Sebastian laughed, his eyes widening as if he was surprised at her words, but he fetched her a fresh glass of punch and they strolled around the edge of the crowd. Mary carefully sipped at her punch and studied the people around her, Portuguese courtiers and English friends of her father, but she was always warmly aware of the man who walked beside her. When she peeked up at him, she found him smiling down at her, as if he, too, felt the exotic loveliness of the day. She gave him a tentative smile in return.
‘Is your father not here today, Miss Manning?’ he asked.
Mary shook her head. ‘He said he wanted to work at our lodgings today and I confess I was glad when he decided not to journey out of the city. I fear he has been working too hard lately.’
Sebastian nodded thoughtfully. ‘Sir William is the most diligent of the English party, certainly, and his wisdom and experience have been most helpful to me. I hope he is not feeling unwell?’
‘He says not, that I fuss over him too much and he is probably right.’ Mary laughed at herself. ‘I am always pressing cups of tea and shawls on him, poor Father. But it has been only the two of us for so long.’
‘Anyone can see how much you care about each other,’ he said and Mary thought she heard a small note of sadness deep in his voice. But when she studied him closer, he smiled again, chasing away the quick shadow in his eyes. ‘I will join you in keeping careful watch on him. Perhaps he would let me help him in his work sometimes.’
‘I would much appreciate any help you could give him, Lord Sebastian. I do think the warm sun has done him much good.’ They stopped near an open doorway in the pavilion and Mary found herself gazing out at the sea beyond. ‘And who would not? It is so beautiful here, sometimes I think it is a dream.’
‘This is indeed a dream,’ he said quietly and she looked up to find he watched not the blue-green waves, but her own face. She felt her cheeks turn warm and looked away.
She wandered on to the sand, spread just beyond the party with carpets, but stretching beyond in a warm, white-gold sweep towards the waves. ‘I did read much about Brazil on the journey, but I could not have imagined this. When I was a little girl, my mother read me a fairy story set in a tower by the sea in France and I think I envisioned it rather like this. I was very disappointed when I finally saw it and found it grey and cold! My mother would have loved this.’
‘Do you remember much of your mother?’
‘Not as much as I wish I did, of course. She was beautiful and always full of laughter. She would sing to me and hold me in her arms as we danced across the nursery! I don’t think she ever thought I would even see her home of Portugal, let alone Brazil. What was your mother like?’
‘My mother?’ he said and sounded surprised.
Mary laughed. ‘Yes. Surely even the lovely Lord Sebastian Barrett had a mother!’
‘Of course I did. Do,’ he said ruefully. ‘But I don’t think she is much like your mother. She has always been very quiet. She mostly listens while my father talks. And talks.’
Mary thought of the little her father had told her about Sebastian’s father, who had long worked in the same diplomatic circles as her own family. A perceptive man in his work, her father had once said. A credit to his name. But perhaps not as perceptive as he could be in other ways?
Not as perceptive as a parent? Mary felt a pang of sadness, but his brilliant smile wouldn’t let her feel sorry for him.
‘I think this sight would make even my father be quiet for a moment!’ he said and Mary laughed as he ran into the frothing edge of the surf as it broke up on the sand. ‘It’s warmer than a bath.’
Mary laughed again, and as the light beamed down on her, warm and golden and pure, she felt her heart lift just a bit. ‘You will ruin your fine shoes!’
‘It’s worth it! Come, Miss Manning, wade in just a bit closer.’
She tiptoed just a tiny bit nearer the water, the music of its rush in and out a glorious symphony that blended with his laughter. He caught her hand in his and twirled her around, just like those dances she remembered from her childhood. It was wonderfully giddy and she closed her eyes for a moment to let it all swirl around her.
When she opened her eyes, she looked up at him, laughing, and found he smiled down at her. For an instant, she longed to lean closer to him, to touch his lips with hers, the past burned away in the sunshine, and he stared down at her intently.
