Page 11 of A Captain For Clarissa (Blushing Brides #4)

Chapter Eleven

T he Santa Dorotéia glided through the morning mist, slipping into the bustling harbour of Lisbon. Clarissa stood at the bow, clinging to the wooden rail with white knuckles, her hands betraying her anticipation. The tang of salt was sharp on her tongue and fresh against her cheeks, already rosy with excitement and the cool sea breeze.

“Lady Clarissa.” Rafael’s voice cut through the screeching of the seagulls and the shouts of dockworkers. She turned to see him standing beside her, his dark hair tousled by the wind.

“Captain de Silva,” she replied, a teasing note in her voice. “It seems my new adventure is about to begin.”

“Indeed,” Rafael chuckled warmly. “Shall we disembark? I have arranged for a carriage to collect the ladies and children, taking you to my family’s estate, and horses for Lord Glenkellie and myself.”

“We’ll be ready to leave directly,” Clarissa said, though she knew Jean had everything packed and ready to go, their trunks only needing to be loaded aboard the waiting carriage.

Within an hour, they stepped off the ship onto the cobblestone dock. The city of Lisbon spread out before them, narrow streets and sunlit squares beckoning, a kaleidoscope of activity and colour. Clarissa could hardly look from one thing to the next, her eyes wide with curiosity as they darted from one scene to another - a group of children chasing an errant dog, a fishmonger shouting about his catch, a woman in a red shawl balancing a basket on her head.

“Lisbon is… lively,” she finally said, clearly fascinated.

“One might say it reflects you, my lady,” Rafael teased, and Alex, standing nearby, raised his brows and laughed quietly.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Captain,” Clarissa replied, though she couldn’t help but smile.

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a carriage, its polished wooden panels gleaming in the sun. The driver doffed his cap to Rafael, who nodded in acknowledgement.

“After you, my lady,” Rafael said, offering his hand to help her into the carriage.

“How gallant,” Clarissa said, but she put her hand in his anyway. He lifted her up and she sank down with a sigh of pleasure into the well-padded seat, surprised by the unexpected luxury. However impoverished Rafael’s family might be, he himself had the manners of a nobleman, as was evidenced again when he assisted Marianne into the carriage after her, then Jean and the twins. Taking both children from Jean, he handed them into Marianne and Clarissa’s waiting arms before assisting the maid to climb in.

“He’s a proper gentleman, that one,” Jean remarked as Rafael closed the carriage door. He and Alex swung up onto their horses, and the little cavalcade started forward.

“Captain de Silva is indeed a very fine gentleman,” Marianne agreed. “Don’t you think, Clarissa?” She exchanged a knowing smile with Jean.

Not ready to discuss her feelings about Rafael, Clarissa murmured something noncommittal and turned her attention to the twins. It was going to be a long and boring day for them, she knew, and she would do her best to keep them entertained. Rafael had told them that his estate lay several hours’ travel north and east of Lisbon, and they should reach it within a day, so there would be no need to find an inn to stay overnight.

A jolt on the rough road brought Clarissa back to her surroundings, and she leaned forward, gripping the window frame, her mouth falling open further and further with each mile they travelled. The Portuguese countryside spread out before her; rolling hills covered in green and gold, dotted with white cottages and olive groves. The air smelled sweetly of jasmine and carried the hum of cicadas, a natural orchestra that moved her deeply.

“What beautiful country,” Marianne said softly beside her, and she nodded, unable to tear her eyes from the view.

The coach entered a picturesque village and drew up outside an inn. Rafael was at the door before Clarissa could even reach for it.

“We will change horses here, and take a meal,” he said, offering his hand to help her down. “I have stopped here many times and know the innkeeper well.”

A smiling man came out to greet them warmly, ushering them inside and, to Clarissa’s surprise, through the building and out onto a covered terrace on the other side.

“Oh, what a wonderful view!” she exclaimed, stepping to the low wall which bordered the terrace and looking out over the wide valley beyond.

“See that gap in the hills?” Rafael came to stand beside her and pointed. She squinted to follow his direction before nodding. “That is the way to Torre do Rochedo.”

“Your estate?” She turned to look at him. “What does the name mean?”

“Tower on the rock. Cliff.” He shrugged. “You’ll see; it’s an apt name!”

