The Rossetti Letter (v5) by Christi Phillips Page A

Palazzo Camerlenghi.” Her expression grew serious. “I’ve heard that you are now without means, but surely Lorenzo left you with something: jewels, houses, land, livestock?”
    “No…well, some gold earrings, and he paid the taxes on this house.” That Lorenzo may have paid the taxes with her own money was something Alessandra chose not to say. The courtesan’s tone made her feel defensive.
    “Is that all?” La Celestia asked.
    “Yes.”
    “You mean you have nothing put away?”
    Alessandra shook her head.
    “I was told that you were smart. Have you so immersed yourself in those books that you’ve given no thought to your future?”
    “How could I possibly have known that Lorenzo would die?”
    La Celestia burst out laughing. “My girl, he was a man. Men die all the time. They’re positively geniuses at it, always running off to war or some such thing. It’s a woman’s destiny to be abandoned by men, in one way or another. Tedious, but you must admit it’s true. Your mistake was to rely on a man to take care of you.”
    “But you yourself…,” Alessandra ventured.
    “You’re thinking that I’m a living contradiction of my own advice. There you’re wrong. I don’t rely on one man, I rely on many. That way, if one of them dies, the effect is not felt so strongly. A wiser course for you to follow in the future.”
    The future? Alessandra thought. What future? La Celestia waited patiently for Alessandra to comprehend her meaning.
    “Are you suggesting”—Alessandra knitted her brow; she would be embarrassed if she had misunderstood—“that I become a courtesan?”
    “I admit that was my intention in coming here. However, I’m concerned about your lack of business acumen. You sold yourself very ill.”
    “Sold myself?” Alessandra felt her cheeks flush.
    “You might not like the sound of the words, but the difference between being a kept mistress and a courtesan is only one of degree. You bartered away your most precious commodity, your maidenhood, for a few baubles and back taxes.” La Celestia clucked softly. “Not even a pearl on those earrings?”
    “No,” Alessandra admitted.
    “It grieves me deeply,” she sighed. “With your pretty face, you could have sold your virginity for a very high price. Numerous times.” She shook her head. “But no regrets, I always say—there’s no profit in them. So, what will you do? I take it the convent doesn’t appeal to you.”
    “No.”
    “Any suitors on the horizon?”
    “No.”
    “Yet you hesitate.”
    “You make it sound as if being a courtesan is easy. But I’ve heard of women who are beaten, or have their faces slashed, or worse. And what of the French disease?”
    “There are dangers, that is true. But life is full of danger, whether or not one is a courtesan. There are ways to avoid those problems. I’ll teach you myself. You do realize this is a highly unusual offer. Most women would pay dearly for my secrets.”
    “Why are you offering to do this for me?”
    “Something you will learn soon enough is that even the most beautiful women grow old.” A shadow crossed La Celestia’s eyes and for a moment Alessandra caught a glimpse of the woman behind the courtesan’s polished facade, and realized that La Celestia was indeed older than she first appeared. The sunlight that slipped through the curtains revealed tiny lines around her eyes, deepening creases at the corners of her mouth.
    “There will come a time when men will no longer pay so handsomely for my favors,” La Celestia went on, “but I refuse to make the mistakes that other courtesans make. Instead of ignoring the future, I’m planning for it. For my instruction, and for introductions to the richest and most distinguished men in Venice, there is a price: twenty-five percent of your earnings.”
    “That seems rather high.”
    “Does it? Why don’t I put it to you as my mother put it to me: ‘You can become a courtesan—not a prostitute, mind you, but a