Alejandro frowned and turned to stare into her eyes, the flicker of firelight reflected there. “Your friends are all men?”
She nodded and pulled her knees up, wrapping her arms around them. “We grew up together. The boys did not want to play with my sister and I at first, but I made them change their minds. I could beat them in footraces, come up with make-believe adventures better than they could, and it was my idea to form a club.”
She kept talking, her voice barely audible over the sounds of the storm outside, telling him of how she had grown up as one of the five daring children of Inglewood. She had run about barefoot as often as she could, to prove to the boys she could keep up without soiling her slippers. She participated in raiding the kitchens for sweets and racing horses across the beach. Without meaning to, Alejandro relaxed as he listened, her stories of childhood so different from his, yet similar.
“I did not have many friends,” he said when she grew quiet, lost in her memories. “My father, he kept me near him. I learned to be like him when I was still young. A boy. I went with him and the vaqueros, when it was time to take our leather to market. I walked through our fields with him to inspect the crops. I met with los peons, the people living on our land.”
“Tenants is the English word,” she told him, her lips curved slightly upward. “It sounds as though you were quite busy for a child.”
His throat closed. It took him a moment to realize why. She had done all the talking. Yet he could say no more than a few words without emotion overcoming him. “Sí. But I never noticed. I loved being with mi papá.”
“You will see him again, Alejandro,” she whispered. Something brushed against his arm and he looked down to see her fingers, the tips barely touching his skin. “This island will not defeat you. It hasn’t yet. Have some faith. Hope.”
From her fingers he looked up into her gaze, her eyes certain, that smile still on her face and a glow in her cheeks. She spoke with such surety, with more faith than he had possessed in all his time living on the island. Almost, he believed her.
“Hope.” He tasted the word on his tongue and his heart stirred. Whether it was to do with the idea or the way her eyes steadily stared at him, he did not know. “In my tongue, it is esperanza.” He closed his eyes. “My mother’s name.” He touched the chain around his neck, finding the ring dangling at its end. He gripped it in his hand, drawing comfort from her memory.
“A beautiful name,” she whispered, more awe in her voice than his words merited. “Honor her by keeping it in your heart, Alejandro.” Her words sounded more like an accusation than a suggestion.
“Señor Córdoba,” he reminded her of the formality between them, opening one eye to watch her as she turned again, presenting him with her profile. “Miss Everly?”
She raised her eyebrow but did not turn. “Yes?”
“How long do you think you will continue to hope?”
A secretive smile appeared, and she wrapped her arms around her knees, leaning down until her chin rested upon them. “All my life, señor.” She released a heavy sigh. “Forever.”
Alejandro never had possessed such faith. If he did, he would be bolder. He might have captured her hand again, holding it tightly in his own, whispering promises to her in the darkness. “You are an inspiration, Miss Everly.” She said nothing, and the storm continued to rage.
The storm carried on far longer than any of them liked. Hope kept her place beside Alejandro for what seemed like years. He said nothing else, and she tried to sleep. Every flash of lightning woke her again. The wind howled outside the door, steadily, never seeming to grow weary of its noise.
Finally, Alejandro turned so his back was toward the fire, and he faced the entry as she did. “This is not the worst storm I have weathered here,” he said quietly. “It will not harm the island, or you, Miss Everly.”
Hope shivered and angled her head to watch him, her chin against her knees. “Can you promise that, señor?”
He shifted so he leaned back against his hands, one of his arms behind her. “I can promise that so long as I am here no harm will befall you.” Why was that so reassuring to hear?
His words sunk beneath her skin, warming her from the inside out. His low, deep voice and the intensity in his eyes encouraged her to trust his word. She closed her eyes and relaxed, letting the darkness pull her under at last.
She slept until a voice spoke softly in her ear. “The storm is gone, señorita.” Her cheek rested against something rough, but warm, and moving slowly up and down.
