19. Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

T he hushed whispers followed Rafael like a swarm of biting flies as he entered Lord Moncrieffe's ballroom. Ornate chandeliers illuminated the sneers on powdered faces, the aristocratic noses turned up at his presence.

"A Portuguese sea captain, in our circles? The nerve!" Lady Dunmore tittered behind her fan.

"Practically a peasant, I hear. With no fortune to speak of," Lord Talbot added with a contemptuous sniff.

Rafael met their scorn with his head held high, though inside he burned with indignation. A peasant? If only they knew the weight of responsibility he bore, the lives that depended on him. But that was not for them to understand. He was here for Clarissa, and her alone.

As if conjured by his thoughts, Clarissa appeared before him, radiant in a gown of shimmering silver. Her smile was strained but her eyes danced with defiance.

"Captain de Silva. I'm so pleased you could attend."

"Lady Clarissa." He bowed deeply, acutely aware of the dozens of eyes tracking his every move. "The pleasure is entirely mine."

She leaned in, her voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. "Pay them no mind, Rafael. Their opinions are as insubstantial as sea foam."

He couldn't help but chuckle, marvelling at her spirit. "And just as easily dispersed by the wind. Shall we give them something to really talk about?"

Rafael extended his hand in open invitation. Clarissa's smile bloomed like a sunrise as she placed her gloved fingers in his. Somewhere, a scandalised gasp punctuated the moment.

As he led her towards the dance floor, Rafael caught sight of the Countess, her lips pinched in disapproval. No doubt she had orchestrated this display of disdain. But even her machinations could not shake his resolve. For Clarissa, he would weather any storm.

The first strains of a waltz drifted through the air. Rafael drew Clarissa close, savouring the warmth of her through the layers of silk and lace. Here, in the circle of his arms, the rest of the world fell away. No wagging tongues or raised eyebrows could touch them.

Let them whisper, he thought as they began to dance. Let them sneer and scoff. His heart knew the truth, and that was enough. Enough to endure a thousand petty humiliations.

As they twirled across the gleaming parquet, Clarissa's eyes sparkled with mischief. "I do believe we've caused quite the stir."

"Indeed. I fear the Countess may faint from the impropriety of it all."

She laughed, the sound like champagne bubbles in his ears. "Oh, Mama will survive. Though I suspect I'm in for a scolding later."

Rafael's brow furrowed. "I hate to be the cause of strife between you."

"Nonsense." Clarissa's fingers tightened on his shoulder. "I won't let anyone dictate my heart. Not even my own mother."

Pride surged through him. This brave, beautiful woman had chosen him, society's scorn be damned. It humbled and exhilarated him in equal measure.

The final notes of the waltz faded away, and reality crashed back in like a cold tide. Reluctantly, Rafael stepped back, already mourning the loss of her touch.

No sooner had they parted than the Countess descended, her face a thundercloud. "Clarissa. A word, if you please."

Clarissa squeezed his hand, a silent promise, before following her mother to a quiet alcove. Rafael watched them go, steeling himself for the battle ahead.

The Countess's voice, though hushed, carried in the stillness. "Have you taken leave of your senses? Cavorting with that... that nobody?"

"He is not a nobody." Clarissa's tone could have cut glass. "He is a good, honourable man."

"He is beneath you!" The Countess's agitation was clear in the rustle of her skirts. "You're throwing away your prospects, your reputation..."

"My reputation is my own to risk."

Rafael's heart swelled to bursting. In that moment, he knew with blinding certainty that he would love this woman until his dying breath.

The Earl of Creighton's footsteps rang out like gunshots as he marched toward Rafael, face mottled with rage. "You there. De Silva."

Rafael turned, squaring his shoulders. "My Lord."

"I'll not mince words." The earl's eyes were flint. "Stay away from my daughter, or I'll see you on the first ship back to Portugal. Permanently."

The threat hung in the air, sharp as a blade. Rafael met it with a steady gaze. "With respect, my Lord, I cannot do that."

