Harlequin Historical November 2015, Box Set 2 of 2

by Lynna Banning

  ‘Of course, Papa. But I fear I shall be quite overshadowed by your splendour!’ she answered, forcing a cheerful smile to her lips as she rushed to his side. She straightened one of his diamond-framed medals. ‘I see I shall have to beg for presents of more flashing jewels while we’re here.’

  ‘You can have anything you like, my dear, as you well know! But you look lovely, as always,’ he said. He gently touched her cheek, a wistful smile on his face. ‘Just like your mother.’

  ‘No one could be as beautiful as Mama.’ Mary linked her arm through her father’s. ‘Papa, is everything quite well? I mean—I know it is not. Thousands of people have just been hurled across the sea and you must help them come right again. But are you well? If we could find a good English doctor...’

  ‘I am quite well, my dear, quite well,’ her father insisted. ‘The warm sun will do me good, I’m sure. Now, shall we go? We must be waiting for the royal arrival.’

  Mary nodded. She knew he would not tell her more, not yet, not when he had a job to do. She would just have to make sure he rested, ate his meals and enjoyed something of this strange land they had found themselves in, just as she had to.

  She caught a glimpse of herself in one of the mirrors just before they left the house. She was right, she thought, that her father’s attire was much more splendid than hers! She wore a white gown, simply embroidered with tiny blue flowers and trimmed at the low, round neck with a fine lace frill, and her mother’s white-lace mantilla covered her dark hair. Her face looked pale beneath its cobweb-delicate pattern, but she knew she looked as well as she could.

  She wondered if Sebastian would think so, as well, and pushed that thought away. It should not matter to her in the least what he thought about her now!

  In the crowded square, her father had to leave her to find his delegation, and he deposited her with a group of other ladies near the marble steps to the cathedral, out of the hot tropical sun. She studied the people around her, the press of the people who had long been living in Brazil in their pale cottons and fine gems and the stunned courtiers who had recently disembarked, stifling in velvets and gold embroidery. The air smelled of cinnamon and flowers, sweet on the warm breeze, along with the less lovely dirt of the streets, the press of people and horses in close quarters.

  Mary glimpsed Sebastian across the square, the gleam of the sun on his golden-brown hair. He was taller than most of the men around him and his handsome face looked solemn and watchful above his fine white cravat. For an instant, Mary’s breath caught at the sight of him and she quickly looked away. She could not be distracted by him, not now.

  The doors to the cathedral opened and the crowd let out a loud cheer and surged forward, carrying Mary with them. Sebastian was quickly lost to her sight in the crush and she couldn’t even see her father any more. The heat was even more intense there, the sunlight brighter, the smells of the cinnamon and flowers and perfumes powerful, along with the incense that flowed on a silvery cloud out of the cathedral doors. Musicians launched into a lively dance tune, blending with the church bells and the cheers.

  She managed to push her way to the edge of the square, near the fountain and away from the thickest of the press of people at the cathedral stairs. She went up on tiptoe to catch a glimpse of the royal family as they emerged from Mass.

  They stopped beneath the vivid triumphal arch to wave and Mary could hear a ripple of disappointed murmurs around her. Unlike the fabulous, idealised colour of the paintings, the real figures were rather prosaic.

  Dom Joao was short and portly. Even in his vivid scarlet-satin coat, flashing with gold braid and an array of jewels, he could not disguise his heavy frame and square, plain face, his balding head and rounded shoulders. Yet he seemed rather pleased to be there, after all the long months of prevarication back in Lisbon about whether to stay or go. He bowed and smiled, waving the plumed hat in his hand at the crowd.

  His wife, Doña Carlota, however, could not disguise her dismay. Mary remembered the tales of how grief-stricken the Princess was to leave Europe, the panicked letters she had sent to her Spanish family begging them to save her. The life she had made for herself, of her own palaces, her own lovers, her own power, she had to leave behind. Mary wondered how she must be feeling now, after all that struggle was in vain and now she found herself in a strange land across the ocean, with a husband she could not bear.

