Gallant Rogue (Reluctant Heroes Book 3) (21 page)

“We’ll stay. I’m to deliver you to your uncle, the marquis, not his house woman,” he replied in English.

She conveyed Jack’s intentions to the housekeeper. The housekeeper nodded and gave orders to the boy who had fetched her. The quick words in Spanish were simple.
Open the best room for our senora and her captain. Find room for the maid in the attic, and for the other men. Quickly.

Jack’s audible sigh echoed about them. It had been a long, exhausting day. Chloe was tired, hungry, and exasperated to find that her uncle had chosen this time to travel into the interior to visit one of his villas. She only hoped this woman was telling the truth, that Uncle Miguel was simply away from home and that nothing unfortunate happened to him.

If so, it would make her journey across the sea for naught.

*   *   *

“You look lovely, ma’am.” Marta’s praise was welcome as Chloe examined herself anxiously in the large oval mirror. She’d dressed carefully for dinner, wearing a new silk gown with the least wrinkles, despite the fact that her uncle was not in residence. She still wanted to appear at her best, and make the housekeeper and the servants forget the bedraggled creature that came to them two hours earlier resembling a servant for hire.

She walked down the hall toward the grand marble stairs. It was an enchanting dream, finding herself amid such grandeur, wealth that had belonged to her own family for generations. As she stood at the top of the stairs, Chloe wondered why her father would run away from such wealth and social position.

“Great Neptune, who do we have here?” The voice startled her out of her musings, but not for long. It was Jack, dressed in finery. He came to where she stood at the top of the stairs from the opposite hall and offered her his arm. “Shall we, Mrs. O'Donovan?”

One glimpse of his crooked grin and her anxieties faded away. She had successfully arrived at her uncle’s home. She had arrived and had only to wait to be presented to her uncle. Tonight Chloe would enjoy Jack’s company at dinner. Perhaps it would be their last evening together.

The realization that this might be the last time she would enjoy his companionship brought her spirits low. She took his proffered arm, and allowed him to guide her down the marble staircase. This place was like a palace. Regal, luxurious. It was grander than she had anticipated. An elegantly dressed footman stood at the base of the stairs, ready to guide them to the dining room. He led them down a hall and then opened the door for them.

“Do we dine alone, or are your men dining with us?” she asked as Jack helped her to her seat and held the chair for her.

“Alone,” Jack murmured. “The men have duties to perform, a little
outing
. . . my dear. The taverns are usually the place to find out what is brewing in a port city, so I’ve given them leave to go make friends.”

What was he worried about?
She was safe in her uncle’s home with servants to attend her until the master's return. Jack should be overjoyed to leave her and sail back to the Indies.

The footman served them wine and the first course. The scent was intoxicating: roasted pork, highly seasoned and roasted to perfection. It was spicy, and yet satisfying. There were odd little beans or peas with onions and a heavy spice she was not familiar with.

“Do you leave in the morning, Captain?” she asked, sipping her wine slowly, hoping to savor this evening for the rest of her days.

Jack finished chewing before he answered but continued to cut his third portion of meat as he spoke. The chinking of the silver knife on the gold-edged china was a pleasant accompaniment to his rich voice in this intimate setting. “No, I’ll hang around for a few days, get the lay of the land. I’d like to meet your uncle proper, make sure he’s worthy of you before I head out. Donovan would expect no less of me, as you are his kinswoman, after all.”

“By marriage. I’m hardly family, I married his uncle. He takes his duties a little too seriously, if you don’t mind my criticism.”

Jack shrugged and tossed an olive into his mouth. After swallowing, he reached for the wine. “That is his way. And he does answer to my lady, mind you. Elizabeth is fierce when it comes to the people she loves, and you, dear Chloe, are one of them.”

It was wonderful to be reminded that she did have people who cared for her, as she would now be residing with strangers. The housekeeper was polite, and yet Chloe did not miss the wariness in her features. Perhaps it was the shock of having her master’s relation wash up on shore unexpectedly. Perhaps the woman thought her a fraud. No matter. Chloe had letters of introduction to give to her uncle. Even Jack had written a letter for her to make up for the one they took bearing Lord Greystowe’s seal.

