing to be alarmed about.”

It was late morning the day after Easter, and Rosa was bleaching her hair using an old family recipe that Mama called alchemy and I called a fruitless exercise in vanity since Rosa’s hair was already so blond. For me, my hair reddish-brown with nary a yellow tress, it would be a waste of time I would much rather spend on my literary endeavours. But I could only indulge my dear sister. I was pleased to keep her company and enjoy the warmth and sunshine, guiltily delighted with the unusual amount of freedom we were enjoying. We had been home from our schooling and postulancy at the San Zaccaria convent since early February, when Mama almost died from a debilitating stillbirth and needed us with her.

Still, as a concession to Rosa, who would be alarmed if my face sprouted a freckle, I wore a wide-brimmed sunhat similar to hers, her bleach-soaked mane pulled through the purposeful hole on its crown and spread out behind her to dry.

She lifted the hat’s brim and surveyed the palazzo opposite, then the bustling canal below. “Look, there’s Papa. He procured a new uniform for Teodor.” She pointed to our gondola, gliding on the azurite waters.

“You know Papa likes to keep up appearances. Although I’m sure it’s second-hand livery.” Our father, wearing red robes as befitted a member of the Senate, sat seemingly lost in thought while our gondolier navigated the boat through the traffic, the richness of his black skin contrasting with the bright red and white stripes of his stockings and new jacket. A jaunty yellow feather topped his matching red hat, making him appear even taller.

After Teodor rowed the gondola out of view, I reached to pick up the fallen paper that held the poem I had been working on. It was sodden, having landed in a puddle, the ink now smudged and illegible. Probably for the best. I thought not for the first time that I was hardly a female incarnation of Virgil.

Rosa sat back and closed her eyes, a charmed expression on the face I knew so well. While God had clearly marked us as relations, He had seen fit to arrange our appearances quite differently. In Rosa, already embodying a ripened woman’s figure at age thirteen, He had sculpted her features into perfection, with wavy golden tresses, a pert nose, clear blue eyes, lush lips, naturally blushed cheeks, and a perpetually angelic expression, so when she lay in bed at night she was as beautiful and serene as St. Ursula. Her demeanour matched her sweet, petite visage, for she was as good and wholesome as the peaches we looked forward to indulging in by the Feast of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary.

In me, older by three and a half years, He had chiselled a plainer arrangement, a longer nose, greyish-blue eyes, thin lips, and a small birthmark on my forehead that had the fashion been different I could have hidden with my hairstyle. In truth, I did need to pay more attention to my appearance than Rosa. I needed any assistance God could grant me. The good Lord had also given me brains as clever as any man’s and a body that strove to match our brother Paolo in height, allowing me if I wished to forgo the raised heels preferred by the female patriciate as well as by the courtesans who consorted with patricians.

I settled back into my chaise. From below shot up more obscenities from the boatmen, the slap of water against stone, the shrieks of seagulls. In my mind’s eye was the rough sketch his lordship Luca Cicogna had made for me just a few days before, inspired by Barbari’s woodcut, the whole of Venice unfurled on paper. Luca was no artist, but he wanted me to be able to perceive the unique vantage. Smiling, I imagined myself a bird, looking down on our city, the Grand Canal like a snake slithering through stone, the city on either side like two hands clasped in prayer.

My imaginings drifted from the woodcut to the nearby church, perfumed with copious flowers and ornately decorated with paintings, perhaps new ones by Giorgione, hundreds kneeling in the pews, looking on approvingly as a veil was lifted from my face and I turned to my new husband, Luca Cicogna . . .

I dared a private smile.

“If only Lord Cicogna could see you now!”

I was startled out of my reverie by the arrival of our older brother, Paolo, Dolce excitedly yapping at his feet.

Paolo stepped onto the terrace with a bowl of dried cherries and a yawn, still wearing his bedclothes, his chemise open to his navel. Even I as his sister could appreciate how fine a manly specimen he was. He knew it too, and took advantage of his opportunities every chance he had, a veritable Mars conquering the battlefield of Venetian bedchambers. “Justina, your suitor is coming over shortly for a meeting of our new society. We’re calling ourselves the Inamorati. What do you think?”

