The howl of a dog sounded, off in the distance, followed by a chorus of yips and barks. Mada made a face again. “Perhaps she likes wild animals.”
The carriage passed a small church, with twin bell towers framing a central dome of gold leaf and red clay shingles. It was more of a chapel, probably built for only the wealthy who lived out here past the edge of the city. Most of Florence probably attended Mass at the Duomo.
The horse slowed.
Cass hung her head out the window. “Santo cielo,” she murmured as Villa Briani came into view. She heard Siena gasp behind her.
The stone walls rose three stories in the air, the flat roof adorned with a gold-trimmed parapet. Watchtowers complete with battlements extended above the roof on two opposing corners. Wisps of ivy crawled across the entire front of the villa and framed the large arched windows.
The lawn leading up to the villa was expansive, with neatly clipped hedges framing both sides of a path of marble stepping-stones. Beyond the hedges, flowers bloomed in large terra-cotta pots, and a pair of starlings did battle in a marble birdbath. Sapling trees bowed in the gentle breeze.
This wasn’t a villa. It was a castle. Falco had mentioned that his patroness was wealthy, but this estate made Madalena’s family palazzo on the Grand Canal look like a shack. Cass was surprised Falco hadn’t gone on about his glamorous new place of work. Then again, he never seemed that taken with the trappings of nobility. She remembered how he had made himself at home in her aunt’s villa, strumming away on Agnese’s priceless harp as if it were a carved lute he’d bartered for at the market.
Madalena seemed stunned into silence. In a daze, the girls descended from the carriage and moved as one across the circular stone path to the front door. A butler dressed in brilliant red satin breeches and a blue doublet piped with silver trim opened the door before Cass could even knock. He introduced himself as Signor Mafei. The ends of his silky blond hair fell into his face as he dipped into an impressive bow. Cass always thought of butlers as senior members of the staff. She had never met one close to her own age, yet the man before her didn’t look any older than Luca.
“Bongiorno,” he said. “Signorina Caravello and Signora Cavazza, I presume? My mistress is in the garden. Please follow me.”
Once inside, Siena and Eva curtsied and immediately excused themselves. Signor Mafei ascended a circular staircase made of the same gray stone as the villa’s exterior. Cass and Madalena followed him up into a wide portego with a high vaulted ceiling. Brilliant gleaming swords and breastplates sat on marble pedestals. Statues of Roman goddesses stood in each corner of the room. Cass recognized Minerva, Diana, Juno, and Venus. Vibrant portraits covered all four walls, most depicting a raven-haired woman who looked slightly older than Cass. The woman had porcelain skin and jet-black hair that dangled scandalously past her shoulders in wide curls. She looked almost feral, with cat-shaped eyes and pouting, predatory lips. Cass wondered if it was Belladonna’s daughter. Falco had not mentioned that his patroness had children.
Her stomach tightened as she stared at the paintings. Had this breathtaking girl factored into Falco’s decision to move to Florence?
No. That was crazy. These paintings weren’t even his work. She could tell from the brushstrokes, from the bright compositions, which made everything about the woman seem idealized.
No one could be that perfect.
Cass and Madalena followed Signor Mafei into the dining area, which was painted a deep jade and furnished in dark wood paneling. A large Oriental rug covered most of the floor. Beyond the dining area was a narrow hallway, which terminated at another set of stairs, this one leading down into Belladonna’s garden. Signor Mafei gestured to the stairs and then bowed again. “She is expecting you.”
Cass turned to thank the butler, but he had already disappeared.
Unlike Agnese’s garden, which was well tended, neat, and very small, Belladonna’s garden stretched vastly in all directions. It was bordered by the back of the villa and a high stone fence on the other three sides, giving Belladonna complete privacy from her neighbors. A series of terraces had been cut in front of the longest section of wall, each level filled with different plants. A waterfall cascaded down over the middle of the terraces. Cass had never seen so many brilliantly colored flowers. There were lilies, laurel, myrtle, and other plants that she couldn’t begin to identify. Roses in unusual blends of oranges and yellows and pinks were threaded through an arched wooden trellis that shaded a round table from the sun. Great stone angels flanked both sides of the trellis. Each winged statue wore a ring of roses around its neck. The blossoms were as big as Cass’s hand, and she couldn’t resist reaching out to stroke the petals of a giant coral-colored bloom as she approached.
Madalena was already curtsying to the small group of women relaxing around the table. Cass hurried to join her. Before settling into the empty chair next to Mada, she quickly scanned the group of women, trying to identify the mysterious Belladonna. One was pale in every way—her skin, her hair, her watery blue eyes. The other two were darker: one with a sagging brow and a face sharp with lines, one with streaks of gray in her hair. They were all pretty, but none of them was unusual or stunning. Cass dropped her gaze to the women’s hands, looking for both a flower-engraved ring and a missing finger. The pale woman had her hands folded demurely in her lap, but the other two seemed to have all digits intact. Impossible to tell whether they were wearing rings, because of the lace gloves that they wore.
“Ladies.”
A voice that drizzled like honey came from behind Cass. She twisted around and felt her jaw drop slightly.
A woman in a brilliant turquoise-and-silver gown stood at the bottom of the stairs, jewel-encrusted cuffs glinting in the sun, curls of dark hair hanging in ringlets around her chin. It was, unmistakably, the girl depicted in the paintings.
“I am Signorina Briani, but you may call me Bella if you like.” She looked hard at Cass and Madalena with her feline eyes. “Mi dispiace. I don’t mean to stare, but I was trying to guess which of you knows my artist in residence Signor da Padova.”
Cass almost swallowed her tongue. This was the legendary Belladonna? It wasn’t possible. Falco and Madalena had both made it sound like Signorina Briani was close to forty. The woman before them was just a girl, a few years older than Cass at most.
Cass stood and curtsied quickly, still half in a daze. “I am Cassandra Caravello,” she said. “I am acquainted with Fal—with Signor da Padova.” It was so odd to call Falco by his formal name.
Madalena introduced herself and gushed for a few moments about Signorina Briani’s beauty. The signorina looked amused, but reached in to give Mada’s gloved hand a squeeze before arranging her gossamer skirts and taking the empty seat at the table. She introduced her companions, but Cass forgot their names almost immediately, instead thinking of them as Pale, Gray, and Scarlet, because the woman with the sharp face wore a dress almost the exact same shade of red as Madalena’s.
Signor Mafei, the handsome butler, brought them each a cup of tea. Cass couldn’t keep from sneaking peeks at Belladonna out of the corner of her eye every few seconds. This couldn’t be Falco’s patroness. There had to be some mistake.
Bella laughed and all of the other women joined in. Cass forced a laugh too, although she hadn’t heard the quip. She tried to focus on Belladonna’s syrupy-slick voice, but all Bella seemed to be talking about was herself: her jewels, her newest treasures from abroad, her flowers, which apparently bloomed even in the winter. Cass’s mind kept wandering. How could she possibly look so young? How could she possibly be so gorgeous? Even Madalena looked plain here, a peasant girl next to Belladonna’s Venus. Her skin was practically glowing. She was perfect.