“I wish you didn’t have to leave, but I understand,” Royall said softly, already mourning his departure.
“I will always be near you, mi amora. Senora Quince’s plantation is very near to mine.” Gently, he nuzzled her neck, all the while twining his sun-darkened hand through her hair.
“Sebastian, I won’t be staying with Mrs. Quince. She’s been my traveling companion and only that. I can see how my friendship with her has misled you. Actually, my destination is the Reino Brazilia. It’s been in my family for years, and I’ve inherited half of it from my father. Baron Newsome invited me and is awaiting my arrival.”
Royall could feel Sebastian’s arms stiffen. Something was wrong; she could sense it. He was holding her as though she were a dead, lifeless thing. Gone was the warm, open closeness, and in its place was an icy stare. Sebastian’s firm, square jaw was set as though cast from bronze, and his eyes had narrowed to slits. The hostility emanating from him frightened her.
His thoughts wheeled and skidded; his emotions rocketing with them. It couldn’t be! Reino Brazilia! Why was this the first time he had heard of it? Why hadn’t Rosalie Quince told him, knowing him as she did and how he felt? Carlyle Newsome, calling himself the Baron, waiting for Royall. Royall owning half of Reino Brazilia. Owning it. Living from it. Letting it feed her, clothe her, educate her!
Royall wanted to say something, to question him, demand an explanation for the reason she saw hatred in his eyes. But his face forbade it; his actions prohibited her from uttering a word.
Silently he rose from the bed, extricating himself from her embrace with harsh, quick motions. She watched as he dressed, hoping to hear him offer an explanation, hoping he would allow her to ask him what she had said, what she had done.
He said nothing, dressing with as little wasted motion as possible. He flung his jacket over his shoulder, leaving his tie loose, his shoes unlaced. His words were clipped and bitter, offered as he opened the door and closed it behind him. “I plan to erase you from my mind. You would be wise to do the same.”
Bewildered and humiliated, Royall watched him leave, heard the sound of the door closing, and felt as though it were the lid on her coffin. Without Sebastian there was no life, no air, no anything.
Royall tossed and turned, tormenting herself with questions as to what she had done, said, to make Sebastian turn from her as he had. It was when she told him she was half owner in Reino Brazilia that he had changed. An overwhelming loss shrouded her, seeming to steal all the light from the world. An inner spark of self-preservation ignited. “Damn you, Sebastian Rivera. I did nothing to warrant this misery. I want an explanation and I want it now!”
Without another thought she leaped from the bed and riffled through her clothing. Quickly, she bathed her eyes and face in the cool water from the ewer. She cared nothing for how she looked. What she wanted was answers. All that was important was to find Sebastian and set him straight about a few things. Things like how she loved him. All womanly instinct told her that this wasn’t the time for pride. She knew she loved the tall, dark-haired man, and she would give everything she owned to prove to him that he felt the same way. Hadn’t she heard his whispered love words? Didn’t she know the hurt that lay in his heart concerning his birthright?
Less than half an hour later, Royall was dressed in a light green, striped dimity dress, and her hair was brushed simply back from her face into a casual knot. Forgetting her hat and ignoring her gloves, she stormed her way down the companionway to Sebastian’s stateroom. She raised one daintily shod foot and kicked at the door while she banged on the upper half with her fists. “Open this door, Sebastian. I have to talk to you! Do you hear me? Damn you, Sebastian, stop making a fool of me and open this door. I want to show you your little lioness has claws.”
Silence. Total and complete. Royall pushed the door and was surprised to find it unlocked. Empty! No sign of Sebastian anywhere. No boots near the door; no waistcoat hanging on the hooks; no traveling bag; no razor. The soft face cloth and toweling were folded neatly. The coverlet on the bed was free of wrinkles. Where could he be? One of the ship’s valets was coming down the companionway carrying a gentleman’s suit. He seemed startled to find her standing in Senor Rivera’s empty room.
Quietly, Royall asked him if he had seen Senor Rivera.
“Yes, Senora, Senor Rivera left the ship with the mail boat. There is a small town not far from here. No doubt he will join the next riverboat that comes up the river in a few days.”
