Golden Paradise (Vincente 1) (3 page)

The gale intensified before morning and the moanful howling sounded almost like a woman's scream. Sleet and hail unleashed their fury, pelting the ship, driving against it with all the forces of hell, aided by the churning waves that splashed across the deck.

Valentina lay on her bunk wide-eyed, wondering if they would make it through this terrible night. Salamar, seemingly undisturbed by the storm, slept as peacefully as a baby, while Valentina lay shivering and afraid.

Throughout the next day the violent storm continued. All the power of the unpredictable sea released its fury on the
Berengaria
, her passengers and crew. The sea was running high and, by nightfall, the ship's decks had to be cleared of snow and ice.

By midnight the sea fell to a flat calm. Valentina was overcome with relief. She was drained emotionally, feeling small and insignificant. She had lived through a storm that had controlled her life by playing on her fears. Never again would she underestimate the power of a stormy sea.

In the week and a half it took to round the Horn, the weather vacillated between calm and storm. Once the Horn was behind them, Valentina and Salamar ventured forth from their cabin. They watched the crew replacing splintered wood, mending torn sails, and repairing the damage that had been wrought by the storm.

Valentina stood on deck shivering beneath a sun that gave off no warmth; even so, she was enjoying the calmness of the sea. In the distance she watched as a flock of albatross soared on the wind. She was delighted when they landed on the sea to be playfully washed about by the motion of the waves.

When the Berengaria entered the bright blue waters of the Pacific, the warming sun was most welcome and a balmy trade wind gently helped the ship on its way. Valentina's happiness soared like the playful albatross, for she knew each day brought her closer to her mother and father.

California

Marquis Vincente's black boots were soundless as he descended the stairs, moving across the indoor courtyard and entering the archway leading to the main part of his family home. The day he had been dreading for so long had finally arrived. He was to meet the woman to whom he had been betrothed since his twelfth birthday. Even though the Estrada ranch adjoined Paraiso del Norte, Marquis had never met his betrothed, Isabel Estrada. Her father, Don Jose, he knew quite well; her mother, Dona Maria, he knew not at all. Dona Maria had hated California, refusing to live in what she termed "that wild, heathen country." She had reared her two daughters in Spain. Now she had come to California to escort her daughter Isabel so that she and Marquis could be married.

Marquis did not look forward to a life with a wife who had been chosen for him. What if she were ugly? Worse still, what if she were boring? The Spanish traditions ran deeply in Marquis's blood. He might not like the woman who had been chosen for him, but he would marry her. His grandfather had taught him that Vincentes always did what society expected of them—what propriety demanded of them.

At the door of his grandfather's study, Marquis could hear his grandfather apologizing to his guests because his daughter-in-law and his granddaughter had traveled to a distant mission and would not be home until late in the day. "Had they known you were arriving today, they would surely have stayed home," he assured them.

Marquis wished he had gone with his mother and sister. He turned the knob and stood in the doorway. His eyes went first to his grandfather, who was beaming with happiness. Don Alonso was a tall man, unstooped by his seventy years of living. Illness had robbed him of his strength and had left him pale, but his eyes were always bright and keen. He was from the era of the proud grandees—the last of a dying breed. Marquis realized with a heavy heart that his grandfather's health was deteriorating. Yet, still head of the Vincente family, the old grandee held onto life with a vengeance.

There were four other people in the room and Marquis assessed them all, one by one. There was his betrothed's mother and father. Don Jose, a man of medium height, had nothing outstanding to recommend him other than the fact that his ranch raised some fine-blooded horses. The man was lazy, always depending on others to look after his interests.

The mother, Dona Maria, seemed a shy, nervous creature who appeared ready to take flight. She had a thick waistline and a nervous twitch in her right eye. Marquis found himself hoping that the daughter did not resemble her at all. He spoke politely to Senor and Senora Estrada, wishing himself hundreds of miles away.

