by Eliza Lloyd
So many things hadn’t gone as he’d expected. Shelene’s mother gone, Hightower’s displacement. And his stubborn unwillingness to give up his misplaced passion and one-sided loyalty for the Crown. Marrying… Cheating Shelene out of the happiness he’d promised.
There were a few candles lit in the windows. The moonlight glinted off the white walls of the home and outbuildings. The wind on the air was warm and fragrant, a welcoming scent that embraced him every time he was in Spain.
Now it would always welcome him home.
Roman pulled the horse and cabriolet to a stop. Joaquin jumped down and whistled. “This is yours, mi’lord?”
“Indeed. Imagine what it will look like in the light of day.”
“Magnífico! This will be a wonderful place to raise your son.”
* * * * *
Shelene forced herself to change dresses and return to the party. The guests would not have gone home without the hostess to bid them good evening. Most would be waiting for her to clarify the gossip that likely was running rampant.
Raúl sat by himself beneath the blooming jacaranda trees. Dignified, yet troubled, sipping at his drink. Not even his daughters were nearby to offer comfort to their jilted father.
When he saw her approach, he jumped to his feet. “Señora.” He bowed to her, then held out his hand and assisted her to her seat.
“Raúl, how can I apologize for this shocking turn?”
“You couldn’t have known.”
She felt the start of tears, though it didn’t make any sense. She didn’t love Raúl. Trust and respect, yes. “But I feel so foolish for myself and so sad that you have been carried along on another Belgrano flood.”
“For your sake and reputation, we can be thankful it happened tonight instead of next week.”
“Will you return to Barcelona soon?”
“Yes, I think I must. I do not want to cause a further rift between you and your husband. Nor cause any unwarranted gossip. There will be plenty of that without me around to stir curiosity. Do not worry, my dear. You are blameless in this.”
“I feel so…”
“Deceived?”
“No! Not by you. Don’t ever think that.”
“It would seem your uncle has a few things to explain.”
“He knows many people. They wouldn’t lie to him about something so important.”
Except that her uncle would lie to her in order to punish her for marrying Roman. And the dark, dark possibility—what if Uncle Francisco had really thought Roman was dead because he had arranged some trap for him?
Years ago, they’d called Uncle Francisco and his group guerrillas. A small band of Spaniards who fought against the French, initially. They’d turned into angry, violent partisans who’d attacked anyone who stood in the way of their power and their wealth accumulation, including the Spanish royals, the richest dons, the English. They’d become assassins and thieves.
Shelene could not accuse her uncle of something so heinous as killing Roman, though it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility. But, a cada cerdo le llega su San Martín. Uncle Francisco’s pigs would be slaughtered in their turn.
Raúl took her hand. “My dearest Shelene, I will think fondly of you for many, many months to come.”
“You will find another, I have no doubt.” She leaned toward him and kissed his cheek.
“Adiós, mi querida amiga. If you need anything at all, I am at your service,” he said.
She watched him walk away. After a deep, fortifying breath, she stood and made her way around the portico. There were a couple of groups still meandering about, so Shelene spoke to each of them. She had no reason to lie; it was only the embarrassment of it all, that caused her to speak quickly and quietly. Just hearing the sympathy in their voices was enough to make her want to shrivel up and blow away.
Sakina and two of her daughters were busy cleaning tables, weaving in and around, almost invisible in their efficiency. Slowly everyone melted away, finding their assigned bedrooms. Shelene glanced around, ready for her own bed, even though she would not sleep.
Uncle Francisco sat still in a darkened corner. She saw the cigarillo’s burning red tip. Shelene shivered. Did she know the man at all? She had accepted the news of his pardon with joy, completely oblivious to the fact he could have been lying about that as well.
With this monstrous complication, Shelene was reminded of her uncle’s duplicitous nature, which in her grief and anger, she’d disregarded. A pardon from the King could blind anyone.
