The Countess Cliché, Chapter 10
Betha hadn't thought much of Inigo's bare chest since they'd moved to her family home, but now that was changing. She'd thought, before, that there was no pleasure for women in lovemaking, but she'd caught one of the skullery-maids with one of the stable-hands, and she'd certainly seemed to be enjoying things. It had got her thinking, and where her thoughts had gone was that clearing.
The girl had started to cry as soon as she'd realised they had been caught, but it had been what she'd said. "You unnerstand, don' you, ma'am? 'E was jus' so 'andsome, workin' there with 'is shirt orf..." Betha had snapped out a warning to not do such things on her time again, and the pair had promised not to... but she was sure that as soon as she'd been out of sight they'd carried on... and she'd been tempted to sneak back to watch. A week or so later, the pair had married, and that was no doubt because the girl was expecting.
The peasants here, she'd discovered, had a rather more... practical approach to girls chastity than elsewhere for some reason. They simply didn't expect it. If a girl got pregnant, then she'd marry, presumably the man responsible, but if she didn't, well, it had just been a little fun. Marriage before children were on the cards was what nobles did, it was considered getting above yourself to do so. Betha had learned of at least one occasion where two young men had come to blows over which of them was the father of a particular child, and so who would marry the girl. Strangely, Betha thought, they both wanted to be the father.
She knew about it because they came to her to resolve the issue. She'd known what to do as soon as she saw the three. The girl was blonde, one man dark and the other as fair as the girl. She'd told them to just wait and see what the child looked like, and that had seemed to satisfy them. Of course, she'd taken the girl aside and asked if she had a preference, but she'd simply said that if she'd been able to choose then she'd have done so long since.
Would it really be so bad to be a mother? She'd have nannies and nurses and all manner of servants to take care of her children for her, might it not be worth it? Her own mother had paid little enough attention to her, she didn't need to be bothered by her children if she didn't want to be. True, she'd wanted to put things off as long as possible, but how much longer could she wait, really? Inigo would be 40 soon enough, and while she had plenty of time, did he? She didn't think men could get too old to have children, but she wasn't sure.
She'd bring the subject up soon, she thought. Perhaps after the ball she was hosting for the Italians. Inigo didn't drink the wine, but she did, and bringing up such a subject would be easier when she was a little tipsy. She thought about it more when she was tipsy, too. Yes, that would be perfect. She'd pretend to be feeling a little unwell and ask Inigo to help her to bed. Once they were alone...
For three days, she thought of little but what would be happening that night. She knew the mechanics of things, thought she knew well enough how to please him and while she expected some pain, she knew the alcohol would dull it. Besides, she knew that there could be a sort of pleasure in pain. She was sure there would have been a chapter on that in her father's book, but that was back in Florin Castle. She remembered well enough, though, the way she'd felt after a beating. Oh, the beating itself would be horrible, never something she would have wanted, and she'd struggle not to cry out, because her father would just hit her all the harder if she did, but after... Afterwards, her reddened skin would burn and tingle, and that wasn't exactly unpleasant. Perhaps, she thought, that's how it was for women – the pleasure came after.
Aside from that, she was aware of her body's reactions. She'd been a late developer, but now she was starting to understand the pleasure of the anticipation. Thinking about the things they would do made her blush, but it wasn't only her cheeks that tingled. She decided to put such thoughts aside the morning of the Italians' arrival, but she'd found that once she had started thinking such things, she couldn't stop thinking them. It was most vexing.
Giulietta Cardinale stopped her having those thoughts. There was no room for them beside the jealousy. It wasn't that she knew of Inigo's love for the Italian Countess, because she didn't; it was simply that Giulietta Cardinale was everything she'd always wanted to be. She had a trim waist and full breasts, while Betha was still quite shapeless. All her attempts to put on weight and develop a figure had been for nothing. If she ate more than she wanted to, she simply got a stomach ache, and didn't put on a pound. Eating a lot of cake instead of proper meals simply made her jumpy and then irritable and snacking just made her not want her meals and made her skin break out.
It wasn't just her figure, though. She moved so gracefully that it was almost possible to believe that her dress concealed wheels instead of legs, and her face... Betha knew her nose was too long, her cheekbones too sharp, her eyes too hard, that there was not a hint of softness about her. Giulietta's face was soft and round, her eyes soft and gentle, her lips soft full and with always just a hint of a smile to them. Her softly curled hair swirled around her shoulders and was always perfect, whereas if Betha did not keep hers piled up and tightly pinned, it turned into a bird's nest of tangles inside the hour. Giulietta was the ideal of womanhood, and Betha knew she was far from it.