“To Spain.” Jack raised his glass to her. “We made it here without getting blasted out of the water today. To Spain and a new life for our lovely Mrs. O’Donovan.”

“To Spain.” Chloe raised her glass in salute and drank to his toast. She lifted her glass and made a toast of her own. “And to brave men, such as Captain Rawlings and his crew. A finer escort I could not have asked for to accompany me. I thank you, Captain. I thank you for all you’ve done on my behalf.”

“Sounds as if you are ready to be well shot of me,” he said, giving her an odd look. “I’m not ready to relinquish you just yet, Ramirez.”

Chloe was taken aback by his statement. She stared at him, waiting for him to explain further. He did not. The suggestiveness of his words was strangely invigorating. She glanced down at her plate and then carefully at him again.

He was sizing up the dining room. It was impressive, bathed in candlelight and with dripping old world extravagance and splendor. The marquis's house was beautifully furnished, but it lacked a family filling the room with warmth and laughter. It seemed formal and empty.

*    *    *

The following morning, Chloe was led to an outside courtyard patio for breakfast. She was told the marquis always enjoyed his morning meal there, when the weather permitted. It was a small hidden garden with a tiled fountain. Lush green foliage was planted in a strategic pattern surrounding  a round tile table with scrolled iron chairs. It was as much of a garden as one could expect to find on an island city consisting of brick and stone. The bright flowers in the urns hanging every few feet from the open balcony above made their surroundings seem a little less cold and foreboding. There was even a small tree in the corner of this enclosed garden with little orange fruits hanging from it. The sight cheered her, as did the vision of Jack sipping coffee in a casual pose as if he were the owner of this grand villa, not a guest.

As Chloe approached Jack, he rose from his chair.  “Good morning, ma’am.”

She didn’t like it when he called her that. It was one thing for the crew, but she felt Jack was more of a friend, and so it seemed unnatural to be addressed so. She preferred he call her Chloe, but that would not be prudent, not if she wished to present herself as a proper lady to her uncle’s household. “Please, do not call me that, Captain. You make me feel a spinster.”

He sat after she did and scowled at her. “You are no spinster. You are a young widow.”

She scoffed at his use of the word "young", as she was in her early thirties, hardly young by any standard. “What are your plans today? Are you off to your ship?”

“Trying to get rid of me, are you?” He grinned. And her heart felt a strange little twinge.

“Don’t tease me. I don't wish for you to leave, but I could not delay you further with my cares.”  She poured herself a cup of coffee from the silver carafe. Since sailing with Jack, she’d come to appreciate coffee in a way she’d not thought possible. With cream and sugar, it was more than tolerable. It was actually very bracing.

A footman brought a tray laden with fresh fruits and little cakes dusted with sugar. He set the tray down on the table and started serving them. There was some sort of meat, Chloe wasn’t sure what it was and did not feel like asking. It appeared to be fish, poached fish. She declined the meat, but allowed him to serve her fresh fruit and cakes.

When the footman withdrew, Jack picked up the conversation. “I promised to deliver you to your uncle. I don’t feel comfortable leaving you in a city so close to being placed under martial law, even if it would be the British corralling it like fish in a barrel.”

He had some news, then, from the spies he sent out to the taverns last night.

Chloe buttered a little cake, and took a dainty bite of it, waiting for him to continue.

Jack was remarkably perceptive. Her look of anticipation was all the prodding he needed.

“The Spanish are unhappy with the French alliance. They are planning to break it. The city is safe enough for now, but I think it might be best if we took Captain Maxwell’s advice and returned to London to wait out this troubling business.”

“No.” Chloe set her teacup down with a clatter. “I came here to meet my uncle. I will find him. You may leave whenever you wish, Captain.”  She stood up, surprised as tears marred her vision. She didn’t mean to be so emotional, but he was asking her to abandon her quest when she was so near to triumph.

“Sit. Don’t go off like doused cat. Sit, I say.”

“You are not in command of me, Captain. I will not be told what to do by any man.”

“Was Mr. O’Donovan a little too heavy handed?”