Hearing a rustle of silk, Marquis moved his eyes past the mother to collide with seeking eyes that were also assessing him. The tall, sumptuous woman had skin the color of a magnolia blossom. Her shimmering, black hair was pulled back from her face and fastened with bright yellow combs. Her mouth was red and curved up in the slightest smile. He noted only briefly that her gown was white trimmed with yellow velvet. There was no doubt that this woman was beautiful. Marquis felt some of his worries dissipate and he flashed her a smile.

Advancing across the room, Marquis approached his grandfather. His eyes went to the other girl in the room, and he saw that she was too young to be Isabel Estrada. Judging from her looks, he placed her in her early teens. She was as uncomely as her sister was beautiful. Her hair hung lankily about her shoulders, her skin was sallow, and she was uncommonly small, coming only to her sister's shoulder. The one thing that struck Marquis about the girl was the softness in her eyes. Sadness was reflected in their shining depths, a sadness that touched his heart. Marquis wondered what cruel twist of fate had cast this young girl opposite the beautiful Isabel. He found no humor in the fact that the girls wore identical gowns, calling unnecessary attention to the differences between them.

Don Alonso stood up, leaning heavily on his cane. "Come in, Marquis. There is someone here you have been waiting a long time to meet. Come and greet Senorita Isabel Estrada, your betrothed."

Marquis moved forward, taking Isabel's hand and bowing graciously. He felt her grip tighten on his, and her bold eyes stared straight into his. She might look like a lovely, demure young lady, but the eyes that stared at him were certainly not those of an innocent—they gleamed with raw passion that seemed ready to ignite.

"I am glad we meet at last, senorita Isabel," he said politely. "I feel I have known you for a very long time."

Isabel could hardly believe her good fortune. She had not been looking forward to today, for she had not known that her betrothed would be so handsome. It had been drilled into her head that Marquis Vincente was from one of the wealthiest and most influential families in California. She had been told by her father how fortunate she was to be marrying a Vincente.

How fortunate indeed! She had not expected him to have velvet-soft eyes, a smile that would melt any maiden's heart, shoulders so broad and hips so narrow. He was arrogant, noble, sensuously male. She felt her skin tingle as his dark eyes swept across her face.

"Yes, at long last," she breathed, lowering her eyes with maidenly shyness, knowing it was expected of her. "My father often wrote me about you. You see, even in Spain we know about Marquis Vincente."

Marquis nodded his head, suddenly feeling trapped. He could imagine the net closing around him. When he thought of spending the rest of his life with Isabel Estrada, he experienced a sudden sense of . . . repugnance! Yes, he mused, that was the word. But why? There was no denying she was beautiful—many a man would be proud to offer her his name. Why was he feeling forced into a situation over which he had no control? Why did the thought of touching her make his skin crawl?

Don Alonso cleared his throat and smiled at the younger Estrada daughter. "Marquis, I would now like to present you to Isabel's sister, Senorita Eleanor Estrada."

Marquis bowed to the young girl politely, giving her a warm smile. "I am delighted to make your acquaintance, senorita," he said gallantly. Again he noticed the sadness in her dark eyes and was touched by it.

Marquis was aware that everyone around him had been talking at once and that his mind had been wandering. The look his grandfather gave him clearly said that he was being rude. "Isabel asked if you cared to show her the garden, Marquis." The reprimand was clear in Don Alonso's voice.

"It would be my pleasure to conduct you on a tour, Senorita Isabel," Marquis answered politely.

Isabel folded her fan with a snap and used it to tap her sister's head. "Eleanor will have to accompany us since I have no
duena,"
she said, lowering her lashes coyly.

Marquis tilted his head. "But of course." Opening the door that led to the hallway, he motioned for the ladies to precede him.

There was a heavy silence as the three made their way down the corridor and out into the inner courtyard. They were greeted by the sweet aroma of the many tropical flowers as it wafted through the air tantalizingly.

