The wedding preparations proceeded with all the elegance of a military campaign conducted by opposing forces.
Lucia spent her days rotating between dress fittings she hadn't requested, menu tastings she didn't care about, and increasingly passive-aggressive correspondence between her sister and Alessandro's stepmother regarding everything from table linens to the precise shade of ribbon for the wedding favors.
"Ivory or ecru?" the modiste asked for the third time, holding up two fabric samples that looked identical.
"Whichever is less expensive," Lucia said.
The modiste looked scandalized. "But Signorina, you'll be a countess—"
"Which means I'll have more significant concerns than whether my wedding dress is ivory or ecru." Lucia gestured vaguely at the woman. "Choose whichever you think appropriate. I trust your judgment."
"But your opinion—"
"My opinion is that they're both acceptable shades of off-white and this conversation is taking time away from actual preparations that matter." Lucia softened the words with an apologetic smile. "I'm certain whatever you select will be lovely."
After the modiste left muttering about brides with no sense of occasion, Teodora appeared in the doorway with a stack of correspondence that did not bode well.
"The Dowager Countess has opinions about your hair," her sister announced.
"Of course she does."
"She's sent a hairdresser. A very expensive Parisian hairdresser who apparently specializes in 'transformations.'" Teodora's tone suggested quotation marks. "She'll be here tomorrow."
Lucia touched the neat coil at her nape instinctively. "My hair is fine."
"Your hair is pulled back so severely you look like you're preparing for surgery, not a wedding." Teodora sat down, her expression gentling. "You could try, you know. Just a little."
"For what purpose? Alessandro saw me with my hair like this. He agreed to marry me regardless."
"Perhaps that's precisely the point—he agreed despite the severe hairstyle, not because of it." Teodora leaned forward. "Lucia, I'm not suggesting you transform yourself. But would it truly be so terrible to look... softer? More bridal?"
"I'm twenty-six, managing an estate, and entering a contractual marriage. 'Soft' and 'bridal' seem rather misleading."
But that night, alone in her room, Lucia unpinned her hair and let it fall past her shoulders. Straight as straw, black as pitch, utterly without the romantic waves or curls that other women seemed to achieve effortlessly. She tried pulling it back loosely, but strands immediately escaped. She attempted a softer twist, but within minutes it began to droop.
Finally, frustrated, she wound it back into its customary severe coil.
This was who she was. Alessandro would have to accept that.
***
Three days before the wedding, a note arrived via Alessandro's courier:
Lucia—
Uncle Giorgio has located three potential steward candidates. Can you meet tomorrow at the townhouse to conduct interviews? I'd value your assessment.
Also, my stepmother has apparently arranged a hairdresser. You have my apologies and my permission to dismiss her if you choose.
—A.
Lucia found herself smiling at the postscript. Then, annoyed with herself for smiling, she drafted a response confirming her attendance and sent it back without any personal commentary.
She arrived at the townhouse the following afternoon to find Alessandro in his study, coat discarded, sleeves rolled to his elbows, surrounded by shipping manifests. His hair was disheveled, as though he'd been running his hands through it repeatedly.
"Oh." He looked up, startled. "You're early."
"I'm precisely on time. You're distracted." Lucia gestured to the chaos. "Problems in Naples?"
"A shipment of wine was damaged in transit. The merchant is claiming it was our fault; I'm claiming his warehouse has inadequate storage." Alessandro set down his pen. "But that's not your concern. The candidates should arrive within the hour. I thought we could discuss interview approach?"
"We ask about their experience, their philosophy regarding tenant relations, and observe how they respond to unexpected questions." Lucia settled into the chair opposite his desk. "You'll want to watch whether they address me or you. Men who defer only to you will resent taking direction from a woman later."
"Clever." Alessandro leaned back, studying her. "Have you done this before?"
"Interviewed potential employees? Of course. How do you think I identified that your steward was embezzling?"
"By being alarmingly thorough." His mouth quirked. "I'm still somewhat in awe of that analysis."
"It was basic accounting."
"It was exceptional accounting disguised as basic competence. There's a difference." He stood, moving to pour wine from a decanter. "May I?"