‘Mary! What are you doing? Your gown will be ruined,’ she heard Teresa call and it was like a tiny shard of ice in the heat of the sun.
She drew back from Sebastian and turned to see Teresa and Luis waiting for her in the doorway of the pavilion. Teresa was laughing, too, but Luis looked far more solemn than Mary had ever seen him. Why would he care if she was laughing with Sebastian, wandering too near the waves?
But they did remind her of where she was, who she was. And who Sebastian was.
She gave him a quick curtsy and hurried back to the party. Yet she was sure she could still feel his hand on hers and smell the flowers on the salty sea breeze.
Chapter Seventeen
‘Are you perchance going to the Countess de Graumont’s reception today, Lord Sebastian?’
Sebastian turned in the palace doorway, surprised to hear Sir William Manning speak to him. Sir William was always pleasant when they met, always willing to impart advice, but he was also very polite, somewhat distant, as if his thoughts were always far away.
Sebastian could see now what Mary had worried about, for Sir William did look rather tired. It had been an exhausting journey, frustrating to try to corral Prince Joao’s indecisiveness. But Sir William’s smile was friendly, open—much like Mary’s.
‘I am indeed, Sir William,’ he answered. He hurried back to Sir William’s side so they could make their way out of the palace together, the cool shadows of the whitewashed building blending into the heat of the morning. ‘I am sure we deserve some diversion after the meetings today.’
Sir William laughed ruefully. ‘The Prince can be difficult to keep to the topic, can he not? England got him here; now I suppose we must keep him happy in his new kingdom.’
‘I am not sure a party where his wife will be present would accomplish that.’
Sir William grimaced. ‘That is much too true, I fear. But at the moment we have little choice—he does insist on going to the countess’s reception. Come, Lord Sebastian, will you walk with me for a moment? I feel the need to stretch my legs.’
‘Of course, Sir William.’
They made their way into the plaza outside the temporary royal palace. Local women in their white blouses and bright skirts did their washing in the fountain, while children chased past, shrieking happily in the pretty morning light. A group of nuns hurried past, like a flock of ravens in the colour and light, as the bells of the cathedral rang out the hour.
As Sebastian looked around, he remembered the masked ball, the exotic blend of darkness and light in the night where he had held and kissed Mary.
‘I must confess, I was not entirely sure of your fitness for a job like this, not at first,’ Sir William said, quietly, affably, almost as if he talked to himself.
Sebastian looked at him in surprise and found Sir William smiling faintly at him. ‘I suppose not. I have been with the Foreign Office for little time, compared to my father and my late brother.’
‘And when last we were both in London, you were known as something of a rogue, I fear. An Army hero, to be sure, but rather rackety. Not someone I would want my daughter talking to very much, perhaps. Once I did have hopes she might marry your brother, but then I came to see they would not suit. Lord Henry was much too methodical and pragmatic for my daughter. But you are doing very well in your brother’s profession, I must admit.’
Sebastian nodded, remembering how Henry and his father had praised Sir William’s work in the past. He fel
t foolish for forgetting how long Sir William had been a diplomat; how much he must see without words. But he also wanted this man to know how he had changed. It seemed very important. ‘It was a few years ago. I fear I had not yet found my way.’
Sir William watched him steadily, still with that small smile on his face. ‘My father was also a diplomat and I confess that until I married my Maria and was given my first posting on my own, I had a hard time finding my own talent as well. I hope you feel you have now. You have performed most admirably on this strange journey of ours, Lord Sebastian. You have a cool head, a sense of rightness—those are important attributes in this work.’
‘I do hope you are right,’ Sebastian said, most gratified by Sir William’s words. If he could earn this man’s respect, maybe it was even possible to earn Mary’s in the end. ‘And perhaps, one day, I could be a man your daughter would wish to talk to?’