She smiled and went to sit next to him. Well, factually, she didn’t know if he’d plotted against Roman. If not, it was a horribly inconvenient coincidence that worked in his favor more than hers. He’d always wanted Mama’s estate, but Gabriella Belgrano was the oldest daughter. And Francisco had gotten into trouble with the Spanish royal family well before Abuelo had died. He had no reason to change his will or reward his son with the family wealth when his son was such a dangerous criminal.
Had Uncle promised something to Raúl Navarro to obtain Las Colinas? He was the one who had made introductions between the two of them. Raúl didn’t need the properties. He was lavishly rich with multiple properties near Barcelona. Oh dear God, it wasn’t possible, was it? Had Uncle Francisco traded her in an agreement with Raúl? The sale would have been easily accomplished once she and Raúl had been married for few years. Or a few months…
What would Raúl have done to convince Shelene they must sell Las Colinas? Could he convince her? Pressure her? Well, she would never know now.
“What a bizarre evening,” she said. “And can you believe, Señor Navarro thinks he is to blame?”
“Fate is a strange thing.”
“Fate? Or something more akin to human error?”
“What do you mean,” he said without emotion. He tilted his head to examine her, while she prayed her expression gave away nothing of the doubts swirling in her mind. Only with Roman could she express her sentiments—her love, her anger, her joys—without censuring her thoughts.
“Your man is obviously not very dependable,” she clarified.
“The account was wholly reliable. Señor Forrester must have the lives of an alley cat and the accuracy of a Swiss timepiece to arrive tonight of all nights. Needless to say, I am happy for you, niece.”
“Roman will have a say about Las Colinas.”
“My first thought, too. It is doubtful he knows about my pardon. Perhaps that will give him a different perspective on my past. But if he wishes me to leave, of course I will.”
“I can’t speak for him—”
“I am surprised you would even allow him in your life. Weren’t you perusing an annulment some months back? My pardon, if I am wrong.”
“At the time, I didn’t know I was pregnant with his child. Had I known, I would not have been so hasty. The differences we had will undoubtedly be magnified given the time that has past, so who can say what will be happen in the foreseeable future.”
“Perhaps you were a bit too hasty sending Señor Navarro away. He could have been a help to you.”
“Should I hang on to Raúl as a monkey, trying to grasp the next vine? He is an honorable man and I have a set of issues that must be resolved on my own.”
“I am here to assist, Shelene. You do not need to bring Señor Forrester into our family spectacle.”
“It is only a spectacle because I no longer believed I was married.”
“And you think being a Spanish divorcee would bring you the respect our family deserves?” he spat. “It is bad enough that you are half-English. That Las Colinas’ blood line will be further diluted in the future by your quarter-blood son.” Uncle Francisco sat up, his forearms braced against his knees. “Forrester is a dog. He does not deserve you! A Belgrano married to a weak English whoreson!”
“Roman does not know you are here. I would suggest you make your way to Malaga or Cordoba. You have friends there still, I think.”
“But no family.”
&n
bsp; “Are we that important to you? I know of your desires, Uncle, though I may not understand them. There is no power here, only the lowly honor of tilling the land and feeding its people. Pursue your dreams elsewhere.”
“I will not leave Belgrano land so easily.”
“Must I remind you about the man I am married to? Roman and I may no longer have the bond we once did, but he will protect what he thinks is his.”
“You are warning me? Me?”
“Only because you are family. I suspect Roman will be here sometime tomorrow. Please leave tonight. I won’t be responsible for whatever past wrongs the two of you need to settle. And how you decide to settle them.”
“I have a pardon from the King of Spain. He can do nothing to me.”
“Please go, Uncle. I have nothing else to say.”
“I have only tried to help you.”
“That is what you’ve made it look like. But ultimately, you were attempting to help yourself.”
Shelene stood and ran her hand over the dress material to flatten any wrinkles. Francisco stood beside her. She called to her servant. “Sakina? Would you find Brahim, please?”
