Luna swallowed hard; Mamma Lucrezia’s over attentiveness did not bode well. She coddled Papa thus when she knew he was close to anger. Eventually Papa nodded to Mamma Lucrezia and she pushed the platter their way with an encouraging nod. Luna filled her plate and Maria did the same.

‘Thank you, Papa,’ they said in unison.

Luna drank her wine and saw that her father finished three cups to her one.

‘I am indeed restored,’ he said eventually, burping loudly and pulling a chunk of bread from the round to sop up the leftover juices. Grease dripped down his chin.

Luna took another draught of wine for its encouraging burn. ‘Papa, I would apologise.’

He stopped eating and sat back in his chair, wiping his hands clean and taking up his cup. He frowned at her and sighed, then looked at Mamma Lucrezia, who nodded as though encouraging him, an odd sight indeed. Luna feared what was afoot.

‘No,’ he answered. ‘You will listen to me. I do not like to hear of your disrespect, daughter.’

Luna opened her mouth to object, but shut it before speaking.

‘Once again, I must make amends for your behaviour. You have shamed this family at church twice now and it is enough, Leonarda. I will not protect you a third time.’

Mamma Lucrezia laid a hand on Papa’s arm. It reminded Luna of the way the Palagio lady had reached across to her step-mamma. ‘Thank you, husband. This is the wilfulness of which I told you, the very same that disarmed your best intentions. She needs a father’s firm reminder of her place and it gladdens me to hear you give it.’ She turned to Luna. ‘Leonarda, mark this, child.’

Luna nodded. An uncomfortable feeling started in her belly.

‘I forbid you from leaving your chamber. I forbid you from visiting Friar Bartolomeo and I especially forbid you from joining us at Mass. Do you understand?’

Luna stared at her father. She was used to being reprimanded, but this was different: his tone was hurtful. She swallowed, building courage enough to reply, but her tongue sat limp and fat in her mouth and her voice would not sound.

‘Answer me, girl!’ Papa shouted.

She nodded.

‘Is that all the respect you can muster? You, who best of my children knows how to thread words into silken sentences? Do you find insults more poetic now than apologies?’

Luna was silent. It fired her papa’s anger more.

‘After my business finished in Prato, I travelled all the way to Pistoia, an extra week of difficult journeying, to the home of Signore Spinelli, who seeks a wife for his son, Francesco. The negotiations for you had begun before I left.’

Luna gaped but still she could not rally her voice to speak. Papa’s words had choked the air from her lungs.