Hope opened her eyes, but there was nothing to see. Night had fallen, the fire behind her had grown too small for its light to escape the confines of the embers.
Slowly she realized that she reclined against an arm while her head rested against a most accommodating shoulder. Cheeks flaming, Hope pulled herself up and away. How had she come to rest practically in the arms of a man she barely knew? At least they were sitting upright. At least the shelter was full of people. At least—
“You should move closer to the fire,” he said, invisible to her in the night. His voice was tight, as though he found it difficult to speak.
He wanted her to leave? Was he embarrassed?
“I am not cold,” she whispered.
There was a pause, quiet as the night, then she heard a shuffling as he moved away. “If we were not on this island, things would be different.” There was a quality to his whispers, a richness that reminded her of velvet, or the bittersweet chocolate she took with her breakfast back at home, that was familiar and enticing. Comforting.
Grace would not ask the question on the tip of Hope’s tongue. Grace would swallow the question and withdraw as she was bid, respecting the social customs with which they had been raised. But Hope was not Grace. “What do you mean?”
“You are a woman with many admirable traits. Do you dance?” he asked. Beyond his voice there was nothing but the heavy breathing and soft snores of the others in the shelter, sleeping and unaware of her rapidly beating heart.
“I do,” she admitted. “And I sing.”
He chuckled. “I used to sing. Perhaps I would have sang a duet with you. Or asked you to dance. If we were not here.”
Her insides twisted rather delightfully. “When we are saved from this place, you will have my first dance.” It was bold to say such things. Bold to assume he would still want to be near her when she was no longer his only option for company.
He said nothing, though she sensed a shift in his mood.
“We will be rescued.” Hope spoke with a fervency she willed him to feel. “I know it.”
“Go to the fire, Miss Everly.” He sounded tired. Weary of heart and soul rather than body. “Near your friend.” Then she heard and sensed him moving away, standing. He walked out of the shelter, his silhouette appearing briefly against the dim light of stars and a waning moon filtering through clouds. Then he was gone.
Hope did as he asked, moving nearer the fire and where she had seen Mrs. Morgan and Irene. She leaned against the wall near them and closed her eyes, trying to sleep again.
When morning came at last, she had slept only in snatches, always waking when her head lolled to one side or the other. She had slept peacefully only when by Alejandro’s side.
17
The next morning, everyone emerged from the shelter blinking in the light. Hope’s eyes adjusted slowly and she had to rub at them to be sure the scene before her was real. The clearing had changed, drastically. Branches from trees, leaves and grasses, were strewn across the clearing. The ash from the fire had mostly been scattered, except for one gray clump in the center.
The sky was clear and beautiful; the ground was a mud-soaked mess.
“I must check the damage of the island.” Alejandro spoke with his back to the rest of them, surveying everything before them.
“I’d be happy to help,” Mr. Thorne volunteered at once.
“Aye, señor. We can divide and report,” Mr. Madden announced in his deep voice. Hope nearly aske
d to come with them, with Alejandro and Mr. Thorne, when Irene stepped up to her side and huffed. “Look at this place. Filthy. We are lucky the shelter did not fall down around our ears.” Then she saw Hope’s stare and forced a smile. “Should we tidy up?”
As it was the first time Irene had offered to do any work, let alone smiled since coming to the island, Hope’s wish to join the gentlemen withered away under her guilt.
What were the chances the men would let her join them, anyway?
“An excellent idea.” She looked down at her bare feet in the damp earth. “It seems our bath yesterday was for nothing.”
“I certainly feel better for it.” Irene tucked a loose strand of her golden hair behind her ear. She then looked over her shoulder at Hope. “We ought to fix your hair.”
Hope put her hands up to either side of her hair, trying to determine the damage done even though she had kept Alejandro’s linen ribbon in her hair. With the movement she caught sight of him and the other men walking into the trees. Her hands fell to her side as she watched them go.