"How delightful!" Isabel exclaimed, turning around in a circle, viewing the garden. "This is magnificent."

Again Marquis's heart was touched with pity for the ugly sister as she seated herself on the marble bench and folded her hands in her lap. The poor creature was so short that her legs dangled in the air and she was unable to touch ground.

Eleanor was watching Isabel try to work her magic on this tall, handsome Californian. She had seen her sister weave spells about men many times in the past. While growing up in Spain, Isabel had always been surrounded by admirers.

Through veiled lashes, Eleanor saw the pity reflected in the eyes of Marquis Vincente when he looked at her. At that moment, he did a strange thing that would endear him to the young girl for life. Marquis picked a delicate purple bloom and handed it to her.

"The beauty of the flower will soon fade, but the beauty of one's heart will long endure," Marquis said. Eleanor blinked in astonishment. He had just recited her favorite poem. None of her sister's gentlemen friends had ever paid the slightest attention to her. This man was different from all the others. She was loath to see him caught in Isabel's web.

Isabel snapped her fan open and shut in irritation. "One would think you wanted to marry my sister instead of me, Senor Vincente," she hissed. "Do you find my sister more desirable than I?" she asked spitefully.

Marquis did not try to hide the look of disbelief that spread over his face. He could not understand Isabel's uncharitable attitude toward her own sister. Did she not care that the young girl was living under her shadow, torturing herself because she was not beautiful?

He thought of his young sister, Rosalia, who had been raised with love and understanding. His smile was warm as he lifted Eleanor's hand to his lips, softly placing a kiss on the palm. "I believe there is more to your sister than meets the eye, Senorita Isabel. I would like to be her friend."

Isabel raged on the inside as her sister giggled in delight. Knowing she must cover up her anger, Isabel tried to smile, hiding her fanatical rage. "Is this where we will live when we are married, senor?" she asked, lowering her lashes, again pretending maidenly shyness.

"Yes, of course. The west side of the house has always belonged to the oldest son of the family. The next time you come for a visit, I will show you around the house. You may want to do some rearranging or redecorating."

"Why are we not to occupy the main part of the house?" Isabel asked.

"Because my grandfather is the grandee, that is still his domain."

Marquis Vincente was polite and said all the correct things, but Isabel could sense that he was not drawn to her as so many other men had been. "I'm sure the west wing will be lovely, senor," she said, meeting his glance with boldness. "Will this garden be accessible from our rooms:

"Yes. If you will look over to the right just above the fountain, you will see the balcony off the master suite. There are stairs from the balcony leading into the garden." He paused. "It has always been the custom for the Vincente men to bring their wives to the west wing."

"Is it not wrongly called a wing? Your home is built in a square around a courtyard," Isabel observed.

"I know it appears so, but the way it is set up on the inside makes it a wing." Marquis knew they were saying unimportant things, feeling each other out.

"Could we not see the rooms today?" Isabel urged. She wanted to spend time with this man who was to be her husband. She wanted to make him fall in love with her. She had the strangest feeling he didn't like her. She had had many lovers in Spain but had always been discreet, and she hoped Marquis hadn't heard about her past.

Suddenly Marquis felt an urge to get away from Isabel. He knew he would face his grandfather's displeasure later for being rude, but he would chance it. "I hope you will accept my apology, Senorita Isabel, but I have to leave right away. I told my mother I would meet her at the mission and escort her home."

"Must you go?" she asked with a pout on her lips.

"Unfortunately, yes. I would not want my mother and sister traveling on the road alone. As it is, it will be dark before we can get home."

"Is it dangerous?" Isabel asked, wanting to keep him with her as long as possible.

"Indeed it can be. One of my
vaqueros
saw bear tracks beside the road this morning." Marquis knew he was making excuses. True, he had promised his mother he would ride out to meet her, but it would not be necessary for him to leave for at least two more hours.