“Dear God, Athena!” His face was white. “I don’t know if it will ever be possible to make up for such abuse, but give me the chance to try!”
She sighed wearily. “I don’t doubt your sincerity, but you haven’t thought this out. Do you want to hold a ball or a dinner party in London and have the guests refuse to attend so they won’t have to be under the same roof with Lady Whore’s Daughter? Do you want to have people cluck their tongues and feel pity for you because it’s a shame that such a nice, well-liked man married a scheming woman who must be as big a slut as her mother? Do you want to have to fight duels to defend my name? Or worse, believe that rumors of my profligate behavior might be true? Do you want your children shadowed by their grandmother’s wicked reputation?”
His gaze was anguished, but he didn’t look away. “You paint a bleak picture. It couldn’t possibly be that bad. Memories are short, and once people get to know you, they’ll forget the old scandals. I’m willing to take the risk of social disapproval.”
“That’s a credit to your good heart if not your good sense.” She peeled the spattered drops of cool wax from her hand. “You’ve never been the target of such hating and disdain and you underestimate how hurtful it is. Since I know, I will not allow you to take on such a burden.” The wax was peeled away, leaving angry red marks. Raising her gaze to him, she said, “We should be only the most distant of friends, my lord. You can have any woman you want, so find one who fits you and your life, and . . . and be happy.”
Unable to bear any more, she bolted into her room. As she closed the door behind her, he said in a low, anguished voice, “You’re wrong. Obviously, I can’t have any girl I want.”
His words were a knife slash to her heart. She closed and locked the door with shaking hands, then leaned against the heavy wood panels as she fought tears. She wished she believed that together they could build a good life. But when he wasn’t holding her, all the slights and insults of her past sprang to stinging life.
Will might not mind that she was a bastard. But everyone around him would.
Chapter 18
Stunned, Will stared at Athena’s door. He didn’t have to hear the bolt snapping into place to recognize finality. They’d been enjoying each other’s company so much till tonight, and now a few words had changed everything.
He’d never felt so helpless in his life. Mind reeling, he returned to the family sitting room. Sofia had tactfully withdrawn, leaving Justin. When Will entered the room, his friend asked, “Bad?”
“I asked Athena to marry me.” He drew a shaky breath. “Apparently, the lady would rather see me in Hades.”
Justin lifted a bottle and poured a generous measure into a goblet. “I think you need some of the local brandy, which is quite fine.” He handed the glass to Will. “I don’t know any of the details, but Miss Markham was clearly shocked at the knowledge that you’re a peer of the realm.”
“An understatement.” Will sank into the sofa, then accepted the brandy and swallowed deeply. The kick of alcohol steadied his nerves. “I was a damned fool to propose marriage when she was in a state of shock.”
“She seemed to like you well enough until I made the mistake of revealing your grand origins.” Justin frowned over his brandy. “I’m sorry. It never occurred to me that she didn’t know your rank.”
Will sighed. “You couldn’t have known. Though I recognized that she wasn’t fond of the aristocracy, I didn’t deliberately keep my title secret. Being Lord Masterson has had very little to do with my life in recent years.”
“Most women would be delighted to have a rich, titled gentleman interested in them, but obviously there is more going on here,” Justin said gently. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Will needed to talk, and Justin was clear-sighted as well as a good listener. Swirling the brandy absently, Will debated how much he could say without violating Athena’s privacy. “Athena is illegitimate. Her mother was a daughter of one of the grander aristocrats, but she chose a life of wanton scandal. She lived as a courtesan to the great and powerful and apparently chose to have an illegitimate child as a companion.”
“Good heavens, Lady Delilah Markham?” Justin said, startled. “I didn’t know she had a daughter.”
Will’s brows arched. “You knew Lady Delilah?”