“Of course, sayidati.” Sakina hurried away, no doubt sensing the rising tension between Shelene and her uncle.
“You are going to have the help remove me from the family home?”
“Oh, no, Uncle. I am going to have the help assist you now so that I will not have to clean up any blood in the morning.”
“I am not afraid of him.”
“There was a time when you were afraid of no one. And yet, here you are hiding at Las Colinas behind your pardon and behind my skirts.”
He lifted his hand and slapped her face. The crack echoed in the portico. Shelene stumbled back one step but kept her feet. She rubbed her hand over her throbbing cheek.
How pathetic that she felt braver now with Roman in Spain than she had felt at any time since he’d sailed away those months ago. The doubts she had remained as unsprouted seeds, but Roman’s return had been the torrential downpour that caused the seeds to spring to life.
“How dare you speak to me that way?” her uncle said.
Brahim’s sandals flapped against the tiles as he approached. “Sayidati, you called?”
“Yes. Señor Belgrano is leaving tonight. Could you make sure his luggage is prepared and escort him to the foyer where he can wait for a carriage? As soon as possible, please.”
Uncle Francisco did not move. He reached into his jacket and retrieved a small over-under double-barrel pistol. Made in France. She knew because it was hers. Uncle had pilfered it from her desk in the library. He pointed it at her. “I am not leaving. And you will inform your husband he is not welcome here. This is the Belgrano home and has been for over a hundred years.”
“You might as well shoot me now, Uncle Francisco. This is my home, and you will leave. If not tonight, then tomorrow. If not tomorrow, then the next day. If not willingly, then by force. You are the one who is no longer welcome here.”
“You think I am not capable of such an act?”
“I think you are not so willing to give up your pardon. Surely, the King of Spain would consider it a personal affront to have one of his subjects killed by a man he’d so recently pardoned. And one of England’s most treasured agents. My servants are listening to your threats, Uncle. They will not remain silent. And they will not forget.” She glanced about to see Brahim, Sakina, two of their sons and five of their grown grandchildren around the portico. They stood like sentinels, protecting her, and she’d never been more grateful.
What she didn’t say was that it was much more likely Roman would kill the man without a second thought. Shelene could not threaten her uncle by invoking Roman’s name. He would welcome such a challenge and might even boast to the king about killing an English spy. For Roman surely was that.
As Uncle Francisco passed her, he said, “You will regret this, my niece.”
“I don’t feel a thing, least of all regret. My blood must be all Belgrano.”
It was no easy thing to cross Francisco Belgrano. One thing was certain: he was not repentant for any of his past mistakes. And nothing with him was as it seemed. Oh, I am so wrong. He is still the despicable caitiff he has always been.
Chapter Ten
Roman had to listen as Joaquin gleefully recounted all he’d heard in the short time they’d been at Las Colinas. Things Joaquin thought Roman already knew.
“Will you and Señora Forrester and Antonio move here instead of staying at Las Colinas? I am sure Commodore Hightower would stay at the estates, but what with Señora Forrester’s uncle in residence, I can hardly think that would be comfortable for either of them. What would such a man do? No home? Though who would credit the king giving him a pardon? He must have bribed the man—er, the king—into handing over such a paper. It’s the only thing that makes sense. The monarchy always needs money after a war.”
“When did you become an expert on the Spanish Crown?” Roman could deal with the whirlwind of information Joaquin imparted—that was his forte. However, he was most attuned to the danger presented by Francisco Belgrano. He stacked the turbulent emotion of his reunion with Shelene and the news of his son neatly away, in a place where he could keep them alone and protected. Belgrano would certainly use them to hurt Roman, if he thought Roman cared even one small bit.
Roman could see his error clearly now. Marriage was a mistake for a man like him. His enemies were everywhere.
“I thought we were talking about Señora Forrester and your son?”
It wasn’t that he had a son, it was that Shelene had said nothing about him. If Shelene had told him about her uncle and about their son, he would have acted immediately. Now he was two miles away and Belgrano had time to plan.