She greeted the Countess warmly, as she did all her guests, but already she was burning with jealousy. Her husband was the one thing she did not envy. Clearly, there was no love there. He was a great bear of a man, all beard and unruly hair, who didn't so much speak as boom. Choosing someone to play him now, it would be Brian Blessed. He seemed jovial enough, but Betha couldn't imagine thinking about this man the way she had started to think about Inigo. Almost the first thing he'd said to Betha had been to enquire about the hunting, as though she would know, and she'd seen the slight pursing of Giulietta's lips, speaking volumes about repressed disapproval.
The Italians had made better time than expected, and were more than an hour early, so Inigo had not been there to greet them – he'd been busy training the guards, and what with their organising their children and settling in, Inigo wouldn't get to meet them until the ball that evening. They'd guests so often that he paid little attention to who they were, simply to where they were from. He was expecting Italians, but Italy had many nobles.
It was the custom in Florin for the guests to attend before the hosts, the guests of honour the last of them to arrive. It let everyone get their greetings out of the way first before the hosts were the center of attention. Betha was careful to not leave it more than a few minutes before she would sweep in, on Inigo's arm, both of them dressed most finely. Betha knew of her mother's reputation for fashionable gowns, and did her best to live up to it. Every ball demanded a new gown, and there were those who came simply to see what she would be wearing.
The couple entered and Betha did her best to be as elegant as Giulietta. Her dress, she was pleased to note, was more extravagant than the older woman's. She greeted the Cardinales again, more formally this time, and introduced Inigo first to the couple and then to their children, whose names she had been careful to memorise: Domingo, Giulia, Alessandra, Valentina, Eleonora.
No-one would have seen anything amiss in the behaviour of anyone there unless they had been watching for it. Unless they had already been burning with jealousy. Count Alessandro Cardinale saw nothing. Betha saw the momentary shock, the longing in Inigo's eyes as he looked at Giuietta, saw the tenderness there as he kissed her hand. She saw nothing else, barely registered the presence of the couple's children, couldn't have told you a thing about Count Cardinale's manner as he kissed her hand. The other guests were nothing. All that mattered to Betha was the way that her husband had looked at that woman.
They took their seats to eat, and of course, the Cardinales, as guests of honour, flanked Inigo and Betha at the top table, Giulietta to Inigo's left, Alessandro to Betha's right. There would be no possibility of speaking to Inigo until the meal was done with, and Betha was so consumed with rage and jealousy that she could barely eat, and made conversation with the Italian Count only mechanically. Her eyes kept darting to Inigo, to the woman at his side. His hand would brush hers, quite accidentally of course, and at first she would snatch it away as though burned, but then she would look at him and say something and...
Betha's father would have delighted in how his daughter was feeling, he would have wanted to document every last thought, and knowing that just made her all the angrier. How dare he do this to her? How dare this Cardinale woman? She'd no idea what they were saying to each other, as most of it was in Italian. Didn't they realise how rude that was to the rest of the guests? Sometimes one of them would all but whisper something, and she was sure that was so the Count wouldn't hear – not that he was paying much attention, deep in conversation about hunting with some of the other men.
Oh, the pair made conversation often enough with other guests, but just as often they would be sharing some private joke in Italian. Inigo did not, through the entire meal, say so much as one word to Betha. He didn't even ask her to pass him anything, and she affected to not have noticed. He had never been a big eater, but his food was as ignored as Betha's. At least she'd had the decency to cut hers up and push it around the plate somewhat.
Finally, the last dish of the banquet was done with, and it was time for the dancing. Betha took Inigo's arm and all but dragged him to the floor, lest he break with protocol and ask the Countess to dance first.
"Tell me," she said, simply, as he began to guide her around the floor, and he at least had the decency to look ashamed for a moment.
"It was a long time ago," he said.
"What, exactly?"
"When I was twenty years old, I was near her home, to study. She dressed as a peasant girl, to find love..."
"And she found it in you."
"She broke my heart."
"It seems to have mended."
"She knew she had to marry him and she knew I could not stay. My heart was just a plaything to her." His words should have sounded bitter, but they didn't. Time, perhaps, had softened the hurt, made it fade into insignificance, or perhaps it was the woman's beauty. Perhaps he was only trying to reassure his wife. If anything, it had the opposite effect. She saw him glance away, but not to Giulietta, she didn't see where – Giulietta's whereabouts she was constantly aware of – but then his eyes were back on her, and no-one would have been able to say there was anything different in their behaviour this night to any other. Now he was a nobleman, Inigo had become as good at pretending as Betha was, but oh how his heart ached. He'd given up on finding love, he had decided long ago to never go back, but now here it was, in his home, and as far from his grasp as ever.
"Please, do nothing foolish."
