Lucia's sister had opinions about everything, delivered with the conviction of someone who'd never been proven wrong and wouldn't recognize the experience if it arrived with documentation.
"Black?" Teodora circled Lucia like a general inspecting troops. "You're wearing black to meet your betrothed's family?"
"It's charcoal." Lucia held still while her sister examined her dress with mounting horror. "And we've already agreed to the marriage. This is merely a formality."
"A formality that determines whether the Ferrettis think you're a suitable countess or a woman in mourning." Teodora plucked at Lucia's sleeve. "And your hair... Must you always wear it scraped back like a governess?"
Lucia's hand went instinctively to the neat coil at the nape of her neck. Her hair was thick, utterly straight, and stubbornly resistant to any style that required curl or volume. She'd long ago accepted that the elaborate confections other women achieved were beyond her, or rather, required more effort than she was willing to invest. "It's practical."
"That word again." Teodora sighed with the weight of sisterly suffering. "You do remember this is a marriage, not a business merger?"
"Actually, it's quite specifically a business merger. We were very clear about that." Lucia moved to the mirror, checking that no strands had escaped. The severe style suited her, she thought. It emphasized her strong jawline rather than trying to soften it with curls that would wilt within the hour anyway. "Alessandro agreed to the terms. His family's opinion is irrelevant."
"His family includes a mother who, according to my sources, has been attempting to marry him off for seven years." Teodora produced a pearl necklace from seemingly nowhere. "At least wear this. You look like you're attending a funeral."
"His mother is dead."
"Not his mother—his stepmother. Try to keep up." The pearls were fastened before Lucia could protest. "There. Much better. Though honestly, with your coloring, you could wear jewel tones. That ivory complexion and black hair, you could be striking if you made any effort at all."
"I don't want to be striking. I want to be competent."
"Shockingly, you can be both." Teodora stepped back, hands on hips. "Though I suppose for Count Ferretti, competent might be exotic enough. Lorenzo says he's practically feral from living in Naples."
Lucia's brother-in-law had said no such thing, but Teodora had a gift for creative interpretation. "He's been managing a shipping empire, not living in a cave."
"Same thing, really. All that commerce." Teodora shuddered delicately. She'd married into old money that considered any discussion of actual income vulgar. "Are you certain about this, Lucia? It's not too late to—"
"To what? Remain here as the spinster sister who helps raise your children?" Lucia kept her voice gentle, but firm. "I love you, Dora. But I won't be a dependent. Not when there's an alternative."
Something softened in Teodora's face. "You could never be a burden."
"I would feel like one. That amounts to the same thing." Lucia squeezed her sister's hand. "This is what I want. A partnership. Clear terms. No pretense."
"No romance either, apparently."
"Romance is for people with better options." Lucia picked up her gloves. "Now, shall we go meet the Ferrettis before your husband wears a path in the foyer from pacing?"
***
The Ferretti townhouse occupied a respectable position near the Rialto, neither ostentatiously grand nor shamefully modest. Lucia approved. Pretension was exhausting to maintain.
Alessandro met them in the entrance hall, and Lucia noted with approval that he'd taken her waistcoat criticism to heart. Today's was a subtle bronze that complemented his light brown hair rather than competing with it. In the afternoon sun streaming through the windows, his hair was almost amber, shot through with gold. It was, objectively speaking, his best feature, far more interesting than standard Venetian dark brown.
Not that she was cataloging his features. That would be inappropriate for a business arrangement.
"Signorina Conti." He bowed with exactly the correct degree of formality. "Signora Battaglia, Signor Battaglia—thank you for coming. My family is eager to meet Lucia."
Teodora's eyebrows rose at the familiar use of her sister's name, but Lucia ignored her. They'd dispensed with formality during the contract negotiations, which had involved detailed discussions about fertility, finances, and the precise circumstances under which separate bedrooms could be maintained. "Signorina Conti" seemed rather ridiculous after debating the logistics of conception.