Why had she thought he would say something before disappearing? Shaking that thought loose from her head, Hope gave her attention to the task at hand.
Mrs. Morgan had sat down on a stone near the fire, which the doctor had begun trying to repair. The professor brought dry wood from inside the shelter. That left Hope, Irene, and Albert—
Where was Albert?
Hope looked about but did not see him in the clearing, but she did not think he had gone with the other men. To come and go as he pleased must be a relief to him. Every time she attempted a moment of solitude or exploration, people tended to panic.
Without anything better to do, Hope started gathering the downed branches in the clearing. If they were stacked on the stone side of the shelter, the sun would eventually dry them out enough to use them as wood.
It took the better part of an hour to set the clearing and fire to rights again. They even used a branch to sweep at the stone and dirt, clearing them of smaller twigs and debris.
Irene went about the work almost cheerfully, which ought to have been a relief. Yet Hope found herself wondering at the abrupt change in her friend. The storm had dampened everyone else’s spirits.
“I think, after all of this is over, you ought to consider Albert as a suitor.”
Hope nearly dropped the last of the twigs she had gathered for kindling. “Irene. We have already discussed this.” Truly, the subject wore on her. Albert’s snide smiles and superior way of speaking had barely abated in the face of their difficulties. She had no wish to spend the rest of her days experiencing yet more of them.
“I was thinking last night, during the storm.” Irene turned her wide-eyed stare to Hope. “We have been on this island for a week. You haven’t truly been chaperoned as one would expect. This is not the sort of thing people in England will understand. Your reputation might suffer. But Albert will know, as he has been with you all this time.”
“Why would your brother even wish to court me?” Hope asked. It was not something she had ever understood. She did not come with a great fortune. Her dowry was three thousand pounds, which was a healthy sum, but not exactly life changing for the Carlbury family. Though they had lived in the same neighborhood, the Carlburys were undoubtedly wealthier than the Everlys.
Irene dusted her hands off, then examined her fingernails. “Oh, how dirty we are. It will take a month of scrubbing to feel clean again.” She shivered and folded her arms before her. “Albert has always admired you. I believe he finds your practical nature appealing, especially since he has considered going into politics.”
Hope vaguely recalled Albert speaking with Grace on the subject of their county’s representation in the House of Commons. Very vaguely. When the Carlburys came to spend time with her family, Hope did her best to be on the opposite side of the room from Albert. She had no patience for him and did not want to risk offending the whole family by telling the eldest son what she thought of him directly to his face a second time. As often happened, Grace saved Hope by sacrificing a bit of her own happiness.
How could someone misinterpret such blatant disinterest? “My practical nature?”
Had Albert mistaken Grace’s patient and polite conversation as genuine interest? Even if he had, Hope had hardly given him reason to continue on in such a manner. The number of times he had attempted conversation with her, she had forced herself to smile and remark inanely upon whatever subject he chose.
Hope shook that thought free. They had wandered back to Mrs. Morgan’s side. The doctor picked up the pail as they approached.
“I am off to fetch water,” he said. “Will you ladies be all right in my absence?”
Hope glanced to where the professor had taken up his customary place beneath the shade of the trees. He seemed to treat the entire of their ordeal as nothing more than an extended holiday. At least he never complained.
“We will be fine, darling,” Mrs. Morgan answered, her smile warm and tender. Hope’s heart ached to see their obvious affection for one another. She hadn’t given much thought to courtship and marriage at home. Most men would not wish for their wives to have adventures, and she had no wish to settle until she’d seen at least a little more of the world than what England had to offer.
Seeing the doctor and his wife share in a hardship, still able to smile at and care for one another, set Hope’s mind down another path. A path that led to a certain half-naked gentleman with a Spanish tongue and soulful eyes that made her wish—wish for things he said could not be.
Would Alejandro be the sort of man to take his wife with him into the world, once he escaped from the island? Yes. Somehow, she could not imagine him leaving someone he loved behind.
