Carla Kelly (20 page)

She stared at him, her eyes wide. “But what would Amos do?”

“That’s not a worry. I have a myriad of assignments he can fulfill on my estate. In a few years, he might be an excellent bailiff.”

“But he is so good in the armory!”

“Liria! It upsets you!”

She glared at him. He marveled how lively her expression was now, how open. And how short he was falling at the moment, in her estimation. From now on and ever after, I will always know what is going on in this woman’s mind, he thought.

“You can’t do that, senor,” she said finally, and her voice was firm in that Valencia way he knew he would have to become accustomed to, or else they would have some lively fights. “Don’t you see? If you close the armory out of fear that it frightens me, then that officer has won, and so have the soldiers in the alley. I don’t want them to control me anymore. If you close the armory, then they are still pinning me to the ground, aren’t they? I will learn to live with the armory.”

No, I will not always know what is going on in this marvelous woman’s mind, he thought with the deepest gratitude. “You’re right,” he said. “The armory stays open.”

***

They arrived at Knare just after dark. The manor was well-lit, and he wondered for just a moment if another guest had arrived to see the armory. Most traveling visitors to the gardens were gone by dusk. When the chaise came to a stop, the door opened and Luster hurried down the steps, leaving the door open wide behind him.

“Your Grace, let me speak with you before any of you go inside,” he said.

Juan leaped down. Still holding the shoes, he ran inside. Liria laughed and followed him. “No!” Luster called, but she was gone with a wave of her hand.

Nez clutched his butler’s arm. “What is going on? Tell me quick.”

“Your Grace, he came an hour ago!”

He ran up the steps and into his house, stopping to stand beside Liria and stare at the man in the hall. He was not tall, but he was broad, with a look of command about him, and great dignity. He was a stranger, but as Nez looked at him, he heard Liria’s breath come in quick gasps. He looked closer at the man, and with a chill that seemed to squeeze his heart, he observed his mouth, as elegant in a man as it was beautiful in a woman. Oh, God, sometimes we get what we ask for, he thought. “Not now, not now,” he pleaded.

As he watched in horror, the man slowly dropped to his knees and held out his arms. “Liria,
menina linda,
” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion. “Forgive us!”

“Brother,” she whispered.

Nez wanted to hold her arm and shout no at the top of his lungs. Before he could grab her, she glided across the floor toward the kneeling man. When she reached him, she touched his head, then sank to her knees in front of him. In another moment his arms were around her, and he was sobbing.

Nez turned away and clapped his hands to his ears. I wanted this a month ago, he thought. I am still fortune’s fool.

Chapter Fifteen

“Your Grace, he arrived an hour ago,” Luster said, speaking low as Nez watched, with failing heart, the brother and sister embracing each other in his hallway.

“Did he? Well, no wonder. I sent a letter to him, courtesy of his country’s ambassador in London. Luster, did you ever imagine that I would be so efficient? Tony Cook should be happy with me. I’ve thought of everyone now, so that must mean I am rehabilitated. Wish it felt better.”

He reflected on the matter a moment as he watched them, then touched Juan on the arm. “Let’s go belowstairs and bother the chef to find us some food.”

Juan leaned against him. “Is he hurting my mother?” he asked, anxiously.

“No, lad, no!” Nez picked him up and held him close. He’s killing me, but he’s not hurting your dear mother, he thought. “That man is her brother, your own uncle.”

Juan nodded, and Nez carried him down the hall. “Your Grace, I have put your correspondence on the desk in your book room,” Luster murmured as he walked beside him, hurrying to keep up. “I think you will find some welcome news there.”

“Oh?” he asked, not even trying to hide his bitterness. “Did Napoleon escape from St. Helena, and the Beau wants a foursome to find him? Did I lose my entire income on ’Change? Do you think it can wait?” He was shouting now, but he didn’t care, except that Juan clung to him closer. “I’m sorry, lad. Let’s eat.”

Dinner was already over in the servants’ hall. He knew how temperamental his chef was, but the despair that he suspected was on his face and he knew was in his heart must have told his servants not to give him grief. In a matter of minutes, the chef had prepared a simple meal. Nez chased the chicken and asparagus around on his plate while Juan ate as he always did, a child of the guns, never sure of another meal.

He found himself glancing at the door to his wine cellar, then staring at it, as if he could make the dusty bottles materialize again that used to nestle there in racks. I think I would start with Madeira, because my father liked it best, he considered. Sherry’s too sweet after all that Madeira, but I would drink some next in honor of Spain, then move back to the British Isles and settle in for the next month or two with whiskey right from the bottle. Maybe some rye from America next, if I’m still alive, because I like the irony of that word. What could be more wry than my life?

He knew he was feeling sorry for himself, but he didn’t care anymore. He had nothing to show for his life now except good turns, and they weren’t enough. I have done what everyone wanted me to do, he told himself as he stacked the asparagus on top of the chicken. Now everyone can pat themselves on the back and feel proud that they had a hand in rehabilitating a rather shabby man. Now I am fit for polite company because I cared enough to bring a young woman back from the death of her soul, and let her brother know she was alive and well. Now they will return to Spain, and everyone will be happy.

