His Last Duchess Read Online Free Page B

de’ Medici moved.
    She watched her mother’s gaze wandering over the flowers, which tumbled down the walls like many-hued waterfalls, over the four huge bay trees, standing sentinel at each corner of the hall, over the deep red, white and green silk hangings that trembled in the breeze where they hung between the windows. Those, Lucrezia knew, were the Este colours—her mother must have chosen them to please her prestigious guest. She, Lucrezia, was the ultimate prize that awaited the duke, she supposed, but her mother was making sure that the gift was well wrapped.
    She watched as her mother spoke to her father, gazing up into his face as though seeking reassurance. He put big hands on his wife’s shoulders and smiled down at her, then laid a palm against her cheek. Lucrezia swallowed, sure they were discussing her, anxious suddenly at what appeared to be her mother’s unease.
    â€œCome on, let’s go before they see us,” Giovanni said. He took Lucrezia’s hand. She turned away, lip caught between her teeth, and they walked the length of the corridor and out onto an open balcony, which overlooked the central courtyard.
    â€œThey’ll have to come through here, won’t they?” Giovanni said. He sat down on the tiled floor between two large terra-cotta pots of clipped box. He fished in his pocket, brought out a couple of walnuts and cracked them together in his hands.
    Lucrezia nodded and sat down next to him.
    â€œSo if we just wait here, we’ll see them.”
    Another nod. Giovanni held the crushed walnuts in one palm; he picked out the kernels and threw the shells over his shoulder. Lucrezia, meanwhile, retrieved the apricot and held its velvety skin to her closed lips. Fragments of images and nonsensical broken sentences danced through her mind as she smelt the warm, summer-sweet fruit; her eyes slid out of focus and, as she pressed her forehead against the iron bars of the balustrade, she could feel her body moving infinitesimally with her pulse-beat.
    A sudden clatter of hoofs and wheels, and sharp voices calling for immediate action made her start. Giovanni scrambled to his knees, walnut shells scattering untidily around him.
    â€œThey’re here, Crezzi,” he said.
    They folded their arms on the balustrade, chins resting on their hands, looking, Lucrezia imagined, like a pair of eager gargoyles. She still held the apricot, now hot and damp, in one hand.
    The heavy doors from the entrance hall slammed open. Some half-dozen Cafaggiolo servants backed out into the sunshine. Lucrezia saw her mother and father, walking arm in arm; both were smiling at a tall man dressed in black, who strode beside them.
    â€œThat’s him, isn’t it?” Giovanni whispered.
    The duke was looking around the courtyard. He took off his feathered cap and coat as he walked and handed them to a young man just behind him. Beneath the coat, his clothes were very plain, and simple in their cut. His presence was impressive enough, Lucrezia thought; he did not need to resort to ribbons and slashes to make an impact. He was taller than she remembered, but she had not in the least degree forgotten the dark, slow-blinking eyes.
    A black-brindled dog loped at his side—a tall, rough-coated creature with a long, thin tail. Lucrezia’s eyes widened at its height. The duke’s hand was resting on the dog’s head as they walked—and his elbow was bent.
    Lucrezia watched the newcomer as he crossed the courtyard with the rest of the party. He was taking in every detail of his surroundings, it seemed, until suddenly he raised his eyes to the balcony and his gaze met hers. He stopped speaking. Lucrezia dropped the apricot she was holding. It rolled through the balustrade and fell to the ground, landing on the flags with a soft splat not six feet from where the little party was standing. The dog growled softly, but the ghost of a smile flickered across the duke’s face.