‘We don’t need the sort of attention Nicolaus’s outburst will bring upon the Academy. The preacher’s men will most assuredly relay the whole exchange back to Savonarola.’ Luna heard the frustration and impatience in her father’s voice.

‘I admire the young man’s spirit,’ she said.

‘Speak up,’ her father demanded.

Luna begged him with a stare to stop but he took her arm and led her into the middle of the circle of gentlemen. She knew this attention would not end until she’d addressed them.

‘Though he was rude to interrupt you, professor,’ she said.

‘He is a Pole; we cannot expect the same refinement as a Florentine,’ the professor replied with good-natured humility.

Luna raised her head and steadied her gaze on her father before speaking again. ‘If Joannes de Monte Regio found errors in Ptolemy’s model then is this not worth further investigation?’ she said.

‘So you agree with the Pole?’ Novara asked.

‘I side with curiosity in the pursuit of knowledge.’

‘Well said.’

Luna stood straight-backed and resolute whilst all eyes were on her. Her chest burned and her head grew hot under the foolish cap.

Her father stepped towards her, reached up and pulled the cap off. Her thick curls fell easily past her shoulders. ‘Gentlemen, may I introduce to you my daughter, Leonarda Lunetta.’

She heard them gasp and guffaw.

‘What game is this?’ Professor di Novara asked.

‘Is she not a marvel?’ her father answered.

Luna remained still, staring straight ahead.

‘Take the poor girl home,’ the professor said more forcefully. ‘She is out of place here.’ He gave Luna a kindly smile. ‘You do yourself no favour with this dupery, Vincenzio.’ Then Novara turned his back to them and pointedly, it seemed to Luna, began talking to another gentleman.

Luna grabbed the cap from her father and did the best she could to tuck her curls back into it. A rush of heat consumed her with the force of a burning pyre. She’d not be gawped at by these boys and men who had begun to stare and laugh.

Her father took her by the arm and dragged her from the room. The sting of Papa’s tight hold forced her on, past other men stood in conversation, through groups descending from the palazzo till the low babbling of voices was a distant murmur and they came to a stop at the end of the path leading away from the building. Her father was panting and muttering under his breath. He dropped his hold and walked on till a length of garden and grass separated them. She could still hear his cursing as he paced back towards her and then away again, as though he could not decide whether to acknowledge her as his own.