Even Mary had been unable to fully realise the magnitude of what was happening, after all she had seen in her travels with her father, all she had heard in the last few days about Napoleon’s armies creeping closer. Now here were the royal carriages. They were truly going.
Mary remembered royal ceremonies she had attended in the past, the gold and velvet, the music and the canopies of state, the great processions. There was none of that now. Now, as she watched through Sebastian’s telescope, the black carriages, marked with the Braganza arms on the doors, lurched to a halt next to a mere gangway lodged in the mud that led to a large skiff.
With no fanfare at all, the portly figure of Dom Joao emerged, wrapped in a cloak, followed by his son, the lanky Prince Pedro Carlos, and a few servants. They were hastily bundled into the boat, surrounded by British officers.
A procession of courtiers followed, servants carrying little princes and princesses, elderly royal aunts blinking in the light as if still bewildered and the Prince’s wife, Doña Carlota. She was still as short and stout as ever, wrapped in a bright red cloak, her head crowned with a yellow-satin turban that made her stand out from the others, much more grandly dressed than her husband. She stopped and looked around as if she expected more ceremony, but none was forthcoming, even for her.
Like her husband, she was carried on to a boat and hastily rowed out to the Portuguese ships that awaited them.
‘I hope they don’t put the Prince and his wife on the same vessel,’ Mr Warren commented. ‘Their quarrels will swamp everyone before they even reach Madeira!’
‘Senhor Warren!’ Teresa cried. ‘How dare you?’
‘Senhorita Fernandes is lady-in-waiting to Doña Carlota,’ Mary said quietly, still watching as one last carriage arrived, buffeted on all sides by the crowds.
‘Oh!’ Mr Warren gasped. ‘I do apologise, Senhorita Fernandes. I meant no disrespect at all.’
Teresa laughed. ‘I am sure you say nothing everyone else merely thinks. My mistress is not—fond of her husband.’
‘I believe Doña Carlota is to be aboard the Albuquerque with two of her daughters,’ Sebastian said. ‘I think she will not see the Prince Regent until we arrive in Salvador.’
Mary still watched the last carriage, trying to stop herself from being pushed against Sebastian. No one at first emerged as the carriage doors were opened and she sensed the breathless tension as everyone waited to see what would happen now. It was like a particularly unpredictable play, one where anything at all could happen at any moment.
For a moment, she could see little but the swirling grey and black of the crowd on the docks. At last a man in the ornate livery of the Braganza family, all blue and gold in the gloom, reached inside the carriage and pulled out a tiny, struggling white-haired woman in a black gown and mantilla.
‘Queen Maria,’ Teresa said in a stunned whisper.
It was indeed the Mad Queen, fighting at every step. At last she was loaded into a boat with her attendants and the royal family was all gone from the shore.
Mary lowered the telescope, holding her breath. Sebastian still stood beside her and she hated to admit the feeling of security it gave her to know he was there. If he was the only safety in the world now, things were topsy-turvy indeed.
‘We shall not weigh anchor until the morning tide, I would think,’ Stanhope said, studying the clouds swirling overhead. ‘If the weather holds, that is. Ladies, would you prefer to wait in your cabin? It will be a bit warmer there.’ He was all politeness, but Mary could tell he wanted them out of the way of the business that had to be done to get them out of Lisbon.
‘Oh, yes, thank you,’ Teresa said with one of her bright smiles. She briefly rested her hand on the lieutenant’s sleeve and Mary couldn’t help but notice how Mr Warren was watching, his face growing red again. Teresa did have that effect on men.
But not, it seemed, on Sebastian Barrett. He still watched Mary and she turned away, flustered.
‘I shall wait just a little longer for my father,’ Mary said. ‘But you go ahead, Teresa. I will meet you there soon.’
‘Surely it is too cold to wait on deck, Miss Manning,’ Sebastian said. ‘You could catch a chill.’
