Love Me Once (The Infamous Forresters Book 3)

by Eliza Lloyd

  “Where are we?” Oliver asked.

  “Cadiz. It will be a few more hours yet before we disembark. I thought you would enjoy some sunshine.”

  “Cadiz? Is that where we are supposed to be? Not England?”

  “No. We’ll be here for a few months before we go on to England.” Of course, Roman had told Oliver this information several times over the last few days. Some days were worse than others. Laudanum helped his pain somewhat, though Roman wasn’t so sure the drug wasn’t contributing to some of his memory problems.

  The nurse Roman had hired was nearby with a blanket, a book and a small bag of odd trappings, which had no medicinal use that Roman saw. Maybe he should be thankful for that.

  “Have I been here before?” Oliver asked.

  “Many times.”

  “Oh.” Oliver limped toward the ship’s railing and glanced around as Roman had earlier, except his gaze was blank, recognition impossible.

  “Commodore Hightower lives in Spain. You spent a lot of time with him here.”

  Hightower patted Oliver’s shoulder. “We had many an adventure together, including here in Spain,” he said.

  “Yes. I remember that now. Some of it. And Commodore Hightower is, um, he’s the father of…”

  “Shelene.”

  “Yes, your wife. I remember she was very beautiful. How long have you been married?”

  “Well over a year.” Almost a year and a half, Roman calculated.

  “Is there a place I can sit?” Oliver asked. Roman glanced at Joaquin and tilted his head, non-verbally instructing him to sit Oliver next to his nurse, the very plain-looking, overly thin Mrs. Lavinia Spencer. The woman who could barely look him in the eye.

  Oliver seemed content when Hightower came and sat next to him. Roman began to pace the deck and found the ship’s captain in short order.

  “We’ll have you off in about forty minutes, Mr. Forrester. All in good time.”

  “Anything you can do to speed the process will be appreciated.”

  Shortly, they were all ashore with their trunks and valises at their sides and with wobbly legs beneath them. Oliver was seated on Mrs. Spencer’s trunk, looking pale from the ride on the wobbly skiff that brought them ashore.

  “Let me make arrangements for a carriage,” Roman said. Five of them needed to fit into a conveyance. It was going to be a harried trip—the last of a harried, exhausting nightmare.

  The dock was crowded with sailors, soldiers and the riffraff so common to the waterfront. An exciting place during the day; a dangerous one at night. They would be safely away by then.

  “Roman, can we stay in Cadiz tonight? I am not feeling so well to travel today,” Oliver asked.

  “Yes, that might be best. Commodore, are you in a hurry to travel on or can you wait overnight? A good night’s sleep and some regular fare might do us all some good, in order to present our best when we arrive at the estancia.”

  Hightower stood with his hands behind his back and lips pursed. “We will be at the estate tomorrow night. I don’t see a problem. And I agree with Oliver. I’m ready for some fresh chorizo and jamón.”

  “And a cool mug of cerveza,” Roman added.

  “Empanadas,” Hightower added, and wiped his hand over his mouth. “Yes, we must have some solid Spanish food before we endeavor to move another inch.”

  “And a bath that doesn’t involve saltwater,” Oliver added.

  The carriage arrived, the baggage was loaded then they were off within minutes. Hightower directed the driver to take them to the Dominican friar’s convent where there was also a hospice. Roman could appreciate his father-in-law’s concern for Oliver. They had been shipmates for many, many years and Roman guessed neither of them would have survived without the other.

  Perhaps they had even survived for the other. The two had spent every day of the last three years together. Roman could almost be jealous of the fatherly manner in which Hightower treated Oliver.

  “Will you stay in Spain? Or return to England for a new assignment, do you think?” Roman asked, as he bumped shoulders with Hightower. Joaquin had jumped to the top of the carriage and rode with the driver.

  “A mutiny can destroy one’s confidence. I am at an age where I would enjoy sitting in the sun, sipping ale and entertaining a grandson upon my knee. No, I will resign my commission at the earliest opportunity.”

