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“What was important.”
The horse slowed as they went up the last grade. Roman glanced up at the house on the hill. Since the floor plans had been drawn, he had imagined the finished home in his mind’s eye. Long ago, he’d planned for the day when he and Shelene would have their own home. With their children running wild through the hills, not the stoic, ordered existence of children in England.
So many things hadn’t gone as he’d expected. Shelene’s mother gone, Hightower’s displacement. And his stubborn unwillingness to give up his misplaced passion and one-sided loyalty for the Crown. Marrying… Cheating Shelene out of the happiness he’d promised.
There were a few candles lit in the windows. The moonlight glinted off the white walls of the home and outbuildings. The wind on the air was warm and fragrant, a welcoming scent that embraced him every time he was in Spain.
Now it would always welcome him home.
Roman pulled the horse and cabriolet to a stop. Joaquin jumped down and whistled. “This is yours, mi’lord?”
“Indeed. Imagine what it will look like in the light of day.”
“Magnífico! This will be a wonderful place to raise your son.”
* * * * *
Shelene forced herself to change dresses and return to the party. The guests would not have gone home without the hostess to bid them good evening. Most would be waiting for her to clarify the gossip that likely was running rampant.
Raúl sat by himself beneath the blooming jacaranda trees. Dignified, yet troubled, sipping at his drink. Not even his daughters were nearby to offer comfort to their jilted father.
When he saw her approach, he jumped to his feet. “Señora.” He bowed to her, then held out his hand and assisted her to her seat.
“Raúl, how can I apologize for this shocking turn?”
“You couldn’t have known.”
She felt the start of tears, though it didn’t make any sense. She didn’t love Raúl. Trust and respect, yes. “But I feel so foolish for myself and so sad that you have been carried along on another Belgrano flood.”
“For your sake and reputation, we can be thankful it happened tonight instead of next week.”
“Will you return to Barcelona soon?”
“Yes, I think I must. I do not want to cause a further rift between you and your husband. Nor cause any unwarranted gossip. There will be plenty of that without me around to stir curiosity. Do not worry, my dear. You are blameless in this.”
“I feel so…”
“Deceived?”
“No! Not by you. Don’t ever think that.”
“It would seem your uncle has a few things to explain.”
“He knows many people. They wouldn’t lie to him about something so important.”
Except that her uncle would lie to her in order to punish her for marrying Roman. And the dark, dark possibility—what if Uncle Francisco had really thought Roman was dead because he had arranged some trap for him?
Years ago, they’d called Uncle Francisco and his group guerrillas. A small band of Spaniards who fought against the French, initially. They’d turned into angry, violent partisans who’d attacked anyone who stood in the way of their power and their wealth accumulation, including the Spanish royals, the richest dons, the English. They’d become assassins and thieves.
Shelene could not accuse her uncle of something so heinous as killing Roman, though it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility. But,a cada cerdo le llega su San Martín. Uncle Francisco’s pigs would be slaughtered in their turn.
Raúl took her hand. “My dearest Shelene, I will think fondly of you for many, many months to come.”
“You will find another, I have no doubt.” She leaned toward him and kissed his cheek.
“Adiós, mi querida amiga. If you need anything at all, I am at your service,” he said.
She watched him walk away. After a deep, fortifying breath, she stood and made her way around the portico. There were a couple of groups still meandering about, so Shelene spoke to each of them. She had no reason to lie; it was only the embarrassment of it all, that caused her to speak quickly and quietly. Just hearing the sympathy in their voices was enough to make her want to shrivel up and blow away.
