Free The Contessa's Vendetta by Mirella Sichirollo Patzer

vestments.
    Satisfied with my own self-reasoning , I made no attempt to follow Beatrice. I let her go on her way unconscious of my existence. I would wait, I thought, till the evening. Then all would be explained, all would return to normal.
    I turned to the landlord. “How much do I owe you?
    “ Pay what you can,” he replied. “I am never hard on strangers. Times are bad, or you would be welcome to it for nothing. Many a day I have done the same for new visitors to Vicenza, and the blessed Cipriano would assure me that St. Peter would remember me for it.”
    I laughed and tossed him a gold coin. He pocketed it at once and his eyes twinkled. “Such an overpayment is most generous, but the saints will make it up to you, never fear!”
    “ I am sure of that!” I said as I rose. “ Arrivederci .”
    He responded with amiable heartiness, and then began polishing his glasses anew.
    For the remainder of the day, I strolled the less travelled streets of Vicenza, pining for the dark pink splendor of sunset, which would return me safe into the arms of my family, of love and contentment.

Chapter Eight
     

     
    The evening arrived at last. A delicate breeze carried the sweet fragrance of flowers and cooled the heat of the day. A grandeur of colors blazed in the sky, its magnificent tints sending lustre against walls and rooftops. My longing for home urged me forward, yet I held myself back, forcing myself to wait until the sun sank below the horizon, till the glow of its fading light died, and the moon rose languidly into the night sky.
    Finally, when night had fully fallen, I turned onto the road that led to Villa Mancini. My heart raced, my limbs quivered with anticipation, each footstep impatient. Never had the way seemed so long.
    At last , I reached the gate, but it was locked. The sculptured lions on either side frowned down upon me. Beyond, I could hear the splash and tinkle of the fountains as I inhaled the scents of the roses and periwinkle.
    My home! My family! I had no intention of entering through the main gate. I took one long, loving look, and turned left into a small private gate that led into an avenue of trees. This lane had been my favorite place to walk, for it provided cool shade on hot days and was rarely used by anyone other than myself. Beatrice sometimes joined me, but usually I walked alone. I enjoyed strolling the shadowed path reading a good book or giving myself up to the dolce far niente, the sweetness of doing nothing , and my own fancies.
    The path led to the rear of the villa where I hoped to find Annunziata. I would carefully approach her first. The trees rustled in the darkness as I stepped further along the moss-grown path. Sometimes the nightingales broke into melody before falling silent again. Moonlight filtered through interlacing boughs, casting shadows on the ground. Faint aromas floated in the air, shaken from orange boughs and trailing branches of white jasmine.
    I hurried forth, my spirits rising with every step the closer I came to my destination. Sweet anticipation drove me. I longed to be embraced by my beloved Dario, to see his lustrous eyes looking fondly into mine. I was eager to see Beatrice’s delight at my appearance. Chiara would be in bed, but I would tiptoe into her room and watch her sleep, for my happiness would not be complete till I had kissed her round face and caressed her curls, the color of spun gold.
    I heard a sound and came to a sudden stop. What could it be? I strained to listen. It sounded like a ripple of pleasant laughter. A shiver shook me from head to toe. It was my husband’s laugh. I recognized its rich baritone ring. Iciness squeezed my heart. I paused, unsure. How could he laugh so easily, so soon after my death?
    I caught a glimpse of white through the trees. Acting on impulse, I stepped behind some dense foliage through which I could see without being seen. His clear laugh rang out once again; its intensity painful to my ears. He sounded happy,