Pirates of Britannia Box Set

by Devlin, Barbara

  The governor rang a small handbell on his desk. “My vice-governor will escort you and your daughter to our guest chambers and provide whatever you need, Felíx. I am hosting a reception this evening and there’ll be time enough to continue our discussions. It will be your chance to reunite with your brother, Capitán Velázquez.”

  Santiago was relieved he wasn’t expected to remain in the castillo. He needed time aboard the Santa María to think on what he would say to the brother who had inherited what should have been his birthright.

  He brushed a kiss on Valentina’s knuckles, bowed to his host and took his leave.

  Reception

  Valentina soaked in the blessedly hot water a servant had poured into an impressive cast iron tub, listening to Clara chatter as she washed her hair. Preoccupied with the news Emilio was in La Habana, she wasn’t really paying attention.

  Santiago had confided the whole story of his flight from Spain and she knew how much his family meant to him. Hopefully, Emilio would be glad to see his older brother.

  “I have no siblings,” she muttered out loud without realizing it.

  “Qué?” Clara asked.

  She improvised. “I was only thinking how much I am looking forward to meeting Señor Velázquez.”

  “And Señora Manuela will be glad to see you again. She has fretted about you since her arrival.”

  Valentina felt guilty. She ought to have sought out her dueña sooner, but there would no doubt be an argument regarding Santiago.

  Clara helped rub her body dry.

  It felt good to be clean again and she brightened further at the sight of several gowns and new undergarments laid out on the bed. “Where did these come from?”

  Clara shrugged. “The British governor’s wife had all kinds of clothing made, but she hardly wore any of it—complained it was too Spanish. Hah!”

  Valentina allowed Clara to assist her with the undergarments and chose a red silk gown for the evening, anticipating Santiago’s reaction.

  Clara fastened the buttons and cinched the fabric in at the waist. “Just a little too big. I’ll fix that quickly.”

  They both startled when Manuela burst into the chamber.

  Valentina smiled and opened her arms.

  “You can’t wear that,” her dueña declared. “It’s much too low in the front. And red!”

  Clara laughed, earning a scowl from Manuela, who ordered her out of the chamber.

  “I’m happy to see you too,” Valentina said, aware of a shift in her relationship with the older woman. She no longer needed a chaperone to take care of her. She had Santiago. “But Clara stays. She’s going to sew my gown.”

  Manuela huffed, but didn’t argue. It was as if she too sensed things had changed. “Your father tells me you’re to be married,” she said after long, silent minutes. “You won’t need a dueña any longer.”

  “No, but I know you care about me. I’ll always appreciate your advice, especially as we begin a new life in Cuba. We’ll bloom together where God has planted us.”

  Manuela almost allowed a smile to flit across her face, and her body relaxed visibly. “Fanciful notion,” she remarked, coming closer to inspect Clara’s stitches.

  Valentina chuckled inwardly. Alessandro would have deemed Manuela’s predictable reaction amusing.

  Santiago recalled the last time his first mate had watched him inspect the fit of his finest coat in front of this selfsame mirror.

  “No feather on this occasion?” Christian quipped.

  Santiago smirked. “My goal isn’t to attract attention.”

  “Perhaps a top hat?”

  “No, definitely not. Too British. How do I look?”

  “Like a man about to meet a long-lost brother, but unsure of his reception.”

  “Not to mention being denounced by any number of people present as a pirate.”

  “Señora Montserrat?”

  “Having received word her husband is dead, she should go into deep mourning, but she might be vindictive enough to attend in order to destroy Valentina’s happiness.”

  “The dueña?”

  Santiago rolled his eyes. “Perhaps it would be better if I don’t go.”

  “I never took you for a coward, my friend.”

  Christian was right. Emilio would wonder about his absence if he failed to appear. There might never be another chance to reunite with his brother. He wanted his family to meet Valentina. He shouldn’t leave her to face the first social gathering of their new life alone. He and his intended bride belonged among the nobility.

