Harlequin Historical November 2015, Box Set 2 of 2

by Lynna Banning

  ‘Mary, I must...’ he began hoarsely.

  ‘No,’ she whispered. No words could erase the hurts of the past, or the confusion of the present. No words could explain what she was feeling, even to herself. She only knew she couldn’t bear it if he was sorry. ‘I must go.’

  She spun around and dashed across the slippery deck as fast as her boots could take her.

  * * *

  What was he thinking, to dare to kiss Mary like that?

  But Sebastian feared he knew—he had not been thinking at all. Not in that moment, with the wild seas beyond them, and Mary looking up at him with her wide grey eyes. He had lost control, in a way he had hoped was left far behind him. He had even hoped he might prove to Mary he had changed, only to toss it all away as if he had heaved it overboard into the ocean.

  And yet—yet her lips had tasted so very sweet, almost as if he’d been dying of thirst until he touched her again.

  He leaned against the railing as he raked his hand through his hair. He was glad of the cold wind, of the stark reminder of where they were, who they were. He couldn’t forget again.

  Not if he was truly to gain her forgiveness.

  Chapter Ten

  ‘If the weather improves, we should be in Madeira in only a few more days,’ the captain announced as he passed an ewer of wine around the dinner table in his spacious cabin.

  Mary smiled as she took a little more of the wine. Everyone aboard had been speaking of ‘better weather’ ever since they pushed out of the Tagus and into open sea. The unrelenting winds kept buffeting them across the choppy waves and the damp, dark grey fog out of sight of the other ships. It felt as if they floated in their own world, cut off from all other people, all news, all sunlight.

  That wasn’t quite true, of course. Mary had stood at the railings and watched boats being lowered, carrying messengers to the royal vessels, assessing damage and levels of supplies, even transferring passengers when needed. It was a whole floating wooden world out there.

  Mary was one of the few not yet laid low by seasickness. During the day, she helped nursing other passengers, bringing broth and wine and clean basins, talking to the sailors who had made this journey many times and had tales to tell of the islands and of Brazil itself. Her father was always busy with his meetings, hidden away in the captain’s cabin with the other men of the diplomatic party, and she seldom saw him except at dinner.

  But she also seldom saw Sebastian, which she was grateful for. After their kiss, she didn’t know what to say to him, how to behave—how to hide from him so she could not be hurt by him all over again.

  That didn’t keep him from her thoughts, though. Especially at night, when she couldn’t sleep. She would lie in her berth, listening to Teresa and Adriana in their restless slumber, and would remember London, her foolish young infatuation for him, the way he looked different now. What had happened to him since they parted?

  She feared she was being fooled by his charm all over again.

  Mary took a sip of the wine, wishing it could fortify her against herself. She had deluded herself for so long, thinking she had outgrown the silly girl who was so infatuated with Sebastian Barrett. Yet she feared she hadn’t really changed at all, as he seemed to have done.

  Her fingers tightening around the stem of her glass, she frowned down into the red depths. Of course she had changed. She could see now how foolish she was, where then she had leaped ahead, so sure Sebastian was a fairy tale come true. But there were no fairy tales, not in real life. There was only war and people who had to flee their homes, and love gone badly.

  She peeked over the rim of her glass at where he sat at the other end of the tables, talking to Mr Warren and one of the ship’s officers. He was still handsome, perhaps even more than he had been back then, with a new darkness in his eyes. He looked at her and she turned away, flustered.

  It was a small group at dinner, thanks to the pitching waves. The captain and his officers, Mary’s father and his secretaries, Sebastian and Mr Warren. The only other ladies were a stout Portuguese countess, who talked about the villa on the beach she intended to have in Brazil, and Teresa, who had pulled herself out of bed to come to the table and flirt with Mr Warren.

  ‘But I understand you intend to leave us before Madeira, Lord Sebastian,’ the captain said.

  Startled, Mary looked back towards Sebastian. Leave them? She felt a sudden jolt of something that felt oddly like relief—and dismay.

