DELUGE Read Online Free

good on my promise to my husband. I went to the buckets of water in the corner and poured one into a basin, undressed, then quickly washed my face and body. The hair would have to be washed tomorrow—I’d never get it dry in time for our trip over to Castello Greco. But I did run damp fingers through it, combing it thoroughly. Giacinta would come and do something proper with it.
    Hopefully, she was downstairs in the lady’s maid’s room, and not on one of Cook’s hundred errands. The most I could do with my hair was a ponytail or braid. I’d need Giacinta if I was to wrestle it into the elaborate braids and knots that were required of the gorget—a sheer throat cloth that was attached to the hair. It wasn’t my favorite, but it was respectable, and after shirking my pen-pal duties earlier, I knew Marcello would appreciate the effort. He’d often said he liked how it framed my face. Add to that the fact that we were going to see none other than Lord Rodolfo Greco—a guy who had once done some Serious Flirting with me—I was all about playing the role of the demure, satisfied matron. Alessandra didn’t need to feel any threat or competition from me. Only neighborly love.
    I shook out a dark green gown from a trunk, biting my lip in consternation over the wrinkles in it. But I knew from experience that they would likely ease in an hour or two. I’d just get new ones on the ride across the miles, anyway. Lia and I had lobbied for proper closets, but Mom and Dad had nixed that idea with their endless patter about changing tradition and history. To us, bringing fourteenth-century Italians knowledge about closets before their time seemed minor. And like a big plus for us. But we’d lost the battle, as we had so many others.
    Giacinta knocked quickly on the door and peeked in. “M’lady?”
    “Oh, good, come in,” I said, waving her forward. I turned toward her, the green gown half draped across me. “Is this suitable for dinner?”
    “Yes, m’lady,” she said. “It’s a fine choice.”
    I didn’t know why I had asked. There were only about three options. I had a total of ten gowns, a wealth by medieval standards. But most of them were far too snug already on my growing curves brought on by the little lord or lady in my belly.
    “I shall summon the tailor and his seamstresses after the feast,” Giacinta said, helping me into the gown and beginning to lace up the back as I stood in front of the patchy looking glass. They didn’t have any proper, clear mirrors in this time, only the splotchy looking glass made by Venetians.
    I grimaced, feeling the tug and pull. “Oh no, is this one getting too small, too?” I stared in consternation as my breasts pillowed upward from the front. Thankfully, it had an empire waist, and the ample skirt fell directly downward. But the boobage was somewhat alarming. I wanted to be the demure matron, not the neighborhood vamp, right?
    “Mayhap it’s the last time you can wear it until your baby is born,” she said, casting me a rueful smile over my shoulder into the mirror.
    I tugged upward on the neckline, but it was useless. “Let’s try the gold instead.”
    “Ahh, it has a stain.”
    “Drat. Well, the dark purple then?”
    “A tear. Remember?”
    “But you sewed it up.”
    “Which makes it suitable for Castello Forelli, but not for a visit to Castello Greco. It might be seen as a slight,” she said gently. “The dress is fine, m’lady.”
    “Are you certain?” I turned back to my reflection.
    “I am. Wear the gown tonight and I’ll see about letting it out at the seams tomorrow.”
    “At this rate, I’ll be in sack cloth by next week if the tailor doesn’t hasten to us.”
    She smiled. “I doubt that, m’lady,” she said, smoothing out my shoulder seams and tugging down the sleeves. Even they seemed tight. It was like my entire body was swelling. Like the week before my period. Except every week was like that now. I yanked at my sleeves until they were