The gardens were tidy and geometric, each avenue with a different purpose: flowers for cutting, herbs, brightly colored vegetables. He put his arms around her in a circular embrace. The title had formerly been held by Gianfrancesco’s brother, Alessia, now dead of plague. ‘In the bookroom, sir,’ answered the man, his eyes round as they took in the furious beauty at the visitor’s side. Fool that I was to marry for beauty! I ought to have remembered that a fair woman and a slashed gown always find some nail in the way. She cursed herself for a fool. Winifred screamed. Here and there, a rectangular patch, darker than the rest, showed that some had been removed. It’s just life, pure life, life nascent, running clear and strong.
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