  ‘Yes, that is true,’ Sebastian said with a smile. The Portuguese countess sighed. ‘I fear Mr Warren and myself have orders to transfer to the Reina de Portugal to oversee the voyage with the Prince Regent. We are to transfer by skiff as soon as possible.’

  ‘Better you than me,’ the captain said, laughing. ‘That ship seemed to be in poor shape before we even left Lisbon. If you reach Rio long after we do...’

  The conversation went on around her, but Mary did not really hear it. She sipped at her wine and secretly studied Sebastian in the candlelight. She did not know if she was glad he was going to be on another ship for their long journey, or if she was sorry they couldn’t speak together more. That she couldn’t find out what had truly happened between them in London.

  * * *

  After the meal, she made her way out to the deck to watch as the skiffs were lowered for the journey to the Reina de Portugal. It was a chilly night, a cold wind sweeping up from the sea, the waters below sprinkled with lights from the stars. She wrapped her shawl closer around her, listening to the echo of chatter from the cabins beyond. It was a strange night, lonely and beautiful.

  She drew back into the shadows as Sebastian and Mr Warren made their way to the railing, their tall figures wrapped in greatcoats. Sebastian glanced back and for an instant Mary was sure he saw her standing there. She shrank back, hardly able to breathe, but in the next moment, he was gone from her sight.

  She was alone in the night.

  Chapter Eleven

  Seven weeks later

  ‘Land! Land!’

  The shout echoed from the deck above, through the open porthole to where Mary and Teresa were playing a lazy game of cards in their cabin. They glanced at each other and then leaped to their feet to race down the corridor, Adriana close behind them with her mending still in her hand.

  The deck was already crowded, everyone pushed out of their long doldrums, the long, slow days, by that wondrous word—land. It had been weeks since they had seen anything but endless grey waves, the other ships in the royal convoys mere specks in the distance. While they certainly didn’t suffer from the privations some of the other vessels were said to endure—lice that forced Doña Carlota and her ladies to shave their heads; no food but salted fish and ship’s biscuits; low levels of fresh water—life on the Hibernia had become dull, but not difficult.

  And now the journey seemed near to being over.

  The long, lazy days of reading and cards with Teresa and Adriana, while her father was closeted with the other diplomats, had left Mary far too much time to think about Sebastian Barrett. Since he had transferred to another vessel, she had learned nothing of him and it seemed to make her think of him even more.

  Made her remember the ways he had seemed changed in Lisbon, the new solemnity in his eyes, the watchful way he seemed to observe everything around him. The way he watched her. She was so unsure of him, so wary of trusting any changes. Wary of him.

  What would happen when she saw him again?

  She and Teresa found a small space between the crowd at the rail and she shielded her eyes from the golden sunlight in the endless stretch of pale-blue sky overhead. For days, it had been growing warmer and warmer, the air softer. After the grey chill of the onset of a Portuguese winter, the light was intense, unyielding.

  Mary peered closer. Without a glass, the shore of Brazil seemed to be
a mere dark ripple in the distance, a tiny break in the endless expanse of sea and sky. It almost seemed like a dream.

  But the bustle and noise of the crew was real enough. Once the storms of their departure from Europe were past, the voyage since Madeira had been a blessedly quiet one. Perhaps too quiet at times, such as when they drifted for a few days, becalmed in the middle of the Atlantic, but even the sailors had become lazy. They danced in the evenings with passengers, told tales of other, more perilous voyages. Now they were suddenly scaling the masts, letting the sails billow free to carry them to their destination.

  The shore grew closer and closer. Mary could make out a crescent-shaped sweep of pale golden beach. Dark, shining volcanic rock shapes rose up out of the bright blue water like sea creatures. The famous Sugarloaf Mountain was off to the side, leaning back as if it was a guard at the entrance to the city. In the distance were great, dark mountains, looming all around, almost cutting into the fluffy white clouds.

