A Funeral and a Proposal

Two flickering chandeliers mounted on either end of the wall illuminated the dark room and cast strange shadows across the three figures clad in black satin. Thick damask curtains had been pulled over the windows, blocking out the late sunny Autumn day.

In the center of the room, an elderly woman in black silk was lying on a raised platform. Her sheet-white hands were folded over each other across her chest and a light black veil had been placed over her face. Long strands of silver hair cascaded over her shoulder, stopping short of touching the ground by a few inches.

Ginevra lifted her eyes for the first time since the service had started and glanced over at the priest who was uttering the remaining lines of the sermon as he stood over the dead woman's head, casting a long dark shadow over her frame. His voice was monotonous and the words flowed into each other until they became almost incomprehensible, especially with the interspersed foreign Latin phrases. But his words were the only sound that kept the dark room from falling into utter silence, and so she held on to each word.

Grandmother. The only person left whom she admired and looked up to. Now all that was left of her was a ghost in the flesh.

From across the corpse, Ginevra could all too acutely feel her father's gaze firmly set on her. She hunched her shoulders and focused on the flower design of the tile by her feet.

"Requiescat in pace. Amen," the balding priest uttered as he came to the end of the sermon, making the sign of the cross over the woman's head. As soon as he did so, the flames from both chandeliers suddenly savagely flickered up to three times their height and then went out, casting the room into pitch blackness.

A sound of a match being struck could be heard in the dark, and in the next moment, father's face appeared, illuminated by a single flickering candle he held under him.

"I'm afraid there's a slight draft here," Duke Scaraveggi ventured.

But Ginevra knew better. "That was grandmother's soul leaving, wasn't it?" she challenged.

"On the contrary."

The Duke and his daughter looked at the priest. It was the first time that he had spoken to them apart from the sermon. He lifted his eyes, the whites of which were veiny and bloodshot from the hours of dedicated study he had spent during his period of isolation. "She's just arrived."

Ginevra met her father's gaze, for the first time since the service had begun.

The Duke cleared his throat.

"Nonsense. Ginevra, I would like to speak with you in the study."

The Duke walked over to the far end of the room and pushed on the wall, opening the well-hidden door. Bright white light streamed in and Ginevra was momentarily blinded as she stepped through the frame of the door leading into the study.

The study was a circular room of average size with a high ceiling and velvet green furnishing. Books in unstable piles occupied the dusty corners and yellowed papers littered the floor, some brittle like Fall leaves.

Ginevra clutched the soft silk fabric of her dress as the heavy silence weighed down on her.

"The Duke of Maldoni – " the Lord of the House of Scaraveggi began.

Ginevra looked up. Even in this lighting, she could see the dark, heavy bags under her father's eyes, filled with years of accumulated fear and desperation.

She had been expecting this. Grandmother's death had left them weak and vulnerable. It was not safe for the House of Scaraveggi, which is why this alliance was so critical.

The Maldoni… the notorious family of the northern lands. They were as physically beautiful on the outside as they were brutal and ruthless within.

"I know that this is sudden. Everything – returning here for the first time after six years, your Grandmother's death… but our situation is grave. The factories I invested in failed. His offer is godsent," her father explained.

"But then, what advantage can he gain from the marriage?" Ginevra wandered out loud.

The House of Maldoni was a humble dukedom in the north of the kingdom, until the 11th Duke, driven by a lust for power, sold his soul to the devil. Their power and lands grew as the dukedom expanded south; however, the land they acquired became barren and dry, crops died out, and the rivers shrank. The king, fearing the rest of the kingdom awaited the same fate when the Maldoni came after his throne, offered a compromise.

She knew little of them aside from the legend and… that they were involved in the attack which tore her family apart, six years ago.

"He has his motives. There's the lands included in your dowry…It is not our place to question the Duke. The terms he offered were more than generous –"

"You met him?"

"His correspondent came yesterday evening. I signed the papers." Ginevra stared at the large emerald broach in his necktie.

So, the decision had already been made.

"Perhaps…the rumors are wrong about him. You may find him a kind and generous husband. He is to come tomorrow. Some documents require your signature as well… and I imagine he would like to meet you at least once before –" The lord's conversation was interrupted by a coughing fit. Ginevra immediately jumped to her feet, but the duke motioned to her to remain where she was. He cleared his throat before proceeding to finish his sentence. "Before the marriage."

Ginevra gripped the already wrinkled silk of her skirt. Tomorrow? She hadn't been expecting it so soon.

For the remainder of the day, as Ginevra walked through the halls of her house, whispers and murmurs followed her like shadows.

"…the cursed Maldoni line…"

"…sold his soul to the devil…"

"…killed 200 men in one night"

Ginevra had usually turned a deaf ear when it came to rumors and town gossip; she had always preferred to make her own judgments based on her own observations rather than leaning on stories which could only stem from curiosity and envy. But this time, as she caught the scraps of conversation that reverberated in the house, she couldn't help but wonder, which ones were true?