Her father was talking heatedly with a gentleman in the courtyard, someone who had come to cancel an order, or so she thought she heard. It seemed the man feared the colour of cloth his wife had chosen was too garish, though Luna loved the vibrant blue and yellow combination and imagined his wife would be sorely disappointed when her brown wool arrived instead. The gentleman bemoaned the new rules from the Great Council. He said the preacher ordered his bands of children to report to the authorities all examples of unbecoming or ostentatious dress, so he had no choice but to change his wife’s order. Papa followed the man out.

He’d taken to spending more time in his shops. Luna asked to accompany him as she used to do but he shook his head and said that, at her age, even a girl such as she could no longer prance around the shop floor amongst the workers. He left early, before the heat of the day set in, and returned with the weariness of a long-distance traveller, rather than someone who had been only as far as the river Arno and back.

That day on his return, Papa disappeared into his studiolo, wiping a hand across his face and shouting for wine. Luna hovered out of sight nearby, watching for Mamma Lucrezia. She listened for shouting and any loud noises after her step-mamma passed by with a tray of wine and some hard cheese. She only retreated to her chamber once she’d seen her step-mamma safely return to the kitchen, calling to one of the girls to help her with the dinner.

A few days later, Luna saw Mamma Lucrezia wearing a new ring and despite the heat that night, the ovens were lit and they dined on Papa’s favourite, roast pheasant. Mamma Lucrezia said there was not a wife in all of Florence who suffered less than she, nor received as much in return.

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