  Doña Carlota seemed to stare at something far off, away from the curious and celebrating crowds. She held her head high, her expression stony and unreadable as she gazed over everyone’s heads. Even shorter than her husband, and stout after so many children, she still managed to look more regal than him, in her plain black-velvet gown and flashing diamond jewellery. To cover her head, shorn after the plague of lice on her ship, she wore an elaborate silk turban pinned with a ruby star.

  Around them were their children, the boys dressed in blue coats and knee breeches, the heir with a jewel-sewn coat like his father’s and the girls in white gowns with black sashes. They all blinked out at the vivid crowds arrayed in the brilliant sunshine, as if shy and uncertain.

  A small figure, swathed in black taffeta, was borne out on a chair litter. Mad Queen Maria, who was waving happily at the people, seemingly revived by the long voyage and her new home at the convent behind the cathedral.

  Behind them came their attendants, gentlemen in their court clothes of satin coats and knee breeches, looking damp and misplaced in the bright tropical sun, and the ladies in their fine French fashions. Metallic embroidery on pale silks, long gloves, the ones who had escaped the lice with elaborate, upswept curls.

  Mary caught a glimpse of Teresa behind Doña Carlota’s diminutive figure and tried to wave at her. Teresa seemed to be searching the crowds, as if looking for something, a small frown on her face beneath the fluttering lace of her mantilla.

  ‘Look at their gowns,’ a woman behind Mary said with a giggle. ‘Do you think that is how everyone dresses in Europe?’

  ‘It’s very pretty,’ another lady said with a sniff. ‘But surely they will suffocate in such things here! Not to mention no one will be able to afford finery like that. The shopkeeper Mr Daniels charged me five times what he should have, just for these ribbons!’

  Dom Joao opened a heavy purse and tossed out a handful of coins in a shimmering silver archway into the crowd. A great cry exploded and everyone shoved forward again. The two women pushed against Mary and she was so startled she stumbled on the slippery cobblestones. She felt herself falling, the cold jolt of the fear, and her arms shot out to catch herself.

  The hard blow of the cobbles never came. A strong arm locked around her waist, lifting her up higher to safety.

  Mary knew who it was, even before she twisted around in his arms to look down at him. She knew Sebastian’s touch all too well now, the warm, hard security of it, knew the clean, citrus soap smell of him. He had rescued her too many times before.

  He looked up at her with his jewel-green eyes and for an instant it seemed there was only the two of them in that crowded square.

  ‘I do always seem to be in need of rescue when you’re around, Lord Sebastian,’ she said. ‘It is most distressing.’

  His handsome face, so solemn and concerned before, broke into a smile. That smile made his face even more beautiful, breathtakingly so. ‘I’m just glad to be of service to you, Miss Manning. You usually seem to have little use for me.’

  ‘Can you blame me?’ she blurted, then immediately wished she could draw the words back. She never wanted him to know how much he had the power to hurt her. Not after how she felt when she learned the truth about her romantic dream in London.

  Yet as she looked into his face now, she saw few echoes of that young man she thought she once knew. There were new lines on his face, hardening the good looks, a new solemnity in his eyes.

  And she was no longer that girl, eit
her, the girl who had once thought it was freeing to abandon caution and run heedlessly into her new, heady emotions. There were so many more important, more dangerous things in the world for them to worry about now.

  She looked away, feeling her cheeks turn embarrassingly warm. She hoped it could only be blamed on the hot day, not on the fact that he was so near her again. After he changed ships on their voyage from Lisbon, she had thought she’d escaped him, that the weeks at sea would make her forget him. That once they met again, he would be much like any of the other handsome men she had met in her travels—charming, interesting for a moment, easily forgotten.

  She realised now that had been foolish. Sebastian Barrett was not like any other men she had met. He never had been and never would be.