Hope sat on a stump someone had moved near the fire. She watched the doctor disappear and kept her eyes fastened to the trees as she thought.
Her friends, for all that she adored them, were not men who longed for adventure. Silas was steady and responsible, a perfect earl and member of Lords. Jacob longed to live a life of compassion and caring for others—surely, he must soon see what a help Grace would be to him. Then Isaac, a man of courage and honor, was less suited to her than nearly any gentleman of her acquaintance. They were too alike. Too apt to charge into a fray without thought. He would settle eventually, too, to care for his estate.
Men like Albert Carlbury were far worse options. Staid, pompous, and set on the idea that they would dictate to their wives for the rest of forever.
“Mrs. Morgan.” Irene’s voice cut through her thoughts. Her friend had settled on the opposite side of the fire circle. “Grace and I have a difference of opinion on a matter. You see, my brother has expressed an interest in courting my dear friend, yet she rebuffs him. Even though he would make a good match.”
Mrs. Morgan’s dark eyebrows raised, and she glanced from Irene to Hope. “Miss Everly doesn’t believe him to be right for her, I would assume.”
“I do not.” Though this topic would mortify Grace, Hope stuck her chin out and braced herself to speak her mind.
“But you would be the perfect politician’s wife,” Irene interjected strongly. “You are always calm amidst calamity, your manners are above reproach, and only look at how you have managed this horrid island. Besides those obvious points, you must also consider your reputation.”
Hope’s head snapped back. “My reputation? It is perfectly intact. Mrs. Morgan is here, you are here—”
“Yes, but the longer we are on this horrid rock the less protected you are.” Irene folded her hands in her lap and turned again to Mrs. Morgan. “I am right, am I not?”
Mrs. Morgan hesitated a moment, but her eyes pinched at the corners when she offered Hope a half-shrug. “I am afraid Miss Carlbury might be correct. Despite my presence, being away from civilization for so long, our story will make a sensation in society. I cannot see how you will avoid the rumors. Miss Carlbury has only one advantage over you, my dear, and that is that she is here w
ith her brother. You have no relation to protect you.”
A startled laugh escaped Hope in a breath. “You cannot believe that. We are surrounded by gentlemen, and there are three of us. My reputation must be safe. Should anyone question it—”
“Of course we would defend you,” Irene said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “But no one can stop rumors once they are started. You would do best to tell Albert you will entertain his suit after we are rescued.”
Hope’s insides went cold, then hot, until she felt her sun-pinked cheeks burning. She did her best to remain calm. Grace would never shout, after all, or stomp her foot as Hope wished to do. With a tremulous hold on her outrage, she met Mrs. Morgan’s gaze. “Do you think I am ruined if I do not enter into such an understanding with Mr. Carlbury?”
Since their introduction, Hope had viewed Mrs. Morgan as an ally of sorts. The doctor’s wife was not much older than Hope, and she seemed to share her husband’s spirit of excitement in discovering the world around them. Hope had, if she were honest with herself, looked up to the woman as the type of person she wished to grow into.
“I am afraid that will be the case, Miss Everly.” Mrs. Morgan’s agreement with Irene pierced Hope’s heart. “I wish it were not so, but when news of what has happened gets to London, to your family….” Her voice trailed away to nothing.
Hope jolted to her feet, startling the other two women enough that they both jerked back somewhat to stare at her. “I am collecting more food.”
Mrs. Morgan reached out a hand. “I really do not think that is necessary—”
“Grace, come now—”
Hope would not give heed to her sister’s name. Not this time. Not when her insides trembled and buzzed as though she were a thunderhead ready to unleash another storm over the land. The previous evening’s weather did not rage as she did. But nature had been given leave to vent its feelings upon whoever it wished. She did not have that luxury.
Instead, she scooped up one of the baskets Alejandro had left inside the door of the shelter, then she brushed past Irene.
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