Wednesday morning

December 1, 1897

Padua, Italy

Renata Bombonatti wanted to shout the news from the rooftop but restrained herself lest she need her smelling salts. She stared out across the piazza as the sky became aglow with a tapestry of red and orange hues. She could not believe what she clutched to her bosom—the day had finally arrived when she was invited to the city’s most exclusive Christmas literary salon. She would be the happiest of women if she received nothing else for Christmas. And she cared not a whit that it was at the finest palazzi in Padua. She would attend if it were held in a barn because she would follow this intellectual stimulation wherever offered.

She read aloud the invitation:

The Baroness of Calandro cordially invites you and a guest to attend her Christmas literary salon on the 3rd Saturday of Advent at 3 PM Palazzo De Angelis

Renata opened her eyes and ran her finger over the note. The details were embossed in la baronessa’s signature navy ink and the gorgeous family crest of four doves sitting in an olive tree. She repeatedly read, “Il salotto letterario di Natale della Baronessa di Calandro ...” to ensure her eyes did not deceive her. An afternoon of music, poetry, and polite conversation awaited her and a friend. All she had to do was decide on her dress and which friend would accompany her.

With less than a month until her Christmas Eve wedding, Mama might not let her attend. Mama would claim Renata had better things to do than sit around and discuss books and ideas. Mama liked dancing and balls, where women were seen and not heard. Literary salons bored her. She thought young ladies should not entertain fanciful thoughts and opinions about science, politics, or religion, much less voicing them in intimate settings.

No matter. If Mama forbade her, an appeal to Papà would not be far behind. Until his retirement, Papà had been the Dean of Philosophy at the University of Padua for almost two decades. He was a champion of higher education for women, having come across the work of many learned women in his course of study and teaching. As such, he had seen Renata’s schooling as too necessary to end at the country’s compulsory age of ten and hired a private tutor to continue her studies. Mama did not support such undue pressure on Renata’s mind, but to her dismay, Renata and Papà were united in this effort.

Returning to her task, Renata said, “I must respond immediately to la baronessa.”

Renata ran up to her room and pulled out her writing desk. She sat in front of it, a fountain pen and stationery at the ready. In her best penmanship, she replied to la baronessa in the affirmative. She hesitated on a second sheet of her family’s stationery, right below the crest of a phoenix engulfed in flames.

“Placido or Natalia? Natalia or Placido? I cannot decide who to take, but I must soon.”

Her instinct was to invite her fiancé to accompany her. Would la baronessa think it too forward for a woman to ask a man who was not yet her husband? Or should Renata follow propriety and invite her matron of honor instead? Natalia, like Renata, was a baron’s daughter, so there would be no messing up the societal mores in that regard.

As for Placido, he was his Uncle Alonzo’s heir and would someday inherit the Count of Sica, a most ancient title. A stature far nobler than the Baroness of Calandro and of sufficient peerage that he would be welcomed in any European castle, including the baronessa’s own.

Throwing caution to the wind, she invited them both. La baronessa had briefly met all three at the Duchess of Cortina’s wedding last year, so it was not as if they were strangers. Renata doubted there would be an issue when all three arrived but crossed her fingers for buona fortuna.

Who among the nobility is not charitable at Christmastime?