13. Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

R afael, Clarissa and Isabella walked arm-in-arm back up to the clifftop castle, talking and laughing, joy infusing all three of them. As they reached the courtyard, Isabella excused herself, running into the castle and leaving Rafael and Clarissa alone on the cobblestones.

Rafael looked down at Clarissa, a frown furrowing his brow. "Clarissa… there is something I have been wanting to say to you," he said.

Her heart almost jumped from her chest. Could it be…? "Yes?" she said eagerly, but before he could say another word, they were interrupted by the sound of hoofbeats and the arrival of two horses.

Curious, Clarissa turned to look at the new arrivals, and an unthinkable sight unfolded before her eyes. Two gentlemen, as unexpected as they were familiar, rode through the stone archway and into the de Silva family estate.

Mr. Edward Dalton's rakishly handsome features bore an expression of utter astonishment as his gaze alighted on Clarissa. "Lady Clarissa! I confess I am overjoyed to see you here. When I heard word of your disappearance from Athens, I feared some dreadful fate had befallen you, yet here you are, as radiant as ever."

Before Clarissa could gather her wits to respond, the second gentleman dismounted his horse and swept into a graceful bow. "Clarissa, mia cara, what a delightful surprise," said Mario, Conte de Bardolino, his mellifluous Italian accent caressing her name.

Clarissa just stared, unable to speak, her heart racing. Two men from her past, materialising here in Portugal? It defied belief.

She dipped into a curtsy, grateful for the excuse to compose herself. "Mr. Dalton, Conte de Bardolino, this is indeed an unexpected pleasure. I had no notion either of you planned to visit Portugal."

Edward stepped closer, his blue eyes sweeping over her in frank admiration. "A happy coincidence, to be sure. I encountered Lady Glenkellie in Florence, where she informed me you had been safely recovered from your mysterious disappearance and were en route back to England. But to find you here..." He trailed off, his gaze flickering around the rustic courtyard, settling on Rafael with a look of barely concealed contempt.

Clarissa's mind whirled. Just moments ago, she had been sharing a private moment with Rafael in this very spot, almost certain he had been about to propose marriage. Now, with these two interlopers from her old life, everything felt upended, uncertain.

She forced a smile. "The de Silva family has been kind enough to host me on my journey. Come, let me introduce you. Captain Rafael de Silva, this is the Conte di Bardolino, and Mr Edward Dalton."

Rafael bowed stiffly as Clarissa made the introductions. "Welcome, gentlemen. You are very welcome to Torre do Rochedo, but to what do we owe the pleasure of your company?"

The Conte smiled broadly, seemingly oblivious to the undercurrent of tension. "Ah, Captain de Silva! I was visiting relatives in Florence when Mr Dalton arrived, and I heard that Lady Clarissa was here in Portugal. On a whim, I simply had to come pay my respects."

Mario was very young, no older than Clarissa herself, and seemed boyish compared to Rafael. His excuse was transparently thin. Clarissa sighed inwardly. Mario had set his sights on her sister Diana the previous summer when they visited his beautiful estate on the shores of Lake Garda. Now that Diana had married her duke and was no longer available, it seemed Mario had turned his attentions to Clarissa. She would have to firmly discourage him.

Mr. Dalton, however, fixed Rafael with a cool stare. "Indeed. Quite the coincidence, finding Clarissa here, is it not?"

Clarissa's heart sank at the barely veiled accusation in Edward's tone. She glanced at Rafael, seeing the muscle in his jaw clench.

"Coincidence or not," Rafael replied evenly, " Lady Clarissa is an honoured guest in my family's home. I trust you will remember that during your stay."

The two men seemed to size each other up, the air between them crackling with unspoken rivalry. Clarissa's unease grew. How had her life become so complicated so quickly?

She stepped forward, determined to defuse the situation. "I am sure you are weary from your travels. Perhaps, Captain, you could introduce the gentlemen to Senhora de Silva and she could find them accommodations?"

Rafael hesitated a moment, then nodded. "Of course. Please, follow me." As he led the men away, Clarissa caught the briefest glimpse of something raw and vulnerable in his sea-green eyes.

But it was gone in an instant, leaving her to wonder if she had simply imagined it. With a sigh, she turned away and went to find Marianne, her head spinning with questions and her heart heavy with a growing sense of foreboding.

As Clarissa descended the grand staircase later that afternoon, she was surprised to find Edward waiting for her at the bottom, his posture casual yet confident as he leaned against the ornate bannister.

"Ah, Clarissa," he greeted her with a charming smile that once would have made her heart flutter. "I was hoping we might have a moment to chat."

Clarissa forced a smile, trying to ignore the unease that prickled along her spine. "Of course. Shall we take a turn about the gardens?"

He offered his arm and she took it, allowing him to guide her outside. They walked in silence for a few moments, the only sound the crunching of gravel beneath their feet.