  And that was why she had to be more careful around him. She couldn’t let the intoxicating light of that place blind her.

  After a long, tense moment of silence, Sebastian gave a grim nod. He slowly lowered her to her feet. ‘I’m afraid I deserve that. But I assure you, Miss Manning, you have nothing to fear from me now.’

  ‘Nothing?’ Mary almost laughed. Surely she had more to fear of him than she ever had of anything else. With him, she had to fear herself, her own wild feelings, as she never had to before. Not only did she have the memory of how she had once kissed him, how he had once turned her away, but also she had to be careful of his real intentions there in Brazil. She had long ago learned that every person in a diplomatic delegation, especially men who were sent in the midst of delicate negotiations, often had their own, secret plans.

  ‘I know you will not believe me, but I only want to keep you safe,’ he said.

  To her shock, Mary found that she wanted to believe him. ‘Do you think I haven’t learned how to keep myself safe, Lord Sebastian? That my family and friends cannot help me?’

  ‘Miss Manning—Mary,’ he said, in a quiet, strangely urgent tone that captured her attention fully. ‘There are things happening here in Brazil—things you cannot know. You must be wary.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ she said, startled.

  The crowd surged around them again, pushing her close against him. His arm came around her to hold her steady. ‘Come with me,’ he said close to her ear. His hand slid tight around hers and he pulled her with him against the wave of the crowd towards the edge of the square. His tall, lean body sheltered her from the cheering mass of people.

  She went with him, unable to resist, to run away. She was far too curious to know what his words meant. Brazil was such a strange place, so full of light and heat, that she hadn’t felt like herself ever since she glimpsed its shore. Being close to Sebastian now only made her feel even more the strange, heady glow of it all. Made her feel like a different person entirely.

  He drew her into the shelter of a narrow walkway that ran between two of the whitewashed buildings. The overhanging balconies blocked out the bright sunlight, casting strange shadows on the cobblestones below. The sound of the crowds, mere steps away, seemed muted and echoing there.

  Mary looked up into Sebastian’s face, searching his expression for some hint of what was happening. The shadows flickered over his sculpted face, casting his eyes into darkness.

  She thought of her own strange feelings there in Rio, her father’s distraction. Could something dangerous, even more dangerous than what was left behind in Lisbon, be happening? She reached out and gently touched his arm, half-afraid the feel of him would give her a lightning shock. But his hard, muscled strength seemed to give her something to hold on to for a moment in that shifting, tilting world.

  ‘Please, Sebastian,’ she said softly, not looking away from him. She saw something glimmer in his eyes at the sound of his name. ‘What is happening? Is there something dangerous happening here in Rio? Something that could affect my father?’

  Sebastian reached up and covered her hand with his, his skin warm against hers. ‘Mary, I fear I cannot talk about my work. But you surely know how much is at stake here. Just because the Braganzas are out of the paths of Napoleon and under British protection for now, it doesn’t mean everyone is content with matters as they are. Everyone has their own ideas of the world as it should be.’

  Mary’s mind raced, whirling around all the dangers that lurked behind them in Europe. ‘Do you mean the Prince Regent’s position? If he really preferred the French alliance and he was forced to leave...’

  ‘Perhaps not Dom Joao. He did seem to come around truly to the importance of the English alliance. But there are others, many others, who may still prefer France.’ To her shock, he took both her hands in his and held them close. ‘Mary, you have lived this life of diplomacy for a long time. I know you realise that things are seldom as they appear. But I also know that your kind heart thinks ill of no one—except dastards like me who deserve it.’

  A dastard? It was true she had once thought that, but now she was not so sure. Mary’s head was spinning. ‘Who should I think ill of? My father confides little in me of his work; I know he doesn’t want to worry me. But I do hear whispers, see things...’

  ‘And you want to protect your family, as I do. I have come to see the real importance of family, Mary, whether you believe me now or not. I want to help you, if I can.’

  ‘Please, Sebastian!’ she cried. ‘Tell me what is happening.’

