Lisbon: Richard and Rose, Book 8 (10 page)

Richard reached for my hand and gripped it hard. I was reminded of what I’d said the other day. Death comes unexpectedly, sometimes, and if the boy had something life-threatening that he had passed on to us, the deed was already done.

“We can travel back quickly enough,” Richard said, “and I ensured we will have access to medical staff at the
palacio
. Was he in any state to vouchsafe any useful information?”

“Sadly, no, my lord. He babbled of illness, seemed to confuse it with the illness aboard ship. He has lost sense of time. His friend, the merchant, is with him, and he promised to send us word as soon as the boy recovers.”

“Ah yes, Barber, his chess-playing friend.”

“The man was genuinely distressed. He says he has a son of Crantock’s age at home.”

We had to remain satisfied with that for the time being. I could only pray that Crantock came through his ordeal.

My thoughts turned to our destination. Especially when we left Lisbon behind and met up with the rest of the vehicles, where Carier joined the servants’ coach. Behind us rolled the coach containing Lizzie and Paul, and behind all, the servants. Most of our baggage had gone on ahead.

It sounded odd, to be living in a palace, but the word had very different connotations here. More like an Italian palazzo. At least, that was how Lizzie had explained it to me. “It’s a good-sized house, but nearer to the size of our brother’s house than it is to Eyton. That is much larger.”

Richard’s ancestral house, the place where I would likely live one day, was a great house filled with treasures, but in typical British fashion, eschewed the grand title of palace. I would miss our smaller house in Oxfordshire, but Eyton was a wonderful house. The thought of being its mistress one day had at one time daunted me, but now I anticipated it with more pleasure, apart from the inevitable death of my father-in-law, whom I’d grown quite fond of.

Already I felt the slight easing of tension between Richard and myself. Although he’d released my hand, he didn’t separate himself from me completely. When our fingers brushed, he didn’t jerk his hand away, and he leaned closer to me when he spoke.

Paul had provided an excellent vehicle for our journey, and Richard insisted I take the best seat. We travelled with two nurses and the boys, with Helen bouncing on the seat between us. She’d insisted, pushed her way in, and we gave her the indulgence. Another advance. Richard hadn’t allowed the children to travel with me for fear they would tire me. This time I could enjoy the company of my husband and children and not be constrained by the strictures that I needed to rest. Together with Richard’s new softening towards me came a resurge of the energy that I’d always taken for granted before my illness.

I knew better now, but I’d have chosen a less damaging way of learning that health was one of the greatest gifts we had.

The house came into view after nearly three hours of travelling through the countryside. The terrain was a little rockier than I was used to but foreign enough to be interesting and familiar enough to be unthreatening. I would enjoy noting it later.

I kept a journal, of sorts, nothing to compare with the way other people did. I’d seen women take out a notebook and scribble in the middle of a ball. I wasn’t that devoted. But I would record this and my lord’s relaxation in his vigilance of me.

And the house.

It stood on a peak, with a larger peak behind it, a step up but with something to protect it from the worst of the weather. The most startling thing about its appearance from a distance was its colour. Pink. A deep, rich pink, the kind I had seen only once before, in a village looking over the Mediterranean at the foot of Italy. But this house was no cottage. The front contained large windows on both floors outlined in a rich cream that complemented the house’s main colour perfectly. Each side of the house jutted forwards in two shallow wings, and a portico with stairs on either side of it showed the way into the interior.

As we neared the building and entered its grounds, I saw the topiary, green hedges cut into fantastical shapes, globes and pyramids, adorning the grounds. Although it was nearly November, the sun shone brightly, but with little of the heat Lizzie had told me about in her letters. I was glad of it. I disliked stifling heat, although it appeared that Lizzie thrived in it.

The rooms in this house would be cool in the summer. It contained large windows and balconies, to allow people to wander outside and the circulation of air between the rooms.