“I look forward to it.”

The innkeeper came out again then, with two servants in tow, all of them bearing platters laden with food. Clarissa sat down beside Marianne, her mouth watering as a veritable feast was set before them.

There was a crusty yellow loaf called broa, made with cornmeal, sharp white sheep’s cheese, smoked chicken sausages, olives, figs, and a dish of very salty, addictive little yellow dried beans, all served with a light white wine. It was simple fare, but Clarissa found it delicious and told the innkeeper so in her halting Portuguese, which made him grin even wider.

“What did he say?” Clarissa asked Rafael when the man spoke quickly in Portuguese before hurrying back inside.

“He said, the best is yet to come.” Rafael chuckled at her expression. “He takes pride in his desserts, and I must agree - his pastéis de nata are some of the best I have ever tasted, and his toucinho do céu - ah!” He kissed his fingertips. “Truly heavenly!”

The pastéis de nata were delectable little egg custard tarts in delicate flaky pastry that melted in her mouth, and the toucinho do céu, which Rafael explained meant ‘bacon from heaven’, was actually a dense sweet lard cake with a strong almond flavour.

Clarissa had to agree. The desserts were indeed better than the meal. “I think we’ve been spoiled,” she said, looking wistfully at the platter of custard tarts and realising she could not eat another bite. “Considering this was our first meal in Portugal, your home has quite a lot to live up to, Captain de Silva!”

“Your first meal in Portugal,” Alex corrected her. She glanced at him, surprised, then remembered he had spent many years in the army fighting the French. His gaze was dark as he stared out over the terrace and she wondered what thoughts occupied his mind; certainly not of the verdant, fertile valley which stretched before them now, she guessed.

Marianne placed a hand on Alex’s, giving it a brief squeeze. He seemed to shake himself back into the present and smiled faintly.

“Though I must agree, I’ve never eaten such an excellent meal in your country before, Rafael. It was superb.”

They lingered awhile longer, allowing the food to digest. Clarissa found herself returning to the edge of the terrace, sitting on the low wall this time and admiring the view. After a few minutes, Rafael came to join her.

“Is it time to leave?” Clarissa asked.

“Soon enough. We’ll let the horses rest another fifteen minutes or so.” He did not seem inclined to conversation, simply taking a seat beside her and gazing out over the valley.

“Tell me,” Clarissa said at last, unable to bear the silence any longer, “what awaits us at your home?”

“Memories,” Rafael said after a moment, his expression distant. “And perhaps ghosts.”

“Ghosts?” Her brows arched curiously.

“Not literal ones,” he said with a faint smile. “The war left wounds on the land, but also on its people. My family bears those wounds, as you will see.”

“Then we shall face those ghosts together,” she declared firmly.

“Together,” Rafael agreed, and for the first time since they’d met, she thought she saw a hint of vulnerability in his dark eyes.

They set off again soon after. As they travelled further inland, the lush green scenery was replaced by rocky outcrops and ancient stone walls. Clarissa noted the vineyards, once neatly tended, now choked with weeds. It made her sad; like so many other things she’d seen on this journey, it was a silent testament to war and neglect.

The carriage finally passed through the gap in the hills Rafael had mentioned and climbed up a steep slope to a castle perched on the edge of a sheer cliff. Clarissa caught her breath as she looked out the window at their destination. Torre do Rochedo was a tall, square structure with a central tower that rose five or six storeys high, its stone walls weathered but still strong, turrets reaching for the sky. Yet even from here, she could see the signs of decay; battlements crumbling into piles of rubble, ivy creeping over windows where glass had long since shattered, and parts of the outer wall lying in ruins.

“It’s larger than I assumed,” Marianne said quietly beside her, leaning forward to look past her out the window. “And in far better condition than most of the castles in Portugal which Napoleon did not destroy completely. The central keep, at least, appears quite intact.”

When the carriage drew to a halt, Clarissa had to resist the urge to leap down eagerly. She wanted to make a good impression on Rafael’s mother and sister, who were presumably waiting to greet them inside, and thus composed herself. Folding her hands together in her lap to stop them trembling, she waited until Rafael opened the door and offered his hand to help her descend.

