My Dearest Friend (Books We Love Regency Romance) (12 page)

“Thank you,” she said realizing the sense of his suggestions and grateful that he had taken matters into his hands. “But you need not sit with Harry.
Eaves has had the care of him for these past weeks and copes admirably. You must not be imposed upon.”

“It is no imposition, my dear,” he assured quietly. “Perhaps it is for my own benefit that I wish to be involved in his care.”

Chapter
Seven

Not long after daybreak, the newly hired coach stood outside the inn ready to make its journey. Proctor, now seated on the box next to the coachman had tied his horse to the rear of the vehicle and apart from the occasional stamping of the horses’ hooves, everywhere was quiet and still.

The duke emerged from the inn with
a crispness to his step, eager to be away and was just about to step into the vehicle when he heard Jane call him and turned to see her standing in the doorway.

“
Robert, you did not wake me,” she called. “Would you go without at least saying farewell?”

Immediately he retraced his steps to stand before her.
“Forgive me, my dear,” he said taking her hand. “Your sleep is valuable at such a time and I thought it better that you remain undisturbed. Go back inside. I promise you, we will be gone as short a time as possible and you will scarcely notice our absence.”

Disengaging her hand from his clasp
and raising fearful eyes to his, she took hold of his sleeve in a pleading gesture.

“My dear friend please
be careful. There are dangers in Spain and I shall not rest until you are returned.”

“Dear friend?” queried the duke quietly, looking down into her upturned face. “Is that what I am?”
Then yielding to an irresistible temptation, “Could I be no more?”

“
Surely you must know that you are my dearest of all friends,” she whispered, meeting his searching gaze, “and the thought that I might lose you terrifies me.”

For a moment, he paused, looking into the face he held so dear, holding her eyes with his own. Slowly he raised his hand and with his forefinger, gently traced the contours of her cheek and chin. Oblivious of his surroundings, risking all, he took that face between his hands. Bending his head, he gently kissed her. Finding no resistance, the tenderness deepened to a poignant longing and he held her tightly to him, rejoicing that after only the briefest hesitation she returned the caress and allowed her slender form to rest against his frame.

However, this would not do, the temptation to stay was too great and he must be away. He had, in part, received the answer to his unspoken question. More would be said on his return.

Releasing her from his embrace, he once again held her face between his hands.
“My little love,” he whispered. “All will be well, have no fear,” and as she would have given a reply he stopped her words with the briefest kiss and turning on his heel, was gone.

The horses
’ hooves clattered over the cobbled yard as the driver drove the equipage out of the yard. Jane watched its departure in tumultuous confusion, a whole range of thoughts passing through her brain.

The
realization that her dearest friend returned her affection made her want to cry out to him to stay, to be reassured, to acknowledge his devotion. It would indeed seem an age until his return and she would be disconsolate.

Retracing her steps back into the inn, she did not go immediately to Harry’s bedchamber, as had been her original intent, but instead went into the parlor to sit dejectedly by the window. Sounds issuing from the kitchens told her that the morning meal was being prepared, but when the maid arrived with a laden tray to tempt her appetite, she declined and sent her away.

She had not been prepared for the feelings of despondency that Robert’s departure would create. Instead of feeling joy at his declaration, she felt a sadness at his going that she knew would last until she witnessed his safe return.

***

The mood of the occupant inside the speeding coach however, was at a complete variance to the scene he had left behind. Leaning back against the squabs his thoughts raced, noticing not at what speed or in what direction they traveled. A great elation welled within him and a desire for possession. Jane must be his, he must secure her affections. There must be no delay and they would be married as soon as she would allow. Never had such ardent emotions been awakened in his breast, and smiling secretly to himself, he allowed his imagination full reign, anticipating Jane’s reaction upon his return. Once married, she would be his and he would have the right to protect her, to defend her from whatever danger
s fate would throw in their way. He was even aware of an affection for Harry, for after all, it was his initial misunderstanding of the situation that had brought the determination that he must have Jane and protect her come what may.

He had set out on this journey to Portugal in the hope of finding some peace of mind. He had not realized that it would be his companion who would prove to be his redemption, and to what degree he would come so to rely on her company and affection. Now he could be at peace with Stefan and, if granted the opportunity to provide for her future, he would treasure the care of the babe, his niece. The Fates, after all, had been kind, kinder than he had ever dared hope or thought he had the right to expect. Now he could recommence his life after spending so long in the realms of torment.

***

The contours of Spain rose on either side as they passed groves of oranges and olives decimated in the recent battles. On two occasions, they drove through deserted villages that had been devastated by the war, only the occasional fowl or pig remaining as their inhabitants.

Around midday, when the coach had halted to change horses at an inn on the outskirts of a small town, Proctor entered the coach bringing a light repast of wine, bread and cold meats for the duke. It had been decided that his grace should remain within the coach when it made such necessary stops, believing that the cloak of anonymity would be their only real defense.

Upon being invited to share the meal, closing the door behind him,
Proctor took the seat opposite.

“When do you anticipate we should arrive at the convent?” Robert asked, slaking his thirst with the wine
Proctor had provided.

“If all goes well, we should arrive sometime in the early evening, sir,”
Proctor replied.

The duke, tearing the portion of bread in two and offering half to his companion, appeared thoughtful. “Then we must hope to be offered accommodation for the night. If we wish our presence to remain unnoticed it would be unwise to attempt lodgings at any of the inns in the area.”