“I never met her, but I once saw her at a distance in Porto. She was dazzling, the kind of woman a man stares at, and then tries desperately to learn who she is. I’ve heard any number of stories. She was said to be as wild as she was beautiful and charming. Now that I think of it, I vaguely recall that she had a very visible affair with one of the Gabrileño royals. The king?”
“No, Prince Alfonso.” Since Justin knew the general facts of Delilah’s life, Will added, “That was the basis of Athena’s connection with San Gabriel.”
“Who is her father?”
“A grand lord who was revolted by her very existence and supported her on the condition she never reveal who he was. After her mother died, Athena was entirely alone and her father had her sent to a vicious, bloody-minded school, presumably to have the wildness stamped out of her.”
Justin whistled softly. “I begin to understand why she isn’t fond of lords. Do you know her father’s name?”
“If I did, I’d be tempted to find the wretch and break a few bones,” Will said dryly. “Other than that, it doesn’t matter to me what her bloodlines are. We just realized that we first met during the bridge of boats disaster in Porto five years ago. She was in the midst of saving a child from drowning, and almost drowning herself. She is who she is, and that’s enough for me.”
“I knew you were there, but it’s remarkable that she was also!” Justin exclaimed. “Did she get caught in the middle of the battle on her way to San Gabriel?”
“Exactly. She was collecting Princess Maria Sofia, who was at a convent school in Porto. When the French invaded, she was instrumental in getting the nuns and students to safety. That’s when I met her. Then she escorted the princess and another Gabrileña girl home. She’s lived here ever since, but would like to go home to England. In some way that no one will notice her.”
“Intrepid woman! Well suited to you,” Justin said. “She reminds me of someone, but I can’t place the resemblance. Maybe it will come to me.”
“She’s sometimes called Lady Athena here as a title of respect. She has earned that respect, just as I earned the right to be called Major Masterson. Being called Lord Masterson is just a superficial accident of birth,” Will said with exasperation. “Unlike actually having money, which can be useful. But if peerage titles matter, I did offer her one. She thinks there is an impassable gap between us. I don’t.”
“Do you intend to give up on winning her over?”
“Of course not. You know how stubborn I can be. Athena is . . .” Will shook his head. He’d cared greatly for her already, and the honor and vulnerability she’d shown tonight had made him care even more. “I’ve never met her equal. I’m not leaving San Gabriel till I’ve fulfilled my obligations here. That should give Athena time to recover from her shock and realize that I’m not on some bloody unreachable pedestal.”
Justin poured himself more brandy. “But you are on a pedestal, though not an unreachable one.”
“I don’t care that she’s illegitimate!” Will said explosively. “How can I get her to believe me?”
“She may believe that you don’t care, but she has reason to believe that everyone else does.” Justin shook his head. “You’re as fair-minded and tolerant a man as I’ve ever met, but you were born to privilege. You always knew that someday you’d be Lord Masterson. As a fish in the sea doesn’t recognize the water he swims in, I don’t think you’re fully aware of just how privileged you are.”
“Athena said something similar,” Will admitted. “I know that I’ve been fortunate, but that doesn’t make me special in any way that matters. I’m legitimate and Mac isn’t, but he’s much brighter and more popular than I, and he’s ma
de a fortune by his own efforts. He’s never lacked for confidence.”
“I think Mackenzie learned early how to fake confidence well, probably to compensate for the bar sinister. Have you ever talked to him about the difference between your legitimacy and his lack of it?”
Surprised, Will said, “That was never necessary because it wasn’t important.”
“Not to you, but I’d wager anything you like that the difference mattered to Mac.” Justin’s brow furrowed. “Most of our classmates at the Westerfield Academy were as privileged as you. I was the only one in the first class who wasn’t an aristocrat. Ashton was a duke at age ten, you and Kirkland and Wyndham always knew you would inherit titles, Randall inherited a substantial estate and is in line to inherit an earldom. None of you had easy childhoods, but you were all raised swaddled in privilege.”