"Your home is lovely," Teodora said, deploying her social voice—warm but assessing. "Such beautiful light."
"My father chose it for the proximity to the commercial district." Alessandro gestured toward the stairs. "A choice my stepmother has never forgiven him for, despite his being dead these seven years. She believes we should have something more fashionably remote."
"Near Santa Croce?" Teodora guessed.
"Naturally." Alessandro's tone was dry. "Where one's neighbors can be properly aristocratic and properly poor, rather than middle-class and solvent."
Lucia felt her lips twitch. "How disappointing for her."
"You have no idea." He offered his arm, and after a moment's hesitation, Lucia took it. His forearm was solid beneath her hand, the muscle of someone who did more than sit behind a desk. "Fair warning—my stepmother will ask invasive questions. My sister will be perfectly pleasant while judging everything about you. And my uncle will try to determine if you're intelligent enough to be interesting or stupid enough to be manageable. He hasn't yet determined which he prefers."
"How efficient. All my character flaws assessed in one afternoon."
"I thought you'd appreciate the economy." He lowered his voice as they climbed. "For what it's worth, I've already informed them that the marriage is settled. This is courtesy, not consultation."
"And they accepted that?"
"They accepted that I'm thirty-two and declining to seek their input." Alessandro paused outside a set of double doors. "Though I should mention, my stepmother may comment on your dress. She has... opinions."
"So does my sister. I'm developing immunity."
"Good. You'll need it." He pushed open the doors. "Shall we?"
The drawing room was aggressively decorated in the French style, all gilt and pale blue silk, as though someone had decided to recreate Versailles in miniature. Three people rose as they entered.
The stepmother was immediately identifiable—fifty-ish, beautiful in a brittle way, dressed in rose silk that had probably cost more than Lucia's entire wardrobe. The young woman beside her shared Alessandro's light brown hair, though hers was elaborately curled and pinned. Pretty, in the conventional way that suggested significant effort. The older gentleman by the window had the weathered look of someone who'd spent time at sea, his clothing expensive but practical.
"Signora Ferretti, may I present Signorina Lucia Conti," Alessandro began. "Lucia, my stepmother, the Dowager Countess Ferretti."
The Dowager Countess extended her hand with the air of someone granting a significant favor. "How... charming. Alessandro mentioned you were practical."
It wasn't a compliment. Lucia smiled anyway. "He mentioned you had opinions about the townhouse location. I understand your position—fashion requires certain sacrifices. Such as convenience, or proximity to one's actual business interests."
Teodora made a small choking sound. Alessandro's lips twitched.
The Dowager Countess's smile crystallized. "How refreshing. So many young women today lack the confidence to express themselves."
"I find confidence much easier when one's position is clearly defined." Lucia accepted the offered seat, arranging her charcoal skirts with deliberate care. "Ambiguity is exhausting."
"Indeed." The Dowager Countess's eyes swept over Lucia's dress, her hair, her gloves. "Though perhaps some ambiguity in presentation might be... diplomatic?"
"Mother," Alessandro said, his voice carrying a warning.
"I merely observe that a countess must represent the family at various social functions. Appearance matters."
"So does competence," Lucia said pleasantly. "I find one lasts longer than the other. Though I'm sure there are women who excel at both. I'm simply not one of them, and I'd rather not pretend otherwise."
The young woman, Alessandro's sister, laughed suddenly. "Oh, I like her. She's terrible at this, but at least she's honest about it." She rose, crossing to Lucia with a swish of primrose silk. "Bianca Ferretti. My brother's better half, though that's not a high bar."
"I'm standing right here," Alessandro said.
"Yes, and you're terrible at introductions. You didn't even mention Uncle Giorgio." Bianca gestured toward the older gentleman. "Our father's brother. He actually runs things while Alessandro plays at being a merchant prince."