He couldn’t help himself. He sobbed out loud, and stared at his plate as though it had grown talons and scales. He pushed it away. Juan looked at him, startled.

“I’m sorry, Juan,” he said, shame flooding his face with heat. “I think I am tired, more than hungry. Come sit on my lap.”

He held Juan until the little boy grew heavy, relaxed in sleep. Betty was knitting at the end of the table, and watching him closely—too closely, he thought suspiciously. “Shall I make up his cot?” she asked him quietly.

He nodded. After a few minutes he carried Juan to bed. He sat on Liria’s bed and watched him sleep, trying to memorize his face, and wishing he had skill in drawing, so he could capture the moment. Already he was forgetting the nuances of his own parents’ faces, people he had only been peripherally interested in when they were alive, and whose lives only held meaning for him now. How long would it take him to forget what someone looked like that he loved right now? He rested his head in his hands, tired to his soul. How long would he be able to summon to mind Liria’s beautiful face, and her slow way of looking at him, assessing him?

This is pathetic, he told himself. He watched Juan another moment, then went upstairs and down the hall to the book room. He didn’t know where the Valencias—more properly the Mouras—had taken themselves. If they wanted him, they would find him. After opening the window to catch the evening breeze and maybe the scent of Mama’s roses, he settled himself in his chair and glanced at the correspondence on his desk. He noticed that the breeze against his back was a little cooler now, more like fall than summer. Then would come winter, and spring again eventually, and on and on through his life.

He looked up at the familiar knock. “Come in, Luster,” he called.

Luster opened his door, and he could see the Mouras standing behind him, arm in arm. “Your Grace, His Excellency the Duke of Moura y Valencia wishes to speak to you.” He coughed behind his hand. “Your eye . . .”

“Bugger it, Luster,” he said succinctly. Nez waved the Mouras in and indicated his sofa. “Please be seated. May I congratulate you on your good fortune.”

“We have you to thank, Your Excellency,” Moura said. He had removed his cloak and sat, impeccably clad, in a traveling suit of Spanish cut and flair.

“Your English is as fine as your sister’s,” he said, when no one else seemed to want to fill the air with silly words.

“We did have the same father.”

“Of course.” If you can’t do better than that, Benedict, he thought sourly, you are losing your touch. Let him at least think you are intelligent. “I sent a letter to you in Spain six weeks ago through the Duke of Montressor y Calatrava,” he said. “How is it that you have responded so promptly?” Too bad the ship carrying it didn’t sink.

“He sent it to Paris, where I am Spain’s ambassador to the court of Louis the Eighteenth.” He smiled, but it was a self-deprecating smile. “My French is also excellent.”

“He didn’t tell me you were in Paris.”

“He wouldn’t,” Moura countered. “In diplomacy one always plays cards close to the chest, Duke.” He put his arm around Liria, whose expression was as inscrutable as it ever was. Nez looked away, dismayed. “I would have been here even sooner, but there were trade negotiations going on. Fishing rights in the Bay of Vizcaina.”

And we all know how important they are, Nez thought, and felt the tiniest flicker of amusement. Good for you, Nez. One must find one’s humor where one can.

His arm still around his sister, the duke leaned back and told Nez his story of exile and misery, and powerful longing to return to Spain and pick up the shards of his own life. “I was able to learn of my father’s death in Badajoz, but no one knew what had become of Rosario and Liria,” he said. He looked at Liria, and Nez could see deep affection for his sister in his face. “My dearest, Blanca would not say anything! I assumed she knew no more than I did. I thought you dead until the spring, when she lay dying.”

Nez looked at Liria’s face at this news. He could see only numbness there, and the blankness he had prayed never to see again. He felt only the bleakest kind of satisfaction when she slowly inched herself away from her brother. He may have imagined it.

“On her deathbed, she confessed that she had driven you from her house in Mérida. Oh, Liria! She told me how she had suffered in the years since, wondering where you were, or even
if
you were. Almost with her last breath, she asked me to find you, to beg your forgiveness and save her immortal soul.”

“Here I am,” she said, her first words since entering the room. “My son and I.”

“Ah, yes, your son,” the duke replied quickly. “Your son. Well. My dearest, I need a hostess at the embassy in Paris, or you may return to Las Invernadas, if you wish.” He looked at Nez. “Dear senor, we will always be in your debt.”

“I’m glad I could help,” he said, wishing that the floor would open up and suck down the Duke of Moura y Valencia. “I’ll miss your sister, Duke. She was a wonderful housekeeper.” Stop there, Benedict, he warned himself. Make your exit in a dignified manner. He rose. “Please excuse me. It’s late and this has been a long day. I am certain that you would rather talk about private matters.”

The Spaniard stood up, too, and bowed. “Again, my deepest gratitude.” He looked at his sister with uncertainty. “I have one question, something that I have been puzzling over since I found out where you were, Liria. Why did you go with the British, especially after what they did to you at Badajoz!”

Is he trying to insult me, Nez asked himself, surprised at the question. “Really, Duke,” he murmured. “Weren’t we allies?”