Will frowned at Justin. “Were you made to feel inferior? I wouldn’t have thought so, but obviously I’m not very observant.”
Justin grinned. “I’m a Scot. Why would I give a damn about the opinions of a bunch of Sassenach? That said, Lady Agnes created an egalitarian atmosphere at the school so there was little bullying or snobbishness.”
“The Westerfield Academy is for boys of good birth and bad behavior, so how did you end up there?” Will asked, curious. “I know the reasons why our other classmates were sent, but not yours. You always seemed to get on very well with your parents.”
“I did and do. I was incredibly fortunate to have them as parents. I attended Westerfield because of crass opportunism,” Justin said promptly. “My father liked that the school was founded by a duke’s daughter and thought it would be good for the business if I went to school with ‘a pack of aristocratic brats,’ as he put it. I wasn’t keen on the idea at first, but he promised that if I hated the place, he’d send me somewhere else. But I liked my classmates, adored Lady Agnes, and settled in quite happily.”
“Your father wasn’t wrong,” Will said with a flicker of humor. “The whole pack of us aristocratic brats now drink Ballard port.”
“The friendships are real. The excellent port is a bonus.” Justin poured more brandy in their glasses. “I wonder. When Miss Markham told you about her illegitimacy and her notorious mother, did you have to tamp down an initial spurt of revulsion?”
“Not even for an instant.” What Will had felt was profound tenderness. “I want to protect her from every wretched person who’s ever hurt her.”
“Not the sort of relationship to abandon lightly,” Justin said. “For what it’s worth, I think your plan of quietly waiting until Miss Markham has time to get used to the idea that you’re a peer is reasonable. I have no better suggestions.”
“I’m not giving up easily, but she’s as stubborn as I am.” Will laughed suddenly. “One of many reasons I like her.”
Justin raised his glass. “A toast to your success! From what I know of the lady, I think she’ll suit you very well. Plus, the two of you look splendid together!”
Will clinked his glass against Justin’s. “I hope I can persuade her as well as I’ve persuaded you.”
After they’d both drunk to that, Justin said a little wistfully, “Because your feelings seem to be mutual, I think you have a good chance of winning her hand and heart. I rather envy that. At least you have hope.”
It wasn’t hard to interpret his words. “You and the princess both looked lightning-struck when you met.”
Justin smiled wryly. “That’s a good description. One look and I felt as if I was falling off a cliff. But there’s no hope for anything more than respectful admiration. She’s likely to become queen, which means she must make a significant marriage that will benefit San Gabriel. No Scottish merchants need apply. And, of course, she’s very young. By the time she’s of marriageable age, she’ll have long forgotten me.”
“She’s not as young as she looks,” Will said. “She’s almost twenty-four. Under Gabrileño law, she can take the throne at age twenty-five.”
“So she’s a young woman, not a girl,” Justin said, startled. “Not that that changes anything. The gap between a royal and a foreign wine merchant is far vaster than the distance between you and Miss Markham.”
Will poured more brandy into their glasses. “True. So let’s make a toast to miracles!”
Justin laughed and complied. “To miracles!”
Will had experienced one or two miracles in his time. Now he must hope for one more.
Chapter 19
A princess should be ladylike, poised, and gracious. She should also be intelligent, compassionate, and have good judgment. Never arrogant, but always aware of her rank and responsibilities. In short, being a princess took serious effort.
But despite all the responsibilities, a girl could still dream.
Sofia stole a quick sideways glance at the man riding beside her. Justin Ballard had visited her dreams the night before, and she hadn’t been entirely ladylike with him. Her mouth curved in an involuntary smile.
Justin’s multiple facets enchanted her. Though British, he looked and spoke like a native of Portugal. She’d already seen that he could talk easily to anyone of any rank, a trait he shared with his friend Major Masterson. Though his manner was relaxed, she didn’t have to ask if Justin was successful in his business because confidence was a bone-deep part of him. She’d never met a man like him.
