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He pursed his lips and a humming sound emanated from his person as he considered her request. “TheVictorious? And who was the commander of this vessel?”
“Commodore Jessum Hightower. My father.”
“I see.Toutes mes condoléances.” Anyone who traveled the high seas would know the outcome of a shipwreck. He cleared his throat, the moment of compassion gone. “Miss, I should escort you to the naval offices. They will know best and have records of those ships arriving. Cape Horn, you say? TheMontebellowas in the South Atlantic, I believe. Or perhaps it was theSurveillantebut I could be mistaken.” He scratched at his head, doubt playing on his expression. “Well, I must see you to someone who can confirm this.”
“Oh, but I shouldn’t want to interrupt your breakfast,” Shelene said.
He tapped the table and smiled. “It is I who interrupt yours. Should we meet at half past the hour? I will make arrangements for a carriage and advise my shipmates.”
“Are you sure I am not intruding?”
“You wound me. It is my duty and honor to assist.” He bowed again and took his leave.
“There,” Shelene said. “It was as simple as asking, Martina. And thank you, Joaquin.”
The young boy smiled and returned to indiscriminately eating the food on the table.
“Your mother, God rest her soul, would have a different opinion, I’m afraid.” Martina made a little sign of the cross over her lips then kissed her fisted hand. Shelene knew there was a cross clutched between her fingers much of the time.
Martina was her mother’s choice for Shelene as a lady’s maid andduenna. Mama was extremely traditional and pious, which led to some private struggle between mother and daughter. If possible, Martina was even more of a prudish scold, but Shelene took it all in stride. After all, she was an obedient daughter who honored her parents while they were yet alive. She was now of an age. Decisions could be made without consulting the local archbishop.
“Martina, it is time I do something with my life. You’ve watched over me better than any mother her child, but I’m a grown woman. And I have my own destiny to fulfill.” What that destiny was, she didn’t know. Perhaps there was more freedom for her in England than in Spain, but there were the family horses and the vineyards and all the people that had relied on the Belgrano’s for decades.
Now they would rely on the Hightowers. She could take her place in the long, illustrious and industrious family line, famous and infamous, as some of her ancestors and relatives were. And she could return to her craft, that of making stain glassed windows and other beautiful art.
She could admit that home called to her, even if that calling involved her and Roman raising a family as she had been raised. She sighed at the vague vision. That’s all it was—an impossible dream.
But the reality was she needed heirs—sons and daughters who would love and inherit the land.
“Hmpf. You should marry a fine young man and have children as God intended.”
Had Martina just read her mind? She steeled her expression. “If He intended such, should not this paragon have appeared by now?” Shelene feared he had appeared, and she’d denied him.
“A husband should be dealing with these difficulties. Not you.”
“I am not weak.”
“I know, child, but who is there now to watch over you, but me?”
Shelene knew the truth of Martina’s words, but there was her family in Spain. An aunt and an uncle, many cousins. There would be pressure to marry a local man of importance once she returned home. Was she prepared for that?
England kept no family for her. Papa had been the last Hightower. Just as Shelene was. Though she was legally Shelene María Hightower Belgrano, in England she was Hightower, while in Spain her Belgrano heritage would not die either.
But Spain was her future and a local Spanish man of importance seemed her destiny.
As it turned out, Shelene’s day was fraught with delays and misinformation. Most of the problem stemmed from her stature as a single woman, but she wouldn’t succumb to despair. She wouldn’t think for one moment she couldn’t accomplish the same thing Roman would discover.
At last, she located acommis militaire,who politely kissed her hand, holding it a bit longer than he should. “The Minister of Marine, Monsieur Jean-Baptiste, will be available to see you in two weeks, Miss Hightower.”
“Two weeks? That is unacceptable.”
“Nevertheless…”
“I only need to speak with the captain of the vessel who reported the sinking of the Royal Navy vessel, theVictorious. Why is that so difficult?” She knew her voice pitched in anger. In frustration.
“Miss, you have neither the captain’s name nor his vessel. You need only peer through this window,” he waved his hand, “to see the vast number of ships which enter the harbor every day. Your pardon, Miss Hightower, but you will need to wait until an official of our government can meet with you.”
“I will return tomorrow at this time, and the day after that, and the day after that, until Monsieur Jean-Baptiste is here to meet with me. It is a matter of life and death.”
