Chapter twenty-seven
Near Lisbon, Portugal
Richardwastryingtolook out the carriage window, but failing. He had hired a light gig—all that he could find anonymously and on a short notice—and therefore, the other occupant of the carriage rode at his side rather than facing opposite. He kept his head steadily forward, but his eyes drifted to a point just off his shoulder. This time, she happened to be looking back, her golden eyes dark now with unspoken feeling.
He stiffened, and she turned away with a sudden blush. “I beg your pardon,” he murmured.
“It is no harm,” came Amália’s stilted reply. She had tilted her face away, and the thick black veil she had cast behind her shoulders now fell over her cheeks. Richard glanced once more at the cold shroud, sighed, and turned back to the window.
Miles rolled by in an awkward silence; both parties wishing to speak, but sensing an embargo on every subject. That both still carried the embers of a quenched love was not in doubt—nor that both suffered yet from the burns. Nothing more remained to be said of Darcy, for Richard had professed his gratitude until Amália had grown uncomfortable, and she had begged explanations until he ran out of words. All his uncertainty now turned to brooding while hers cascaded down her face, shaded by her dark veil.
“We should arrive in Lisbon by nightfall,” he mused after half an hour, rather unnecessarily. From the corner of his eye, he could see her dark head bobbing in acknowledgment.
“Amália?”
At his soft tone, she turned to face him. “Yes, Richard?”
He wetted his lips. “I… have you… will you be comfortable in the quarters, do you think?”
She looked down to her hands. “I believe there are other women, wives and daughters who follow the drum. I shall be safe enough.”
“I am sorry we could not bring your maid,” he answered gently.
She tipped her shoulders and looked back to the window. “She was not my maid.”
“Nevertheless, she was known to you. You might not have been alone while Ruy is out on exercises. Surely, he will still have his duties, regardless of where the general decides to send him.”
“You are certain, no, that you will succeed in having him ordered away from the front?”
“Not certain. I believe General Cotton will recognise that Ruy is too valuable to spend there, with all his experience and connections, but it is his regiment, after all. I cannot issue orders to a general, only ask a favour.”
“Ruy has already served at the front, and he outranks all his fellows. The order was unjust!”
“War is unjust, Amália,” he smiled tenderly. “As are many other things.” She drew breath and nodded, her lip quivering. There was no need for him to elaborate further, and both lapsed once more to silence.
He saw the tears she was fighting back, the shivers she strove to contain, and his heart broke anew. His fingers twitched, aching to take her hand into his, but then he forced himself to look upon that metallic band round her finger.Fool!he castigated himself again.She can never be yours!He clenched his fists and crossed his arms across his uniformed chest, just to be certain they did not disobey him.
“Richard?”
He closed his eyes, steeling himself to meet her face again. “Yes?”
Her lips were slightly parted, her chin trembling as her eyes glittered in the dark of the carriage. She hesitated, then shook her head and decided to speak her heart. “I thought of you. Always, I thought of you. It made everything else… bearable… when I could remember you. I thought you should know.”
Of all the things she could have said….His stomach knotted sickeningly as he recognised the implications of her words. He wished to unhear it, to think on his own sorrows without trying to also carry hers. Yet, she had confessed it! She had loved him, and not her husband, even in those moments whose very existence he had tried to deny. Oh, why did she have to speak so? Could he not simply continue to think of her as that innocent maid he had loved and whom he had once bidden farewell?
But no! Too much life had flowed in those waters that had sundered them. He was no longer a shining young major full of ambition, and she, no fresh girl of youthful hopes. He had gone on to fight, to kill, to harden his heart, and she—why, she had been a married woman for at least a year, bearing all the proper trappings and duties of a wife.Oh, damn. Damn, damn, damn!
His every thought must have played over his face, for she was now looking uncomfortably away. “I should not have said that,” she mourned. “Forgive me, Richard! I know I broke my vows, loving another in my heart, but I could not—”
“Shhh,” he soothed, lifting soft fingers to her lips before he could stop himself. “No more of that, my flower!”
She blinked, dazed at his touch. It was the only time he had dared so since that first delirious moment of their reunion. Realising the same, he allowed his hand to fall, but slowly. “There is no fault to find in you, my dearest. You, and I as well—we were given no choices. We have set about the paths laid before our feet, and none could assign blame to you.”
She was shaking her head, blinking rapidly and looking out the window. “None could fault my actions, but I know my heart was not true, Richard. I knew what was right. I could never have loved Miguel, but I ought not to have loved you. It was a choice I made, because I thought it would make things easier. Instead, I only despised my life all the more for what I could not have. Can you not see my wrongs?”
“I cannot. How could you be expected to remain content with such a man? Do you accept the blame for his actions, excusing them as the natural consequence of a jealous husband? Can you think that he would not have eventually shown his colours, regardless of your own affections?”
“I am certain he would have, but that does not absolve me. I made a holy oath, devoting myself to him alone, but the whole of my heart searched instead for you. I ought to have crushed those memories when they came back to taunt me, but instead I dreamt them, cherishing what remained of you. It was too tempting, and I was not… not strong enough to resist!”