  “Shelene will be happy to have you home,” Roman said.

  “You say nothing of your own happiness.”

  “There is no other woman for me but Shelene. I think you know that sort of happiness cannot be measured in the feelings of a single moment, such as this one.”

  “If yours is the happiness by which all others are measured, I fear no one would ever marry again.”

  Roman laughed. “I take all the blame. I am exhausted, Commodore. I am relieved yet anxious; determined yet cowardly. I fear what waits me with Shelene more than I feared confirming you and Oliver had really died.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have searched for us, given her importance to you.”

  “Who else would have searched for the truth? Who better equipped? Were you to die in the wilds of Argentina just so I could be comfortable in Shelene’s arms? I am not made that way.” He glanced across the tightly packed carriage to see Oliver snuggled in the corner, his eyes closed. Mrs. Spencer minded her own business and stared out the carriage window.

  “You two. Steel battling iron. It is too late, of course, but might I suggest you should have waited to marry?”

  “You know that was impossible. I have explained it to you and yet all these months later, I almost, almost wish that I had not. Shelene has always been the captain of my ship. Keeping it upright even when we were apart. Whatever she thinks now… Whatever we must endure will be in the face of the marital mutiny in which I have participated, in my determination to search for the truth.”

  “I promise I won’t say a word,” Hightower said. “Ah, here we are.”

  They settled and bathed. Roman had written a few letters while on the ship and he arranged to mail them. One, to his solicitor, Mr. Fisk, and another to England, to his older brother. Roman shared the news about Oliver and mentioned that his return would be delayed while he further recuperated in the sun and warmth of Spain.

  It was a joyful evening, laughing and reliving their trip over the generous portions of fresh meat, aged wine, seasonal vegetables and fruits. And friends. The relief of being home with feet on solid ground. The happiness that Hightower and Oliver were alive, if not a little broken. In spite of Roman’s weariness, the indescribable jubilance that he would see Shelene tomorrow. It was the best of days.

  And that tonight would be the last night he would ever be parted from her again.

  * * * * *

  The pabellón shimmered with the lights of a thousand candles if Shelene could believe the exclamations of Tía Ana-María and Martina. Sakina had whispered to her that it was only four hundred. For two weeks, the entire household had been busy preparing for the celebration of the year, which would occur before the event of the year tomorrow. Around ten.

  Tonight, there would be a magnificent feast along with several hours of music and dance. The best that the Belgrano estate could afford. The best many had experienced since before the war years.

  Being the family matriarch had come naturally after all. Shelene’s expression bore the serene look of a woman in charge. Confident, happy, prepared. She was none of those things. The stream of events had whisked her along to this night. A house full of family, friends and important dignitaries from around the region. Some would stay for a few nights. Others, like her distance cousins, a week or so.

  Shelene just wanted it over.

  Martina hurried into the hallway. “Come. It is time to dress. Guests are already arriving.”

  “They’ve been arriving for the last five days. I’m sure they can wait an additional thirty minutes before I make a grand entrance in a dress they have never seen. Besides,
I want to spend some time with Antonio before I dress.”

  “I am sure he is anxious to see you, as well.”

  “The little dear only wants me for one thing. Ah, to be used so.” Shelene hurried to his room, next to hers. “My darling Tono, did you miss me?” She swept up little Antonio, who beat an insistent drum and that was to be at his mother’s breast at every opportunity. Shelene lifted him in the air, and he kicked his feet while he attempted to stuff his fist in his mouth. A sure sign he was happy to see her. She cradled him in her arms and smelled him. He’d had his bath and smelled like an afternoon in the hills, covered in sunshine and fresh air. “Are you ready for bed, darling?”

  He grunted, wanting what he wanted more than he wanted to be alone in his crib. She took a seat in the padded rocking chair.

  “I know. I know I am late, but we have such a large party tonight. And everyone surely wants to see you, my handsome boy, but you need your dinner then your bed. And how I wish I could do the same.”

  Antonio started feeding and she patted his bottom, as she thought of all the things she still needed to do before she participated in the myriad revelries of the grand evening.

