‘Cease these hysterics and let your poor husband rest, for I am sore wearied by this day and it gets no easier in my own chamber.’ He lay back and closed his eyes. ‘Away with you before I hit you on the head.’

He did not hear his wife leave the room; he was already asleep.

*

Vincenzio woke with a crushing pain across his forehead. He sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for the room to stop swimming. Then he called for a restorative tonic as he dressed slowly. He’d need a cup of wine with which to wash it down and stumbled to his studiolo, where he dropped into his chair and let his arms fall slackly to either side. His back still ached from his undignified scrambling up into the choir stand and nothing he did seemed to ease the discomfort.

Sitting in the stark light of morning, he remembered his wife’s rebukes and, still groggy, wondered if there might yet be some truth in what she said. A servant interrupted his musings with the tonic and he drank it quickly, gagging at the intensity of flavour, then flushed it down with a cup of wine. By the time he’d finished the jug and eaten the bread that came with it, he felt restored, and any stirrings of self-awareness had been drowned out along with the alcohol.

He called for a new quill, turning over the one on his desk with its blunt tip, and prepared a fresh balance sheet of his assets. Still a dwindling mercantile fortune, soon to be boosted by the financial benefits of a marriage. Extensive possessions, though he made note of a reduction in his collection of books, having sent so many away. A devoted wife; here Vincenzio’s quill hovered, remembering Lucrezia’s temper of the previous night, but he decided to be gracious and carried on to the next item. Talented children; another moment of hesitation, lifted by the certainty of his son’s robust constitution in the face of danger. He did not include the Medicis on his list of friendships but added the Palagios to bolster his respectability and to keep his numbers up. At the conclusion of his writings, once again, he felt the burdens of his mind abate.

A servant knocked and brought in a large jug of wine and some of the citrons left over from dinner. Vincenzio allowed himself to eat them all. For these delicious sweets he might yet forgive Lucrezia her arrogance. She was an excellent housekeeper. He supposed she’d also not been entirely wrong when she’d brought up Luna’s reputation; his pride had been bruised by Signore Spinelli’s rejection of his daughter. Christ’s blood! The man’s son was a simpleton and still he’d turned her down. At least confining Leonarda to her chamber would curtail any further disobedience. He thought of his daughter’s pained frown and those pretty eyes turned dark. She looked more like Giulia each day.