Was that concern he tried to put into his tone? Mary whirled around to face him, afraid she was all too prone to falling for that, for him, all over again if she was not careful. But surely she was not that silly girl she had been in London now. ‘You can have no concern as to whether I am too cold or not, really, Lord Sebastian. You must have far more important concerns to occupy you at the present.’
His jaw tightened. ‘Miss Manning. I only wish for your comfort.’
He had not cared at all for her ‘comfort’ in London and she shivered as she remembered how foolishly hurt she had once been to learn that. She glared up at him and he frowned as he looked back at her. They seemed bound in an instant of silence, amid all the tumult around them, and she found she couldn’t break away.
‘I can stay with Miss Manning until her father arrives,’ Luis said smoothly, sliding next to Mary to lay his hand on her arm. He smiled politely at Sebastian.
Mary felt her cheeks turn warm, despite the cold breeze, and was deeply disconcerted to find that Sebastian Barrett could still affect her thus. She turned back to the railing and stared down at the swirling grey water far below.
‘Thank you, Senhor Fernandes,’ she murmured. From the corner of her eye, she saw Sebastian give a small bow before he strode away with some of the officers. Mr Warren led Teresa off towards their cabin and for a moment Mary felt very alone there at the ship’s railing.
‘I have heard great tales of Brazil,’ Luis said. ‘That there is sun every day and coconuts as big as man’s head falling straight off trees. Ocean water as warm as a bath and music everywhere.’
Mary could tell he was trying to distract her and she was grateful. He was so handsome and charming, every lady in Lisbon seemed half in love with Luis Fernandes, and the fact that he would take time to talk to his sister’s friend was kind.
If only he could make her forget Sebastian was out there some place.
But her gratefulness almost evaporated at his next question.
‘Do you know this Senhor Lord Sebastian Barrett, then?’ Luis asked and Mary could feel him watching her closely. ‘Were you perhaps friends back in England?’
Mary could not fathom why he would ask that. Had she revealed some of her emotions without realising it? Why would Luis even be interested? ‘I met him once or twice in London, when he was still serving in the Army. I was rather surprised he is now with the Foreign Office, but I do think the Barretts have long served in diplomatic positions.’
‘And do you like him? All the ladies seem to. And he seems to know much about the affairs of Iberian politics.’
Mary made herself laugh and she was afraid it sounded rather harsh. ‘I should think that would be his job now. But I confess I do not care for him very much. His manners are not—all they should be.’
Luis suddenly reached for her hand and she looked up at him in surprise. In the flickering light of the ship’s lanterns, his lean, dark, handsome face, usually as merry as his sister’s, was so very serious. He looked deep into her eyes and she had to turn away, flustered.
‘Senhorita Manning,’ he said quietly. ‘No man should ever treat you with anything less than worship. This Lord Sebastian is foolish indeed if he has made you dislike him.’
Flustered, Mary drew away her hand. ‘Senhor Fernandes, I—that is, I think...’
The sudden movement of a boat breaking through the water below caught her attention. She turned towards it, grateful for the distraction. It seemed she had learned little in dealing with men’s attentions since Sebastian in London and she felt rather silly. Silly and unsure.
Much to her relief, one of the men in the crowded vessel w
as her father.
‘Papa!’ she cried, waving. He glanced up, and a smile broke across his worried face under the brim of his hat.
‘Mary, my dear,’ he called back. ‘Thank heaven you got away in time.’
Got away. Mary thought of Sebastian Barrett, his arms around her as he swung her up off her feet and into safety. She was suddenly afraid she had run away from Napoleon, only to fall into other trouble. Trouble for her uncertain heart.
Chapter Nine
‘Whatever shall happen to us, Mary?’ Teresa whispered. She pulled the blankets of the berth up over her head, but Mary could still hear her friend’s muffled sobs.
‘We shall move through this, of course, and see sun tomorrow,’ Mary answered, though in truth she wasn’t entirely sure. When the fleet slipped past the bar amid deafening cannon salutes, moving into open sea, they had immediately been buffeted by gale winds, which hadn’t yet ceased. The ships had tacked off their course, drawing in their sails, trying to avoid the worst of the storm and move in safety further into the Atlantic and on the way to Brazil.
