16. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

R afael sat frozen at the head of the table, his heart an aching void in his chest as he watched Clarissa flee the dining room after her father's pronouncement. The room was brightly lit with candles and lamps, but Rafael felt only darkness encroaching, suffocating him. If only he had found the courage to tell her how he truly felt! But his damnable pride and baseless jealousy had held his tongue captive. Now it was too late.

Marianne rose from her seat and went after Clarissa, leaving everyone else looking at each other in uncertain silence - everyone except Mr Dalton, Rafael noted, who picked up his knife and fork and began cutting into his meat, as though it was not his careless words which had ignited the Earl's fury and sealed Clarissa's fate.

Dinner concluded in silence. Neither Marianne nor Clarissa returned, and Rafael heard his mother speak quietly to a maid, ordering food to be sent up to their rooms. He wondered if Clarissa would be able to eat. He had not been able to choke anything down, merely pushing the food around his plate.

As soon as possible after the meal, he made his excuses and escaped, going outside to the terrace to pace in silent desperation.

Somehow, it wasn't surprising that Alex came after him.

"You're a fool, you know," Alex said softly, clapping a heavy hand on Rafael's shoulder. "A damned fool not to go after her and declare yourself."

Rafael jerked away, a mirthless laugh escaping his lips. "And say what exactly? That I allowed my own insecurities to poison what grew between us? That I cannot bear the thought of her belonging to another?" He shook his head. "No, better she leave thinking me an irredeemable scoundrel. At least then she may forget me in time."

"Rafael, surely you don't mean that. Clarissa cares for you deeply, anyone can see it. This cannot be how your story ends."

"But it must," Rafael ground out, his throat tight with barely restrained anguish. "Her life is in England, amongst the glittering ton, not wasted on a penniless sea captain with naught to offer but a dilapidated vineyard and a fool's dreams."

He swallowed hard, forcing his next words past the lump in his throat. "I thank you and Lady Glenkellie, for everything. Will you... will you watch over her? See that she is happy?"

"Of course," Alex murmured quietly. "Marianne would not have it otherwise. And don't abandon all hope just yet, old friend. If it's meant to be, you'll find your way back to each other. Amor vincit omnia, and all that."

He knew something of Alex and Marianne's story, how Marianne's father had forced her into an arranged marriage when Alex was sent away to war, and it was not until after Marianne was widowed that they found their way back to each other. Such a distant, nebulous possibility was no comfort whatsoever to Rafael, though. And the mere thought of Clarissa wed to an old man who would surely crush all the vitality from her spirit made him want to scream his rage at the night.

Alex stepped away with a quiet murmur that he must see to the packing, and left Rafael alone.

He turned slowly, each step leaden, and blew out a deep breath as he looked up at the crumbling facade of his home. There was work to be done. Always more work. Perhaps if he threw himself into the business of the vineyard, the repairs to the estate, his duty to his sister and mother, he could forget the gaping wound where his heart used to reside. Where Clarissa used to reside.

But even as he told himself to let her go, Rafael knew forgetting Clarissa would be as impossible as forgetting how to breathe. She was in his very marrow now. All he could do was carry on, rebuild his life from the ashes of today, and pray that someday - if fortune chose to smile upon him - he might have a chance to win her back.

Until then, he would remain Captain Rafael de Silva. Devoted son, brother, and defender of the seas. But never again a lover. For his heart was about to sail away to England, and he knew not if it would ever return.

Rafael entered the castle, his footsteps echoing through the halls. He found Isabella and Lucia in the salon, their faces stricken with sorrow. Isabella rushed to him, her eyes brimming with tears.

"Rafael, surely there must be something we can do! Clarissa loves you, I know it. You cannot let her go so easily," Isabella pleaded, grasping his hands.

Rafael gently disentangled himself from her grip, his expression grave. "It is pointless, Isabella. Her father has already arranged her marriage. I cannot interfere with that."

Lucia approached, her face etched with concern. "But Rafael, my son, if you love her..."

"It matters not," Rafael interrupted, his voice strained. "We must bear this separation. There is nothing to be done."

Isabella shook her head vehemently. "I refuse to believe that! You are the bravest man I know. You cannot simply give up!"

Rafael's jaw clenched, his eyes flashing with barely contained emotion. "I am not giving up, Isabella. I am accepting reality. Clarissa's place is in England, with her family, marrying the lord her father has chosen for her. Our place is here, rebuilding our lives. We must focus on that now."

Lucia placed a comforting hand on Isabella's shoulder. "Your brother is right, my dear. We must be strong, for each other and for Clarissa. She would want us to carry on."

Isabella's shoulders slumped, her fiery spirit momentarily quelled by the weight of their circumstances. Rafael drew both women into a fierce embrace, his voice rough with unshed tears.

"We will endure this, as we have endured so much already. Our love for each other, for this land, will sustain us. And perhaps, if God is kind, fate may yet bring Clarissa back to us someday."

