In the morning, of course, nothing had magically changed. Noemi and Caterina rose, dressed, and ate in near-silence, letting in the maids to help them with laces and hair and to finish packing their things. The cortège would leave for Cassavelas as soon as everyone could be ready. The maids reported carriages being loaded already, and said nothing about the chilly state of affairs between the brides—but Noemi knew them well enough to read their sideways glances. She writhed in silent humiliation.
More than once, when they had a moment alone, Noemi almost spoke to Caterina, though she didn’t know what she would have said. But her wife’s countenance was always so cool and forbidding that she lost her nerve.
I’ve offended her, Noemi thought with despair. Of course she was offended. Noemi, w