  And she thought of things that she would never get to do. She stared down at her son’s face—a little of the Belgranos in his brows and eyes and so much of his father in his demanding temperament, charming smiles and the way he could stare into her eyes. “Will you break my heart too, mi pequeño?” she asked quietly, running her finger over his fat cheek.

  When he finished feeding, Shelene called to one of his nannies, an English lady down on her luck, plus two others, both wives of Sakina and Brahim’s grandsons. “Mrs. Johns, I think Antonio is ready for his bed.”

  Shelene wanted Antonio to speak English like the finest lord, and the surrounding Spanish influence would be little help. She already knew that someday her son would grow up and want to know his father’s people. Shelene had selfishly kept his birth to herself, not even penning a letter to Roman’s older brother or mother. Mr. Fisk knew. That was confirmation enough of Antonio’s legitimacy, for the time being.

  Roman. She could hardly say his name.

  Mrs. Johns lifted him away, holding him gently. It was good to know Shelene could trust Mrs. Johns to love her son the way she did. “I’ll need to change the wee lad first.”

  Shelene brushed her hand over the top of his head then leaned to kiss his temple. “You call me if he needs anything. The party is not more important than he is.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t want to interrupt such an important evening.”

  “It wouldn’t be you interrupting me, Mrs. Johns. Antonio, even at his tender age, has a mind of his own.”

  She laughed. “He will be managing the estate before you know it!”

  “I hope he is older than four years old when this occurs. Or at least walking.”

  “Señor Navarro will be the most wonderful father to young Antonio. Such a man is just what you and your son need in this time.”

  “Having prosperous estates does not mean he will be a good father, though in Señor Navarro’s case, I cannot dispute that he raised his two daughters well.” Both of them would be in attendance along with their husbands, both minor dons near Barcelona.

  “And saw them into successful marriages too.” Antonio squirmed in Mrs. Johns’ arms.

  “Well, I must be off. There is still much to do,” Shelene said.

  Mrs. Johns touched Shelene’s arm. “I know you are sad, but a marriage, a new life, will be just the thing to put the sorrows of the past behind you.”

  “Would you consider me a hopeless flatterer if I said you are the most beautiful woman in attendance?” The dance floor was crowded, and the people and activity created a cacophony which made it hard to think let alone speak. He had to lean close to compliment her.

  “Since the party is for me, for us, I had a duty to look my best.” Shelene felt Raúl tug at her waist to pull her closer as they danced the elegant waltz. “But feel free to flatter any time you wish.”

  Her dress, with its white puffed sleeves and bodice, was complemented by a red skirt with a laced diagonal hem so that her calf and ankle showed when she walked or danced. She wore black jet beads about her neck with a dangling cabochon, a shiny ruby in the middle. Her curled hair was piled atop her head and secured with a beaded black comb that almost appeared as a crown as it emerged from her hair.

  “You know it is not your dress of which I speak. When you smile—which you don’t do enough of, by the way—you shine brighter than the sun. I will take flattery as my sacred duty once we are married. And rest assured, I do have an entire repertoire in case you are worried my honeyed words will dry up once we’ve said our vows.”

  Shelene smiled, glancing into his eyes. Outside, beneath the lights, the color was dark and mysterious.

  She had dodged, delayed and prevaricated about marriage to Señor Navarro’s proposal. And the reason she had finally said yes had nothing to do with Roman’s death.

  The orchestral music ended, and Raúl escorted her around the room, where they spoke in polite tones about all things mildly interesting to the local populace. All the most sensitive subjects were avoided, though many asked about little Antonio.

  Only family would dare breach her carefully erected walls. Only Uncle Francisco Belgrano.

  “Would you care for a refreshment, Señora Forrester?”

  “I have asked you to call me Shelene,” she said. Just hearing her last name—Roman’s name—sent stabs through her heart, still strong enough to make her knees weak with grief.

  “That would be wonderful. I’ll walk with you over to my aunt before you let me go.”

