Noronha flinched. “Darcy was to be released as soon as Vasconcelos had what he wanted. A death was faked out of necessity, but I am no murderer, Fitzwilliam!”
“And what was it Vasconcelos wanted? Even Darcy’s money would be insufficient to rebuild your entire city, and it would be impossible to lay hands on all of it.”
Noronha scrubbed his weary face and sank into the chair at his desk. “Steel. That was what he wanted. There was land—over three hundred acres in Braga—and Vasconcelos is convinced that Darcy holds the deed. A modest ore deposit was discovered in the region, and Vasconcelos plans to mine it, but he could not begin without the deed.”
“And what was your share to be?” Fitzwilliam asked coldly. “No—allow me to guess. Vasconcelos was to bring industry to your city. Refine the ore, build mills, ship everything from Porto—that was it, was it not?”
The older man sighed. “It is not wealth I seek, Fitzwilliam, but our city’s very survival after the war ends. Our economy will never recover if we do not begin to modernise! We have few enough raw materials, and we cannot afford to lose years before this source is developed.”
“Darcy is a reasonable man! Even if he does hold the deed—which I find doubtful—why the devil would you not simply ask him to sell it?”
“I asked the same thing, but it was done before I could object. Vasconcelos has a long history with Darcy’s family, and did not believe it would be so easily done as you claim. I do not know the details, but he knew of one other who promised greater aid. This party, for I do not know his name, guaranteed that he would procure the deed in exchange for… well, to put it bluntly—”
“Someone wanted Darcy dead, but Vasconcelos kept him alive as insurance.”
“Y-yes. I believe this party was a relative and intended to keep his hands clean, hence his desire for Vasconcelos’ involvement. I understand a deal of money exchanged hands; money Vasconcelos claimed to need for his venture.”
“Did you ever see him?” Fitzwilliam’s voice was lower now—still dangerous, but not snarling as before.
“Senhor Darcy? No. I never spoke with him,” Noronha confessed. “Vasconcelos did, a number of times. He claimed your cousin was… uncooperative.”
Fitzwilliam slammed his fists down on Noronha’s desk. “After such treatment! Amália told me precisely where and how she found him. The Darcy I know would have sealed his lips out of pure obstinacy! ‘Uncooperative!’ I shouldn’t wonder! I doubt he even knows of this deed you claim, for I never heard him speak of it, and I am familiar with nearly all his affairs. How dare you, sir, remain party to the mistreatment of an innocent man and the cousin of one who saved your own son?”
Noronha was shaking his head in denial. “Vasconcelos kept him as a guest in his own house! Oh, he was not free to go, but he was treated—”
“As a prisoner! You thought Vasconcelos set him up in his finest guest chamber? Did you even bother speaking with your daughter, or did you dismiss her words when she came to you for help?”
Noronha’s lips parted and he began to blink, lifting a shaking hand to his eyes. “Amália….”
“She cannot return to her home, Noronha.” Fitzwilliam’s tones were hard, and his eyes harder. “Vasconcelos is nothing that you have persuaded yourself to believe. If she goes back to her husband—damn you that I had to say that! —she will never be safe. You know this too well!”
Noronha was covering his face now, nodding weakly. “Sim, I know, but I cannot protect her! Miguel can go to the church and force her to return. If she had only stayed out of the business, left well enough alone—”
“You know her too well for that!”
Noronha lowered his hand to reveal tears glittering in his eyes. “Forgive me, sir! I know not what to do!”
Fitzwilliam frowned, evidently displeased that Noronha’s humility had disarmed his own anger. “She must go elsewhere, out of the city. Out of the country entirely would be preferable.”
Noronha looked up suspiciously. “If you mean to suggest that she accompany you to England, sir—”
“I would give my right arm if she could!” he vowed fervently. “But that is impossible, I know right well. Damn you!” he swore again, slapping his formal hat down on the desk. “The same obstacles exist now as three years ago, and more besides. I have my cousin to protect as well, for if what you say is true, Darcy will be giving someone a rather unpleasant surprise when he returns alive. No! She cannot come with me.” He chewed his lip in frustration and began to pace.
A moment later, he stopped as if pricked in the back. “I think,” he mused softly, “that I can keep both of your children safe for the present.”
Noronha lifted his head again, his dark eyes glowing with hope. “Ruy? You can have him recalled from the front?”
Fitzwilliam was nodding, still facing the wall. “I know General Cotton—was his personal secretary for some while. I presume that Vasconcelos has his contacts as well, but Cotton is not a man to be bought. I will ask him to grant Ruy a temporary leave, send him somewhere else where Amália may accompany him.” He turned and narrowed his eyes. “You will not know of their destination, sir, not until we can be assured of their safety. I will not risk it!”
Noronha swallowed and blinked his acknowledgment. “Sim, senhor. I understand.”
Chapter twenty-six
Matlock House, London
“Whatdoyoumean,Georgiana has returned to Pemberley? Why was I not informed of this weeks ago? James Fitzwilliam, I am ashamed of you! I will no longer tolerate this nonsense!” Lady Catherine raised her cane—more a prop with which to deliver lectures than a walking aid—and aimed it at her brother. “What madness possessed you to let that son of yours return my niece to Derbyshire without proper escort?”
“I was not even in London at the time!” the earl protested. “Besides, why would I object against her being taken back to her home? She had best learn her duties, and Richard as well.”
