Royall sensed Mrs. Quince’s dismay over the loss of life, and recalled Sebastian telling her of Mrs. Quince’s long struggle to improve the natives’ living conditions. She also recognized the woman’s hostility toward the Baron and his indifference to the slaves.
The parrot suddenly set up a furious squawking. “The Baron is a nitwit. The Baron is a nitwit.” Mrs. Quince laughed uproariously. Royall joined her as the great, beaked bird flew from its soft perch.
“As you can see, he’s heard it so many times, he picked it up. When the Baron is here, I have to hide him in the shed,” she said, wiping her eyes on the hem of her skirt.
Sebastian Rivera rode from the Quince plantation as though the hounds of hell were on his heels. He cursed himself for his lack of control, for giving into his passions. And that’s what his feelings were toward this Royall Banner, this golden-skinned woman from the north. Of all the bad luck, to run into her and Carl Newsome at Rosalie’s house. The thought of Royall and Carl together brought his mouth down in a frown. Everything had seemed innocent enough ... yet, he didn’t want to see Alicia hurt. Sebastian was well aware of the relationship between Carl and Alicia, and although he didn’t entirely approve of the girl’s choice, he wished her well. She’d need all the luck in the world if she married Carl and went to live on the Reino Brazilia with the Baron.
Sebastian had known Alicia since she was a little girl, and he’d always enjoyed doing business with Leslie Stanhope, her father. He’d been shocked to hear that Stanhope had shot himself when his business was lost, and something in his gut told him the Baron was at the bottom of it. The Baron and Reino.
Aware of Alicia’s circumstances, Sebastian had tried several times to help her through her financial difficulties. The estate left to her was penniless, and there were staggering debts besides. But Alicia, being proud as well as pretty, was confident that she would soon be married to Carl and her problems would be over. For her sake, he hoped she was right.
Unbidden, his thoughts returned again to Royall. Just another pretty face, he told himself. All golden and soft. She wouldn’t last long in this torturous climate before picking up her skirts and hightailing it back for New England. He shook his head angrily as he spurred the horse forward. Memories of long, delicate fingers and creamy golden skin flashed before him. Damn her, damn her! She didn’t know what work was! Senora Royall Banner was from a wealthy family who had servants like his own mother, to wait on her hand and foot.
The thought of his mother made him grit his teeth. She’d labored all her life just to keep him with her, and that was the deepest love Sebastian could ever know. He tried, unsuccessfully, to set aside all memory of his dubious parentage. A man was a man and what he made of himself. That was something that that finely bred American woman with the golden hair would never appreciate. Proper lineage, proper parentage, would be all-important to her. If she knew he was a bastard, she’d no doubt ignore him and cast him from her society. Yet, there was a small, niggling doubt. She’d certainly been earthy and worldly in Rio de Janeiro when she’d cried out for his lovemaking and seared his body with her own burning kisses. And then on the riverboat when he’d believed she was Rosalie’s guest. She was so sweet, so gentle ... Damn him, he’d even thought he was in love with her. Royall Banner was part owner in the Reino, he reminded himself harshly, remembering the old adage of birds of a feather. He punctuated his disgust by biting the lip off a fresh cheroot and forcefully spitting it out.
A thought came to him. Last evening at dinner, Rosalie had told Alonzo of Royall’s share in Reino Brazilia. Well, he, Sebastian, would just sit back and wait to see if she took a hand in management. He knew he could depend on Rosalie to explain the conditions at the Reino. Then and only then would he see the stuff Royall Banner was made of.
Muscular thighs gripped the sides of his horse, and he spurred the animal forward. He wanted to ride, fast, too fast to think.
It was time, he told himself, for a trip into Manaus and the sloe-eyed beauty he kept in residence at his townhouse. He smiled to himself when he thought of the coming evening and the pleasure it would hold for him.
Back at the Quince plantation, Carl joined Royall and Mrs. Quince on the veranda and contributed to the conversation about the coming opera season and the festivities.