Sir William laughed. ‘Mary has a stubborn heart sometimes, just as her mother did. She has a sense of how things should be, a goodness, just as you do. I fear she worries about me too much and I worry my work has kept her from living the life any young lady deserves. We have moved from city to city so much she has not had much time for things like friends and dancing. She will have to be persuaded carefully to give her heart to the right person in the end.’
‘Miss Manning would be a great prize for anyone,’ Sebastian said carefully.
‘Indeed she would. Well, Lord Sebastian, this is my lodgings. I am glad we had time for a small talk. I shall see you at the reception, yes?’
Sebastian glanced up at the house whose doorstep they had landed on, a tall, narrow whitewashed dwelling with a red-tiled roof and black shutters. He wondered if Mary watched from behind one of those windows.
‘Of course, Sir William,’ he answered. ‘I look forward to it.’
‘But maybe you look forward to seeing my daughter more, eh?’ Sir William’s laughter faded into the warm breeze as he made his way into the house.
Sebastian had to laugh, too. Yes, he much looked forward to seeing Mary again. And, what was more, he had sudden hope she looked forward to seeing him, as well.
* * *
The Countess de Graumont’s villa near the beach had once belonged to a lieutenant of the colonial governor, Mary had heard, and he had given it up to one of Doña Carlota’s favourite ladies-in-waiting. Mary could definitely see why the countess had coveted the place. It was not large, but it was exquisitely beautiful, shimmering white in the moonlight, with long terraces lined with open windows to let in the ocean breezes, lit up like a Chinese lantern in the night. Just beyond the curving drive and the length of pale sand, Mary could see the breaking white waves on one side and the rise of the dark hills on the other. In the darkness, she couldn’t see the caves she and Teresa had driven past, but the hills seemed to watch their revels in ancient silence.
Her father helped her from their carriage at the foot of the marble front steps and she took his arm as he led her into the house, past the rows of flickering torches and the footmen in the countess’s velvet livery, despite the warmth of the night.
Inside the ballroom, everything was as sparkling as it would have been at a courtly night in Lisbon. The men in their dark evening clothes and the ladies in their satin gowns swirled around to the strains of an orchestra, while the royal couple looked on from a gallery above. It seemed everyone was most determined nothing would change, despite the strangeness of their new home.
‘I must meet with Mr Warren and some of his friends, my dear,’ her father said, his face distant and distracted, just as it had been ever since they arrived in Brazil. ‘Will you be all right on your own for a time?’
‘Of course, Papa,’ Mary answered. ‘I will find Teresa and have a good gossip. But are you sure you are quite all right? Should you not eat something before you work? You had hardly anything at dinner.’
He gave her a smile, but she could see the strain underneath. ‘I am very well, Mary, I promise. I won’t be long.’ He quickly kissed her cheek and disappeared into the crowd.
Mary flicked open her lace fan and studied the gathering around her. She glimpsed Teresa in the gallery with the Princess and waved at her. Teresa pulled an agonised face, which was quickly concealed behind a smile as Doña Carlota turned to her. Mary laughed and made her way towards the refreshment tables laid out near the windows of the terrace.
Would Sebastian be there that night? She had wondered that too many times since their kiss at the masked ball. She went up on tiptoe and glimpsed him on the dance floor, his blonde waltz partner laughing up at him. He smiled down at her and they were swallowed up in the swirling figures of the dance.
Mary turned away, reaching for a glass of wine from a passing footman’s tray. It should not matter at all to her whom he danced with; it did not matter. Yet she could feel the warmth in her cheeks.
Teresa and a group of other chattering, laughing ladies-in-waiting were in the corner and Mary hurried over to join them. In their stream of gossip, she could almost forget about Sebastian—until she turned and saw him walking towards her across the room.
She swallowed hard and just tried to keep smiling, all too conscious of the other ladies watching him.
‘Miss Manning,’ he said with a bow. ‘Would you do me the honour of dancing with me?’
Dancing? Mary smiled back, but she feared she could not remember any dance steps at all. Not when he was looking at her. But years of being dignified in foreign courts stood her in good stead now and she managed not to collapse into girlish giggles.