"Please."
He handed her a glass, and their fingers brushed. Lucia told herself the small jolt was merely surprise at the warmth of his hand, nothing more significant.
"How are the wedding preparations?" Alessandro asked, returning to his side of the desk. "Has my stepmother driven you to violence yet?"
"Nearly. She has opinions about everything, including my posture during the ceremony."
"What's wrong with your posture?"
"Apparently it suggests military bearing rather than feminine grace." Lucia sipped her wine—excellent quality, she noted. "I'm meant to stand less... assertively."
Alessandro snorted. "That's absurd."
"Is it? You've seen me. I'm not exactly the image of soft femininity."
"No," he agreed, and something in his directness made her look up sharply. "You're not soft. But why should you be? Soft things break easily."
Lucia felt something tinge in her chest—a dangerous, inconvenient warmth. "That's a generous interpretation."
"It's an accurate one." He held her gaze. "My stepmother wants you to be decorative because that's what she understands. But I didn't propose a business arrangement with decoration. I proposed it with you."
The emphasis on the final word made her mouth go dry.
Before she could formulate a response that didn't reveal entirely too much, a knock sounded at the door. "The candidates have arrived, my lord," the butler announced.
"Show them to the drawing room," Alessandro said. "We'll be there momentarily."
After the butler departed, Alessandro stood and retrieved his coat. "Ready?"
"Always." Lucia rose, setting down her glass. "Though I should warn you, I intend to ask unconventional questions."
"I'm counting on it." He held the door open for her. "Shall we terrify some prospective employees?"
"That's not the goal."
"No, but it's likely to be the outcome anyway."
***
The first candidate was a man of perhaps forty-five, with the calculating eyes of someone who'd spent years managing properties. He bowed correctly to Alessandro, then offered Lucia a perfunctory nod before addressing all his responses to Alessandro exclusively.
"I've managed estates for the Visconti family," he explained, his attention never wavering from Alessandro. "Fifteen years of experience, excellent references—"
"What's your philosophy on tenant relations?" Lucia interrupted.
The man's gaze slid to her briefly, irritated. "I believe in firm management. Tenants require clear boundaries—"
"And if a tenant can't make rent due to crop failure?" Lucia pressed. "What then?"
"Eviction, naturally. One cannot allow sentiment to compromise business." He returned his attention to Alessandro. "As I'm sure you understand, my lord."
"Actually," Alessandro said mildly, "I'd like to hear Signorina Conti's thoughts on that approach. As she'll be managing the estate while I'm in Naples."
The candidate's expression went carefully blank. "I see. I wasn't aware... That is, I assumed..."
"You assumed incorrectly." Lucia kept her voice pleasant. "Thank you for your time, but I don't believe you're suited for this position."
"Now wait—"
"The interview is concluded," Alessandro said, his tone brooking no argument. "My butler will show you out."
After the man departed radiating indignation, Alessandro turned to Lucia with barely suppressed amusement. "That was impressively efficient."
"He would have undermined every decision I made, then complained to you privately that I was too soft on tenants. Men like that are exhausting." Lucia consulted her notes. "Shall we see if candidate two is any better?"
The second candidate was younger, eager, and addressed them both equally, but revealed within ten minutes that he had virtually no experience with olive cultivation and thought wine grapes could be harvested twice annually.
"He's enthusiastic," Alessandro said diplomatically after dismissing him.
"He's incompetent." Lucia crossed out the name. "Enthusiasm doesn't compensate for basic agricultural ignorance."
"Agreed." Alessandro glanced toward the door. "Which leaves candidate three. Uncle Giorgio seemed particularly enthusiastic about this one."
The third candidate was a woman.
Lucia felt her eyebrows rise involuntarily. The woman was perhaps fifty, dressed practically but well, with intelligent eyes and the weathered hands of someone who'd worked outdoors extensively.
"Signora Benedetti," Giorgio said, trailing behind her with obvious satisfaction. "Twenty years managing the Grimaldi estates near Padua. Excellent references, exceptional yield improvements, and she's willing to relocate to Verona."