“I think it’s sweet.” Rosa, the sweet one, would of course say that about a fraternity of virile young men calling themselves the Sweethearts. She always thought the best of everyone, naturally assuming their goodness.

“Oh, the irony.” I snorted. “None of you wants to be anyone’s sweetheart, just bed the first willing girl to flutter her eyes at you.”

“How can you say that about your Luca?” Paolo popped two cherries in his mouth, then spat one over the stone wall and nearly hit an unsuspecting boatman ferrying a load of dead animals. We all wrinkled our noses at the stench, far worse than Rosa’s dye.

I tried to whisk the stink away from my nose with my lavender-scented lace handkerchief. “While I would like to think my Luca has eyes only for me, I daresay he is like most other men in his appetites. But so long as I alone have his heart, his mind, and his legitimate children, I can be at peace.”

“The first two you do, my dear sister, that is perfectly clear, and the third hopefully soon to come. Even so, he seems the sort to be faithful to you.” Paolo was uncharacteristically serious for a moment, then shrugged. “Anyway, Luca and I and a few others are organizing this new Inamorati fraternity, and our first order of business is to plan our inaugural festa. I’m so glad you two are still home from the convent, since Papa has given me permission to hold it here and soon. That means, my dear sisters, that Rosa’s bleaching exercise is not in vain.”

Rosa screeched with childish delight. Across the canal, the Pizzamano sisters were also taking advantage of the day for a similar bleaching project, and at Rosa’s outburst, they looked over with interest. Even from such a distance their widened eyes clearly noted Paolo in his intimate apparel and open shirt.

Paolo did not seem to notice as he settled himself on the foot of my chaise. “Moreover, Mama indicated I could work with the lovely and charming Madelena on the menu. My God, that accent of hers! And those eyes! It’s all I can do to control myself. I don’t know how I’ll ever plan a menu with her. Anyway, my aim is to outdo the recent festa given by the Sbragazai. Baggy pants, my backside, they looked like buffoons in those costumes. Acted like them too.”

“Well, do control yourself.” I took a handful of dried cherries, mindful of my pristine dress. “You know she’s the best slave we’ve had in years, and Mama would be furious if she had to leave because of your lack of discipline.”

“Have you seen Mama this morning?” Rosa used a handkerchief to wipe away some bleach that had started dribbling down her temple.

Paolo frowned. “I thought she was out visiting already. Is she all right?”

I shook my head. “Madelena went in to help her dress but found her still in bed, saying her head aches quite badly and she did not want to break her fast.”

Paolo stood up with alarm. “We should check on her then.”

I put a hand on his arm. “Madelena said she expressly forbade any of us from going to her. It apparently is not related to her health. She just wants to rest. She plans to come down for the evening meal.”

Rosa sighed. “Mama is so stubborn.”

Paolo sat down again. “Justina and I are stubborn too, so just say the word and I’ll fetch the doctor or midwife.”

A demure clearing of the throat, and we three looked up to see Madelena standing in the terrace doorway, her dark hair smoothed under her white caul, an uncertain expression on her face. Dolce barked again, and Rosa scooped him up and stroked his ears.

“Lord Luca Cicogna has arrived for Lord Paolo.” An Ottoman accent tinged Madelena’s mellifluous voice.

Paolo broke into a wide grin. “My dear Madelena, send him right up here.”

I gave Paolo a thwack on the thigh. “Don’t you dare do such a thing!”

“You look wonderful, Sister.” He doffed my hat and threw it aside, while Rosa bolted upright in bewilderment.

“But I don’t!” Acrid bleach still coated her hair, and she was wearing an old, too-small dress.

Paolo wrinkled his nose as he munched on another cherry. “True, and you’ve just unfortunately reminded me that one of the ingredients in that disgusting concoction is Dolce’s piss.”

I giggled as Rosa rushed inside, shrieking, past Madelena, who looked from me to Paolo with a tremulous query.

“Send Lord Cicogna up, then attend to Rosa,” he said. Madelena gave a small curtsy before disappearing inside, Dolce at her heels. “Do not fret, Sister.” Paolo patted my knee. “This is the perfect excuse for your paths to cross. We can blame me and say that Madelena did not realize.”