But even as he spoke the words, Rafael could not bring himself to believe them. For how could fate be so cruel as to bring Clarissa into his life, only to rip her away just as he realised the depth of his love for her? No, he thought bitterly, fate was not kind. And he was a fool to ever believe otherwise.

Rafael stood stoically on the steps of the estate, watching as Marianne and Alex helped Clarissa into the waiting carriage. His heart ached with each step she took, each inch of distance that grew between them. He longed to run to her, to gather her in his arms and beg her to stay. But he remained rooted in place, duty and honour forbidding him from acting on his deepest desires.

Marianne turned back, her eyes meeting Rafael's with a mixture of sorrow and understanding. She approached him, her voice soft yet filled with conviction. "Rafael, are you certain about this? It's not too late for you to speak to her."

He swallowed hard, his voice strained as he replied, "I am certain, Marianne. Clarissa deserves a life of comfort and security, one that I cannot provide. I am grateful that she has you and Alex to watch over her."

Alex joined them, placing a firm hand on Rafael's shoulder. "You are a good man, Rafael. Never doubt that. And if you ever change your mind, know that you will always have friends in England."

Rafael nodded, his throat too tight to speak. He watched as the couple returned to the carriage, their final farewell hanging heavily in the air. Clarissa's eyes met his through the carriage window, a world of unspoken emotions passing between them. In that moment, Rafael felt his resolve waver, the urge to go to her nearly overwhelming him.

But then the carriage jolted forward, the horses' hooves clattering against the cobblestones. Rafael stood motionless as the carriage carried Clarissa away, the distance between them growing with each passing second. He wanted to call out to her, to tell her all the things he had been too cowardly to say. But the words died on his lips, their fight left unresolved, their future together nothing more than a dream that could never be.

As the carriage disappeared from view, Rafael felt a profound sense of loss, as though a part of his very soul had been ripped away. He closed his eyes, the image of Clarissa's face burned into his memory, a bittersweet reminder of all that he had found and lost in the span of a few short months.

He loved Clarissa, with every fibre of his being, with a passion that consumed him like a raging inferno. And now, he had lost her, almost certainly forever.

I should have proposed to her weeks ago. In Florence, probably. We would have been married by now.

The realisation hit him like a physical blow, his knees nearly buckling under the weight of his emotions. He braced himself against the stone wall of the courtyard, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he struggled to compose himself. How could he have been so foolish, so blind to his own heart? He had let his pride and his sense of duty come between them, and now he would pay the price for his stubborn foolishness.

But even as his heart shattered into a million pieces, Rafael knew that he could not abandon his responsibilities to chase after Clarissa. His family, the people who depended on him - they all needed him to be strong, to be the leader that they had come to rely on. He could not simply walk away from his duties, no matter how much his soul cried out for Clarissa's touch.

With a heavy sigh, Rafael pushed himself away from the wall, squaring his shoulders as he turned to face the castle. He would have to find a way to carry on, to bury his heartbreak deep within himself and focus on the tasks at hand. But even as he took that first step forward, he knew that a part of him would always belong to Clarissa, that he would carry the memory of their love with him for the rest of his days.

As Rafael entered the castle with dragging steps, he was greeted by the sight of Isabella and the Conte di Bardolino, their faces alight with joy and excitement. The Conte stepped forward, his expression serious as he met Rafael's gaze.

"Rafael," he began, his voice low and earnest. "I come to you today not just as a friend, but as a man deeply in love with your sister. I humbly ask for your blessing to take Isabella's hand in marriage, to cherish and protect her for all of my days."

Rafael blinked, his mind struggling to process the Conte's words. He had been so consumed by his own heartbreak, so lost in his thoughts of Clarissa, that he had almost forgotten about the budding romance between his sister and the young Italian nobleman.

He glanced at Isabella, saw the hopeful expression on her face, the way her eyes sparkled with love and anticipation. How could he deny her this happiness, especially after all that she had suffered?

Swallowing hard, Rafael forced a smile to his lips, his voice rough with emotion as he replied, "Mario, I can think of no man more worthy of my sister's hand than you. You have my blessing, and my deepest congratulations to you both."

Isabella let out a cry of joy, rushing forward to embrace her brother. "Oh, Rafael, thank you!" she exclaimed, her voice muffled against his chest. "I know that this must be difficult for you, so soon after Clarissa's departure, but your support means everything to me."

Rafael held his sister tight, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall. He knew that he should be happy for her, that he should be celebrating this joyous occasion. But all he could think about was Clarissa, and the future that he had let slip through his fingers.

"I am happy for you, truly," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "You deserve all the happiness in the world, Isabella. And I know that Mario will be a loving and devoted husband to you."

As the Conte and Isabella embraced, their faces radiant with love and joy, Rafael felt a pang of envy and regret. He had had that same chance at happiness, that same opportunity to build a life with the woman he loved. But he had let his own fears and doubts get in the way, and now he would have to live with the consequences of his choices.