Mary had travelled much in her life, but the howling of the wind, the wooden crashes overhead and the loud sobs of the passengers crowded around them in the other cabins was unlike anything she had experienced. She was trying to write it all down in her letter to Louisa, which seemed to have become a way of making sense of it herself.
‘Do you truly think so?’ Teresa said.
‘Of course. I should go see if I can find some tea, or even a bit of brandy. That will settle our stomachs and I can find out what is happening as well.’
‘I should fetch that, senhorita. It is my job,’ Adriana said weakly from her berth tucked under the tiny porthole. Ever since Mary had taken her aboard, away from the chaos of Adriana’s home city, the maid had been even more eager to help. But her face was an alarming greyish-green colour and Mary feared she would be too weak.
‘No, you both stay here and rest, my stomach is quite made of iron,’ Mary said quickly, tucking away her letter. ‘Read some of the books on Brazil. I won’t be gone long.’
Wrapping her cloak around her, she hurried out of the cabin and carefully shut the door behind her, so it would not bang open every time the ship rolled. The corridor was narrow and dark, pitching under her feet as the wind tossed them around. Behind the other doors, she heard muffled sobs and voices, moans and then the unmistakable sour smell of seasickness.
She peeked into the small cabin assigned to her father, but he was not there, and she feared he was still working far too hard.
The Hibernia was a large warship, but she was crowded to the rafters with passengers. Mostly British citizens who had been living in Portugal, merchants and diplomatic families like Mary’s, and a few Portuguese aristocrats who hadn’t been able to lodge anywhere else. It was a bad start to a very long voyage, all stormy upheaval, and she could feel the fear and misery pressing around her, like a physical thing that tried to push her down.
But Mary didn’t want to be held down. Holding on to the wooden wall, she carefully made her way to the steep stairs at the end of the corridor. A rope banister was strung along there and she used it to pull herself up on to the deck.
A cold wind bit into her cheeks and tugged her hair from its pins, reviving her. The salty spray, even chilly as it was, felt fresh after the stale, sour air below decks and she welcomed it even as the scene that greeted her was a frantic one.
The top sections of the masts had been dismantled and lashed down, she saw at a quick glance, and sailors rushed around everywhere, a melee of running feet and shouts. A few passengers were huddled together near the railings, their faces pale and terrified in the swaying lamplight. They seemed to be straining for one last glimpse of their home, but Lisbon was left far behind in the fog.
Mary wrapped her cloak closer around her and found a quiet spot at the railing, out of the way of the crew. She studied the scene in front of her, but all she could see was a blur of black and grey. Waves crashed against the ship’s hull and clouds whirled past overhead. In the distance, she could barely make out the outlines of the other vessels, tossed like their own by the wind. The creak and moan of straining wood crashed through the air.
They were like toys, she thought, tiny, delicate things cast adrift in an unfathomable, vast sea. But Mary had felt like that for most of her life, tossed into situations she only half-understood in her father’s political life, and was expected to grope her way through. A stormy ocean was surely just another challenge.
Only once, for a few precious days, had she begun to feel like there was an anchor cast her way that she might be able to grasp. When she had first met Sebastian Barrett in London and new, bright feelings had left her so uncertain and delighted.
But that had all proved to be the most unpredictable storm of all. She was not going to do that again, leave herself so vulnerable to emotions.
Mary held on tightly to the railing, the polished wood slick and cold under her hands. She stared out at the white, frothy waves, whipped higher and higher around them, but she didn’t really see them. She saw Sebastian as he had been as he stood next to her as Lisbon fell away before them. The way he looked at her, so unreadable and—and maddening.
Once she had let herself cease to be cautious, had been young and foolish, and opened her thoughts and feelings to him. Even now, knowing what she did about him, she found herself intrigued by him all over again.