Finally, Edward spoke. "I must confess, Clarissa, I find myself quite perplexed by your sudden departure from Athens. One moment we were enjoying each other's company, and the next, you were gone without a word."

Clarissa's stomach twisted. How could she possibly explain the truth of what had happened? "I...I'm sorry. It was all rather sudden."

He stopped walking, turning to face her with a frown. "Sudden? Clarissa, you disappeared in the middle of the night. Your family was frantic with worry. And now, to find you here, in Portugal of all places..."

She bristled at his tone, at the unspoken accusation behind his words. "I hardly think my whereabouts are any of your concern, Mr Dalton!"

His eyes narrowed. "No? And yet, not so long ago, I had hoped they might be. I had thought perhaps you and I..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "But I see now that I was mistaken."

Clarissa's heart sank. Once, his words would have thrilled her, but now, they only filled her with a vague sense of regret. "I...I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression. But my feelings...they've changed."

He stared at her for a long moment, his jaw clenched. Then, he let out a humourless laugh. "Changed? Or were they simply never what I believed them to be?"

She looked away, unable to meet his gaze. "Mr Dalton..."

"No, don't trouble yourself," he said coldly. "I understand perfectly. I only hope, for your sake, that your newfound affections are not misplaced."

With that, he turned on his heel and strode away, leaving Clarissa alone in the garden, her heart heavy with the weight of words left unsaid.

As Clarissa watched Edward's retreating figure, she heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Turning, she found herself face to face with the Conte de Bardolino, his handsome features alight with a boyish grin.

"Clarissa, mia cara!" he exclaimed, sweeping into a low bow and pressing a kiss to her hand. "What a delightful surprise to find you here!"

Despite her melancholy mood, Clarissa couldn't help but smile at his exuberance. She remembered the Conte's infatuation with her sister Diana the previous season, how he had followed her about like an eager puppy. Both sisters had been nothing but amused by his attentions.

"Mario," she greeted him warmly, unafraid to use his first name as she had come to view him almost as a brother during their time in Italy. "I must confess, I'm rather surprised to see you here as well. What brings you to Portugal?"

He waved a hand airily. "Oh, you know how it is. A bit of wanderlust, a desire for adventure. And of course, the chance to bask in your radiant presence once more."

Clarissa laughed, shaking her head. "You are incorrigible, Mario. But I'm afraid you'll find me rather poor company at the moment."

His brow furrowed in concern. "Why, whatever is the matter? Has that odious Dalton fellow been bothering you? He insisted on tagging along from Florence with me and I admit I have not taken to him."

She sighed. "It's nothing, really. Just a small disagreement between friends."

Mario clucked his tongue sympathetically. "Ah, the trials and tribulations of the heart. But fear not, mia bella! I shall endeavour to lift your spirits with my charming wit and dashing good looks."

Clarissa couldn't help but be amused by his antics. Compared to Rafael's quiet intensity, Mario seemed almost childlike in his enthusiasm. She found herself wondering how Rafael was faring with the unexpected arrivals.

As if summoned by her thoughts, Lucia and Isabella appeared, their faces wreathed in welcoming smiles.

"Conte! I would like you to meet my daughter, Isabella," Lucia said.

Mario stopped in his tracks, staring at Isabella, who was looking particularly lovely this afternoon in a pale sea-green silk gown, her glossy black curls cascading around her shoulders.

Clarissa laughed silently to herself as Mario stumbled over his words, his gaze never leaving Isabella's face. For her part, Isabella seemed almost equally taken with the young Italian count, blushing and smiling shyly as he bowed over her hand.

Lucia caught Clarissa's eye and smiled, the smug smile of a mother who has found a suitable suitor for their offspring and seen an immediate result. Clarissa beamed back at Lucia, honestly grateful; if Mario transferred his attentions to Isabella, that was one less problem for Clarissa to worry about.

The days passed in a blur of activity, with Isabella and Lucia taking it upon themselves to entertain their guests, obviously enjoying having Torre do Rochedo full of guests once more. Clarissa found herself drawn into their lively conversations, grateful for the distraction from her troubled thoughts. Yet, even as she laughed and jested with the others, she couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had settled in the pit of her stomach.

At least Mario now seemed utterly enchanted by Isabella. His gaze followed the lovely young woman wherever she went, his eyes alight with admiration and wonder.

Clarissa watched the pair as they strolled through the gardens, heads bent close together in intimate conversation. Isabella's silvery laughter rang out across the grounds, and Mario's answering chuckle sent a pang of envy through Clarissa's heart. Not for Mario's affections, but for the easy camaraderie the two seemed to share.

