24. Chapter 24
Chapter twenty-four
Porto, Portugal
“A nd still, you do not tell what has happened?” Senhor Noronha lodged his hands at his hips, pacing in agitation. “I cannot accept my daughter back into my home and keep her husband from her for no reason!”
Amália crossed her arms and lifted her chin. “My reasons are my own, Father. I have shown you what he did; let that be sufficient.”
“I cannot, Amália! Vasconcelos—both of them, in fact, father and son—have been at my door multiple times, proclaiming his innocence and your own deplorable lack of regard for your husband. Miguel even claims that you sustained the bruise to your cheek when he tried to push you off him after you flew into a temper! How am I to know the truth?”
Amália turned her incensed gaze toward her pacing father. “He claimed what?” She laughed outright at the utter idiocy of the suggestion. “And you thought it even vaguely plausible? Father, have you never known me at all?”
Noronha whirled. “I have, Amália, and that is what causes me to question your words.”
Her features froze, her eyes hard. “You wish me not to dishonour my husband? Then do not insist that I tell you more than I already have, for I assure you, you would find it slanderous.”
Her father raged about the room, sputtering in fury. “A woman cannot simply leave her husband without cause! He can force you to return, and I can do nothing about it!”
“Ruy would stand as witness for me,” she insisted. “He knows what happened.” She leveled an icy gaze at her father. “ All of it.”
“Ruy has been sent back to his regiment!”
Her eyebrows arched. “At Senhor Vasconcelos’ request, I understand.”
“He is the governor. He is not without his rights, and just now he has sufficient reason to wish all officers to be at their duty!”
A sly twinge fluttered about her lips, but she quickly dismissed it. “If Senhor Vasconcelos is distressed of late, it seems that a wayward daughter-in-law ought to be the least of his concerns. He has experienced some sudden misfortune in his business ventures, has he not?”
Her father peered carefully at her. “There has been… an unforeseen obstacle. You must know, daughter, that the timing of your defection has caused him some marked unease.”
“He cannot suspect a woman of such intrigue!” she protested. “If he suspects anyone of betrayal, he ought instead to look to his son. It would not surprise me if my husband’s temper were the result of some other affairs turning out badly.” She gazed evenly back at her father, arms still crossed and one brow quirked in challenge.
Senhor Noronha narrowed his eyes and strode close. “You do not fool me, Amália,” he whispered harshly. “What have you done?”
“What was right, Father,” she retorted flatly. “What you ought to have done before, but you are too much the coward to defy Senhor Vasconcelos.”
He spun away, snatching locks of his own thinning hair through his fingers as he howled in frustration. “Amália! You meddle in affairs far beyond your understanding! Do you know in what danger you have placed us all? Can you even imagine what will happen to you when Vasconcelos learns what you have done?”
She pursed her lips. “And you wished me to return to my husband’s house!”
He spun about. “I cannot protect you even in my own house, if Vasconcelos discovers your involvement. You do not know how dangerous, how long his reach—”
“Long enough to pluck a wealthy Englishman from his own land and lead anyone concerned for him to think him dead?” she observed drily. “I have an inkling, Father. Frankly, I do not care any longer. He may do to me as he likes.”
“You are so free with your own life! Hear you nothing I have said?”
Amália slammed her fists down on the wooden arms of her chair and shot to her feet. “ You hear nothing I have said! I would take the veil rather than go back to Miguel! I should never have married him, even to please you, for the man is a beast and a scoundrel! Because of him, I have flung away my life already!”
“Amália, come back!” Noronha cried, but he was too late. His daughter stormed from the room, slamming the door behind herself like a petulant child.
She ran then, down the long corridors of her youth, past the maids who had watched her grow and dressed her in her bridal array. Outdoors she sped, not slowing until she reached the garden behind the house and had flung herself down at the feet of the naked rosebushes. Great sobs racked her, and she rose up to press her fists to her forehead, heaving her torment aloud to the stoic greenery.
She would not return to Miguel, though it cost her life! He had stolen enough from her already; she would not give him more years, and she certainly had no intention of giving him children. A son or daughter, for a man such as he! Her chest burst in a rancorous cry of loathing. Never! She shook her fists to the heavens and shrieked her contempt aloud. Not for him! she swore in incoherent cries.
“Pardon me, senhorita, is something the matter?” a gentle voice interrupted.
Amália’s jaw dropped in stunned disbelief. That voice! A chill washed through her, and she closed her eyes, then opened them again. Slowly she turned to her left, to that secret gate in the garden wall to which only a few had ever gained access.
He was standing there, resplendent in his red uniform, a hesitant smile warming his handsome face. Amália stood dumbly, her limbs shaking incredulously. Her lips formed his name, but she did not dare speak it aloud for fear that he would vanish.
His brow clouded at her genuine distress, and he extended a hand, his voice husky. “What is it, Amália? I cannot bear to see you cry, minha flor .”