  Between the bay and the mountains she could see the city, white walls winding up the hillsides, much like Lisbon had been, all washed in that vivid, wondrous light.

  What would she find there? Mary sensed a whole new voyage just beginning in those mysterious new streets, a world she couldn’t even yet fathom despite all her reading. Maybe she could even make herself into something new!

  Something that wouldn’t be unsure of seeing Sebastian Barrett again, that would laugh at him and all he had once made her feel.

  ‘Mary!’ she heard her father call. She glanced over her shoulder to see him hurrying across the crowded deck. He took her hand tightly in his as he stared out at the bay, at the other ships drawing closer. Mary feared he looked tired, his eyes darkly circled with worry. She hoped the sun might help him, too. That here, so far from the troubles in Europe, he could get some much-needed rest.

  He gave her a smile. ‘Soon, my dear Mary, we’ll have solid ground under our feet again at last, eh? Maybe this time we will stay put for a while.’

  ‘I can’t wait to see Rio, Papa,’ Mary said, trying to give him a reassuring smile in return. ‘And you will have plenty of fresh fruit to eat, and time to rest.’

  He laughed. ‘No time to rest now, my dear. I think the real work is just starting. But I do have my Mary to help me.’

  ‘Of course, Papa,’ she answered, thinking of her beautiful mother and how Maria always was there for her husband and child. Of how family was the only real home, the only really important thing. ‘You’ll always have me to help you.’

  He gave her a mock-severe frown. ‘Not always, I hope. Lovely young ladies like my Mary need their own families.’

  Before Mary could answer, there was a sudden booming salute from the cannons lined up along the docks. She looked up, startled, to see that the royal ships had drawn closer in the harbour as they approached the shore. She could make out figures now, people lining the wharf as they waited to welcome their royal family from across the ocean. Mary couldn’t help thinking it must be rather like meeting mythological figures, suddenly stepping down from a painting.

  She glimpsed a skiff making its way across the choppy white waves. The figure seated in the prow wore the blue sash of a lord mayor, and Mary thought it must be Lord Arcos, the viceroy of Brazil, who had been given only a few weeks to prepare for this most momentous of events. As he drew near the ships, there was the muffled sound of cannon fire out over the water. The acrid scent of smoke combined with the sweetness of the blossoming orange groves on shore, and the salty sea breezes.

  ‘So we are safe here from that devil Napoleon,’ Teresa said.

  Mary glanced at her friend, startled by the sudden, serious sound of Teresa’s voice.

  ‘Yes,’ Mary answered. ‘But not from other things?’

  Teresa laughed. ‘We are never safe from all things, minha amiga. But I suppose we will be able to make merry here. And I will serve Doña Carlota again, so I am sure there will be balls and dinners, just like at home. Will the officers be as handsome after such a long voyage, do you think?’ She tossed Mary a teasing look, making them both laugh. ‘Not as handsome as my brother. So many ladies are so fond of him, but he has spent much time with us lately. I doubt it is my company he likes so much.’

  ‘I am sure I don’t know what you mean, Teresa,’ Mary said. She turned away to look at the beach again, feeling her cheeks turn warm. Luis Fernandes had dined with them often in the voyage, always laughing, always entertaining them. Luckily he had not said anything else like his words in Lisbon. She didn’t know what she would say to him if he did. She liked him very much, of course, but....

  But he was not like her old dreams of Sebastian Barrett and those had to be banished.

  There, on the wharfs, were the English diplomats who had been sent ahead on a faster boat, a collection of sombre dark coats against the vivid green and white of the shore. Was Sebastian among them? She was sure he was. But she didn’t know yet how she would react to seeing him again.

  She only knew she had to figure it out very soon indeed.

  Chapter Twelve

  Mary opened the shutters of her new sitting room, letting the brilliant sun cascade inside. It made the layer of dust over everything visible, tiny flakes of silver dancing in the warm, stuffy air, but it also showed her details of this new home she hadn’t been able to fully see when they arrived late the night before.