“My hair is all wrong.” I fretfully combed my fingers through the tresses that flowed to my waist. “It is not proper to be down.” At least I was wearing a clean, well-fitting, if third-hand, dress.

Paolo scrutinized me, then spoke with sincerity. “You look lovely, Justina. Your hair is truly your best feature, your crown like a true crown. Luca will thank me for allowing him to see you thus. And I will be your chaperone the entire time.”

I took a deep breath. “I hope you are right.” The clouds had grown thicker, and the breeze smelled like rain. The sky above the northernmost sestiere of the city was smudged with black, and distant thunder growled.

“Of course I’m right. The only reason Luca indulges our new fraternity is so that he has a legitimate reason to come here and talk to you. He’s much too serious and studious otherwise.”

I picked up the Seneca from the ground, tucked my ruined poem inside, and settled it back on my lap, my fingers drumming the closed cover. “Paolo, do you honestly think our fathers will ever allow us to marry? For love, and at such a tender age for him?”

“I do not know, Justina. But I do know this. Luca’s heart is true, and he is a legitimate nobleman from a good and wealthy family, albeit a newer one, only one hundred years in the patriciate. But that is certainly hope to cling to. Our own father was not immune to such a match. You are well aware the reason he married Mama was for her newer family’s fortune and connections.”

“Fortune is not something we can offer, only a very long pedigree.”

“True, and our current dearth of ducats does seem to be giving Luca’s father some pause. But Luca is very persuasive. He will convince him. And ours is only a temporary state—I am sure of it and remind him at every opportunity.”

I remained doubtful. “What about Luca’s youth? You know it is almost unheard of these days for a nobleman to marry at twenty-four. Too green to be on the Great Council even. So much to learn, about government, trade, law, philosophy. Although I would do everything I could to help his political and mercantile enterprises.”

Paolo stroked my hand. “I know you would, more than any other wife, I venture. I will reiterate Luca’s finer qualities to Papa after Luca has obtained his own father’s permission. Remind him what an upstanding nobleman he is, how well he would care for a wife, his Paduan legal training, the path rising before him. Not to mention what good allies his family would make at the doge’s palazzo, and excellent trading partners too. They seem to have the Midas touch, with money to burn.”

A soft knock on the door, and Madelena appeared again at the terrace threshold, Lord Luca Cicogna beside her.

Chapter 2

Luca!” Paolo strode over to greet his friend, while I rose uncertainly, grateful to Seneca, as his words in book form gave my twitchy hands something to do, and also grateful to Papa, one of the few patrician fathers who had permitted his daughter to learn to read Latin. “My sister Justina has unexpectedly joined us for a moment.” He glanced at Madelena, who was giving me a wide-eyed look as my hair rippled in the strengthening breeze. “Madelena, fetch my clothes.” She nodded, then scuttled away.

Giving a little bow, Luca stood before me, his brown hair in waves past his ears, his easy smile more meaningful to me than the Lord’s Prayer, although I would never admit such heresy aloud. “Signorina Justina, I hope I find you in good health.”

Despite the admonishments to myself, I could not extinguish my glee at his elegant presence, his gentle voice, his deep brown eyes, his utterance of my name like the plucking of a lute. I wished to launch myself into his arms but knew decorum was paramount if I ever wanted his arms around me permanently. “I am well, Lord Cicogna, although please excuse my appearance. I was not expecting you. How fare you?”

“Think nothing of it—you look lovely. And I am excellent now.” He gestured to the book in my hands. “What are you reading?”

“Seneca’s On the Brevity of Life.”

“Ah yes, one of my favourites. A superb reminder to make the most of one’s days and not squander time. I think your brother would benefit from a perusal.” He flashed a grin at Paolo, who could not hold back a guffaw.

I smiled. “The Roman philosophers never did much interest Paolo.”

“No, courtesans, Roman or otherwise, interest him much more.”

Paolo looked comically indignant, then laughed again. “I cannot deny it. Ottoman maids too.”

I shook my head as Luca turned serious. “It is, however, heartening to see the philosophers interest you, Signorina Justina. O how many noble deeds of women are lost in obscurity!”

