His Last Duchess by Gabrielle Kimm

piazza in front of the Castello as the cathedral bell chimed the midday: four riders, one small cart, laden with luggage and, tethered behind it, a bedraggled white mule, ears drooping, small hoofs scraping across the cobbles, as though too exhausted even to pick its feet up from the ground. The group crossed the piazza and clattered up on to the drawbridge.
    As they reached the central courtyard, Giovanni de’ Medici ran a hand down his pony’s neck. He kicked his feet from the stirrups, swung his leg up and over the horse’s rump and jumped down. Hunching and rolling his shoulders, he stretched his back to ease out the stiffness of hours in the saddle, as several Estense horsemen emerged to greet the new arrivals. One, tall, round-faced and cheerful, took Giovanni’s pony’s reins.
    â€œThank you,” said Giovanni. “She’s absolutely soaked—they all are. Can you give her a good rub down and throw a blanket over her?”
    â€œOf course, Signore. All the horses will be dried and stabled straight away.”
    â€œHer name’s Brezza,” Giovanni began, “and she—”
    â€œVanni!” He was interrupted by a shriek. “Vanni!”
    Lucrezia was running across the courtyard, her skirts bunched inelegantly in her fists. He grinned and began to walk towards her. She let go of her dress and threw her arms around him; hugging her back, he lifted her right off her feet.
    â€œOh, Vanni, you’re here at last! But you’re soaking ! How was your journey? Was it horrible? How are Mamma and—oh!” She broke off and stood back from him, her mouth a shocked circle. “Oh, cielo ! Violetta!”
    She had seen the mule. Pleased with the impact of his surprise, Giovanni watched his cousin scramble across the courtyard to where the disgruntled donkey stood behind the cart. She wrapped her arms around its dirty white neck and it tossed its head, stamping a hoof irritably. One of the stablemen unhitched it from the tailboard of the cart. Lucrezia cradled the creature’s muzzle in both hands, kissed it, then turned back to Giovanni, her eyes shining. The bodice and sleeves of her dress were now blotched and stained with rain and mud, and her face was dirty. Giovanni rubbed the heel of his hand across his eyes and laughed. “Look at you,” he said. “Nothing changes…”
    â€œYou brought her,” Lucrezia said, through a wide, muddy smile, ignoring him.
    â€œI take it you’re pleased.”
    â€œDid she complain all the way?”
    â€œShe certainly did. God, Crezzi, I can’t imagine why you’re so fond of her. She has the filthiest temper and the—”
    â€œDon’t! Don’t be horrible! She’s my darling mule and I love her—and I love you for bringing her.” Lucrezia hugged him again. “Come on, let’s get out of the rain.”
    Then, raising her voice, she said, “Please, everybody, do come inside. The servants will show you to your rooms, where you can change out of your wet things. There will be hot broth and wine, and I believe a fire has been lit in the East Hall.”
    Giovanni proffered an arm, feeling suddenly pleased with himself, and rather older than his fifteen years. Lucrezia took it with both hands and squeezed, smiling up at him again. More servants in bright livery were appearing at the doors now; they seemed, Giovanni thought, out of place in the open air, like a group of pet cats in a field. Their shoulders hunched against the rain, they hastened to welcome the new arrivals inside out of the wet and, in a damp huddle, the party from Cafaggiolo finally entered the Castello.
    ***
    Alfonso heard a commotion in the courtyard as he strode up from the falconry.
    He slowed his pace.
    Pausing in the shadows of the tunnel from the back drawbridge, he ran a hand through wet hair as he looked from one figure to another. A trickle of rainwater ran down the back of his