That purposeful omission told him more about Shelene’s state than anything he had seen or heard. She knew Roman’s low opinion of Belgrano.
“Joaquin,” he said, in a tone that Joaquin knew well, having traveled together so long.
“Yes, mi’lord.”
“First, while we are in Spain, you must call me Señor Forrester, not my lord.”
“Yes, mi’lord.”
Roman shook his head. “Take the luggage inside then stable the horse. There are numerous rooms in the house, though I haven’t a clue where you will find a bed among them. Just make yourself at home. There is probably food in a pantry. Use your nose.”
“Mama sent food with me. There is plenty for both of us.”
“Thank you but I have a few things I must take care of. Good night, Joaquin.”
“Señor Forrester?”
“Yes?”
“I’m really happy we made it back home.”
Roman clapped him on the back. “As am I, and I have you to thank. We’ll talk tomorrow about your position here.”
After Joaquin set about his task, Roman strolled to the drystone wall along the property, at the edge of the small cliff overlooking Shelene’s valley and hills. The quarter-moon shined a silver light on the buildings and some other outcroppings.
He had a son! Antonio.
His own father was named Anthony. But he didn’t expect Shelene was going to run into his arms just because she’d been thoughtful about giving his son a family name.
He pushed away from the wall, listening to the sounds of the night. He heard Joaquin in the lonely barn, singing to the horse while he fed and rubbed the creature down.
There was a spring at the back of the house, which hopefully had been converted into the Roman-style bath and fountains he’d instructed in the plans. The water was one of the reasons he’d been so interested in this property, along with its proximity to the Hightowers and Las Colinas. Just a piece of land and a hope, then.
Exhaustion weighed his shoulders, but he didn’t know how he was going to sleep. Once inside the house, he found the first large room, comfortable and cool. There were a few candles lit, so he followed the faint beam and found the kitchen. Mrs. Spencer sa
t at the table with Oliver, a bounty of food between them.
“I thought you would be asleep, especially you, Oliver.”
“Believe it or not, I am feeling much the new man. Why are you here? I thought you would be at Las Colinas. With…with Shelene.” Roman would send for a doctor tomorrow. Oliver was healing, but Roman wanted to make sure he had the best care before returning to London.
“A few problems which you will hear about forthwith. Where did the food come from?” he asked. The kitchen was large, with a block table and twelve chairs. There was a generous arch that led outdoors to an open, generous portico. Roman glanced outside to see the massive outdoor fireplace, spits and bread ovens all covered by an elegant, soaring wood roof but with several open walls.
“It seems you have had a full staff for months since your wife returned. They were happy to have someone to spoil,” Oliver said.
“Good, good.” So, his letter had reached Mr. Fisk, Roman’s solicitor in Cadiz. While Roman hadn’t been specific in his needs, Fisk was his usual efficient self and realized what it meant that Roman was married and that Shelene was living at Las Colinas.
Before Roman could join them at the table, there was a commotion outside, and Joaquin burst through the door, followed by Dewey and Rousseau. Dewey was still tucking his shirt into his trousers.
“You’re a damned sight for these old eyes, León,” Dewey said. They called him Lion now and again, a term of affection more than anything.
“We didn’t believe it for a minute. Not when the words were coming from the mouth of that worm Belgrano,” Rousseau added.
“Waving a piece of paper and a-claimin’ it was a pardon from the king. I knows a lie when I hears one,” Dewey said.
“Sit. Eat with us. There’s plenty for all,” Roman said. He introduced everyone and they sat down at the table.
“Begad! You found your brother!” Dewey said.
“And Commodore Hightower. Which brings me back to you two. Why aren’t you with Shelene, since you knew Belgrano was back in Spain?” Roman asked. He wanted to be angry and a bit stern about it, but he was too relieved knowing everyone on this side of the Atlantic was at the very least, well and happy.