“I’m not sure reading Seneca is a noble deed, but it certainly is done by me in obscurity.”

Paolo yawned. “This conversation is beyond me. Never did like Latin. If you’ll excuse me, I should get dressed before our fraternity meeting.”

I felt stricken. “Must you, right now?” It was improper for Luca to be alone with me, and in full view of the Grand Canal.

As if to save my honour, fat raindrops began punctuating the terrace floor, and the three of us hurried inside to the piano nobile. I set the Seneca on a nearby side table, brushing the droplets off the cover.

“Better now.” Paolo raked his fingers through his dampened hair. “I think I hear Madelena already with my clothes.” And he left Luca and me staring at each other. I knew Paolo was doing his brotherly duty and standing just outside the door as both guard and alarm, yet far enough away to give us a moment of intimacy.

Luca smiled and dared to step closer. “Paolo is a remarkably loyal brother to you and friend to me, is he not?”

I nodded and looked up at him, my resolve to remain decorous dissolving quickly. Taller than most Venetian noblemen, he was one of the few men I had to look up at, given my Amazonian stature. Although somehow I knew he would not mind even if we were the same height.

“And you are remarkable, Justina.” He took my hand and kissed it gently. “Tomorrow morning, my father has at last agreed to speak with your father before the first meeting at the doge’s palazzo, to broker our marriage terms.”

“It is to be, then!”

“Shhh. We don’t want anyone to discover us.” He took my other hand and held them both tight against his chest, and while I trembled at his closeness, his heart beating fast beneath my fists, I also felt at peace. “My father knows your father must reach a decision very soon, given your seventeenth birthday is in early summer. Time must not be wasted.”

“Seneca could have told you that.”

“Your wisdom is your most attractive quality.” He studied my face. “And you do not blush at the compliment.”

“I wish to go beyond the fire that burns me.”

“Petrarch. You will be better than Laura for me. For Petrarch loved her only from afar.” He leaned in closer.

“And we can marry.” Our lips were but inches apart.

“Will you let me finally read your writings once we are wed?”

The thought of showing Luca my poems and essays scared me as much as the wedding night, but still I nodded. He would be my husband. I would trust him and keep nothing from him.

“I cannot wait.” He threaded his fingers through my tresses, and I involuntarily shivered.

Outside the room Madelena gave a soft exclamation as Paolo cleared his throat, and Luca and I hastily drew back from each other. It was best if no one saw me alone with him, for honour, my own and our families’.

Still, Luca dared a quick peck upon my cheek, sending a spark through me. “One night’s sleep until we begin our lives together,” he whispered before stepping back, leaving me aflame.

Paolo traipsed in, buttoning his doublet. He clapped Luca on the back and gave me a friendly punch. “To the library, Luca, to wait for the others and formulate our festa.” He swung his arm around Luca’s shoulders, then said under his breath, “And to cool you off. You’re lucky I don’t toss you in the canal.”

Luca gave me an embarrassed smile, and the pair of them departed the room to make their plans.

Outside, rain pummelled Venice in great sheets, smacking the terrace stones and pockmarking the water in the Grand Canal. I stood frozen with joy, hardly able to comprehend what Luca had just told me, listening to the rain for I don’t know how long until Rosa rushed in.

“Sister! What happened?” Her hair, the slightest shade blonder, was rinsed of bleach and tumbling damply down her back, and she was now dressed in a proper gown.

“Luca said his father will speak to Papa tomorrow.”

Rosa squealed. “That is too perfect! Oh, I hope Papa will allow me to stay to help prepare for the wedding, and not just let me leave the convent for the ceremony.”

“Thank you for being happy for me.” For we both knew one of us was to marry and the other to take the veil, the only viable paths for all women of our class.

“Of course I am. You are my dearest sister. Although I’m already a postulant, I wish I didn’t have to return to San Zaccaria. I don’t even have to marry, so Papa wouldn’t have to raise a second dowry. Just live at home and take care of Mama. Or with you and tend to your children with Luca. I would not even care whether I had the opportunity to don the latest fashions and attend festas.”

“We both know that living at home is not a choice. And that the nuns at San Zaccaria adore wearing the latest fashions and attending festas.”