The large, cream-painted front door stood wide open in welcome, offering a tantalising glimpse of a cool interior, with the occasional gleam from something I couldn’t quite identify. I felt a surge of anticipation, exciting in itself as a signal that I was coming back. That my real self was returning to the empty shell I’d been not so long before.

Richard alighted once a smartly liveried footman had lowered the steps for us, and held out his hand to help me down, instead of offering me the support of his arm in the more formal manner. I gave him a smile warmer and more natural than usual and took his clasp loosely, prepared to let him release me if he so chose. He didn’t choose.

So we walked forwards, hands linked, his fingers threaded between mine, and his warmth coursed through my body. Lizzie caught my attention, and I gave her a brief smile. She knew. “This is lovely.”

Her smile turned from conspiratorial to sunny. “I love it here. More than the grand estate inland, so we tend to spend more time here.”

“If Lizzie is happy, then so am I,” Paul said quietly. I loved that he’d taken to using the more familiar name we used within the family. He had called her Elizabet, which was charming, but Lizzie suited her better somehow.

The staff waiting at the door consisted of a housekeeper, butler and a couple of footmen. Both greeted us with bows, but I noticed the housekeeper’s mouth twitch into a smile when she caught sight of the children. That augured well. I didn’t let her know that I’d seen. Let it be her secret, that she liked children, until she chose to tell me.

To my relief Paul said that all the servants in the house spoke serviceable English. “It is a requirement for all my above-stairs staff,” he told us. “I began it when Lizzie came, but my mother prefers it too.” His English mother spoke excellent Portuguese, but I thought it a pleasant courtesy. I would like to have my wishes known without struggling for the words. I had no doubt that I would survive in Portuguese before we left, but so far I was finding the language difficult. In my experience, hearing it and using it would become easier in time.

I glanced at Nichols, who had travelled with the luggage coach and so preceded me, and her tiny sigh didn’t escape my notice. She wasn’t happy here, and I didn’t know why. If I asked her, I might be inviting a familiarity both of us would find uncomfortable in the future, but her very unhappiness put me on edge.

My sister rested her hand on Paul’s arm in the accepted, more formal mode. It was typical of her to prefer that to a less formal contact, even though she adored her husband with all her heart. Not, I thought, as much as I adored Richard, but I wouldn’t contest her claim. I had never cared who saw my true feelings, but I behaved with restraint for Richard’s sake. It was hard for a man brought up in extremely rigid circumstances to unbend. I thought I’d lost the inner man forever, but now I had hope that added warmth to the sunny but slightly chilly day.

I saw the cause of the gleam I’d noticed earlier. The moderate-sized hall was covered with the most beautiful ceramic tiles I had ever seen. The predominant colour was ultramarine blue, with rows and patterns reflecting and enhancing the effect. I stood, staring, until Lizzie spoke. “I hoped you’d have that reaction. It is lovely, isn’t it? Strictly this is our summer residence, and the tiles help to keep it cool. The Moors began the custom for tiles. There are some most beautiful examples in the south of Spain, at the Alhambra Palace, but Paul’s ancestors continued the tradition.”

“I’ve seen nothing like it before.”

I glanced at Richard, who shook his head. “Nor I. I really must ensure we see the Alhambra before we leave. Or on another visit. Especially if it’s anything like this.” It wouldn’t do for England, where the weather was more temperate and damper, but for a hot country it was ideal. Beautiful.

Lizzie let us look our fill then took us through the hall to the stairs. We climbed them, getting a better view of the patterns nearest to us.

“How old is this house?” I enquired. The lightness of design didn’t indicate age to me.

“Not very,” Paul replied. “Possibly thirty years. My father had the tiles laid. I’m glad you like them. My country has some wonderful examples, but of course I consider this the best.”

He would. So would I, were it mine.

Up another flight of stairs and along a wide corridor lay our rooms. I presumed that the larger passage immediately at the top of the stairs led to the staterooms. They would do so in an English country house, and this smaller example contained the guestrooms. It gave us privacy enough but lay close to the main part of the house. Upstairs would be the servants’ quarters, since this house only held two main floors, and a floor at ground level, which would, if the house were mine, have the offices and some family rooms.