An unrestrained wail broke in her throat, and when she drew breath once more, it sounded as a helpless cry, then shuddered out again as a sob. “R-Richard!”
Whether it was she who ran into his arms or the opposite, she would never remember. She only knew that in the next instant, her cheek was pressed to his chest, his strong arms wound tightly about her. She shook and trembled, the tears pouring from her as she babbled his name, over and over, begging him not to disappear.
He nuzzled kisses into her hair, his hands stroking up her back, and that voice she knew so well soothed gently into her ears. “What troubles you, my sweet buttercup? Tell me what miscreant has made you cry, so that I may run him through!”
Her heart sank with the weight of lead as her stomach churned nauseatingly. She drew back slightly. How could she tell him all? That she was married, that her husband was responsible for… for everything!
“Amália?” his brow clouded in dismay, and he began to loosen his arms. “I know it has been a long time, but are you so displeased to see me after all?”
She shook her head vigorously. “No, Richard! It is not that. There is much… so much to say, I cannot—”
She had been brushing the tears from her eyes with her left hand, but stopped when she beheld his horrified countenance. Her gaze followed his and struck on the band about her finger. She swallowed.
Richard fell away, pulling back his arms. His voice, a moment later, was strangely tight. “Forgive me, madam. I did not know.”
“Please, Richard!” she cried, reaching again for his hand. “It is not as it appears!”
He drew his hand back from her. “Is it not?” he rasped. He turned away, and she could see his jaw working as he bowed his head. A moment later he gave a rueful laugh. “What a fool I am! To think that after all this time, I would find you again just as I left you—that you would be sitting here under a glass dome like the eternal rose I made you out to be! As though time should stand still in my absence!”
He turned slowly back, holding himself aloof. “Do you love him, Amália? Tell me you do, and I shall leave you forever in peace.”
Her lips parted. She blinked, a rivulet of sorrow spilling from her lashes.
His mouth puckered in restrained fury, and she watched his fists clench and unclench. “I see,” he answered, the softness of his voice belying the rage she could see sparking in his eyes. He stepped near, and lifted a hand with whitened knuckles. He hesitated, meeting her eyes, and then extended his fingers to touch the last remnants of the fading bruise on her cheek. “And this?” he asked lowly.
She lowered her gaze. “A mistake,” she whispered.
“A mistake!” he bellowed in outrage. “You accept the blame for… for this ? The Amália I knew would never have done so!”
“My marriage was the mistake,” she corrected. “Had I my wits about me, I would have run away to England aboard a cargo ship!”
He froze, dropping his hand. “Then why did you not?”
This time, it was she who turned away. “You know the reasons,” she choked. “We spoke often of this, no? Had there been a way for us, any way at all, I would have! I had no choice, Richard, just as you did not.”
He made no reply for a long while, but stood helplessly behind her back as she fought against the tears streaming down her cheeks.
“I suppose,” he answered brokenly after some minutes, “you might wonder why I should come back now, after so long.”
“No,” she murmured. “I know why.” She turned back, her eyes once more sparkling with unconscious brilliance. “He was here.”
Richard’s entire body convulsed, and he reached to clasp her hand in desperation. “My cousin? Darcy! You knew of him? He is alive?”
A smile at last shimmered on her face. “He is alive, and on his way to England aboard a ship. We released him on Tuesday night, but he would have only sailed yesterday.”
“Darcy!” his fingers clenched painfully over hers, so transported by joy that he did not notice her discomfort. “Egad, and I spent five days sniffing about the docks and back streets of Porto for information before daring to come here! To think that I scarcely missed him. Darcy, alive, and on his way home! But how did you know about him? Is he well? What happened? Why was he brought here, and how was he released?”
She shook her head sadly. “Much I do not know, but my husband was involved. That is how I came to find him; he was hidden in my house.”
His fingers stroked hers, parting and caressing them gently as if in a trance. “You found him?” he rumbled. “It was you who freed him? I might have known, my brave girl!”
“And Ruy. He said we oughtn’t to involve ourselves, that it was too dangerous, but that he owed it to you. It was he who arranged for your cousin’s travel.”
“I must thank him! Where is he, inside? I wonder what he has learned!”
“No, Richard, he has gone. He was recalled to his regiment only two days after. It was quite unexpected. We thought he had leave for another month.”
He frowned. “Recalled? Who gave the order?”
“General Lecor, of the cavalry, of course, under General Cotton. He was recalled to Lisbon, and told to ready for a march to the front in Spain. Oh, Richard, I am so afraid for him!”
“Tell me,” he glanced toward the house, “Has your… your husband any friends among the commanding officers? Someone who might, perhaps, have owed him a favour?”
“I think it is my father-in-law who does. He is the governor of Porto, you know, and he has just come from Braga. I do not know what business he has there, but he goes often.”
“I think,” he mused, “I must find your brother. Firstly, though…” he grimaced painfully, licked his lips, and nearly strangled on his next words. “Tell me more about your marriage.”