She couldn't help but contrast their lighthearted interactions with Rafael's distant demeanour. Ever since the arrival of the new guests, he had been conspicuously absent, his duties seemingly taking up all of his time. Clarissa tried to tell herself that it was mere coincidence, that his withdrawal had nothing to do with her, but the ache in her chest told a different story.

As the days stretched into a week, Clarissa's doubts and insecurities grew. She found herself wandering the halls of the estate, hoping to catch a glimpse of Rafael, only to be met with disappointment at every turn. The few times she did see him, he was distant and formal, his sea-green eyes shuttered against her searching gaze.

With each passing day, Clarissa's heart broke a little more. She had thought... had hoped... that perhaps there was something special between them. That the connection she felt wasn't just a figment of her imagination. But now, faced with Rafael's cold indifference, she was forced to confront the painful truth.

She had lost him. Before she ever truly had him.

Marianne found Clarissa sitting in the garden, her eyes fixed on the distant horizon. The Marchioness settled herself on the bench beside her niece, her keen gaze taking in Clarissa's melancholy expression.

"What troubles you, my dear?" Marianne asked gently.

Clarissa sighed, her fingers twisting in the folds of her dress. "It's Rafael," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "He's been avoiding me since Mr. Dalton and the Conte arrived. I fear I've done something to offend him."

Marianne's brow furrowed thoughtfully. "I don't believe that's the case," she said slowly. "In fact, I suspect quite the opposite."

Clarissa turned to face her friend, confusion etched across her features. "What do you mean?"

"I think Rafael is jealous," Marianne said simply.

A startled laugh escaped Clarissa's lips. "Jealous? Of whom? Mr. Dalton? The Conte? That's absurd."

Marianne shook her head. "Is it? You have a history with both men. It's not so far-fetched to think that Rafael might feel threatened by their presence."

Clarissa considered this for a moment, her heart fluttering with a tentative hope. Could it be true? Could Rafael's distance be a manifestation of jealousy rather than indifference?

She thought back to their interactions before the arrival of their guests. The stolen glances, the gentle teasing, the undeniable pull between them. It had all felt so real, so promising. But then everything had changed.

"I don't know, Marianne," Clarissa said uncertainly. "He's been so cold. So distant. If he truly cared for me, wouldn't he want to spend time with me, regardless of who else was here?"

Marianne smiled knowingly. "Men can be foolish creatures, my dear. They often let their pride and insecurities cloud their judgement, and jealousy is the very worst of emotions - as Alex could tell you." She reached out and squeezed Clarissa's hand. "If you want answers, you must seek them out yourself."

Clarissa took a deep breath, her resolve hardening. Marianne was right. She couldn't sit idly by, waiting for Rafael to come to her. She had to take action.

Rising to her feet, Clarissa smoothed her skirts and squared her shoulders. "I'm going to find him," she declared. "I'm going to ask him directly if I've done something to offend him."

Marianne nodded approvingly. "Good. Don't let him evade the question. Demand the truth."

With a grateful smile, Clarissa set off in search of Rafael, her heart pounding with a mixture of anticipation and dread. One way or another, she would have her answer.

Rafael stormed into the stables, his mind a tempest of conflicting emotions. The sight of Clarissa with those two men, the easy way she smiled at them, the sparkle in her eyes... it was more than he could bear.

He saddled his horse with jerky, aggressive movements, his jaw clenched tight. He needed to get away, to clear his head. To figure out what in God's name he was going to do about these feelings that threatened to consume him.

"Running away again, my son?"

Rafael spun around to see Lucia leaning against the stable door, her arms crossed and a knowing look on her face.

"I'm not running away," he snapped. "I have work to do."

Lucia raised an eyebrow. "Work that conveniently takes you far away from a certain English lady and her suitors?"

Rafael's hands stilled on the saddle. That was the crux of it, wasn't it? What could he, a penniless Portuguese nobleman with a crumbling castle and a neglected vineyard, offer a woman like Clarissa? Better to keep his distance, leave her free to make her choice between the two suitors who could offer her a life she deserved.

"I don't..." He swallowed hard. "I don't have a chance. That's why I need to stay away."

Lucia's eyes softened. "Oh, Rafael. Don't you see? She cares for you. Anyone with eyes can see it."

Rafael shook his head. "She deserves better than me, Mamma. Better than this life."

"And what about what she wants?" Lucia asked gently. "Have you even asked her?"

Rafael looked away, his jaw working. No, he hadn't asked her. He'd been too afraid of the answer.

"Pride is a funny thing, dear one," Lucia said. "It can make us do foolish things. Like push away the people we love because we don't think we're good enough for them."

Rafael's eyes snapped back to hers. "I don't..."

"Don't you?" Lucia smiled. "Don't let your pride ruin this, Rafael. Talk to her. Tell her how you feel. Before it's too late."

With that, Lucia turned and walked out of the stables, leaving Rafael alone with his thoughts. He leaned his forehead against his horse's neck, closing his eyes.