Liria stood up then, the lethargic look gone. “The British took me in when my family drove me away. Miguel, I was a camp follower because my sister chased me away like you would chase a dog! What would you have done?”

The duke flushed a deep red. “I hope you will forgive her.”

Nez left the room, closing the door quietly behind him, when he wanted to slam it off the hinges. He went out onto the terrace, grateful to stand there in the cool of the evening. Luster joined him in a few minutes. “Luster, I’m not going to do anything drastic!” he said, unable to disguise the irritation he felt, and his heart’s soreness under it all. He sat down on the top step, wishing it were light enough to see Mama’s flowers. “I had hoped that things would turn out better for me.”

“I, too, Your Grace,” Luster said. He cleared his throat. “Are we to wish the Cooks happy?” he asked.

“The Cooks? I didn’t open that letter yet. Do you think it is about the baby?”

“It would seem so, Your Grace, considering that this is August.”

“Even good news can wait. I think I’ll be out here for a while. Don’t wait up.”

He went down the steps and into Mama’s garden. He heard the fountain, and he went toward it, standing there watching the water, and contemplating the ritual of tossing a penny in for luck. I suppose my face is as blank as Liria’s right now, he thought. I wonder why she looks that way again? I know why I do. I’ve lost the one person—the two people—who make me happy. I will go to my grave missing them. Did I ever think I would feel worse than I did after losing Libby?

He heard footsteps. “Luster, I promise not to drown myself in the fountain.”

“I don’t think there is enough water to drown you.”

He smiled. “Always the practical one, eh, Liria?”

“Someone must be.”

She stood beside him, and he wanted to grab her and never let her go. “I’m sorry, my dear. I suppose I was rude just then to your brother.”

“No more rude than he was to make such a comment.” She touched his arm with enough force to make him turn and look at her. “What should I do?”

“Do? Well, go home with him, of course. Isn’t that what you want? Blanca is dead, he is contrite. Do you want me to tell you to stay? Liria, I refuse to tell you what to do. I promised you at Huddersfield that I would never be the man who would compel you to do anything! Hasn’t enough been done to you? What do you want from me?”

He was aghast at his harsh words, but to her credit, Liria did not even flinch. “He said I could take Juan with me.”

“Big of him! Liria, I’m tired. Let’s just say good night. No, let’s say good-bye. There’s no law compelling me to see you off tomorrow. I can’t do it, so don’t expect it.”

“Very well,” she said, and she sounded agreeable, and more the woman he wanted her to be. “You realize that you’re acting like a duke.”

He smiled in spite of himself, amused at her ability to smooth him over, even as she broke his heart. “I suppose I am. I’ll be all right, Liria.” He held out his hand to her.

She startled him by taking his hand in both of hers, and kissing it. To his further amazement, she stood on tiptoe and pulled his head down closer. She kissed him, and her lips were as grand as he had hoped. He folded her in his arms, kissing her back with considerable vigor, and not worried about frightening her, or doing the wrong thing, because she had begun it. He kissed her with all the joy in him and all the sorrow.

When he finished, he cupped his hands around her face, and looked deep into her eyes. “I love you. The more fool me, eh? Go with God, Liria. I hope and pray that you and Juan have the wonderful life that you deserve and that is long overdue.”

He turned and walked quickly out of his mother’s garden. He wondered if he would ever have the courage to go into it again.

He didn’t sleep all night, but the matter hardly bothered him, because he knew he wouldn’t. He spent the early morning hours going over his farm ledgers. The bailiff had explained them to him before his trip to Huddersfield, and he wanted to make certain he understood the man’s method of entries. It was straightforward enough. He considered his bailiff’s suggestions about visiting an estate near Wales where the owner was experimenting with various strains of Belgian wheat. I can probably work a visit to the Waterloo Seed Farm into my busy schedule, he thought. Gussie’s birthday is soon, and I will surprise her with a visit
and
a present. He laughed out loud. She’ll be so startled she won’t know what to do. He was sober then, thinking of Liria driven from her sister’s home like an animal. “Gussie, we may be luckier than we know,” he murmured.

First there would be a visit to Kent for a christening. Tony had told him not to return without a wife, but christening couldn’t be put off forever. He lay down on his bed then because all the close entries from the ledger were making his eyes water. He thought about the little artillery ledger that was still in his coat pocket. He knew he should return it to Juan, but he knew he would keep it instead, even if he never looked at it again. He wasn’t even sure he could. “Well,” he said. “Well, on we go.”

He pretended he was asleep when the ’tween stairs maid brought his water and swept his hearth. Each day would be the same, each night no different, not unless he made them different, and he knew he could. His father had kept him alive in Spain, and his mother had given him a garden. He had done a few favors for some friends, met a child he adored, and fell in love for the last time. All in all, it had been a busy summer.

He tried not to listen for it, but he heard the carriage leave promptly at eight. He was finally tired enough to roll over and go to sleep, but didn’t. He would have his horse saddled and go into his fields, where the harvests continued. No, not today, he decided. I would miss Juan too much, and his usual perch in front of me. Maybe tomorrow.