“Andstill,youdonot 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. “Allof 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 someotheraffairs 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. “Youhear nothingIhave 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 wouldnotreturn 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.
Hewas 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!”