  He straightened the tricorn, toying with the idea of adding the feather for courage. He decided against it when his grinning friend shook his head. “Wish me luck.”

  “I look forward to hearing all about it,” Christian replied.

  Santiago made his way from his cabin to the dock, where he encountered the marines who’d escorted him from the castillo. Their wide-eyed surprise assured him he’d successfully transformed from a travel-worn sea-dog to an impeccably dressed nobleman.

  Christian and the rest of the crew had expressed no concerns about what would happen to them in Cuba. Exposure to possible arrest in La Habana was an enormous risk. They trusted him to make the right decisions that would result in a new beginning, not only for himself, but for them.

  He prayed silently that he would be equal to the task.

  As they stood in line outside the reception hall, waiting to be announced, Manuela fussed and clucked about the red dress.

  Valentina didn’t care, preoccupied that Santiago hadn’t yet appeared.

  However, she was elated when her father said, “Calmate, Manuela. Be proud that your little Valentina has grown into a beautiful young woman.”

  She almost laughed out loud at her dueña’s open-mouthed astonishment when he added, “Perhaps it’s time you abandoned your widow’s weeds and wore brighter colors.”

  Manuela’s spluttering retort was cut short when her father handed his card to the footman and they were announced.

  “His Excellency Don Felíx Melchor de Alcobendas y Guadarrama, by the grace of His Sacred Majesty King Carlos, Governor of La Florida,” the bewigged footman intoned. “Lady Valentina Melchor de Alcobendas y Guadarrama, and Señora Manuela Campo.”

  The loud chatter in the crowded hall ceased as every head turned to the entryway. Valentina held her breath, determined to enter with head held high. If these Cuban Spaniards decided to censure her father for the loss of La Florida, she wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of appearing cowed.

  She breathed again when the applause began and soon grew to a crescendo.

  Ambrosio took her father’s elbow and introduced him to a flock of men clamoring to shake his hand.

  Feeling somewhat abandoned, Valentina scanned the hall, amused by the errant thought that Santiago’s feather wouldn’t be long enough to tickle the high vaulted ceiling. She peered into alcoves for a glimpse of a man who bore any resemblance to Santiago. But what would she say if she came face to face with Emilio Velázquez?

  Hello, I’m madly in love with your brother and I hope he arrives soon.

  She was grateful when Manuela linked arms with her. “Come, we must present ourselves to the ladies.”

  Her heart did a strange flutter as they approached the bevy of noblewomen, all fanning their faces in a leisurely manner totally unlike Ivanna Luna’s affected antics. For a moment, she was transported back to the suffocatingly strict code of court life in Madrid. The widows were easily identifiable, clad from head to toe in black; the other women wore subdued colors. Some gaped in amazement at her red gown. It appeared the less formal atmosphere of the tropics hadn’t yet touched the female members of the Cuban gentry.

  She supposed she shouldn’t be overly judgmental. These ladies had persevered through two years of British occupation, a notion that resurrected unpleasant memories of Maitland.

  If things were the same here as in Spain, her reception into Cuban society would depend on the
actions of the dominant female—the leader of the pack.

  It came as an enormous relief when a smiling young woman stepped forward to greet her with a kiss on each cheek. “Welcome, Lady Valentina,” she said. “I am Lady Elena de Funes, Governor Ambrosio’s daughter.”

  Reunion

  Sitting in a comfortable armchair shielded from the hubbub of conversation by the pillar of a secluded alcove, Emilio Velázquez crossed one leg over the other.

  His elderly companions, all high-ranking Cuban businessmen, assumed he was listening to their chatter about trade, but in truth he was making a valiant attempt to calm the arousal brought on by watching Lady Elena.

  They’d fallen head over heels in love when he’d visited Madrid, and been heartbroken by the separation necessitated by her father’s appointment.

  After a fortnight of pacing his office in Sevilla, he’d made the decision to sail to Cuba, ostensibly on business, and ask for her hand in marriage.

