Page 18 of Eternal Craving

Later, I discovered through Teofilo that a royal warrant had been issued for Ferring’s arrest. I hoped that Ferring had escaped the British authorities. As I strolled along the sweeping corridors of my new home, I often thought of him. He’d been wronged by those wielding power, and that we at least had in common.

I spent many an evening reading in my favorite room – the library – and my confidence flourished with the promise of happiness ever present.

During this time, I often thought of the woman who’d made it all possible. Although I had no real proof that Sunaria had taken Roelle’s life, I felt convinced she was responsible. She’d appeared like an exquisite phantom, only to disappear once again into the night.

Memories of Sunaria faded as the day-to-day challenges of running the estate drew my attention.

I hired new staff, ensuring fresh faces around the manor. I strived to reinvent myself, take on the convincing role of master, a man to be respected and even revered.

The cook provided meals with good portions for the staff, helping to maintain morale. A delicious fare is a boon to a hard worker. Pascal, my discreet butler, oversaw the employees, including several maids, a gardener, an ageing handyman I’d taken pity on, and several young horse hands to assist Miguel.

I still couldn’t persuade Miguel to take a room inside the house. He said he’d be miserable indoors.

However, when designing the stables, I’d taken into consideration his penchant for fresh air and constructed a thick-walled building to keep him warm in winter and cool in summer, a comfortable apartment suiting all his needs, as well as his desire to be close to the horses. It was a safe dwelling where he could rest after a hard day’s work, knowing that he was deeply valued. And from where he lay, he’d still see the stars.

Housing the employees in cottages on the estate ensured that they had their privacy and I had mine. At night, with everyone banished, I paced the many rooms, marveling at what I’d accomplished and not taking any of it for granted. I learned more of the horse breeding business from Miguel, studying under the master. I had every intention of establishing a business that would enable the house to turn a profit and ensure my future.

Miguel and I often dined alfresco. We enjoyed watching the horses running free in the enclosure. Despite Miguel’s initial hesitation, he soon relented to my insistence that we eat off the finest plates and drink from silver goblets. The cook prepared flavorsome dishes and delighted us with his exotic recipes, a luxury we both appreciated. During one of those long, warm evenings, after several bottles of wine, Miguel revealed his dream of working with Andalusians.

He leaned forward with fire in his eyes. “Andalusians have an exceptional temperament and a tranquil presence. We could breed them.”

I found his description appealing, and his portrait of the horse, with its generous frame, arched neck, and sculptured beauty, convinced me he could be right.

The light in my eyes gave him my answer. “And I was thinking of maybe adding a vineyard.”

“Grow grapes?” He nodded. “We certainly possess the land. We have ancient soil that would be ideal. Our climate is warm and indulgent.”

My heart soared that he shared my vision.

What if we could coax from this earth something more than survival, turn this wild, haunted place into a harvest of profit, into a legacy?

Chapter Ten

The old butler told me to wait.

It had seemed more like an order. The central iron chandelier hung low in the unfamiliar grand foyer. This family had a great deal of money – proof that banking had been profitable for them.

I’d left Valiente, my beloved stallion, with a stable boy who had promised to take good care of him.

I wondered whether accepting Señor Moran’s invitation had been a mistake, but now it was too late to back out of this soirée.

I remained wary of our neighbors, even though acres of land lay between us. At twenty-four years of age, I’d reinvented myself, reflecting nothing of the boy I used to be. Even my walk appeared different. I took longer strides with my head held high. My gait reflected pride and my manner, confidence.

My friend Miguel’s vision had become my own. We’d established ourselves as Spain’s most successful Andalusian horse breeders. Spellbound, Miguel and I would linger at the paddock gate, admiring the ethereal vision of our cantering Andalusians, enchanted by their extraordinary sense of balance, natural grace, and astonishing ability to learn quickly.

Our horses even drew the attention of royalty, who paid a high price to make them their own.

Our success had aggrandized the house of Velde, the very reason why an invitation to tonight’s soirée from such a renowned family brought no surprise.

The estate had been built on royal land, and the home’s varied history was reflected in its structure. Although in need of repair, its character remained and whitewashed walls loomed. Here in the entrance, glorious broad pillars rose up in Romanesque style.

Señor Moran greeted me as music filled the air. With pride he revealed that his youngest son, Salvador, had just returned from a military excursion to the Canary Islands.

With a nod, I appeared interested when he conveyed that the Vespers were renowned for their thuggish tactics. Apparently, the fight had been bloody. He told me all of this as he guided me through the house.

My feigned interest in his son’s achievements earned me approval. We strolled down the longest corridor I’d ever seen. How easily brick and mortar can intimidate.

Having access to skillful tailors ensured I blended in, and I was grateful for it. Although eager to impress upon my host the advantage of replacing his entire stock with Spain’s finest horses, I’d have to segue into the subject naturally. Mention it too soon and I’d appear desperate but bring it up too late and the moment could be lost.