Back in her own stateroom, Royall sat for a long time, remembering, wishing the tears would come to cleanse her, make her feel better, but they wouldn’t. A sharp rap sounded on her door and for an instant her hopes lifted. Sebastian! He hadn’t left after all!
Rushing to the door, she flung it open, expecting Sebastian to take her in his strong embrace and tell her he was a fool. The steward who stood outside her door had a strange expression on his face when he saw her features fall and the misery creep into her eyes.
“Senora Quince has sent me to tell you she is on deck for breakfast and wishes you to join her.”
Royall nodded, incapable of speech, knowing that she wanted to see Mrs. Quince and ask her why Sebastian should behave the way he had.
Royall threaded her way through the tables and sat down across from her traveling companion, who was liberally spreading jam on a breakfast roll.
“Mrs. Quince, something terrible has happened.” Quickly, she told how Sebastian had left her so abruptly after she told him she was going on to Reino Brazilia. Protecting her privacy, she deliberately omitted how intimate she and Sebastian had become.
The older woman placed her breakfast bun on her plate and raised her eyes to meet Royall’s tormented gaze. She laid a comforting hand on Royall’s slender fingers, ceasing their agitated fumbling. “I’m afraid this is all my fault. I wanted the two of you to enjoy one another’s company and become friends. I purposely misled Sebastian, never telling him you own part of Reino Brazilia, and now you must suffer the brunt of my deception. I’m so sorry, child. Forgive a meddlesome old woman who doesn’t know her place. Sebastian is the one person in the world I should never have ... Well, it’s over and done with now. I meant no harm, Royall, believe me, I didn’t. I was so certain things would work out.”
“Mrs. Quince. Please, just tell me what did you do? I don’t understand. I forgive you; just tell me so I can right the wrong that’s been donel” Royall cried wretchedly.
Royall watched the older woman gather her thoughts together and waited expectantly for the woman’s next words. If Mrs. Quince could explain why Sebastian had left her as he had, perhaps it was something which could be amended.
“Royall,” Mrs. Quince began hesitantly, “there is tremendous animosity between Sebastian and Carlyle Newsome. They greatly differ in their beliefs of how the workers should be treated. I know it seems a feeble reason, but there’s something else. Something I can’t explain.” Mrs. Quince lowered her eyes and seemed to measure her next statement. She lifted her head slowly and watched for Royall’s reaction. “I might also tell you, for you will only see it for yourself, there is a very strong resemblance between Sebastian and the Baron. Some even whisper that Sebastian is Carlyle Newsome’s son.”
Royall gasped and said nothing, her mind in a whirl. Regaining her composure, she said hotly, “But what has that to do with me? Surely Sebastian can’t blame me for his differences with the Baron! And as for how the slaves are treated, that is none of my doing!”
“I know, dear. It’s most unfair. But you must understand; Sebastian has been at odds with Reino Brazilia for as long as he can remember.” Then Mrs. Quince sniffed and cheerfully stated, “Men are as difficult to understand as women, if not more so!”
Sometime shortly after midday a note was delivered to Mrs. Quince, stating that Sebastian had left the riverboat when the paddlewheeler stopped at a riverport for water. The note was short and clipped. Mrs. Quince and her traveling companion were to h
ave the use of his table in the dining room since he would have no further need for it. His signature was a large scrawled S.
The hastily scrawled note set Royall’s teeth on edge. The rejection and hurt she felt prior to the delivery of the note was now replaced with searing hot anger. If this was the way he wanted it, then so be it. There would be another time and another place, and at that time and at that place she would be the one who had the final word.
Royall looked out over the calm water. The bright sunshine that had warmed her, brought life to her, now seemed clouded, and a chill clutched her heart. She would not admit to herself that the sun had dimmed for her, that the emerald green of the Amazon had turned dark and murky. She would wait for her time and her place. And then, as gamblers said, the odds would be in her favor.
Chapter Five
Royall thought she could not endure another moment of the drive to Reino Brazilia. The rough, corded roads caused the wagon to lurch first to one side and then to the other, leaving her body bruised and battered.