  The governor had been favorable to his proposal and planned to announce their betrothal this very evening.

  However, things had suddenly become more complicated. He’d stared in disbelief when Elena’s father told him of his brother’s arrival in La Habana. Last he’d heard of Santiago, he was plundering ships on the Spanish Main, a wanted man.

  Now he was apparently a respectable sea captain—a hero, according to the rumors circulating, who was betrothed to the daughter of La Florida’s former governor.

  Santiago wouldn’t be happy to come face to face with the younger brother who’d taken over the shipping company that should have been his inheritance, especially when he learned of Salomé’s fall from grace.

  Ambrosio de Funes might not look so favorably on Emilio’s suit for Elena if he was relegated to second-in-command, that is if he was allowed to stay on at the company at all.

  He smiled when, true to her loving nature, Elena greeted the stunningly beautiful woman who was to wed his brother, but his gut tightened when a figure he recognized appeared in the entryway and handed his card to the footman.

  Fidgeting with his tricorn as he waited for the footman to announce him, Santiago drew courage from a glimpse of Valentina. Deep in conversation with another young woman, she bloomed like a vibrant red rose in an otherwise unremarkable garden.

  “Capitán Santiago Fernando Velázquez de Vallirana y La Granada.”

  Much depended on what happened next, but his feet seemed fixed to the tiled floor.

  He scanned the curious faces turned in his direction. Did they know of Salomé’s accusations? Were they aware of his marauding escapades? Had they been told about the Letter of Marque, the sunken treasure, his role in the rescue? How was he to convince them of his honor, of his…

  A thousand thoughts swirled in his head, but uncertainty fled when Valentina hurried towards him, her companion in tow.

  “Lady Elena, may I present my betrothed, Santiago Velázquez. Elena is Ambrosio’s daughter, Santi,” she explained.

  Santiago bowed and reached for Elena’s hand, delighted Valentina had already made an important friend. He was taken aback when Elena stood on tiptoe and pecked a kiss on his cheek.

  “You are Emilio’s brother,” she said with a broad smile. “I can certainly see the resemblance.”

  “You are acquainted with him?” he asked, surprised by her deep blush. He’d wager Emilio and Elena were more than acquaintances.

  “Sí,” she replied, “he’s…”

  She stopped abruptly and looked up at the young man who’d come to stand bedside her.

  Past resentments, worries, and recriminations flew away like chaff on the wind. What mattered was the beloved brother Santiago thought he’d lost forever. “Mi hermano,” he rasped, opening his arms.

  He feared his heart might burst when Emilio came willingly into his embrace. No words were needed as they thumped each other on the back, rejoicing in their reunion.

  Valentina struggled to control her tears as she watched the heart-rending reunion.

  Curious onlookers smiled broadly when Elena explained they were brothers who hadn’t seen each other for years. It was a circumstance many of them were no doubt familiar with, the separation from family and friends in Spain made all the more difficult by the recently ended war.

  Santiago and Emilio finally broke apart, gripped each other’s shoulders, laughed, then embraced again.

  Elena fought back tears as she stroked Emilio’s back. “He talks of nothing else but his long-lost brother.”

  This familiarity seemed to surprise no one, except Manuela who stood nearby, scowling. It became clear to Valentina that Emilio and Elena must be betrothed.

  Governor Ambrosio arrived, beaming a big smile. “Bueno,” he exclaimed. “You’ve found each other.”

  Her father joined them, a look on his face that she recognized—ever the diplomat, cautious, weighing the pros and cons of what was happening.

  “My baby brother has grown into a fine young man,” Santiago said hoarsely, taking Valentina’s hand.

  The joy on his face touched her heart, but she saw an unusual flicker of uncertainty in his brown eyes.

  A flurry of excited introductions ensued, the brothers laughing again when they discovered both were betrothed.

  “Well, unofficially,” Elena explained.

  “We were planning to make the announcement this evening,” Emilio added, the same hint of uncertainty in his voice.

