“Then I wish you blessing and good fortune on your travels! May you find… what you seek.”
He took her gloved hand and raised it to his lips, the corner of his mouth tipping upward as he made his husky reply. “I hope I shall find him as well, Miss Bennet.”
Porto, Portugal
Threemoredays!
He had been naïve—or, rather, desperate—enough to think that once his presence had been discovered by a benevolent soul, his rescue would have followed immediately. In vain he had waited, with held breath, sleepless eyes, and strained ears. Every distant sound had been cause to jolt to his feet; simultaneously fearing his captors and praying for his salvation.
That nameless, faceless angel had visited one more time, repeating her promise of rescue and asking disjointed questions about his family back in England. Why so many questions about his uncles and cousins? Her interest sounded somehow more personal, more earnest. Did this girl, too, have some claim against his family, or had she been told the same lies as he?
His remaining time had not entirely been spent alone. Pereira and the younger Vasconcelos had come that very morning before dawn. They seemed to thrill in choosing unpredictable hours to come taunt and jeer at him. He had cultivated a special horror of burlap and water, but their words—oh, their words were the worst! The accusations against Richard and Georgiana alone were enough to make the blood throb in his ears, and he spent all his after-hours stewing and raging, incessantly pacing the two or three short steps afforded him by his leg shackle.
Soon!his rescuer had claimed, and he would board a ship bound for England.Soon!he promised himself, and he would know the truth! He could almost savour the sweet taste of salt air on his tongue, could see with his own eyes the spired, bleached gates of Dover welcoming him home, and he could hear…oh, he could hear his name, spoken aloud as it had been in his dreams, by the most beloved voice in all the world.
He had never been one to spin useless fantasies, but with this one silver thread of hope now dangled before him, he began to think and to plan. If he had an enemy at home, he would do well to learn all he could before showing himself returned! His heart longed to race straight to Pemberley, to restore to himself all that had been lost… but though he would not own it consciously, some whisper of doubt troubled him. No, perhaps he ought to detour first to some place safe, from whence he could gain whatever information was available. London, or close by, would be ideal for learning what he must, but returning at once to Town proper seemed out of the question.
He dropped his face to his hands, willing his drumming pulse to calm. Green pastures, soft rolling hills, and a babbling brook lined with trees he called to mind—all images to which he oft returned when his thoughts of home sent his spirits into a turmoil. Gentle scenes, all—and all of them somehow connected to Hertfordshire and Elizabeth Bennet. And thus, his first destination after regaining his freedom was decided.
Chapter twenty
Porto, Portugal
Amália,
I have learned of a ship that is to depart for England on Friday. There are earlier ships, but this is a captain I can trust, for he has no connections to either our family or to Vasconcelos. I have already secured passage for a Mr Stewart aboard the ship.
It might be wiser to wait until Thursday night to release your friend, but if you are convinced that tomorrow will be the best night for you to access him without rousing suspicion, we will meet tomorrow as we arranged. I know of a room I can use at the docks, for its owner is presently at sea. Your friend can hide there until his ship sails.
You must obtain the keys to the door and his irons. Have you discovered yet where they are kept? If you cannot secure them in time, you must send me word so that I may cry off.
Ruy
Amáliacrumpledthenote.The keys! No, she had not yet learned where Miguel or his father kept them. Another late-night foray into the study had not yielded them up, and she was beginning to think she would only find them locked in a private writing desk or kept on their persons. How was she to reach them in time?
Her fingers tightened over the wad of paper just before she furtively cast it into the fire grate—and none too soon, for Miguel’s steps clicked against the tiles into her room. She spun about, still blocking the view of the fire with her body. “My husband,” she curtseyed and smiled, though there was a shade of guilt to her expression if Miguel had cared to notice.
He did not. “My dear,” he waved a hand in irritation. “Is it proper that I must search so long for my wife for before I find her?”
She tilted her head innocently. “Certainly not. Why do you search for me? The house is large, but I make no secret of my whereabouts.”
His features contracted in anger, and he strode sharply near. “You make too free with my good nature. I will no longer endure such impertinence from my wife!”
She flinched, drawing back and lowering her head. Never had Miguel struck her, but something in his manner just now chilled her to her very marrow. “Forgive me, Miguel!” she protested nervously. “Such was not my intention! I only meant that if I were in another part of the house, one of my maids must surely have given you the information you sought.”
“I have no intention of playing the foolish spouse, running about after the servants for word of my wife. Your only duty is to please your husband, but you seem to care little for doing so!”
A convicted heat stained her cheeks as she kept her eyes low. “I do beg your pardon most humbly, Miguel. I was detained with the housekeeper—”
“Another excuse! Where have you been each time I have sought you? I do believe your brother has seen you more in the last week than I, and when we are in company, you find some reason to leave my presence.”
She blinked, nibbling her lips but keeping her gaze down. Whether out of fear or a guilty conscience, she sensed that making eye contact with her husband just now would only incense him further. “Did we not spend all of the last two or three evenings together?” she murmured defensively.
“With my madrasta as a guest! Oh, yes, I remember how pleased she was by your thoughtful invitations.”
Amália swallowed and dared to meet his eyes. “I only thought that with your father away in the province, she would appreciate the company of her family.”
He threw his arms explosively in the air. “Did I not specifically request a quiet evening in our private chambers on each of the last three days? Instead, I am required to share my wife with mymadrastain the drawing room, only to find her too fatigued after her hostessing duties to entertain me! How many more excuses do you intend to find, Amália?”