“Welcome to Torre do Rochedo,” he said proudly as she stepped down from the carriage. “Welcome to my home.”

Clarissa placed one slippered foot on the cobblestone paving of the courtyard, feeling almost reverent, and turned slowly to survey the mixture of grandeur and decay. This place spoke of centuries of history, of battles won and lost, of a family clinging to dignity despite loss and impoverishment.

“Your home,” she said softly, looking at him. “It is magnificent, Rafael. A monument to endurance.”

“Thank you.” He inclined his head slightly, though she saw more emotion in his eyes than his words might have suggested.

Together, they walked towards the entrance, and Clarissa could only imagine what tales these walls could tell. Worn by time and history though it might be, Torre do Rochedo was no less majestic for its age. It stood as a symbol of resilience, a fitting home for the man who was guiding her inside. The large wooden door opened as they climbed the steps, and a woman stood there, face alight with joy.

“Mama,” Rafael said, and there was a thickness in his tone, an unfamiliar roughness.

Lucia de Silva was a small woman, slight and somewhat stooped with age and hardship, but her presence filled the space. Her eyes, tired and lined though they were, sparkled with happiness, and she hurried forward, eagerness in every step though it seemed to cost her effort, and threw her arms around her son.

“Meu filho,” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion.

“Mother.” Rafael’s voice was equally choked. He embraced her tightly, then pulled back, grasping her shoulders, and said urgently, “Isabella?”

Lucia’s smile was all the answer he needed, and Clarissa felt a weight lift from her shoulders. She had feared they would arrive only to discover Rafael’s sister had died of some illness.

“She says Isabella was ill with pneumonia but has recovered now,” Alex whispered as Lucia spoke rapidly to her son in Portuguese.

“Thank God,” Marianne murmured, and Clarissa echoed the sentiment.

Rafael remembered his manners then, and introduced them to his mother. Clarissa already knew Rafael had sent a messenger on ahead; their arrival was no surprise to Lucia. The older woman greeted Alex and Marianne warmly, though, before Rafael turned to introduce Clarissa.

“Lady Clarissa, welcome to our home,” Lucia said in accented but clear English, smiling warmly at Clarissa. “It is an honour for us to receive you.”

“Thank you so much, Mrs de Silva,” Clarissa replied, dipping into a low curtsy. As she straightened, she took in Lucia’s plain gown. It was well made, but the fabric was worn and faded; here and there, tiny patches showed where careful repairs had been done. From what she’d seen of the estate so far, it looked much the same. Though the house itself still stood, its former glory had long since faded, and Clarissa suspected Lucia ran a tight budget to keep things running. She admired the older woman very much, even knowing that Rafael’s mother had not always approved of him.

“Please, come inside and rest. You must be weary after your journey.” Lucia gestured for them to follow her into the house. “Rooms have been prepared for you all, though I hope you will excuse any inadequacies.”

Clarissa looked around. The whitewashed walls were hung with tapestries, but they were old and faded, threadbare in places. Once, they must have been glorious, but time had taken its toll. The furniture, too, was simple, plain wood chairs with woven cane backs, a few small tables, a sideboard or two.

“Your hospitality is most generous,” Clarissa assured Lucia sincerely, following her into a small sitting room which, while somewhat shabby, was neat and clean, with a fire in the hearth adding welcome warmth to the cool room.

“I must go to Isabella.” Rafael excused himself, leaving them in his mother’s care as Lucia called over a couple of maids.

Clarissa almost asked if she might go with Rafael, eager to meet his sister, but held her tongue and smiled politely when one of the maids beckoned her to follow.

The guest rooms had clearly been hastily readied, windows thrown open to let fresh air blow through, linens stripped from the beds and replaced with fresh sheets. Though the furniture was simple, Clarissa found her room charming, and realised that though the buildings had survived the French, much of the original furniture might have been taken and burned for firewood, and the estate’s restricted finances meant they could not afford to spend much on guest rooms rarely used.

Still, the bed looked comfortable enough, and there was a small table and chair by the window where she could sit and write letters if she wished. She thanked the maid in her halting Portuguese, receiving a shy smile and a deep curtsy in return before the girl hurried off, returning shortly with a tray bearing a plate of sliced fruit, a few pieces of cake, and a pot of coffee.