“Royall, I must have a party for you when we’re in Manaus. I insist you stay with Alonzo and myself. Leave the men to their own devices in Manaus and say you’ll stay with me. We can have the party for you right there in Manaus while everyone is in town. What do you think, Carl?”
“I think that’s a very good idea. I’m certain Royall would much rather spend the days with you than wait at home for the Baron and myself to finish business.” Carl’s mind was racing. Bless Rosalie Quince for suggesting Royall stay with her while in Manaus. At least he’d be able to find the opportunity to see Alicia and spend some time alone with her. His father’s plan of having him marry Royall was just that, as far as Carl was concerned. All he needed was to go through the motions and wait for the right opportunity to make his father change his mind. He was sure of it. He had to be, because facing a life without Alicia was like facing a long, dark eternity where there was no light.
The rest of the day passed quietly. With the matter of the party settled in favor of the townhouse, talk ranged from parties to plantation life and the servants, Indians, and blacks. Mrs. Quince cautioned Carl again to warn the Baron on the living conditions of the Indians. And she asked whether the Baron had decided about the children. Would he return them to their parents at the Rivera plantation?
Carl shook his head and said the Baron wouldn’t part with the girls.
Royall looked from one to the other. “The children will be returned to their parents,” she stated quietly and firmly. “I won’t have that on my conscience.” Mrs. Quince and Carl stared at her in surprise. Approval replaced the look of surprise on Mrs. Quince’s face. Royall waited expectantly for some comment from Carl. None was made. Instead, Mrs. Quince announced an early tea. She knew the young people wanted to leave in order to arrive home before dark.
Royall’s thanks for the lovely visit were effusive. Carl was more formal and more quiet than usual.
On the ride back to the Reino, Royall had the feeling that he wanted to say something but didn’t know how. Bluntly, she asked him what was troubling him.
“Royall, I don’t think you should have made such a rash statement about sending the little girls back to their families. The Baron runs the plantation, and he’d never tolerate your interference. A woman has no say in the running of the plantation.”
“Even if the woman owns half of said plantation?” Royall asked coldly.
Carl stammered as he again tried to persuade her to let the matter drop.
“Carl, I mean to see that the conditions of the Indians and the blacks are made livable and tolerable. I couldn’t live with myself and take my living from their suffering. I don’t see how you, as a man, can condone it. Evidently, the other plantation owners don’t do this, and they still show a profit and survive.”
“It’s the Baron’s way, and so far he’s been successful. I wouldn’t interfere if I were you,” he said quietly.
“Well, I’m not you, and I do mean to take a hand,” Royall said sharply.
Carl let the matter rest, and the remainder of the trip passed in silence. Royall’s thoughts were of Sebastian, and Carl’s were of Alicia and his love for her.
Chapter Eight
Royall dressed hurriedly and fidgeted while Moriah brushed her hair. She wanted to speak to the Baron before dinner, before her determination flagged. She wanted the matter of the girls settled and to arrange for an accounting of her holdings. Feeling nervous and a bit light-headed, she knew the meeting would not go well, as Carl, in his own way, had tried to warn her. Still, she had to try. Her father would have expected it of her. She demanded it of herself.
She waved the little girls away and lightly dusted her cheeks with rice
powder. Playfully, she put a dab on each of the little girls’ faces. They giggled as they looked at each other.
Quickly, Royall left the room. The sooner she faced the Baron, the sooner it would be over.
She entered the library just as Carl was announcing they had had a pleasant outing.
Royall tightened the muscles in her body. She walked over to the Baron and said, “May I speak to you, sir? I feel it is a matter of some importance.” The Baron looked at the beautiful, golden girl in front of him and smiled.
“My dear, you sound so serious. What could make you this serious on such a beautiful evening?”
She felt her determination weaken before the hard, glittering gray eyes. His presence commanded her full attention. She lowered her attention from his compelling gaze and focused on his square, clean jaw and neatly trimmed moustache. She could feel him tensing, waiting. At her hesitation he studied her, admiring the stylish green watered silk gown that displayed her femininely sloping shoulders.