  He glanced over her shoulder, to the doorway where their quiet little sanctuary spilled out to the noisy square, and his expression hardened. As she watched, it went in an instant from urgent to cold as ice. Even though he still stood close to her, holding on to her hands, he seemed to have flown away from her.

  She tried to tug her hands away, but he held on to her. He looked down at her again, his eyes dark.

  ‘You are friends with the Fernandes siblings, yes?’ he said, his voice quiet, chilly. ‘Dom Luis and his sister?’

  Mary was confused. ‘Teresa? Yes, we became friends when I arrived in Lisbon and spent much time together on the voyage. She is lady-in-waiting to Doña Carlota...’ Doña Carlota—who was famously discontented with the voyage to Brazil, with losing her Iberian power base. ‘Are you saying that Teresa is helping Doña Carlota in her communications with her family in Spain, or something of that nature? I am sure that can’t be true. Teresa thinks of little but fun, but she and her brother are loyal to their Queen and Regent.’

  But was that really true? Mary remembered how Sebastian said her ‘kind heart’ wouldn’t suspect a friend and she bit her lip. She did not want him to think her naïve, but neither could she imagine Teresa was a conspirator. Perhaps Sebastian was the one with darker motives, trying to plant doubts in her mind? How well did she know him, really?

  ‘I fear I have no time to talk now, Mary,’ he said quickly. ‘And I know you do not, cannot, trust me again. Just please—be careful of all that happens around you.’

  ‘I always do that. Sebastian, please, tell me what you mean!’

  He raised one of her hands to his lips and pressed a quick kiss to her wrist. His lips were warm through the thin silk of her glove. ‘Will you be at the royal court? There is to be an official reception at the palace in two days.’

  ‘Of course. Should I beware of something there? Really, Sebastian—I feel I am in a Gothic play of some sort.’ And of course, she was. She had come with an entire royal court across an ocean to escape invasion and war; she was in the middle of hundreds of people, all with their own desires and agendas. It could be nothing but Byzantine.

  He gave her a reluctant-looking smile. ‘It is not, I promise. All too mundane in these times, I fear. I will find you at the reception and will tell you more if I can. Just promise me you will be careful.’

  Mary stared up into his eyes. His hand on hers felt warm, safe, and she found that in that moment she did something she thought she never would—she trusted him. ‘I will be careful.’

  ‘Then let me
help you find your father now.’

  She nodded, knowing they could not stay there hidden much longer, that she couldn’t yet force him to tell her what was in his mind. She followed him to the end of their walkway and they were plunged back into the chaos of the square. The royal family was processing from the cathedral to their makeshift palace, amid a shower of flower petals.

  With every step, she was intensely aware of Sebastian pressed close to her in the crowd, his tall body sheltering her, his warning words ringing in her mind.

  She would go along now. What choice did she have? She could not force him to tell her; indeed she was sure he was a man who could not be made to do anything. But she no longer would leave herself vulnerable, either.

  ‘Mary! Mary, over here,’ she heard Teresa call over the music and the cheers.

  Mary glanced over her shoulder to find Teresa hurrying towards her, with Luis close behind her, both of them blindingly beautiful in their fine court clothes. Her white-lace mantilla fluttered in the breeze, studded with tiny, flashing crystal beads. Mary waved back to them.

  When she turned back to Sebastian, she found he was gone, melted away into the crowd as if he had never been there with her at all.

  Teresa grabbed Mary’s hand and drew her into the merriment of the square. The royal family had vanished into the palace, but the party still swirled on. Mary glimpsed her father talking to some of his colleagues on the cathedral steps, then he was gone as well, but not before she glimpsed the frown on his face.

  ‘Mary, it is the most wonderful thing! There is to be a masked ball tomorrow night, here in this very square,’ Teresa cried. ‘Doesn’t that sound like marvellous fun? We have to find a dressmaker immediately, to make up glorious gowns before anyone else can hire them.’