I realised I was thinking in the way Richard customarily did. We were truly becoming one. I had gone into the house’s plan so naturally that next I would be working out where everyone would exist. It was one of the ways Richard kept one step ahead of everyone else. Only
one
of the ways. His mind worked so swiftly that he could discover a multiplicity of facts before another person had worked out one. And it came naturally to him.

Lizzie led us into a large bedroom. The bed was equally large, heavy draperies at the head and foot, obviously intended to close, not merely for decoration. The predominant colour was an apple green, charming, and as Lizzie must have realised, one of the colours that went well with my hair and complexion. “Will this suit you?”

“Oh yes!” I dropped Richard’s hand and took a slow stroll around the room. So pretty. The large windows opened on to a balcony that overlooked the gardens at the back of the house. Here, after a series of formal topiary gardens rare in England, I saw a massive fountain, dolphins disporting in a bowl of marble. The water was switched off. The draperies at the windows were also surprisingly thick, I noticed, when I turned my attention back into the room.

“Why do you keep the fountain turned off?” It must make a marvellous sight.

“We are approaching November, and it can get chilly at night. Sometimes we have frosts and occasionally ice. Ice would destroy the fountain, so we have it drained well before the frost comes.” That sounded sensible from Paul, though I was sorry I wouldn’t get to see the fountain working. Paul showed his supreme hospitality with his next statement. “Would you like me to order it filled? I should have thought to ask them to put it back for a week or two, but I didn’t.”

“There’s no need,” I told him. “It’s beautiful as it is, and it has a lovely tranquil quality.” And I couldn’t bear if I were responsible for ruining such a lovely object.

“You’ve even provided Rose with a large chaise for her afternoon rests.” Richard must have discerned that the large daybed set to one side of the windows was a new addition. I turned to study it, sure I could tell. I couldn’t. Richard smiled and shrugged. “The moulding on the walls doesn’t quite fit, and there’s a small scuff on the floor. A smaller sofa or chaise sat here not long ago.”

I saw it then, the slight difference in shading to one side of the daybed. Although it was upholstered in the same fabric as the window drapes, so I wouldn’t have noticed. A matching chair stood to the other side of the windows, where someone could sit and read, or just rest. The polished floorboards bore two Oriental carpets in shades of green and pink. I would have liked this room at home, but the style wasn’t one I customarily favoured, the baroque formality and the darker, polished wood not something I usually enjoyed. But it fitted well in this setting; it worked.

“You have separate dressing rooms, but knowing your…preferences, I had the bedroom on the other side turned into a sitting room and impromptu nursery,” Lizzie announced casually.

So that was her surprise. To force us into the same bed but provide an alternative—the daybed—in case it didn’t work out.

Chapter Seven

I felt Richard’s stillness like a living thing. I didn’t need to see it, but I turned to him anyway. He’d frozen, his hand on the high side of the chaise, his attention fixed on Lizzie. His easy smile firmed, stilled, and the animation I had been so glad to witness return to him leached out, leaving the great lord, the aristocrat I had rarely seen in private until recently.

“Thank you so much. It’s a delight, having people who can anticipate our every need.”

Lizzie swallowed. She hadn’t missed his cool but polite response. She forced a smile. “I thought that if one of the children fell ill, God forbid that they do, but all children have little illnesses from time to time, you could let them sleep in the sitting room with the nurse so you can keep a closer eye on them. You did tell me in your letters that the third boy…” She groped for a name.

“William,” I reminded her. I’d seen people behave like this before with Richard, turn into babbling brooks, but I wanted my sister to stop now. She didn’t.

“Yes, yes of course. He is a delicate child, you said, and I thought you might prefer to keep him close. The nurseries are on the next floor. My father-in-law was a light sleeper, and he preferred not to be in earshot of his children at nighttime. Consequently, the main nurseries are on the floor above this. So I had the other room converted.”