She was about to speak when he licked his lower lip, his eyes straying to her bosom. He reminded Royall of the old tomcat the cook had kept in her spotless kitchen. The old tom would lick his lips just that way when the cook was about to pour him a saucer of cream. Only the tom’s glittering green eyes would betray his excitement as he slowly and deliberately licked his whiskered chin.
Royall plunged ahead. “I’ve heard rumors today about the sick Indians. Is this true? Are we threatened with yellow jack?”
“My dear,” the Baron said, concern on his face, “Rosalie must have been inventing tales. There are several Indians who ‘say’ they’re ill,” he said, wagging a finger in the air. “I’m sure they’re contemplating a rebellion of some sort. There have been vague threats that have reached my ears the past several days.”
“But what of the living conditions? I’ve heard they’re deplorable.”
The Baron puffed out his cheeks in outrage. “Who tells you these lies? Answer me,” he demanded.
Royall stood her ground firmly. “I heard it at Mrs. Quince’s plantation. The lady herself spoke of it.”
“I’ll wager she got her information from her neighbor to the north,” the Baron replied, his mouth tight.
So, he already knew of meeting Sebastian at Mrs. Quince’s. Evidently Carl had reported the details of their visit.
“Sebastian Rivera was there, yes. He no more than said hello and then good-bye. Mrs. Quince told me that once before yellow jack broke out on Reino and it spread to the other plantations and many lives were lost.”
The Baron snapped his fingers; the sound hung heavy in the still air. “One cannot concern oneself with the insignificance of slaves.”
Royall felt a rage rise in her chest, but she fought to control it. She couldn’t afford to lose her temper now. “Are you telling me, sir, that there is no fever here at Reino Brazilia?”
“But of course, my dear. That is exactly what I’m telling you. There’s no need for you to concern yourself with the management of the plantation. You and your father have for many years lived luxuriously and comfortably from the Reino Brazilia, and your father never once questioned my methods. The details are much too complex for you to even begin to understand.”
“Sir, are you insinuating that I’m not capable of handling my own affairs, and that I wouldn’t understand them if I tried?”
The Baron smiled coolly. “No, my dear. However, I feel that it’s not something for you to concern yourself with. I’ll run the Reino the same as I always have. Let this be the end of the discussion,” he said abruptly.
Royall was still her father’s daughter. “One moment, sir. There are several other things I wish to discuss.” She trembled at the audacity she had shown. Squaring her shoulders, she faced him head on. “There is the matter of the children. I want to know why they aren’t with their parents on Regalo Verdad.”
“The children remain here. They’re part of a debt owed to me by their parents.” His speech was smooth, but a muscle in his cheek had begun to jump. Royall knew he was angry. So be it; so was she!
“It’s my understanding that Sebastian Rivera has offered to buy the girls for any price you named.”
“There’s no need to discuss the matter, and, my dear, I want you never to mention the name of Sebastian Rivera in Casa Grande again.”
Royall felt herself flush. She looked at Jamie, who was watching her. He appeared upset. He was rubbing his thumb and fingers together nervously and was trying to catch his father’s eye. The Baron ignored him and continued to stare at Royall.
“I repeat. The children are not for sale and never will be. Is that clear?” he asked in a dangerous voice.
Chagrin, humiliation, and defeat ran up Royall’s spine. Again, she looked at Jamie. He was now relaxed, his fingers still. Surely he didn’t enjoy her humiliation, or was he suddenly relieved that the little girls would remain at the Reino?
Refusing to give up, Royall ignored the flush that traversed her body and said brazenly, “I trust, sir, that I can depend on an accounting of my share of the plantation before the opera opens”
There was a determined edge in her quiet voice. She gathered up the bottom of the gown and advanced to the dining room at Elena’s entrance to announce dinner. She didn’t wait for one of the men to escort her. She was mistress of this plantation and she would do as she pleased. She looked into the dark eyes of the housekeeper and could not fathom the expression—admiration or hate? She carried herself regally and stood by the chair, waiting for Jamie to seat her.
Dinner was a dismal affair. The Baron had struck a note of fear within her, and the ominous phrases in her father’s ledger swam before her eyes. Carl tried his best to make lively table conversation, but his heart obviously was not in it. Jamie told them about a new order he had placed for five soldiers from England. They were to be made expressly for him and would arrive with the next sailing.