Could his mother be right? Could Clarissa truly care for him, despite everything? The thought made his heart race and his palms sweat.

But the alternative... the thought of losing her, of watching her fall in love with someone else... that was unbearable.

Rafael sighed and pulled his saddle off, patting his horse's neck in apology before stowing the tack and leaving the stable. No more running away. His decision was made. He would talk to Clarissa. He would lay his heart at her feet and pray that she would accept it.

And if she didn't... well, at least he would know he had tried.

He knew he had been avoiding Clarissa, knew that his behaviour was causing her pain. But he couldn't seem to help himself. Every time he saw her with Dalton or the Conte, laughing at their jokes or listening intently to their stories, a bitter jealousy rose up within him, threatening to choke him.

How could he compete with them? With their wealth and titles and easy charm? He was just a lowly sea captain, struggling to keep his family's estate afloat. What could he possibly offer a woman like Clarissa? A crumbling estate and an uncertain future? The Conte was rich and titled, Dalton an English aristocrat; either would surely be far more acceptable as a suitor than he.

The sound of footsteps behind him pulled him from his thoughts. He turned to see Clarissa herself approaching, her expression determined.

"Rafael," she said, coming to a stop before him. "I need to speak with you."

He swallowed hard, his heart racing at her proximity. "Of course," he managed, his voice rough. "What is it?"

Clarissa took a deep breath, as if steeling herself. "Have I done something to offend you?" she asked bluntly.

Rafael blinked, taken aback by her directness. "No," he said quickly. "No, of course not."

"Then why have you been avoiding me?" Clarissa pressed, her eyes searching his face. "Ever since Mr. Dalton and the Conte arrived, you've barely spoken to me. You've been distant and cold. I don't understand."

Rafael looked away, unable to hold her gaze. How could he explain the tangled web of emotions that had been plaguing him? The fear, the insecurity, the bone-deep longing that he could never seem to escape?

"I've been busy," he said lamely, the excuse sounding hollow even to his own ears. "My duties..."

"Don't lie to me, Rafael," Clarissa interrupted, her voice sharp. "I know there's more to it than that."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "What do you want me to say, Clarissa?"

"The truth," she said simply. "I want the truth."

Rafael closed his eyes, his jaw clenching. The truth. The one thing he couldn't give her. Because the truth was that he was in love with her, desperately and irrevocably. And the truth was that he wasn't worthy of her, could never be worthy of her.

But as he stood there, feeling the weight of her gaze upon him, he knew he couldn't keep running from this. From her.

"The truth," he said slowly, opening his eyes to gaze on her beautiful face, etched with determination as she confronted him, "is that I..."

Rafael's voice trailed off as he struggled to find the words. He turned away from Clarissa, his gaze falling upon the sun-drenched vineyards that stretched out before them. The golden light seemed to mock him, a reminder of all the warmth and beauty he couldn't possess.

"I cannot compete with them," he said at last, his voice low and rough. "The Conte, with his title and his wealth. And Dalton, with his respectable English upbringing and his history with your family. They can offer you so much more than I ever could."

Clarissa stepped closer, her brow furrowed in confusion. "Rafael, what are you talking about? I don't care about titles or wealth. I care about you."

He shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "You shouldn't. You deserve so much more than a penniless Portuguese captain with a crumbling castle and a failing vineyard."

"Stop it," Clarissa said fiercely, her hand coming up to grip his arm. "Stop talking about yourself like that. You are the most honourable, brave, and kind man I have ever known. Your circumstances do not define you."

Rafael looked down at her, his heart aching at the sincerity in her eyes. He wanted so badly to believe her, to let himself hope that maybe, just maybe, she could love him as he loved her.

But the doubts still lingered, the insecurities that had been bred into him over years of struggle and hardship. He couldn't shake the feeling that he would never be enough for her, that she would eventually realise the truth and leave him behind.

"Clarissa," he said softly, his hand coming up to cup her cheek. "I..."

"Brother!" Isabella's voice rang out across the vineyard, startling them both. Rafael stepped back, the moment broken.

Isabella hurried towards them, her face flushed with excitement. "There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you."

She took in the tension between them, her smile faltering slightly. "Am I interrupting something?"

"No," Rafael said quickly, forcing a smile. "Not at all. What is it, Isabella?"

As his sister began to chatter about some new idea she had for the vineyard, Rafael couldn't help but steal a glance at Clarissa. She was watching him, her eyes filled with a mixture of confusion and hurt.

He looked away, his heart heavy. He knew he couldn't keep running from this forever. Sooner or later, he would have to face the truth of his feelings for her.

But for now, he would do what he always did. He would bury his emotions, focus on his duties, and try to ignore the ache in his chest that only seemed to grow with each passing day.