  “Sí,” de Funes confirmed, looking equally unsure of what was afoot.

  It was evident Elena loved Emilio; Valentina didn’t want the reunion to cause a postponement of their happy event. “You brothers have many things to discuss,” she said, hoping Santiago wouldn’t resent her interference. “Perhaps after the announcement.”

  He frowned briefly, but then squeezed her hand and smiled. “Valentina is right. We have intruded. This evening is for you, hermanito, and your beautiful Elena.”

  “No,” Emilio replied. “We need to talk now.”

  Strict Formalities

  De Funes ushered Santiago and his brother into his office, assured them they could stay as long as was necessary, and left.

  “I suppose you’re surprised to see me,” Santiago began, his voice hoarse. He and Emilio had always been close, but his brother was no longer a youth obligated to show respect to an older sibling.

  “I admit the circumstances are not what I expected,” Emilio allowed. “I feared I’d eventually receive word you’d been hanged for piracy.”

  Santiago grimaced. “I would have dangled at the end of a noose if not for Melchor.”

  He bade Emilio sit in an overstuffed armchair and paced like a restless cat as he told the tale of life after his banishment, omitting nothing except the existence of the treasure.

  Emilio moved to the edge of the chair. “I need to tell you something.”

  Santiago folded his arms and braced his legs, sensing he wasn’t going to like whatever came next.

  “A year after you fled Spain to avoid arrest, Salomé recanted.”

  A swell of emotion swamped Santiago. His exile could have been over years ago. He need never have become a pirate. “Recanted?”

  “She withdrew the accusations against you. The Suprema eventually declared your innocence after subjecting her to a lengthy interrogation.”

  Santiago had to sit before his knees gave out. Every Spaniard knew of the methods the Inquisitors used to interrogate witnesses. “What became of her?”

  “The shame was too much for her parents. Her father banished her to a nunnery.”

  Santiago clenched his jaw. “They might as well have sentenced her to death.”

  Emilio got to his feet. “Then justice would have been satisfied,” he said, his voice choked with emotion. “Papa never recovered from the ordeal. He wore himself out leaving no stone to prove she had lied.”

  Santiago closed his eyes, conjuring an image of his beloved father in happier days. “I only heard about his death months afterwards.
”

  Emilio stood ramrod straight, fists clenched. “This means you can now return to Spain and take over the company. It’s your right.”

  Santiago looked up sharply. He might have known his brother would act honorably. “That’s not what I want.”

  Emilio frowned. “You intend to remain a pirate?”

  Santiago laughed. “No, that life has become much too dangerous, and Valentina deserves to be married to a man of standing. I want to be involved in the family company, but in Cuba and the Caribbean.” He took a chance. “I have money to invest in expanding your influence here.”

  Emilio raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Money?”

  “Spanish gold.”

  Emilio tapped his chin, a gleam in his eye. “I see.”

  Half an hour later, having each smoked one of Ambrosio’s excellent cigars, they emerged from their discussions, satisfied they’d laid the groundwork for the company’s future expansion in the New World.

  “Congratulations, by the way,” Santiago said, putting an arm around his brother’s shoulders. “Elena is a beautiful woman.”

  Emilio came to an abrupt halt. “What do you say to a double wedding?”

  Valentina’s instinct was to hurry to Santiago’s side when he and his brother reappeared in the hall. However, if they were to carve out a place for themselves in La Habana, it was incumbent upon her to start behaving like the well-bred noblewoman she was.

  Like Elena.

  She suspected Ambrosio’s daughter itched to rush to Emilio, but she waited, showing no outward sign of agitation as she chatted with the ladies gathered around them.

  Valentina knew she’d made the right decision when the perpetual censure left Manuela’s face.

  She tamped down the urge to touch Santiago when he and his brother reached them, reassured by their obvious camaraderie and the faint, sweet aroma of tobacco. Discussions must have gone reasonably well if they’d smoked cigars together.