The Secret Muse (#1)

Chapter 3

At least now I know the month and year I traveled into. It's in April 1476. 

I have traveled 400 years back. Despite never meeting her at all, my father has collected a handful of information about her as much as he can.

Being a famously beautiful woman in Florence does not guarantee enough information about her background. From what I can remember, it is not even known when she was born but she's certainly a Genoese.

There was only one record in history that my father was able to collect about Simonetta's early life. It was written by an unnamed Florentine poet politician and it reads, 'in that stern Ligurian district up above the seacoast, where angry Neptune beats against the rocks ... There, like Venus, she was born among the waves.'

How do you mourn for someone you've never met before?

It's difficult to feel anything when I don't feel like I lost something. I know it isn't her fault. I know I needed to be away but it is also not my fault for not feeling as much as I should. As much as Madonna Cattaneo.

The house was eerily quiet. Its silence is almost deafening. It's difficult to speak even at supper. Madonna Cattaneo has been quiet and I respected that. 

I may not know the nature of their relationship yet but I'm sure she was truly close with her. She is in no better shape than I am. I'm certain that I look as joyless as she is.

"By the looks of it, it appears you have your share of loss and pain." The elder woman finally spoke.

Fiddling with the spoon, I nodded yes. "I have. Quite recently as well."

"Forgive me. Is it a close relative?"

Nodding again, I spoke. "Yes, my father."

"Condolences, my dear. How old was he?"

Shifting my gaze from her to my plate, I began to see my father's smile. "He was 44."

She nodded before speaking. "I hope he lived fully within his years."

Did my father live fully? Now that she's mentioned it, my father has always been so focused on me that I have never seen him do things other than research and teach me. He never even took his teaching position back even when he was offered multiple times by Oxford.

No matter how much I want to say yes, I know I would be lying. He has lived halfheartedly since my mother's passing. It's as if a big part of him died along with her.

Tossing and turning, I found myself completely unable to sleep. The reality that I have witnessed the burial of both of my parents seems to have tugged something in my chest. 

I wonder what happened to her. Why has my father never mentioned anything about her to me? Is it so difficult for him to talk about her that he could not dare mention her to me?

My father has mentioned how much I took after her. I wonder if that was true. Giving up, I decided to wrap myself with a shawl to keep myself warm and went downstairs by the fire. When I got there, I saw Lady Cattaneo by the settee. Seeing as she perhaps needed the time alone more than I did, I decided to go back upstairs when she suddenly spoke. "Can't sleep too?"

Caught by the act, I continued towards the settee and sat at the other edge of it. "I'm afraid so."

"I wonder what keeps you up?" She said while her gaze still upon the dancing fire in front of her.