"I am a merchant prince," Alessandro protested. "I have the account books to prove it."
"You have account books. Whether you've read them is debatable." But Giorgio's tone was affectionate as he bowed to Lucia. "Signorina Conti. I understand you've been managing your family's estate. Successfully, according to Alessandro's rather thorough investigation."
"He investigated me?" Lucia glanced at Alessandro, who had the grace to look slightly sheepish. "How unexpected."
"You investigated him first," Alessandro pointed out. "Fair is fair."
"I suppose it is." Lucia found herself oddly pleased. Turnabout suggested he took the arrangement as seriously as she did. "What did you discover?"
"That you renegotiated tenant contracts, improved olive yields by eighteen percent, and dismissed an embezzling steward." Giorgio settled back into his chair. "Also that you once corrected a potential suitor's misunderstanding of crop rotation."
"He claimed wheat could be planted three consecutive seasons without depleting the soil. I couldn't let that stand."
"Naturally not." Giorgio's eyes gleamed with amusement. "Alessandro mentioned you prefer Dante to Petrarch?"
"Alessandro was mistaken. I prefer accurate accounting to both."
"She's going to be impossible," Bianca announced, but she was grinning. "Mother, she's absolutely going to be impossible."
The Dowager Countess's expression suggested she agreed, and not in a positive sense. "Perhaps we might discuss the wedding arrangements? I assume you'll want something modest, given the... practical nature of the union."
"Actually," Teodora interjected, her social voice acquiring an edge, "my sister's wedding should reflect her new position as Countess Ferretti. Unless you believe the family's reputation benefits from appearing stingy?"
"I believe the family's reputation benefits from appropriate displays. Not ostentatious ones."
"How convenient that 'appropriate' happens to align with 'inexpensive.'"
Alessandro cleared his throat. "Perhaps we should—"
"I think charcoal is actually quite elegant," Bianca interrupted, studying Lucia with open curiosity. "It makes you look serious. Professional. Like you might actually know what you're doing, unlike most of the vapid creatures Mother keeps throwing at Alessandro."
"Bianca!"
"What? It's true. Last month you invited that Rossini girl who thought Naples was in France."
"Geography is not every woman's strength—"
"It's on a map, Mother. A very clearly labeled map."
Lucia caught Alessandro's eye and found him looking faintly apologetic and deeply amused. This, she realized, was what she'd signed up for. Not just Alessandro, but his entire complicated, opinionated family.
Well. She'd managed her own family. How different could this be?
"If I might suggest," she said, cutting through the brewing argument, "perhaps we could discuss the wedding arrangements at a later date? After Alessandro and I have had time to agree on our preferences? Since it is, technically, our wedding."
Silence fell. Even the Dowager Countess looked momentarily at a loss.
Giorgio laughed with a deep, genuine sound. "Oh, Alessandro. You've chosen well. She might actually survive us."
"That was the hope," Alessandro murmured.
Lucia met his gaze and saw something unexpected there. Not attraction, precisely, but recognition. Relief. The expression of someone who'd been managing difficult people alone for too long and had just found an ally.
She knew that expression. She'd seen it in her own mirror often enough.
"Well then," she said, and smiled, not her polite smile, but the one she reserved for genuine satisfaction. "Shall we discuss the Verona estate? I have questions about the irrigation system."
The Dowager Countess looked horrified. Bianca looked delighted. Giorgio looked impressed.
And Alessandro looked at her like she'd just performed a minor miracle.
"The study," he said. "I'll have the estate maps brought. Uncle Giorgio, you should join us. Lucia will want to see last year's yields."
"I'll have wine sent," Bianca offered. "And possibly pastries. If you're going to discuss irrigation, you'll need sustenance."
As they rose to leave, Lucia caught Teodora's eye. Her sister looked torn between horror and reluctant approval.
What have you done? Teodora's expression said.
Something practical, Lucia thought. And possibly something more.
But she kept that last part to herself.