  They had been brought ashore while the fireworks still exploded in the night sky over the royal ships, so her father could help oversee preparations for the Braganzas to disembark, all the elaborate ceremonies the colonial crowds would expect. Mary had seen little of the city in the dusk, aside from bumpy, dusty roads, the shimmer of mysterious light behind lacy, latticework balconies, the enticing scent of flowers on the breeze, the heat of the day still caught in the darkness. The feelings of it were so intriguing and she couldn’t wait to see more.

  For now, though, there was just the small house they had been given off the main square of the city. The morning light was brilliant, piercingly golden and clear, unlike any she had ever seen before. She had lived in so very many places with her father over the years, Mary thought as she studied the room, but nothing like Brazil.

  The house was a simple one, with white-plastered walls, tall, beam-crossed ceilings and heavy, dark carved furniture that looked almost medieval. Old, silvery mirrors framed in curlicues of gilt hung high on the walls. Soon, she knew, it would be her own, once their crates were opened and she could unpack their own silver and china, the porcelain ornaments they had found in Russia, her mother’s portrait and some lighter curtains at the windows. It would seem as much like home as anywhere else could.

  Somehow, the thought of home made her remember the glimpse she had of Sebastian Barrett when they arrived in port. He was so different from the memory that had haunted her from London, so serious. What was he thinking about? Mary frowned—surely he was the last thing she should think of when she felt that old pang of longing for a place to belong.

  A church bell tolled from outside the window, deep and sonorous, pulling her away from the unwelcome thoughts that haunted her about Sebastian. She glanced outside to the street below.

  Most of the lanes they had bumped over in their night journey had been hard-packed earth, but the narrow road outside their house was made of cobbles. Shadows were cast over the moss-covered rocks, outlines of the tall, close-packed whitewashed houses, the balconies that jutted out from the upper stories, shaded in latticework.

  It was still early and there weren’t many people out and about yet, unless they were all clustered at the docks, waiting to catch a glimpse of the royal ships. Mary glimpsed women in sleeveless, pale muslin dresses against the warmth of the sun, mantillas draped over their heads and shoulders, the flash of diamonds around their necks and around their wrists. She had heard the large, shimmering stones were still mined i
n the interior of the country and worn by all the fine ladies all day long, and she wondered if her pearls would look paltry in comparison.

  Intrigued, she leaned over the windowsill, craning her neck to try to glimpse the city’s main square around the corner of their little lane. She knew from their passage last night that it was also cobbled, with the large, carved façade of the grand cathedral at one side, where the magnificent painted and bejewelled statue of the Madonna looked down on the marble front steps where the royal family would go to hear mass as soon as they disembarked. The lanes, cobbled and dirt alike, were swept clean and lined with fragrant flower petals and cinnamon sticks, already trampled underfoot and spreading their intoxicating fragrance on the breeze.

  At the other side of the square was the new royal palace, a structure that had been quickly converted from the viceroy’s small, rambling house. Mary had caught a glimpse of it in the moonlight, workmen still scrambling over it on ladders, converting it into walkways between an old prison with barred windows and the convent connected to the cathedral into a larger palace. Along with the smell of flowers and the faint whiff of salty sea air, she could smell fresh paint, the gilt that was being laid over the window frames. She thought of how, at least for a time, Dom Joao and Doña Carlota would have to live together again. She remembered Teresa mentioning how much the Princess hated her husband, the man she had been tied to since she was ten, how much she had tried to create her own powerful entourage in Europe. Now, here in Brazil, that was ended.

  People were gathering outside now, atop the roofs and in windows, waiting for more of the fascinating spectacle of royalty to come into their midst.

  ‘Mary, dear, are you ready? They shall be disembarking at any moment,’ her father said as he hurried into the sitting room, looking most distracted, as he had far too often of late. He wore the full splendour of his courtly diplomatic dress, satin breeches and stocking, a dark-blue satin coat embroidered with gold braid and with his medals and ribbons. He looked just as handsome as she always remembered, but she worried at the dark circles beneath his eyes.