“You know me too well. I shall look forward to that.” Rosa laughed as she shook her head. “Imagine, being able to marry for love!” Her gaze drifted out to the terrace. “I wonder when Papa will return.”

Certain it wasn’t Papa’s return that mattered to her as much as that of the gondolier who conveyed him, I frowned. For while I had reason to believe I could be one of the fortunate few whose father arranged my marriage into a love match, Rosa would never have such luck with a man from a low class.

The Most Serene Republic of Venice—let alone our father—would never permit it. And the sooner she accepted that, the sooner she reconciled herself to life in a cloister, the better.

Chapter 3

Our family all sat down for supper at the gloaming hour. Before us was our usual meal of fresh fish and vegetables of the season, in this case artichokes, followed by something sweet. We each also had a cup of white table wine. I wasn’t very hungry, and I only hoped I could regulate my excitement and emotions to display my usual demeanour. Tomorrow would be the day my love marriage was arranged!

Our father had only recently returned from the doge’s palazzo. A man given to commanding silences and preternaturally calm arguments, Papa was tall and slim, with high cheekbones, an aristocratic nose, and clean-shaven pale skin, his hair long, formerly auburn, now grey. He was not indulgent with his children, but he insisted we be educated and was fierce in his fealty to us. He had been married to Mama for more than twenty-two years, romantic love never in evidence but the pragmatic bond between them indubitable.

Mama sat across from him at the table, her dress peacock blue, her white neck bared to the top of her bosom, her blond, silver-streaked hair stylishly fashioned into two soft horns atop her head. Looking at her pale face, bloodshot eyes, and tight lips, I worried about her headache.

“Mama, I’m so happy you finally feel well enough to join us.” I smiled to mask my concern. She nodded without meeting my eyes and took a sip of wine as Papa cleared his throat.

“I am very pleased to see our entire family dining together, that my wife is back in good health after her recent trials, and that my son Paolo has seen fit to join us this evening.” Father and son both laughed. It was true that many evenings Paolo was absent at social engagements, and he always brought welcome levity to the otherwise sombre meals we had taken with our father over the past two months. “I am also pleased to see we have no guests, for I have important information to convey.” He looked at each of us in turn, although my mother stared at her dish.

With my concern for Mama’s health now allayed, her refusal to meet my eye made me suspect this announcement had to do with me. My stomach churned. Had Papa arranged another marriage before Luca’s father had a chance to meet with him? Could it not wait one day more?

Rosa reached under the table to slip her hand into mine, but her touch only made me feel worse. I became surer that my love match was turning from gold to lead.

“I have made two decisions, one concerning each of my daughters.”

Rosa’s hand tightened around mine, for neither of us had anticipated a second development. Even Paolo raised a brow.

“First, my sweet, beautiful, younger daughter, Rosa. I have arranged a marriage for you.”

Her eyes widened, and she drew in her breath. Paolo and I did too. No one was expecting her fate to be announced first, and we’d always assumed as the younger she’d be the one to enter the convent.

“The name of your husband is Zago Zane. He comes from one of the old houses in Venice, and his family is extremely wealthy. I know him well from our governmental proceedings, and I find him to be a very upstanding noble with a bright future ahead of him. He will care for you, give you a good home, and provide you with many luxuries. You may have already met him when he visited his sister Zanetta at San Zaccaria.”

Rosa didn’t say anything. I knew she couldn’t: she was so shocked that she would be marrying so unexpectedly soon. I was shocked too. For one thing, she was very young, just thirteen, and knew her fiancé in no capacity whatsoever. Even though we had seen him at the convent visiting Zanetta Zane, neither of them took any notice of us. She also had an affection for our gondolier, which was an impossibility, but still, her heart would require some mending. And did this news mean our family’s fortune was in a better state then we children had realized, that Papa could afford two dowries?

“What say you, Daughter?” Papa commanded, though not unkindly.

“Thank you, Papa.” Rosa, ever obedient, looked down at her lap. She could not meet his eyes, perhaps because her own were filling with relief at not having to spend the rest of her life in a convent, mixed with fear of marriage. But she could not say anything to object. Her duty, our duty, as noble Venetian daughters, was to fulfill our father’s plans and society’s expectations.