She sat in the back of the wagon, surrounded by luggage and carryalls. Too exhausted even for sleep, she peered through the darkness, trying to acquaint herself with their position. At last, giving up all hope of recognizing the dark shadows and resigning herself to the total blackness, she settled against one of the trunks and concentrated on the pool of yellow light that haloed through the thick humidity, throwing a feeble circlet of illumination upon the dry, caked roads.
Mentally she counted the trunks and valises and carryalls that surrounded her. Her eyes came to rest on the largest of the trunks, and she envisioned its contents. She saw herself, in her mind’s eye, packing the simple gown she had worn on the riverboat, the gown that she had worn that last evening with Sebastian. Self-disgust washed over her. Why should I think about him? Why should I care? Mrs. Quince, knowing the hardship of the journey for Royall, silently cursed the fact that the comfortable coach that was to meet them had broken a wheel, forcing them to ride the baggage wagon Alonzo sent to meet them at the dock.
Royall had been so quiet the last hour that at times Mrs. Quince was certain the child had fallen asleep. Lifting the lamp high, allowing the yellowish light to fall on the girl, Mrs. Quince saw Royall seated among the luggage, wide awake, eyes staring into nothingness, a tight expression on her full mouth.
Damn you, Sebastian, for being the pig-headed fool you are, she thought. And damn you, Rosalie Quince, for trying to put your nose in where it doesn’t belong! It would have taken a fool not to recognize the attraction the two young people held for each other. Whatever made you think you could play matchmaker. You old, foolish woman!
Determined not to allow Royall to sit and brood, Mrs. Quince started a spate of patter and succeeded in prying a few half-hearted replies from Royall.
“We’re almost here now, child,” Mrs. Quince announced as the wagon suddenly veered to the right. “A few yards more and you’ll be home.”
Mrs. Quince tapped Royall on the arm. “We’re here, my dear. Come now, and the wagon master will help you down. One of the servants will fetch your baggage.”
Royall nodded wearily as the kindly lady embraced her and kissed her good-bye. Mrs. Quince was going on to her own plantation several miles away.
“I’ll send you a note in a few days’ time. Best get a good night’s rest now.” She gave Royall an affectionate embrace.
“But aren’t you staying here for the night?” Royall heard herself ask. The weariness in her own voice surprised her.
“No, dear. Since I’m this close to home, I want to go on. I long for the sight of my husband, Alonzo, and I confess a great desire to rest these old bones in my own bed.”
Strong arms helped Royall alight from the wagon. She swayed momentarily as she tried to stand erect. She could feel the blood coursing through her still cramped legs. Unobtrusively, she stamped her feet to hasten the return of circulation. While doing so, she peered through the darkness to observe her surroundings.
A full moon shone upon the clearing around the house. It was one story high, a sprawling affair, quite different from the neat brownstone buildings found in New England.
The veranda seemed to encircle the house; white arched columns supported the porch roof and appeared luminescent in the moonlight. Dark shadowy shapes graced the foundation, and a fresh scent emanated from them. Tall trees leaned toward the house and rustled in the warm, soft, tropical breeze.
Gentle arms helped her up the stone steps to the veranda of the dark, silent house. The figures pulled a chain and a bell pealed somewhere within. Moments later, the door was opened by a tall, light-skinned figure holding an oil lamp. Royall felt, rather than saw, the dark figure of the servant leave her side. The tall form with the lamp beckoned her into the house.
Royall struggled to look alert, but the effort was too great; she didn’t care at that moment what kind of an appearance she made. She was bone tired; all she longed for was a bed and oblivion. In the morning she would look at her new home. For the moment she had all she could do to remain awake long enough to follow the tall silhouette to her room.
“I am Elena, the housekeeper,” the silhouette announced. She made a motion for Royall to follow her as she held the lamp high to light the way down the dark passageway. Royall needed no second urging. She followed quickly behind the regal back of the housekeeper. The woman opened a door and held up her hand for Royall. She supposed Elena meant for her to wait until the room was lighted. Suddenly, the room was ablaze with a bright yellow glow. Royall squinted against the glare. She hadn’t known what she expected in the way of furnishings, but this light Regency furniture was not it.