"A woman steward," the Dowager Countess's voice came from the doorway, dripping with disdain. "How... progressive."
"How competent," Giorgio corrected. "Her records speak for themselves."
Signora Benedetti seemed unperturbed by the tension. "Count Ferretti, Signorina Conti. Thank you for considering my application. I understand the position may be unusual given my sex, but I assure you, crops don't care whether they're managed by men or women. Only whether they're managed well."
Lucia felt herself smile. "Please, sit. Tell us about your experience with olive cultivation."
The interview lasted an hour. Signora Benedetti answered every question with competence and clarity, addressing both Lucia and Alessandro equally. She had opinions about drainage improvements, thoughts on tenant negotiations, and a refreshingly pragmatic approach to estate management that involved neither excessive sentiment nor callous efficiency.
"The southern section you mentioned," she said, studying the map Lucia provided. "Your analysis regarding hazelnuts is sound, but have you considered chestnuts? Similar soil requirements, better established market in Venice, and the trees provide windbreaks for the existing olive groves."
Lucia and Alessandro exchanged glances.
"I hadn't considered that," Lucia admitted. "The windbreak benefit alone would improve olive yields on the adjacent terraces."
"Precisely. You'd see returns in three years rather than five." Signora Benedetti traced the property line. "Though the initial investment would be marginally higher—chestnut saplings are more expensive."
"But the long-term benefit justifies it," Alessandro said. "Especially if we're already investing in drainage improvements."
They discussed details for another twenty minutes before Alessandro finally sat back. "Signora Benedetti, would you excuse us for a moment?"
After she'd stepped outside, Giorgio grinned. "Well?"
"She's perfect," Lucia said immediately.
"She's a woman," the Dowager Countess interjected. "The other estates will—"
"Will have to adjust their prejudices," Alessandro said firmly. "Lucia's correct. She's the most qualified candidate we've seen." He glanced at Lucia. "Unless you have objections?"
"None whatsoever. Though I should warn Signora Benedetti that she'll be working with me, not just taking orders from Naples. If that's a problem—"
"I suspect," Giorgio said, still grinning, "that she's counting on exactly that. Why else would she apply for a position knowing a woman would be managing the estate?"
Alessandro stood. "Then I'll make the offer. Uncle Giorgio, draw up the contract. Lucia, would you like to inform her?"
"Actually," Lucia said, surprising herself, "perhaps we should tell her together?"
Something warm crossed Alessandro's face. Pleasure, maybe, or approval. "Together, then."
They found Signora Benedetti in the hallway, examining a painting of the Verona estate with professional interest.
"Signora," Alessandro began, "we'd like to offer you the position."
The woman's face remained composed, but Lucia caught the flash of relief in her eyes. "I accept. When would you like me to begin?"
"After the wedding," Lucia said. "I'll need a week to settle into the estate, then we can begin reviewing current operations and planning improvements."
"Understood." Signora Benedetti hesitated. "May I speak plainly?"
"Please do," Alessandro said.
"I've worked for families where the lady of the house was decorative and the lord made all decisions. I've also worked for families where both parties had opinions and neither listened to the other. I assume this arrangement is different?"
"Entirely," Lucia said. "Count Ferretti will be in Naples most of the year. I'll be managing daily operations. We'll both make strategic decisions, but implementation will be primarily my responsibility."
"And you're comfortable with that?" Signora Benedetti directed the question to Alessandro.
"Completely," he said without hesitation. "Signorina Conti has already identified embezzlement I'd missed and proposed improvements I hadn't considered. I'd be a fool not to trust her judgment."
"Good." Signora Benedetti smiled properly for the first time. "Then I look forward to working with you both. It will be refreshing to serve in a household where competence is valued over convention."
After she departed, Giorgio clapped Alessandro on the shoulder. "You chose well, nephew. Both the steward and the wife."
"Don't let him take all the credit," Lucia said. "I chose him."
"Fair point." Giorgio's eyes twinkled. "Though I notice you're both conveniently ignoring how well-matched you are."
"We're business partners," Lucia said firmly. "Well-matched in our approach to estate management."