Royall picked at the food and answered when spoken to. She felt like a schoolgirl who had been reprimanded.
The Baron chewed his food slowly and methodically and concentrated on the slim girl opposite him. What did this chit of a girl know? How dare she order him about! Actually, order was too strong a word. It was all Sebastian Rivera’s doing. He knew the man was behind all the questions and the innuendos.
The girl was probably smitten with Rivera, just as many women appeared to be. Royall Banner was going to be trouble; he could feel it in his bones. If Carl didn’t take interest, soon the plantation would suffer. As he chewed, he contemplated the accounting Royall had requested. There was no way he could refuse. To do so would be illegal and make him look less a man. He looked at the girl coldly and was revolted by all she stood for. He hated her in that. moment as much as he hated Sebastian Rivera; both were a threat to Reino Brazilia, his kingdom in Brazil. And that was exactly what he had made it: his kingdom, where he was king and ruled supreme. Royall looked up into the Baron’s cold, hate-filled expression. She felt her innards tremble and didn’t hear the question Jamie asked her.
The Baron repeated the question for her benefit. For the life of her, she didn’t know what he said. She nodded and asked to be excused, pleading a headache. The three men watched her exit, concern on their faces, concern for three different reasons.
As Royall passed the Baron’s chair she suppressed an urge to scream like Bartholomo had, “The Baron is a nitwit; the Baron is a nitwit!” Once she reached the hall, she raced on light feet to her room. Passing Elena in the hall, she didn’t stop to give her a second look. Once in her room Royall flung herself on the chaise and let the humiliation wash over her. Just because she was a woman, the Baron considered her incompetent. More than that, she was sick with herself. She should have stood her ground, forced the issue, badgered the imperious Baron and the devil take the hindmost.
A knock sounded on the door, and Royall bade the caller to enter. It was Jamie, a frown on his face. “Does this mean you won’t play the spinet this evening?” he asked
wistfully.
“Not tonight, Jamie. My head aches too much.” In truth, her head had begun to throb like a drum.
“Couldn’t you take something? I’ve waited all day for this evening, just waited for you to play,” he almost shouted, then immediately gained control of himself. “I’m sorry,” he said, “that was foolish of me. I love music.”
At the moment Royall couldn’t have cared less. She waited for him to leave. Evidently he had something else to say. She waited.
“Aren’t you happy that the girls are to remain here to take care of you?” He looked so concerned that she nodded. Anything so that he would leave. Royall closed her eyes in pain as he quietly left the room.
When the headache disappeared she would again get out the packet of her father’s papers and read, and she would understand them if it took her till morning. Once the decision was made, she dropped into an uneasy sleep. The girls awoke her later in the evening and helped her dress for bed. She climbed between the crisp, cool sheets, her resolution postponed till the morrow.
Downstairs the Baron was having a heated discussion with Carl. “I want no more foolishness with the girl Alicia. Didn’t I tell you to put her out of your mind? She’s penniless. We don’t need a pauper added to this family.”
“But, father, how do you cut love out of your heart?” Carl pleaded. The Baron looked at his son and his lip curled in distaste. He knew the boy would botch the job.
“You must do it. I am your father and I command you to obey me.” Carl nodded, his eyes wretched with the task before him. “The chit wants an accounting. Did you hear her? And what am I to do? I warn you, Carl. If you haven’t succeeded, I’ll take other measures. Which brings me to another matter. You won’t be going to Manaus for the opening of the opera. There are affairs that need attention in Belém. I’m making the arrangements in the morning. So, you’d better get busy and convince that little interloper she wants to marry you. Going to Belém can be your wedding trip.” The Baron threw back his head and laughed, a dry, nasty sound. How easy it was to arrange other’s lives. With Carl in Belém the poor fool would never know that his precious Alicia was ensconced in the Newsome townhouse, bed partner to his own father. And once he did discover who had become Alicia Stanhope’s protector, it would be too late; he’d already be married to Royall Banner.
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