It was clearly a woman’s room, done in pale beiges and warm rose tones. The creamy lace bed hangings wafted gently in the warm breeze from the open French doors, which were screened with nettings.
Feeling eyes upon her, Royall turned to face the closed expression of Elena. “I’m Royall Banner,” she announced in a friendly, weary tone.
“I have prepared for your arrival for many weeks, Senora Banner. I know who you are!”
Royall was surprised at the cultured, musical voice. She did not miss the coldness of the words, however. She looked into the dark eyes and felt instinctively that the housekeeper did not like her, but she was too tired to care. She thanked Elena for the obvious care taken with her room and proceeded to the edge of the tester bed.
Elena watched the beautiful girl through inscrutable eyes, then turned on her heel and left.
Royall reached down to undo her shoes and removed them. The small task wearied her, and she lay back on the bed.
The next thing she knew, there was soft sunlight streaming into the room. Glancing toward the windows, she noticed that during the early hours of the morning someone must have entered her room and closed the doors to ward off the morning heat. The sheer bed hangings were drawn against the bright light, giving the room a soft, muted atmosphere.
A quiet knock sounded at the door, and Royall bade the unknown visitor to enter. Elena strode through the door carrying a tray. Delicious aromas tantalized her appetite. Coffee! Royall sighed as she thought how good it would taste. She uncovered the plates and looked with interest at the thin, pink slices of ham, an egg, a small pot of marmalade, and fresh rolls crowned with a mound of yellow butter.
Elena looked at the tousled girl on the bed and let a smirk of rejection touch her lips. She spoke, however, in a quiet, civilized manner. “The ninas will be here shortly with your bath water and to unpack your baggage.” Finishing her brief statement, she let her cold eyes linger a moment longer and left the room as quickly and as quietly as she had left it the night before.
Royall was bewildered by the coldness in the housekeeper’s tone. As she ate her breakfast, she reviewed in her mind a conversation she had had with Mrs. Quince on the riverboat concerning the mysterious Elena. They had been sitting on deck enjoying the breeze blowing over the water. She had known that Mrs. Quince was trying to divert Ro
yall’s mind from thoughts of Sebastian. The talk had come around to the servants on Reino Brazilia and, of course, Elena.
“This is only gossip, of course, but no one seems to know exactly where she came from. Oh, there have been many stories, but who knows the truth?” Mrs. Quince shrugged. “One story goes that she was born in Haiti, that her mother was a Negress, a slave on some estate. Her father was a white man. This would explain her coloring, although to be as light-skinned as she is, it would seem likely that her mother was at least a quadroon, and I suspect there is native Indian blood in her somewhere. Elena is not at all black. In fact, she has a beautiful tawny complexion, large green eyes, and long silky hair, which she wears in two coils over her ears. She is truly a beautiful woman, and she appears to have breeding. She carries herself like a duchess. She was a servant before the Baron’s wife died, and since that lady passed on with the fever, Elena has managed the household for the Newsome family. At one time it was whispered that she was the Baron’s paramour.”
Royall fell back against the pillows, chewing on the tender ham and thinking about that conversation. Mrs. Quince had certainly been correct in saying Elena was a beautiful woman. And now, in retrospect, Royall was surprised that the housekeeper was so young. She appeared to be in her thirties. She must have been little more than a girl when she came here to the Reino.
From thoughts of Elena her mind wandered to Sebastian. Where was he and what was he doing? What was he thinking, feeling? Did he really put her from his mind. How could he forget her? Tears stung Royall’s eyes as she stared around the room. If she couldn’t forget him, how could he possibly forget her? He had no right to be so angry. She had done nothing except to say she was part owner of Reino Brazilia. All she had been guilty of was loving him and giving herself to him. It was so difficult to believe that Sebastian Rivera would hold her responsible for circumstances at the Reino. Still, Mrs. Quince had told her about the bad blood between Sebastian and the Newsomes. And it was apparently well known that he abhorred slavery. It made no sense at all that he held her responsible, no sense at all! Damn Sebastian Rivera!
Captive Innocence Page 9