“Oh, how lovely,” Clarissa said, looking to see if there might be a tea pot hiding anywhere. She had never been fond of coffee. Well, there was a good-sized jug of milk on the side; she would simply drink that.

“ Você n?o gosta de café ?“ the maid asked, pointing at the coffee pot when Clarissa poured only milk into her cup.

Clarissa could guess the meaning, even if she didn’t understand the exact words. She pointed at the coffee pot, wrinkled her nose, shook her head and smiled apologetically. The maid nodded and disappeared, and Clarissa hoped she hadn’t offended her. Trying a bite of the cake, she discovered it was delicious, strongly flavoured with honey, cinnamon and cloves. She could definitely get used to Portuguese desserts!

The maid returned with a large jug of grape juice, and Clarissa smiled happily. She thanked her as best she could. The coffee pot was taken away, and Clarissa enjoyed her afternoon tea in solitary peace, gazing out of the window at the view.

A knock at the door a few minutes later proved to be Rafael, who stayed outside when she opened it.

“Isabella wishes to meet you,” he said, smiling broadly. “I am so relieved to have her safe and on the mend, I find myself unable to refuse her anything.”

“I’d love to meet her!” Clarissa stood up immediately. “I’m very eager to make her acquaintance.”

Rafael offered his arm to escort her, and they ascended another flight of stairs to the next floor of the castle, which was evidently the family quarters. Rafael stopped outside a wooden door, knocked once, then opened it without waiting for any response.

Clarissa moved through the doorway, her eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering through gauzy curtains. The room was sparsely furnished, but a kind of elegant simplicity prevailed. In the centre of the room, propped up against a mountain of pillows, lay Isabella.

“Lady Clarissa.” Isabella greeted her in a faint but clear voice, speaking English as perfectly as her brother. Her skin was ghostly pale, almost translucent, and dark shadows framed her eyes, though they were bright and intelligent. “It’s an honour to meet you.”

“The honour is mine, Isabella,” Clarissa said warmly, moving to take a seat beside the bed. “I have heard so much about you, and your great fortitude in this difficult time.”

“Fortitude.” Isabella gave a weak smile. “Patience would be more accurate, I think.”

“Patience is something I often find myself lacking,” Clarissa confided, hoping to coax another smile from the girl. “But I think you must have learned it well.”

“When one has no choice but to lie abed all day, one learns patience out of necessity rather than virtue,” Isabella replied, though her eyes seemed brighter now.

“Perhaps I might offer some distraction?” Clarissa suggested, leaning forward with a conspiratorial air. “Rafael tells me you are quite the scholar, with a keen mind and a love of literature.”

“Does he now?” Isabella’s expression softened, and she glanced over at her brother, standing quietly by the door. “He always did know how to flatter me.”

“Flattery or not, I should love to hear your thoughts on some of my favourite books,” Clarissa continued, sensing she had hit upon the right note. “And perhaps tell you some of my own stories.”

“That sounds delightful,” Isabella said, colour coming into her cheeks. “It has been too long since I could enjoy a good conversation.”

“Then we shall make up for lost time,” Clarissa said firmly, settling back into her chair. “Tell me, what were your favourite stories growing up?”

“Oh, many,” Isabella said, her voice gaining strength as she spoke. “But my favourite memories are of Rafael telling me the legends of our ancestors. He made them come alive, so I felt I stood beside them in battle or rode with them across the plains. This old castle became a living, breathing place when he told me his tales.”

“Ah, the power of a good story.” Clarissa nodded, understanding. “Words can turn even the dullest days into grand adventures.”

“Yes.” Isabella smiled, her eyes sparkling. “In this room, they have been my escape.”

“Then we shall make new stories together,” Clarissa promised her, feeling a kinship with the younger woman. “Every day is a chance for a new beginning, no matter what life brings us.”

“Thank you, Lady Clarissa,” Isabella said sincerely. “You have already brought brightness into my day.”

“Call me Clarissa, please,” Clarissa insisted, reaching to gently take Isabella’s hand. “We are friends, aren’t we?”

“Yes, Clarissa.” Isabella’s face lit up with a smile. “Friends indeed.”

Standing silently by the door, Rafael smiled too.