With that, they were apart, and she found herself dancing with a minor Florinese nobleman whose name she struggled to remember. Every so often, she caught the man glancing over her shoulder at Giulietta. Whenever he did, she would try to tread on his foot and bring his attention back to her, not that she wanted it. She just didn't want Giulietta to have it. The man – ah, yes, Wylsen, that was it – would be too polite to ever mention her clumsiness, so why should she not use it?
Betha had never really hated anyone before. She'd disliked people, distrusted and feared people, but never out and out hated them. Oh, how she hated Giulietta Cardinale. How could she carry out her plan now? Even if Inigo didn't reject her, she would feel completely wretched. She would know that he was thinking of that woman while he was with her, and wouldn't that have been a pain her father would have delighted in researching?
There was only one thought that comforted her – he couldn't have her. Oh, Inigo was entitled to a mistress, that much was true, and sometimes a man's wife and mistress would be good friends. She couldn't imagine ever being that with Giulietta, they could only ever be rivals. It didn't matter, though. Giulietta was married – not happily, now, she suspected, even if she had been before – and she was not entitled to a lover.
Perhaps if she had provided four sons and a daughter, instead of the other way around, her husband might have turned a blind eye to her indiscretions, but with only one son, he wouldn't. It was a comfort only for moments, because then Betha realised that the next dance was going to be unbearable. She would dance with Alessandro, and Inigo would dance with Giulietta. Whirling round the floor, they could say anything to each other, in whatever language they chose.
The moment came, and Betha found her way to the Count. He bowed, she curtseyed, and they were off. She felt like a rag doll, being tossed around by a careless child. Her feet barely seemed to touch the ground as she struggled to keep up with him. Inigo and Giulietta, of course, were the most elegant couple she had ever seen, not that she saw much of them. Looking anywhere but straight at the Count's great chest made her feel terribly dizzy.
Even if she were to go to bed early, feeling unwell, she couldn't do so yet. It was far too early, and she had never yet neglected her guests. The dance came to and end and Betha skidded to a stop, looking, quite coincidentally, straight at Inigo. She curtseyed, and watched his bow as she came up. He looked... pale. Shaken. Giulietta, too, for that matter, did not look quite so elegant as she had before as she glided off to take a seat, fanning herself.
It wasn't that warm. True, there was a sizeable fire roaring in the hearth, but this was Florin in winter, and Giulietta was used to Italy. Inigo had told her more about the world in their five years together, and she knew, now, that Italy could get very hot in summer. That meant that Giulietta was hiding behind her fan. A few of the more impressionable women were copying her. Women who usually copied Betha.
Still, it was time now to leave the floor, let other couples have their turn to dance, while circulating and making conversation. Taking out her own fan, knowing that despite herself, her cheeks were burning, Betha chose a seat away from most people and hid her annoyance as someone sat next to her.
"You are an excellent host, Countess," he said. "My compliments. Might I have the pleasure of the next dance, when you are rested?"
"Of course," she said, without looking round. Partners were only set for those two dances, and usually she would dance mostly with Inigo, but if asked, she would accept. Most men had learned not to ask her too often, for the sake of their toes. She forced herself to calm, to remember that Inigo had not held her parentage against her, that she should not do so with that woman's son.
They chatted a while, but her attention wasn't really on him and she'd barely looked at him. She couldn't have even told you, at that point, what colour his eyes were. He'd asked a little about Inigo, but she'd told him it was best to talk to Inigo himself. He enjoyed recounting his tale, after all, and if he was talking to this boy then he wasn't talking to Giulietta. He wasn't now. She wasn't watching him, no, of course not, she just knew exactly where he was and what he was doing. He was chatting amiably enough with Wylsen's wife, but he still looked a little pale.
"Have you any interest in falconry, Countess?" Domingo asked after a slightly uncomfortable pause.
"Uh, no, I'm afraid I know very little about it. It's not exactly a woman's sport."
"It is my great passion. I'm told that the Florinese Bustard is notoriously difficult to tame, I should love to have the chance to try."
"Then I shall try to find out if one can be obtained for you. Would such a bird survive the journey to Italy?"
"I would ensure that it did. There are few can match me in the care of birds." She nodded and let him talk for a while. Men, she had noticed, would generally have one subject on which they would talk endlessly if they were allowed, and think whoever they had spoken to a great conversationalist if they just made the right affirmative noises occasionally.
At last, she decided it was time to dance again, and stood. He stood with her, took her hand, and guided her to the floor. He bowed, she curtseyed, and then they were in each others arms, and he was smiling at her, his eyes twinkling, and oh, what beautiful eyes. Giulietta was forgotten. Inigo was forgotten. Domingo was, quite simply, the most beautiful man she had ever seen, and he was smiling at her.
Not once did she even come close to treading on his feet.