And, of course, he was strikingly attractive. The incredible blue eyes set in his tanned Portuguese face were perceptive, as well as reflecting humor and intelligence. Those eyes made her want to swoon like a schoolgirl.
Proper princesses certainly did not swoon over pretty eyes and a fine pair of shoulders, but she was allowed private appreciation.
The day had started at foggy dawn as she and Justin and Señor da Cunha, the royal wine master, had examined the newly arrived vine cuttings. Nodding approval, the wine master had selected what was needed in the royal vineyards and had sent the cuttings off to be planted under the supervision of his chief overseer.
Then Sofia, Justin, and Señor da Cunha had set out with a short train of mules carrying the remaining cuttings to be distributed as needed. As they rode down the valley, the rising sun burned off the mists, revealing San Gabriel at its loveliest.
Bubbling with delight for the day, Sofia urged her horse into a canter up the hill ahead. At the top, she halted and made a sweeping, theatrical gesture that encompassed the whole valley. “Behold my land!”
Below, the river curved through the valley, and stacked on the steep, sloping hills were the quintas, the ancient vineyards that were the heart and soul of Gabrileño wine country. The owners lived and worked in the centuries-old stone farmsteads above the dramatically stepped terraces.
Justin pulled up beside her, his practiced gaze surveying the terraces and the many gaps in the rows of vines. “Beautiful. Very like the upper Douro Valley.” He shook his head. “It was sacrilege for the French to destroy so many vines.”
“Very shortsighted for a people who like wine almost as much as Gabrileños do,” Señor da Cunha agreed as he joined them. “Yet there have been vines here since before the Romans came. The two or three years until we return to full productivity are the merest blink of time compared to that.”
“So I hope,” Sofia agreed. “But I am impatient!”
“The young always are,” the wine master said indulgently. He glanced back at the lazily-plodding pack mules that carried the baskets of cuttings under the supervision of half a dozen newly arrived Portuguese laborers. “Pack mules are slow and good for developing patience, so I will leave them to you while I ride ahead to Señor Carnota’s quinta. He can send his sons to bring men from the neighboring quintas.”
“Very good, Señor da Cunha,” Sofia said courteously.
As the wine master cantered toward the long, low buildings ahead, Justin said in English, “I expect he really wants to tell them about me, foreign wine shipper that I am, and to assure them that I am not totally ignorant about wine.”
“He knows his business.” The road entered the Carnota vineyard and Justin reined in his horse and dismounted. As the pack mules ambled by incuriously, he knelt and took a large pinch of soil and tasted it.
Sofia halted, intrigued by his action. “What does the soil taste like?”
“Hard to describe.” He stood and brushed off his hands, then unhooked the canteen from his saddle and rinsed his mouth out. “Sharpish. Very like the soils of the upper Douro Valley, though there’s a difference I can’t define that makes Gabrileño wines so excellent.”
She nodded. “‘Terroir.’ Señor da Cunha says that’s the French term for the soil and climate and rain and everything else that makes the wine of a place unique.”
“Exactly. The same is true for things like cheese, as well, and meat and fruit and other products of the earth.” He gave her a warm, mischievous smile. “Would you like a taste?”
Sofia blinked. But farmers tasted soil with some regularity, and she’d never heard that anyone died of it. “Yes, please.” She pulled off one glove.
Justin bent for another pinch and dropped it in the center of her palm. His fingertips brushed her bare skin, and it was like the snap of electricity sometimes felt in winter after walking across a carpet. But . . . nicer. Repressing the thought to consider later, she cautiously touched her tongue to the soil.
“As you say, sharpish,” she said thoughtfully. “I’ve not tasted soil elsewhere, so I’ve nothing to compare it to, but I shall remember that this is the taste of Douro wine country. The taste of San Gabriel.”
“You’re a very intrepid princess,” he said as he remounted his horse.
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