Two trumpet players and more guitarists came out to the stage. Diners pushed their tables and chairs to the sides of the room, opening up a wide area in the center, near the stage. As the musicians struck up a lively tune, couples formed a circle and began to dance. Nick and Zach had scooted their table farther back and watched, alongside Harriet.
“Ranchos Folclóricos,” Father Miguel said, pausing on another pass around the room. “This folk dance is vira. Turn dance.”
The quick three-step pattern of the dance made Nick think back to the waltz he’d shared with Harriet when they first met in London. They’d danced only the one time. What had she been wearing? He remembered mostly that she had blended in, looking demure and unremarkable. Drab, even, especially compared to Lady Slavin.
He would never make that mistake again.
There were more men than women, which did not deter the dancers. Having a partner of the opposite gender was superfluous for most of the dances. The participants stood in a circle, arms raised above their shoulders, snapping their fingers, as they each turned in a tight circle before the circle as a whole moved to the right and they turned again. The music was lively, as joyous as the fado had been mournful and full of longing. And infectious. Nick noticed Harriet’s knee bouncing as her heel kept time with the music, her eyes sparkling with joy in the candlelight as she watched the dancing.
The song ended. Some dancers sat down while others got up, and the circle was forming again. Nick was about to ask Harriet if she wanted to dance when Zach stood, pulling Harriet’s hand with him, and tugged her out to the circle. Not about to be outmaneuvered or left out, Nick joined the circle on Harriet’s other side.
The music started. She looked from Zach to him, a broad grin on her face, raised her hands, and began to dance the vira.
Given her masculine attire, he couldn’t hold her in his arms for a waltz or for the later dances that were for couples. But he could share the pleasure of this moment with her.
Laughter bubbled up from her as they moved to the music. Nick felt buoyed up by her high spirits, his feet barely touching the ground, lighter in spirit than before he’d inherited the title, before his mother’s confession.
The three of them sat out the fandango and other dances for couples. Some of the patrons put on their coats and left, and Nick noted how much time had passed. “We’re getting up early to ride back to the ship tomorrow,” he said to Zach, loud enough to make himself heard over the music. “Are you spending the winter on the Continent, or do you want to come back to England with us?”
Zach drained his glass and slammed it on the table. “I’m in love, lad! Of course I want a lift home!”
Nick felt his mouth fall open, and before he could ask for clarification, Zach grabbed Harriet’s hand again and led her, both of them laughing, to open spots on the dance floor.
Nick sat there, stunned. What the devil was Zach talking about? He loved cards and drink and beautiful mistresses, in that order. He’d never married. He’d been known to abruptly cast aside a mistress when the whim struck him to travel, to attend a horse race or boxing tournament. He’d often said he liked the freedom to go where he wanted, when he wanted, without having to consider other people. He couldn’t possibly have designs on Harriet, after barely a day’s acquaintance.
Several songs later the crowd dwindled farther, long before a London or even country assembly would break up, but many of these were farmers who had to tend animals and fields in the morning. And Nick and his party had a long ride back to the ship in Porto tomorrow. They needed an early start, too. The longer he stayed in the dining room, the more tempted he was to sample more of the vintages. And the more he wanted to dance with Harriet in his arms. And he wanted Zach to not be able to dance and laugh with her.
Father Miguel refused to allow them to pay for their meal. Jasper was waiting at the bottom of the stairs in the house to escort them up to their rooms and see to any last-minute needs for the night.
Nick stood in the doorway of his room, looking at the bed he’d sleep in alone, then glanced down the hall. Harriet had paused in her doorway as well. Even in the flickering shadows of the hall sconces, he saw her cheeks flush when she glanced toward him. Was she also remembering how it felt to hold each other last night, to sleep in each other’s arms? Wondering what it would feel like to caress bare skin, to pleasure one another?
Zach came back into the hall to light a candle from the wall sconce, saw them both, and made a great show of stretching and loudly yawning as he went back into his room and firmly shut the door.
Harriet ducked her head and gave Nick a little wave before she went into her room and shut the door.
Ah, well. At least this room had a warm fire going and no wind whistling through a draft around the window.
He had grown accustomed to having Harriet sleeping nearby and found it strangely difficult to fall asleep without her presence. He could tiptoe down to her room, of course. He was not certain she’d let him in, however, and she likely had a chair lodged under the doorknob to prevent any intruders. And he would not risk Zach catching him outside of a woman’s door, giving Zach something more to tease him about. Nick was not a pious hypocrite like Adam, but neither did he tarry with every woman who caught his fancy like Zach, no matter the tales the ton tabbies spread about him.
He punched his pillow and began naming the lines of rigging on each mast from bow to stern.
He awoke early, dressed quickly, and went downstairs. As he turned at the bottom step, the room suddenly spun, and kept spinning madly. He clutched the newel post to keep from falling to his knees, holding on as though the hall floor had suddenly become a ship diving deep into a trough, waves swamping the bow, threatening to wash him overboard. He couldn’t tell which way was up. Bile rose in his throat and he fought to not cast up his accounts. What the hell?
After what seemed an eternity, he dared open his eyes. The earth was settling back on its proper axis. He eased his death grip on the post to wave away a concerned footman who was heading toward him. Soon the vertigo passed, and Nick continued down the hall and out the door.
He found Father Miguel just coming out of the chapel after conducting dawn mass. “I have a business proposition for you,” Nick said. “Is a winery manager available?”
A short while later he sat in the winery office with Father Miguel and two other officers of the winery, and expressed his desire to buy quantities of the port wine they’d had last night and take it back to England. If it sold as well as he expected, he’d come back for more on a regular basis.
Father Miguel clasped his hands together in an attitude of prayer. “This is a most excellent plan. I will be blessed to see you again.”
Nick swallowed down an unexpected lump. Perhaps he was more sentimental than he’d thought, wanting to keep this tenuous connection to Adam through the priest. “Just so.”
They quickly worked out the details. As with most of the wineries in the Douro valley, they had a cellar and tasting room in Vila Nova de Gaia stocked with quantities Nick wanted, so he didn’t have to delay his return to England while they transported the wine downriver.
Nick tucked the signed sales agreement in his pocket, then bounded up the stairs to the guest quarters and knocked on Harriet’s door. After her muffled, “I’m up, I’m up,” he rapped on Zach’s door. No answer, so he knocked again, louder. Something hit the other side of the door with a dull thud. Probably a boot. “No lollygagging,” Nick called.
“Confound you early risers,” Zach groused. He mumbled other imprecations as Nick walked away, to pack his belongings before going back downstairs.
