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“Such men get your blood up, Forrester. It is why foreign service attracted you.”
“I’ve resigned.”
“So, you say.”
“You don’t know him like I do. I may no longer be beholden to Home Office, but his stench taints everything around him. When the time comes, I will take care of business.” Roman held up his hand. “I will be careful. You have my word.”
Hightower swallowed back the rest of his coffee. “I’m off to see my grandson. I’ve lost too much time as it is.”
* * * * *
While Shelene had been in London for two years, one of her favorite places was the glass factory in Whitechapel. There, she’d learned new techniques for her stained glass and had been trained on different methods of restoration. Her mother thought the factory coarse and dirty, but Shelene had never seen finer craftsman.
The religious panel she was repairing now was for the church in Arco de la Frontera, which had been damaged during the many pseudo-wars and skirmishes and battles caused by petty tyrants and men such as her uncle Francisco. She’d dabbled with the repairs, never quite ready to devote herself wholeheartedly to its completion.
She bent over the glass, holding a candle beneath the viewing table. The blue was such an intense color. She wasn’t sure she could match that particular brilliance with the supply she had. It would have been helpful if Father Etienne had known who’d completed the original window, or from where it had been purchased. That would have given her a clue about where to begin or who to ask. Her best guess was Murano, Italy.
But something nagged at her. The intensity of the blue glass might have been a marker identifying its source as Bristol.
Well, she would have to make do, and match it as best she could. Or she could take the blue out of another section—one of the robes, perhaps—and replace that robe with something she had in stock. Mary’s gown had to be blue. Joseph’s? Maybe she could go with an easy-to-obtain brown. No matter what she did, she would have to paint the pleats of the gown with a durable black.
Shelene set the lamp aside then glanced at the outline she’d made. She drew a couple of other lines to guide her restoration.
Her boxes of glass, sorted by size and color, were kept safely in a series of wooden boxes that one of Brahim’s sons had made for her when she’d returned to Spain. Her collection of tools lined the wall above the boxes.
She glanced outside to see it was late morning. It was near time for her wedding! How she hoped everyone had gone home. Including Roman.
The cool of the morning was the best time to work on the glass. Today it had been especially diverting, but it was time to face the day and she’d start with Tono. He would be just waking from his mid-morning nap.
As she walked toward the house, she was pleased by the peaceful resonance of Las Colinas life. Animals happily going about their day in the fields along with the field laborers who clucked and yelled, the dogs that barked and that most pleasant sound of bells as the animals moseyed along the field paths in search of grass.
The servants were nearly invisible in their efficiency, but their responsibilities were many and embraced with the same love Shelene had for Las Colinas.
Once inside her room, she listened for sounds of Tono, but she could only hear the muted noises of her father and Roman. The irresistible attraction of a baby was a new phenomenon for her; she could imagine how both Roman and Papa felt. She went to the washstand and cleaned her face and hands then removed her long apron, ready to be washed again after collecting all the dust that accumulated in her workroom.
At the door between the nursery and her room, she peeked in to see Roman standing tall as a sentinel, watching as Papa played with Tono. He lifted him, pretending to throw him, but keeping a firm grip on his middle. Tono giggled and slobbered and pressed his fist to his mouth. Papa spoke to him in Spanish, which melted her heart a little more.
Shelene’s eyes filled with tears, and she stepped back to her room. Backing against the door, she pressed her hand against her mouth to hold back a sob.
To see Papa again! To see him with his grandson!
And to know Roman was the one who made it possible. She rubbed her eyes. Was it all some dream from which she would wake? She could not let herself feel joy yet. She could not have it all ripped away from her again.
The tap on the door startled her.
“Shelene,” Roman said from the other side.
She opened the door slowly. “Yes. What is it?” she asked.
“I don’t want to get in the way of you and your father’s reunion. I am going to return home now. I won’t be back until tomorrow night, though.”
“What do you want me to say? If you have a home, you should stay there.”
He smiled, his teeth startlingly white against his skin, darkened by his months at sea. “That is all but impossible when I have a wife such as you. In any case, I have myriad responsibilities to attend now that I am back on land. You won’t miss me, will you?”
“As a matter of fact—”
Roman pressed a finger to her lips. “I’ve been gone too long to hear anything but the kindest words. Please save your criticisms until we’ve been together for at least five years so that you see what a truly lazy, irascible husband I am.”