‘I thought I would not dance this evening, Lord Sebastian,’ she answered. ‘But perhaps a turn about the room?’
He nodded and offered her his arm. They moved away from the other ladies and Mary could feel them watching. ‘I think—I may need a breath of fresh of air,’ she whispered.
‘I quite agree with you,’ he said with a laugh. ‘Perhaps a small glimpse of the beach? It is quite beautiful in the moonlight.’
Mary nodded and slipped with him out of the half-open doors to the night beyond.
The sea under the moonlight was quite magical. Mary was captured by the sight of it, unlike anything she had seen before coming to Brazil. And Sebastian by her side made it all even more dreamlike.
She glanced up at him, at the elegant angles of his face limned by the moonlight. She thought of the rather vivacious lady who had been hanging on to his arm when she first saw him in the ballroom. Perhaps she herself did not have a flirtatious laugh or large, batting eyes, but surely she and Sebastian did share one very important thing—a concern for the British mission in Brazil. Surely they could speak the same language if they tried?
And then there had been that kiss at the masked ball...
Mary drew in a deep breath and turned away to look at the water again. She didn’t dare let him know that she thought far too often about that kiss and the way it had swept her away like those very waves.
‘Are you quite well this evening, Miss Manning?’ he asked, his voice so deep and warm it seemed to touch her physically, brushing over her skin like the warm ocean breeze. ‘I fear the royal contingent has been keeping rather late nights.’
She almost laughed at his careful words. ‘Are you asking if I am rested after the midnight masked ball?’ she said. ‘Indeed. A good night’s sleep and a strong pot of tea can do wonders, I have found.’
He laughed ruefully. ‘Did you sleep well, then?’
‘Hardly at all, I confess. I had such dreams...’
‘Dreams of masked figures in the darkness?’
Dreams of him, of course, but she would not say that aloud. ‘I hardly remember. I do wonder why the Portuguese don’t make every ball a masked ball. It would give them so much to gossip about. Royal courts do seem to enjoy gossip above all else.’ She thought of what Teresa had whispered ab
out on their carriage ride, secrets that every courtier held in such a divided royal family. ‘Perhaps that is all they have to occupy them here, so far anyway.’
‘But not us, of course,’ Sebastian said teasingly. ‘We English are above gossip.’
Mary laughed. Of course they were not above gossip—that seemed to be the best way she had always had of helping her father, listening to what ladies said in drawing rooms. But the chatter here confused her more than anything.
Sebastian held out his arm again, and she slipped her gloved hand into the crook of his elbow. His arm felt so strong, so warm under her touch. He led her in a slow stroll along the beach, past a few other couples who had ventured out into the flower-scented night.
‘Perhaps I do indulge in a bit of frivolous conversation now and then,’ she said.
‘You? Miss Mary Manning? Never!’
‘Sadly true,’ Mary said with a sigh. ‘So often there is not much else for us ladies to do at diplomatic postings.’
‘And what do you whisper about?’
Men like you, of course, she almost said. ‘Oh, many things. Fashion, of course. Hats, fans and shoes. Aren’t all ladies interested in that, no matter where they are?’
Sebastian shook his head. She could feel him watching her, his eyes very serious, as if they could see too much. She kept her own gaze on the ocean. ‘Some ladies, perhaps. But not you. You cannot fool me, Miss Manning.’
She hoped she could fool him, at least some of the time. Or all her years of diplomatic training had been wasted.
And he really couldn’t be allowed to know that she was—horrors!—beginning to like him again.
There. She had admitted it, at least to herself. She looked forward far too much to moments like this, when she saw him again, when she could talk to him, feel his touch.
‘Well, we do sometimes talk about hats,’ she said. ‘But sometimes of other things. Surely you have learned by now that, in the diplomatic world, the most interesting things can be learned in the most seemingly innocuous conversations?’
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