  “Never!” he said, smiling, then squeezed hand. He was a good man. Older than Shelene by twenty years, but well-respected, handsome and approved by her uncle as a suitable replacement husband for Roman. Perhaps if Shelene had met Raúl first…

  But she hadn’t. And she’d never once looked at another man after meeting Roman. She thought she was done deluding herself, but the small lies she told herself about the past, about her future, about Antonio’s life—all of it contributed to the plaguing doubts that she was rushing into this marriage. She was, she knew.

  Her uncle had nearly demanded the union. No, he had demanded the union. He was adamant that she could not remain unmarried and manage the estate with any sort of efficiency or intelligence. Certainly not while pregnant. Certainly not as a matriarch of sorts to the Belgrano family. Certainly not!

  Without the possibility of Roman at her side, she wasn’t so confident in herself, as she once was. For once in her life, she experienced the bend of her spine, the melting of her iron will.

  How she wished her uncle hadn’t come back at all. How she wished Roman had brought him back in chains.

  Instead, Francisco had come back with a pardon in hand, from the King of Spain no less. Ready to reclaim part of his birthright. At least he could not claim Las Colinas. Mother had inherited it, and Mother had willed it to Shelene. Papa would have had the estate had he not died so suddenly. But, in the end, it was hers.

  Raúl deposited her near her aunt, only to be interrupted by Uncle Francisco. “Shelene, is it my turn to dance with the soon-to-be-bride?”

  “Perhaps later, Uncle.”

  “Oh, my dear. My dance card is full and the time to be seen as a united family is now.” He held out his hand, knowing she wouldn’t deny him. She wouldn’t make a scene, not at this point. Perhaps Raúl, as her husband, would stand up to her uncle. Maybe even send him away. “We must dance the zambra. It is a wonderful tradition.”

  Well, Shelene wasn’t taking off her shoes at anyone’s request.

  He led her to the floor and executed a perfect bow. The guitars played, a few of the single woman had castanets and the audience clapped with perfect timing. It was a slower dance. The flamenco dancers would perform soon, and it was likely she and Raúl would partner later in the paso doble.

  Shelene wasn’t goin
g to interfere in the celebration that everyone set out to enjoy. The dance went quickly, and thankfully Raúl waited for her with a drink, which she gratefully accepted.

  “This is a wonderful opportunity for you, Shelene. Señor Navarro will lift the family’s fortune for decades to come.”

  “Yes, Uncle,” she said. He’d repeated that mantra several times over the past several weeks.

  “I know you think I was being harsh—”

  “Not harsh,” she said. “Unreasonable. I was taught how to run Las Colinas from a young age. And I have all the help I need to make the estate even more prosperous.”

  “This isn’t an English estate. Work is required. Labors that young ladies were never meant to perform. Señor Navarro can see well to your future.”

  “Indeed, I will,” Raúl said, completely oblivious to Uncle Francisco’s maneuvering.

  “The estate will be Antonio’s, until that day I have a daughter. He is half-English, and he may choose a different direction for Las Colinas. I will keep him in mind when I make decisions, of course.” She smiled at Raúl, and he lifted his glass to acknowledge her wishes. For the time being. Spanish husbands weren’t known to be as pliable and accommodating as English husbands. Shelene sipped at her drink, wishing it was a stiff Scottish whisky.

  She’d never thought of Antonio as anything but half-English, because she’d never considered herself English at all. Would that make a difference when he was an adult, deciding his future? She couldn’t think about it now.

  She turned to her uncle and said, “Thank you for the dance.” She was relieved when he went away. Tía Ana-María patted the cushion beside her. Shelene bent to kiss her cheek. “Are you enjoying yourself? I don’t see you gossiping as you love to do.”

  “There is no time to gossip, not tonight. Why, I am far too busy ensuring the success of the evening.”

  Shelene smiled benevolently, knowing it was Sakina and her family who were doing all the hard work necessary for the party’s success. The tables of food were laden with every meat, cheese, bread, vegetable and fruit that Las Colinas could produce. And the table of desserts included churros, flan, ponche segoviano and apple tarts.