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.Lodovico looked about.“Wine.Is there a bottle?”“Did you remember to bring one out?” Alessandra asked, then shook her head indulgently.“Of course you didn’t.I reminded you just before you went up to your study.Well, if Donna Margharita will move aside for you, you may get it now.Not the new jars.They’re very raw still.” As Lodovico made his way past Margaret, Alessandra added, “You can also bring out the honey.Doubtless we’ll all want to put it on the fruit.“Do you think that will be necessary?” Margaret asked.“I’m afraid I’m not used to the Italian manner of cooking yet.There is so much more savor to everything that there are times when I think I will never be able to its taste anything again.” The formality of her manner had lessened, and some of the kindness was in her expression as she looked at Alessandra.“Is it very difficult being a poet’s wife?’’Alessandra had a wicked chuckle, not unlike a very loud purr.She chuckled now and her eyes glinted.“Difficult? Well, not as a great many men are difficult.He does not beat me or guard me with terrible jealousy.He does not confine me to the house and treat me as a slave instead of a wife.Lodovico is a brilliant man, and a gentle one.We lived together for almost ten years before we could marry—that was when Damiano became his patron.I know of no man I would rather spend my life with.But, of course, he is infuriating.He would sell his soul for a rhyme.He is forgetful.He lives in the kingdom of his mind more than half his waking hours.He is at once the most and least observant man I know.” She lifted her spoon and sampled her own cooking.“I’ve made better, but this is well enough.”Lodovico stood in the pantry listening to his wife.He was annoyed and touched by her affectionate and unvarnished summing up of him.Was it true that he was forgetful? He had forgotten the wine, but surely that did not mean he was forgetful.He took two of the older jars from the shelves and as an added precaution, read dates on each.Both were 1523, ten years old.Alessandra called him gentle and brilliant.That was high praise from that intelligent and unassuming woman.But how could he be the most and least observant man she knew? It made no sense.He turned and came out of the pantry.“Here is the wine.I should have remembered it.” He put the jars on the table and looked for a knife with which to pry off the seals.Alessandra offered him her own knife.“This is sufficient.Use it.”Lodovico took the knife and set to work on the seal.“Is Nerissa eating with Carlo again?”“Of course,” Alessandra said patiently, then explained to Margaret.“Nerissa, our cook, talked us into taking on her cousin Carlo to care for the stables.He was a smith and lost his post when his employer lost his crops.I feel sorry for the man, but I don’t know if we should have taken him on.These family matters are always so difficult.He’s an acceptable worker, but he isn’t willing, if you understand what I mean.”“Yes, I do,” Margaret responded.“My father has often said that those are the worst sorts of servants and students—the ones who are capable but who no give no heart to it.We had a housekeeper for a time, until my stepmother dismissed her, a woman who knew a great deal about managing a household, and her responsibilities, but nothing more.When one of the housemaids broke her leg, the housekeeper would not do anything to help the poor child.I finally had to send for an apothecary for poppy-juice and for a chirurgeon to set the bone.The housekeeper said that she would not be bothered with such things.I’ve never seen my stepmother in such a rage.” She had not been eating, but now she was silent while she took several bites.“ This is really very good, I’m growing used to it.”By this time Lodovico had the first of the jars open, and he began to pour the fragrant red Lombardi wine into the earthenware cups set on the table.“I wonder if this Carlo isn’t worse.” Alessandra looked quickly over her shoulder, as if expecting to find the stablehand listening.“He’s a hard man, and though Nerissa tells me that he is perfectly reliable, I can’t bring myself to believe that.”“How do you mean?” Margaret asked.“I’m afraid that he bullies Nerissa.She hasn’t been herself since Carlo came to work here.She jumps at shadows
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