“Congratulations, Rosa,” I said in what I hoped was a comforting tone. “You are lucky to have him.” I squeezed her hand, hoping she could deduce my underlying message: And he is lucky to have you.

Mama took another gulp of wine as Papa raised his goblet. “To your health, my dear Rosa. May you bear many sons and unite two fine patrician houses.” Rosa’s eyes widened again as she gulped down some wine.

“What about Justina, Papa?” Paolo was never shy, and I knew he had our mutual friend on his mind. “Perhaps it is hasty to plan two marriages at once. How will Mama manage such large events simultaneously?”

Papa smiled as he turned to me, and I felt my heart lurch. “For my wise, studious, older daughter, Justina, I have made a different sort of match, one I believe will allow her ample time to read and write, two pursuits I know she holds quite dear.” He elevated his goblet again. “Justina is to take her vows at San Zaccaria.”

Rosa gasped. Paolo looked stunned. My mother swallowed the rest of her wine and wiped her cheeks with her handkerchief. I realized then that she had known of my father’s decisions. Her headache had had nothing to do with any womanly troubles.

I could not say a word. I could not comprehend what I was hearing.

My father had indeed pledged me to marry, just not Luca, nor any mortal man. I was to be a bride of Christ, cloistered in a convent until my soul departed this world.

My heart broke at this double loss. Of Luca and of marital life.

“Papa, is there no other choice but to place Justina in a nunnery?” Only Paolo dared question our father, as the only other male in the room, the only one with any measure of authority. Even so, we all knew it was impudent and risked reprisal.

Papa did not look pleased. “Paolo, you of anyone know best the financial straits our house is in, and you also are aware of how inflated dowries have become for our class. Two thousand ducats at least, not to mention a further thousand for a corredo that you well understand your future brother-in-law keeps for himself, never to return it to our family. And what about your future? If both your sisters marry with the requisite dowries, you may be left with nothing by the time you marry in a decade or so. A judicious match has set many a young man on the path to prosperity. You have a promising career ahead of you, and I need to budget for it. Besides, as my only son, you need to produce heirs.” He cleared his throat. “Legitimateheirs.”

“But Papa, as the eldest daughter, Justina always thought she’d be the one to marry. And maybe something else can be arranged for Rosa.”

“I admire your brotherly devotion, but you realize as well as I that noble marriages are a strategic affair. I had both girls become postulants to hedge our bets. If Justina married down into the citizen class, she would lose her noble status, and that is impossible to contemplate for any of my heirs, given we are one of the oldest houses in Venice. Thus I want to make the best noble alliance possible, and marrying into the Zane family is precisely that. I suppose Justina could fulfill that role, but your mother agrees with me that Rosa is capable of making a far superior marital match.”

Rosa cried out as I nearly retched at this impolitic statement, but I held my peace outwardly, saying nothing as Mama continued to avoid my gaze.

Papa wiped his lips with a cloth. “I have thought quite long and hard about what should happen to you three, whom God has trusted me to provide for and see to adulthood. After much consultation with my sister’s husband as well as even your mother, I have decided that this is the best course of action. You each will have a life suited to you and in which I believe you will find contentment, and I will be able to care for you in the best way possible, secure upon my deathbed that I have fulfilled my duties to God, our republic, your mother, and you. Now, please excuse me.”

He pushed his chair back and exited the room, leaving the rest of us in a bewildered state.

“You knew, Mama?” Paolo’s voice was terse.

She nodded, tears flowing more freely now. “I’m truly sorry, Justina. But after much reflection, I felt this would be best for all my children. None of us want you sequestered in a convent, and we will miss you desperately. But we will visit every chance we have. And I thought you might find a measure of happiness there, able to study your precious books and write poetry and essays, although I suppose the subject matter will now need to be of a religious nature. You care for those pastimes far more than Rosa, and they are feasible in a convent. And Rosa is so agreeable and deferential. I know she’ll make the better wife. You would chafe under the marital yoke. Trust me. We are more alike than you realize.” With that, she too rose and left the room.

Paolo dashed to my side. “Justina, ...