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At first, she is simply curious. She has long since stopped idolising her mother as the most beautiful woman in the world, but cannot quite let go of the idea that she is the most wonderful. This Giulia Farnese, then, could well have drawn her father's eye - and he has a fine eye indeed, and so she must be something to behold - and would well amuse her in her curiosity. And perhaps Giulia Farnese is also well-schooled in the arts of love, and can please Lucrezia's dear papa in ways Lucrezia cannot imagine. Ultimately, though, all she is expecting is a passing afternoon's amusement with someone beautiful to look at, with the blush in her cheeks and the glow in her eyes and nothing remarkable about her at all.
So it is curiosity - nothing more - that drives her to her father's rooms to find out who it is that now shares her dear papa's affection. Cesare whispers to her that their mother will be jealous, and Lucrezia thinks fondly that, though a man, Cesare can be a dear boy in some respects. Lucrezia's dear mama knows full well of Giulia Farnese, and is indeed jealous, though not, it must be said, of Giulia Farnese herself. She is not jealous of the lovely Giulia Farnese's youth, or the lovely Giulia Farnese's place in the affections of Lucrezia's dear papa. It goes without saying that, no matter the glow of the lovely Giulia Farnese's skin, Lucrezia's dear mama remains her dear mama. Lucrezia could not imagine it otherwise, and is faintly disturbed that Cesare evidently can.
Nevertheless, there is something that Giulia Farnese has on her small white hand that Lucrezia's dear mama does not. Lucrezia takes that small white hand in her own, and is startled to find it not as small and as white as she had imagined. Instead, she can see the fine lines on the lovely Giulia Farnese's not-quite-perfect hand, the skin paper-thin beneath the heavy ring on her finger. She looks up to see the lovely face and lovely neck and lovely breasts of Giulia Farnese, and all she can see is the fading light in her hair. It is a shock. She knows that the lovely Giulia Farnese is but a few years older than her - can still see the tautness of her breasts and her cheeks - and wonders if this, then, is what the wedded state does to a woman: the heavy ring, the jewel about the neck like a collar, and the fading of her plump girlhood into bitter matrimony.
The lovely Giulia Farnese is nothing like an oil painting. Her breasts were lightly scented, and her hair most demurely drawn back. And still, in the evenness of her gaze, there was something...
She retires to her bed that night, her dreams heavy with a husband like woodsmoke, sucking the life from her and leaving her skin like tissue paper; her hair like faded flax. When she wakes, the bedclothes are all twisted and her face is flushed, and her nurse tuts at her and fetch her brandy to bring down the fever. All she can see when she closes her eyes is the lovely Giulia Farnese's not-quite-perfect cheek, and the red blush of her lips.
It is not the wedded state, her mother tells her later, smoothing down the tangle of her hair, and her mother surely knows. Lucrezia's dear mama bears no ring of respectability on her thin finger; it is the taint she tries not to pass on to her children. Lucrezia does not worry about this lack at all, though she knows her mother frets over it oftentimes. But still, with dear papa is respected in Rome, and with dear Cesare so beloved, the lack of ring on her mother's finger is a small taint.
If there is one thing of which Lucrezia is certain, it is that she will bear a link of metal on her finger in her womanhood, and it shall take her from her dear papa, and tie her to her lord.
And Giulia Farnese... Giulia Farnese wears such a ring, and wears her father's kisses, and Lucrezia cannot fathom having them both.
She is an attractive child, Lucrezia knows. Cesare tells her so, and kisses her hair, and her cheeks, and her mouth. She is an attractive child and when she blooms in womanhood, men of many kinds will want her, and she shall have a heavy ring on her finger and more jewels than she could possibly desire.
Lucrezia, the apple of her dear papa's eye, has no need nor want of jewels. More men than those that want Giulia Farnese? She asked Cesare once, a bit timidly. Cesare laughed a little uncertainly and said yes, and kissed her mouth.
She does not dare ask her father.
Lucrezia is not certain if she wants men to want her, ring or no ring. Desperate and perplexed, she lies in her cold bed and tries to think of what she would prefer than the hungry gaze of men, and her husband-to-be's hungry mouth on her, and the hungry kiss of Cesare on her neck. Giulia Farnese bears this too, she knows, and Lucrezia knows that it is not only men that look: she herself stares at the pale breasts of Giulia Farnese, and the smooth skin of her neck, still taut and tempting. The lovely Giulia Farnese, she reasons, must be accustomed to the hungry stares on her skin: her husband, and Luczeria's dear papa, and Lucrezia's dear Cesare, and Lucrezia herself, who wakes from her sleep disturbed, her hand between her legs.
In the end, far beyond curiosity and amusement, it is so that Lucrezia has no choice at all. Giulia Farnese has stolen her father away, has stolen her brother away, has stolen her away, and she must be schooled indeed in the arts of love to steal so many hearts. Her father pets Lucrezia's hair and tells her that Giulia Farnese is a friend of his, and kind and generous. Surely, then, Lucrezia thinks, the bedclothes cold on her bare skin, surely she would want to be a friend of Lucrezia's as well. Surely this very good friend of her dear papa's, the lovely Giulia Farnese, will not mind sharing a few of her secrets, and a few of her kisses. Surely that would be a small thing to ask.
After all, Lucrezia is no threat to her at all.
*
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