“How dare you imply something so crude. He was a darling, a lamb.”

“Well, my dear shepherdess, as you are without said lamb, why take offense at my words? You are upset. I am bound to learn the reason why. I asked you to sit.”

“No.” Chloe returned, tossing the napkin down on her plate. “You ordered me to sit. I do not take orders from anyone, not anymore.”  She couldn’t control the sudden rage within her. Unable to speak further, she turned and stalked back into the house.

“Most peculiar,” Jack muttered as he observed her stiff march through the small garden and into the main house. “All that because I told her to sit down?" 

Someone had treated Chloe badly. If not Mr. O’Donovan, then who?

Jinx stumbled through the arched portico door, just missing Chloe’s retreat by seconds. “Mornin’, sir.” He meandered to the table and sat in the place Chloe had just vacated as there were only two chairs. Seeing the half eaten food and the tray laden with more food, the man did what most men would do--he piled the plate high with reinforcements and tucked in.

“Your report is troubling.” Jack confided. “If rebellion is in the offing, then we must extract ourselves from the city before it ignites.”

“Aye, sir.” Jinx was still chewing as he spoke.

Jack was relieved Chloe was not here to see the first mate's bad manners. To his credit, Jinx was badly hung over, and might be excused his raw manners by another man. Even so, Jack could not stop this annoying dialogue in his mind of late. It always started with, "
what would  Chloe think of this?"

“We will remain for a time and make certain Mrs. O’Donovan is well before we head out to meet the crew.”

*   *   *

Chloe was bored. She wanted to be introduced in society, at balls and musicales. She wanted to be escorted to these events on her uncle, the Marquis del Amico’s arm. There were no invitations to said parties, as her uncle was not in Cadiz and no one knew of her existence. She could not be presented to society without a proper sponsor, so she must wait until her uncle returned. And as for her aunts---one died of influenza a few years back. The other died in childbirth many years ago.

She did not understand her ennui now that she had reached her destination. The journey here had been exciting. It was an adventure. She liked sailing and seeing new places.

The prospect of living here indefinitely, shut up in a mausoleum day after day, was hardly appealing. She would go mad here, alone, with only her silly maid to talk to. Chloe couldn’t stop comparing this tense and closed-up city with the one she had just left: London.

In London, there were parks to ride about in---parks with lots of trees, dirt and earth. Never had she realized how much those things meant to her until she was deprived of them. Here, there were stone courtyards, and the only thing to do was attend the church across the square. Chloe did attend the mass once with the housekeeper. She wanted to see inside the church, and it was ostentatious, as architecture went. It was not for her, this great and powerful Catholic faith she had heard so much about. She was not willing to change her beliefs, and change them she must if she were to embrace her father's ancestral religion.

Desperate for female companionship, she took tea with Lucinda, the housekeeper, one afternoon. After the first time, they met daily at Chloe's request in the small parlor that overlooked the narrow back street. It wasn’t as grand as the other rooms, but it was one the housekeeper felt comfortable meeting her in for afternoon tea and cakes—a tradition Chloe instituted without realizing how truly English it was. She embraced the custom, she explained, when the good woman questioned her on the practice, because she had lived with a great lady who was English for so many years. Chloe was determined to make friends with the housekeeper. The kindly woman tolerated her efforts to bridge the gap between them----a gap that seemed to go much deeper than mere cultural differences, Chloe realized as she talked to the Spanish servant each day over English tea.

One week after their arrival, four days of having afternoon tea with the indulgent middle -aged housekeeper, Chloe was given a tidbit of information regarding her uncle's whereabouts. The housekeeper confided to her that the marquis had gone to his villa near Guaro, an almond orchard, and he would be there for the next month or better.

It was a boon. Until this day, the woman avoided giving any clear indication of which home her master might be in. The Marquis del Amico had several homes, she informed Chloe once in a superior tone. A grandee such as his lordship would not limit himself to one residence year round. It had been a jab at Chloe's naiveté and she recognized it as such, as the woman was pointing out that she knew nothing about how the Spanish nobility lived. Chloe let the mild insult pass. She was accustomed to slights. Her patience had paid off.