Damn him. He upset the careful, content inner world she had managed to build for herself, a world where she could be useful. If she sometimes, very late at night, felt some pang of unspoken longing—well, she knew it would quickly pass, lost in work. Usually.
But Sebastian Barrett was like this storm, unpredictable, frightening and yet somehow alluring in its very changeable nature. Just by his very presence he unsettled her. He always seemed to be there when she was at her most awkward, to catch her as she fell.
‘I won’t allow it,’ Mary whispered fiercely. She slapped her palm down hard on the railing—and felt her feet slip away underneath her on the wet planks of the deck. A rush of panic caught her in its cold grip.
A hard, strong arm came around her waist, lifting her up before she could crack her head on the railing. She was swept up to safety again, the wind catching at her.
‘May I help?’ a deep voice said near her ear, a voice that was all too familiar. It made her shiver with its heat.
Blast! It was Sebastian, of course. Her thoughts of him seemed to conjure his very presence all the time now, especially when she seemed to be at her most awkward worst—like on the docks, and like now.
Yet she couldn’t honestly say she wished he hadn’t appeared, that he had let her topple into the cold water so far below. Or that his touch was—unpleasant. Yet it was certainly most unsettling.
‘Th-thank you,’ she said. ‘I should be more careful.’
‘Indeed you should, Miss Manning.’ He still held her tightly against him, blocking the wind like he was a haven from the storm itself. ‘A ship’s deck in a storm is no place to be wandering about.’
‘I’m not the only passenger outside now,’ she protested, all too aware he still held her—and that she didn’t really want him to let go. ‘I couldn’t bear to be trapped in that cabin for a moment longer.’
‘I can’t blame you for that. It’s a miserable situation.’ He carefully set her on her feet at last, her body slowly sliding along his.
She spun around to face him. She stepped back so quickly, he had to grab her arm to steady her.
‘I thought you were once in the Army, not the Navy,’ she said. She heard herself and feared her tone was far more accusing than she meant it to be. He still made her feel so young and uncertain—so foolish.
He smiled at her, so full of life and golden beauty that, for a moment she couldn’t breathe. ‘I
am following in my family’s footsteps now, just as you are. We must do our best for our country now, yes?’
‘I—yes, of course,’ Mary murmured. Could he truly have changed in the last two years, following a path not of his own making? Was the new solemnity in his eyes real? She didn’t know what to trust.
The boat lurched on the waves, sending her off balance. His arms suddenly came around her again, tugging her closer. Mary clutched at his shoulders to hold herself upright and she found she couldn’t move away. It felt like it had in London, so intoxicating and irresistible.
The cold wind twined around them, whipping her cloak around them both, as if to bind them together in that strange, dreamlike twilight world.
‘We must beware the storms of the world, Mary,’ he whispered warmly against her ear.
It still seemed as if she was caught in a dream, yet at the same time it was more real than anything she had ever known, when his head dipped down towards her and he kissed her.
The touch of his lips was so soft at first, warm, enticing, pressing to hers teasingly once, twice. It felt so strange, and yet so familiar, too, this kiss that had haunted her dreams since they last met. When she didn’t, couldn’t, move away, when her hands tightened on his shoulders, his kiss deepened. It became hotter, more urgent, as if he felt drawn into that desperate unreality, too. She needed to feel alive again and he was the only thing that made her so.
She moaned, parting her lips until she felt the tip of his tongue slide against hers, seeking entrance. The whole unsure world around them vanished and there was only him. Only the way he made her feel, completely outside of herself.
It was a delirious moment that shattered all too soon. A shout, and a resounding wooden crash, broke into her instance of insanity. She tore her mouth from his, tilting her head back to suck in the cold, thought-clearing air.
He, too, stepped away, his broad shoulders heaving on a deep breath. For just a moment, his unreadable mask had fallen and she saw a flash of raw passion in his eyes. A passion that answered hers. But then it was gone, vanished into another expression she knew all too well—remorse.
Harlequin Historical November 2015, Box Set 2 of 2 Page 27