Proctor nodded his agreement. “Although I can’t guarantee it, sir, we must trust that the sisters will feel obliged to accommodate us when they know the reason for our visit.”

“
My desire is merely to secure the babe and return to Portugal as soon as possible. Indeed, it is to our advantage to remain only a short time in Spain. Should our presence become known we have not the power to withstand an assault. We are definitely in no position for heroics.”

Proctor
grimaced slightly, “I have heard no reports of troops in the area although there is always the guerrilleros to consider; we are armed but would be unable to withstand an all-out attack.”

   
“Then we must make what headway we can before it turns to dusk, we should not be abroad when the light starts to fade.”

Returning once more to their journey they increased the pace wherever it was practicable, passing few fellow travelers on the road, but it would not do to become too complacent and relinquish their vigilance.
Proctor, from his vantage point on the box, remained ever watchful. The rifleman had developed a respect for this duke, who was certainly no fop. He felt an allegiance to both him and his cause and would do whatever was in his power to ensure a successful outcome.

As the shadows started to lengthen, they deserted the roadway to make their way along nothing more than a track that led away from the main route toward the wooded hills. The unevenness of the ground caused the carriage to sway heavily from side to side causing the duke some discomfort and he swore softly at the irritation. However, after a short while, the sight of a low-whitewashed building nestling in the trees above them rewarded his forbearance and he sat forward eagerly, the better to view its approach.

As the coach drew up outside its large, wooden gates, the dying sun cast its final rays over the white plaster walls giving them an almost ethereal glow. The duke stepped slowly down from the coach taking in the vision but Proctor was at the gates before him and vigorously rang the large brass bell that hung from a chain at the entrance. As the duke joined him, Proctor spoke quietly to the face that appeared at the grille, which after a short discourse disappeared once more into the interior, and they waited patiently for her return.

Slowly the large heavy gate swung open and the small figure of the nun beckoned them to enter. Silently leading the way, she took them through the low, poorly lit cloisters, scurrying before them like a small bird. Her companions’ boots echoed within the confines of the walls as they traversed the stone floors, giving the impression that they intruded in this holy place. There was an air of hushed suspension within the buildings as they entered through a low door at the further side of the quadrangle and were guided to a small anti chamber which was surprisingly well lit by several candles.

“We are to wait here for the Abbess,” Proctor informed the duke as he went to peer through the darkened casement into the hills beyond just as the final rays of the sun disappeared over the horizon and darkness enveloped the hillside.

After what seemed an eternity, the door opened once more to admit the tall, angular figure of the Abbess.
“You must forgive me, gentlemen, I was at my prayers,” she said in surprisingly good, though heavily accented, English. “Please be seated and then you can tell me the reason for your visit. We so seldom receive visitors that I take it is of some import, especially to arrive so late in the day.”

The duke brought forward one of the wooden chairs that ranged about the walls but waited for the Abbess to sit behind the table that stretched across the corner of the room, before seating himself.
“You must forgive our intrusion,” he said quietly, “but we have travelled far this day. We come in the belief that you secure my brother’s child within your walls, a babe scarce six months old?”

“We have but one infant here, though three older children,” the Abbess said, clasping her hands on the table before her. “I believed her to be without family. The child who bore her said that she had been cast out and did not wish us to try to contact her relatives. Who are you and what is your connection to the babe
?”

“I am Robert Blake, Duke of Lear, and the babe’s uncle,” the duke replied with some perplexity, it had not occurred to him that his credentials might be scrutinized. “The child’s father was my younger brother Stefan, and although he died before he was able to marry the mother, I believe I can lay some claim to the infant. I can assure her future; she would return home to England with me and become my ward. I was only made aware of her existence myself a few days ago, but I can assure you she will be cherished and will receive only the best of care. I am not without means and she shall be raised as my own.”

The Abbess did not immediately reply, but studied the duke’s countenance. On first impression, she liked this man, but it would not do to make a judgment so early on in the acquaintance. Titles did not impress, they belonged to a world she had long since relinquished. Therefore she said, “The hour is late, we will continue this discussion tomorrow when we have both had a chance to reflect on the matter. Accommodation will be made available for you and your men, and a meal provided when you are ready.” She rose to leave, indicating that the interview was over. “I will send Sister Augustine to you to show you to your cells and thence to the dining room.”

The duke was nonplussed; he was not used to being so summarily dismissed and in such a manner. Reason, however, told him he must comply, but he asked, “What is the babe’s name?”

The Abbess hesitated. “The child called her Sophie. I believe it to be a family name?”

“It was our mother’s name,” the duke replied with some surprise. “How came she to know?”

“Ah, Sara said it belonged to the paternal grandmother and it was what the babe’s father would have wished, had he lived.” She smiled, “At least now I have some confirmation of your connection. Now, gentlemen, I will wish you goodnight, we will speak of the matter again on the morrow.”

***

Alone in his sparse cell, the duke lay with arms folded behind his head on the wooden cot which, although narrow, was not uncomfortable. His thoughts ranged between Jane and the babe and again the realization of just how different his life was to become overtook him. He did not doubt that Jane would welcome Sophie with open arms, for had she not a generous heart? However, he would needs beware not to over burden her at this moment in time, when Harry’s welfare was uppermost in her mind. Watching the moon slowly make its way across the un-curtained window, he eventually drifted into the realms of a deep and pleasant slumber.