Infinite Devotion by L.E. Waters Page A

me when it comes to Cesare, so I write to everyone I can, begging for help. In the meantime, I’ve yet another failed pregnancy and worry that if I don’t provide Alfonso with an heir, I can be removed and replaced. I know now, with no protection from Father or Cesare, I’m extremely vulnerable, and know I have to keep trying to carry a baby to full term. I get pregnant right away, and I’m happy to see Alfonso never showing any signs of dissatisfaction with me.
    Ercole reveals signs of illness around Christmas, and by January twenty-fifth, he passes on, making Alfonso and me Duke and Duchess of Ferrara. I dress in crimson velvet with gold fringes with matching headdress and go down to hundreds of Ferrarians gathered outside our palace in the frigid cold. I watch as Alfonso rides his adorned horse through the crowd, waving, and as he comes up to the palace plaza, I go down to meet him.
    It’s a powerful moment as I look down on all of the happy faces in the crowd calling out our names, and I realize all that Father and Cesare had hoped for me. With Father buried in an unknown grave and Cesare imprisoned, here I am standing as the Duchess of Ferrara. Alfonso looking the handsomest I’ve ever seen him, smiles with dimple showing and holds his hand out to me. As I bend to kiss it, he shakes his head, pulls me into him, and kisses my forehead instead. The people cheer.
    I try to keep my mind off of my pregnancy by throwing myself into patronizing the arts. I enjoy dining with the poets, artists, and courtiers of Ferrara and hearing of the world in their fresh and observant eyes. Everything I lack with Alfonso I find at these dinners. Ferrara quickly begins a thriving center for the arts, thanks to my attention.
    September nineteenth, I give birth finally to a son that we name Alexandro. I know something is wrong, though, when I hear a weak and low cry, not the strong cries I remember hearing from Giovanni and Rodrigo. Not only is the child not well, but my legs feel ice cold. The doctors attending me try to warm them with hot towels, and a fever comes and burns for five hours. I pull the fragile Alexandro to my breast, and he will not nurse, only sleeps in my arms. I send for the best doctors, and I’m angered when Isabella, who was having a sickly pregnancy, requests me to send my doctors to her.
    I write back:
    No, Alexandro is still in need of their care.
    He holds on for a month and three days but dies anyway. Isabella gives birth to her second son.
    Finally, some good news comes through a messenger to raise my spirits.
Dear Sister,
I am writing to you from the safety of Navarre. I escaped from La Mota by throwing a rope out of the window in the tower where they held me. The rope was smuggled in by allies you had begged to assist me. While I was hanging from the rope, guards, seeing my escape in progress, cut the rope, and I fell half the way down into their putrid moat. Though badly injured and limping, I crawled out and ran for the safe harbor of my in-law Jean d’Albret. While I was imprisoned, His Evilness Julius II robbed all of my bank accounts and took away my titles. I am still loved greatly by my soldiers, who are already swarming to my cause and have some faithful allies prepared to regain my titles. I would appreciate anything you can send to aid me, although I am grateful enough for all that you have done for me.

Yours,
Duke of Romagna
    I send everything I can and feel that the tide may be turning back in our benefit. I’m pregnant again, and carnival celebrations are to begin. I throw myself into the festivities. I dance, ride carriages all over Ferrara, climb stairs to various parties, and have a joyous night. During the night, though, my body protests to all of the activities by aborting yet another small piece of me‌—‌God’s punishment for leaving others to raise my two healthy sons.
    Alfonso blames me at once. “You’re a fool thinking you can enjoy carnival when you are carrying a child!