"If you say so." Giorgio's expression suggested he believed nothing of the sort. "Though I'll mention purely as observation, that Alessandro hasn't smiled this much in seven years."
He left before Lucia could formulate a response.
She became suddenly aware that she was alone with Alessandro again, and that he was indeed smiling, not broadly, but with a warmth that did alarming things to her composure.
"Your uncle meddles," she said.
"Extensively. It's one of his more endearing qualities." Alessandro moved closer, and she caught again that scent of bergamot and paper. "Though in this case, he's not entirely wrong."
"About?"
"This working. Us working." He paused. "You're not what I expected when I answered your advertisement."
"I'm exactly what I described—plain, past marriageable age, and excessively focused on practical matters."
"You're clever enough to identify embezzlement, brave enough to interview a prospective husband like a business transaction, and principled enough to hire the most qualified candidate regardless of her sex." Alessandro's gaze was steady. "Those aren't flaws, Lucia. Whatever you think."
Her name in his voice did something dangerous to her equilibrium. "Alessandro—"
"I know. Business arrangement. Clear boundaries." But he didn't step back. "Though perhaps we could be business partners who occasionally enjoy each other's company? The next few decades would pass rather slowly otherwise."
Lucia meant to agree politely and deflect. Instead, she heard herself say, "I enjoy your company now. That's not the concern."
"Then what is?"
"That I'll start expecting more than a business arrangement and you'll—" She stopped, appalled at her own honesty.
"I'll what?" His voice was gentle. "Find you disappointing? Regret the marriage?"
"Something like that."
Alessandro was quiet for a long moment. "Lucia, look at me."
She did, reluctantly, and found his expression serious.
"I don't know what this becomes," he said. "Neither of us do. But I promise you, I won't find you disappointing. You could spend the next thirty years correcting my agricultural assumptions and I'd still consider this the soundest decision I've ever made."
It wasn't a declaration of love. It wasn't even particularly romantic. But somehow, it lodged in her chest like warmth.
"Two days until the wedding," she said, because she didn't trust herself to say anything more significant.
"Two days," he agreed. "Are you terrified?"
"Of stepmother's hairdresser, yes."
His laugh was surprised and genuine. "She arrived, then?"
"Tomorrow morning. Teodora insists I at least meet with her."
"You could refuse."
"I could." Lucia found herself smiling slightly. "But perhaps your uncle is right. Perhaps I could try. Just a little."
"You don't need to change anything."
"I know. But wanting to try isn't the same as needing to change." She gathered her things. "I should go. Teodora will be wondering where I've been."
Alessandro walked her to the door, and this time when their hands brushed in farewell, Lucia didn't pretend it was merely surprise.
Two days.
She could manage two days without admitting that this business arrangement had already become something more complicated.
***
The Parisian hairdresser arrived with an assistant, three trunks of supplies, and an expression that suggested Lucia's hair was a personal insult.
"Mon Dieu," she breathed, circling Lucia like a predator. "So much potential, so poorly utilized."
"My hair is clean and neat," Lucia said defensively.
"Clean, oui. Neat, oui. Beautiful?" The hairdresser made an expressive gesture. "Non."
Two hours later, Lucia stared at her reflection and barely recognized herself.
Her hair was still pulled back (she'd refused any style that required extensive daily maintenance) but softly now, with small braids woven through the coil and a few deliberately loosened strands framing her face. The severe look had been replaced with something... not soft, exactly, but less militant. More approachable.
"I look different," she said, slightly dazed.
"You look like yourself, only better," Teodora corrected. She was smiling, genuinely pleased. "Oh, Lucia. You're actually quite lovely when you allow yourself to be."
Lucia touched the braided sections hesitantly. "It's not too much?"
"It's perfect. Not overdone, not severe. Just... you, but bridal." Teodora caught her hand. "Alessandro will be speechless."
"It's a business arrangement. His opinion on my hairstyle is irrelevant."
"Keep telling yourself that, little sister."
But when Lucia looked in the mirror again, she couldn't help wondering what Alessandro would think.
And then, annoyed with herself for wondering, she firmly dismissed the thought.