With a heavy heart, Rafael turned away from the happy couple, his mind already racing with thoughts of the future. He would throw himself into his work, into rebuilding his family's estate and securing his sister's happiness. And perhaps, in time, he would find a way to heal the wound that Clarissa's absence had left in his soul.

Rafael stood on the terrace, watching as the servants hurried to and fro, their arms laden with flowers and ribbons. The air was thick with the scent of roses and jasmine, and the sound of laughter and chatter filled the courtyard below.

He forced a smile onto his face as Isabella approached, her eyes shining with excitement. "Oh, Rafael," she exclaimed, taking his hands in hers. "Can you believe it? In just a few short days, I will be a married woman!"

Rafael swallowed hard, his throat suddenly tight. "I am so happy for you, Isabella," he managed to say, his voice sounding strained even to his own ears. "Mario is a lucky man."

Isabella's smile faltered slightly, and she searched his face with concern. "Rafael, are you all right? You seem troubled."

He shook his head, forcing himself to meet her gaze. "I am fine, Isabella. Just a little tired, that's all. There is much to be done before the wedding, and I want everything to be perfect for you."

Isabella's face softened, and she reached up to touch his cheek. "You are a good brother, Rafael. I know that you have sacrificed so much for our family, and I am grateful for everything that you have done. But you must not forget to live your own life, too. You deserve happiness, just as much as I do."

Rafael felt a surge of emotion rise up within him, and he blinked back the tears that threatened to fall. "Thank you, Isabella," he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. "I will try to remember that."

As Isabella hurried off to oversee the preparations, Rafael turned back to the view of the vineyards, his heart heavy with regret. He knew that he should be focusing on his sister's happiness, on the future that lay ahead for his family. But he could not shake the feeling that he had lost something precious, something that he would never be able to regain.

With a sigh, he squared his shoulders and turned back towards the castle, determined to put on a brave face for his sister's sake. There would be time enough for regrets later, he told himself firmly. For now, he had a wedding to prepare for, and a family to protect.

Rafael walked through the halls of the castle, his footsteps echoing on the stone floors. The sound of laughter and excited chatter drifted towards him from the courtyard, where the servants were busy hanging garlands of flowers and setting up tables for the wedding feast. He forced himself to smile, to nod and exchange pleasantries with those he passed, but inside he felt hollow, as if a vital part of him had been torn away.

He found himself in the library, seeking solace among the dusty tomes and faded tapestries. The room was dim and cool, the only light filtering in through the narrow windows. Rafael sank into a worn leather armchair, his head in his hands.

"What have I done?" he whispered to himself, his voice rough with emotion. "I let her go, without even telling her how I felt. And now she is lost to me forever."

He thought of Clarissa, of her fierce intelligence and her infectious laughter, her forthright honesty, of the way her eyes had sparkled when she looked at him. He had been a fool not to tell her how much he loved her, how much he needed her in his life. And now it was too late.

Rafael sat there for a long time, lost in his thoughts, until the sound of footsteps in the hallway roused him from his reverie. He stood up, straightening his jacket and smoothing back his hair. He had a duty to his family, to his sister, and he would not let them down.

"Isabella's happiness must come first," he told himself firmly, pushing aside his own heartache. "I will focus on that, and let the rest take care of itself."

With a deep breath, Rafael left the library and went to find his sister, determined to make her wedding day a joyous occasion, no matter the cost to his own heart.

As Rafael walked through the hallways of the castle, his mind wandered to the future. The once grand castle lay in disrepair, a shadow of its former glory. The vineyards, too, had suffered from years of neglect, the vines overgrown and the soil untended. Clarissa had made him see that it could be otherwise, that if he dedicated himself to rebuilding his estate, he could bring it back to what it once had been. She had seen the possibility, and now, he determined that he would make her vision complete.

"I will rebuild this place," Rafael vowed silently, his jaw set with determination. "I will make it a home worthy of Clarissa's memory, a testament to the love I never had the chance to share with her."

He imagined Clarissa walking beside him, her hand in his as they surveyed the grounds together. In his mind's eye, he could see the vineyards thriving once more, the castle restored to its former grandeur. It was a vision of what might have been, a dream that he would now have to pursue alone.

Rafael paused at a window, looking out over the rolling hills that stretched to the horizon. The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. It was a sight that Clarissa would have loved, he knew, and the thought brought a fresh wave of pain to his heart.

"I will never forget you, my love," he whispered, his voice carried away on the evening breeze. "And I will never stop fighting for the life we might have had together."

With a final, lingering look at the sunset, Rafael turned away from the window and continued on his way, his steps heavy with the weight of his grief and his resolve. There was work to be done, and he would not rest until it was finished, until he had created a legacy that would honour Clarissa's vision as she deserved.