"Cannot?" The Earl sputtered. "You forget your place, sir."

"No." Rafael's voice was calm, unwavering. "I know my place. It is by Clarissa's side, for as long as she'll have me."

The earl's fists clenched, his knuckles white. "She'll have you nowhere, once I'm through. I'll not see her ruined by the likes of you."

Rafael's heart hammered, but he stood firm. "I would never ruin her. I love her, more than my own life."

"Love?" the earl scoffed. "What has love to do with anything? You're a penniless foreigner, a nobody. You bring nothing to this union."

Nothing but my heart , Rafael thought. And my honour, for whatever that's worth in this glittering world of facades.

Aloud, he said, "I bring my devotion, my loyalty. I will work tirelessly to give Clarissa the life she deserves."

"Pretty words." The earl sneered at him. "They'll mean little when you're starving in the gutter."

Rafael lifted his chin, his resolve hardening. "I will not compromise my values, not for status or approval. If I must prove myself worthy, I'll do so through my actions, not by bending to the whims of fashion."

The Earl's face darkened to puce. "Then prove yourself from Portugal. You set foot near Clarissa again, and I'll have you exiled. That is a promise."

With that, he spun on his heel and stalked away, leaving Rafael alone in the glittering ballroom, his future hanging by a thread.

"Pay no heed to Arthur." He turned to see Marianne smiling up at him. "His bark is far worse than his bite. I shall be reminding him of what happened the last time he attempted to intervene in a love match."

"And what did happen, Lady Glenkellie?" She gestured to him to lead her out on the dance floor, and he obliged, ignoring the disapproving expressions of those who thought him unfit to dance with a marchioness.

"A swan," Marianne said cryptically, giggling at his confused expression. "Let me just say that divine justice was meted out and Arthur has been a better man for it - for the most part. Leave him and Lavinia to me. Alex is going to take you to his club and introduce you to a few influential gentlemen whose good opinion will carry a great deal of weight in the ton."

"Such as?" Rafael asked a little doubtfully.

"Senior military gentlemen who don't bother with this sort of nonsense." Marianne gestured around them, a gesture of disdain for the frippery and gossip being indulged in by those around them. "Men who will understand and respect exactly who you are, what you have been through and the challenges you now face, because many of them fought in the Peninsular Campaign. You'll see."

He did not like having to trust his and Clarissa's fate to others, but Marianne had never been anything but supportive of his suit. He bowed to her at the end of the dance and thanked her sincerely.

"You are most welcome. Now. Here is my friend Lady Havers… Ellen, do let me present Captain de Silva! He most kindly hosted us at his beautiful castle in Portugal, such magnificent countryside!" Marianne's normally soft voice was quite loud, and several nearby ladies and gentlemen looked at each other in confusion, obviously wondering if the stories they had heard were quite accurate, if the Marchioness of Glenkellie was praising this gentleman so strongly.

Lady Havers was a pretty dark-haired woman in her early twenties wearing a stunning blue gown. She smiled up at him warmly. "Any friend of Marianne's is a friend of mine," she said sincerely.

"He and Clarissa are in love and Arthur's being painful," Marianne said in an undertone, so that only Ellen and Rafael heard.

"I see! How very… Arthur of him." Ellen laughed gently. "Let us see what we can do, then. Come and meet my husband, Captain. He's a foreigner too," she confided, linking her arm through his and drawing him through the crowd. "American. Caused quite a stir in the ton with his new-fangled ideas when he inherited the earldom, I can tell you."

Rafael liked Thomas Havers at once; the American earl gave off an air of steady calm which felt intensely reassuring. He was surrounded by a group of men who proved to be not only impressively titled but influential in the political sphere. With Thomas's immediate acceptance of him at Ellen's introduction and the friendly attitude of the gentlemen with him, Rafael could almost feel the tide of opinion in the room begin to turn in his favour.

Even Lady Belmont, one of the Ton's most notorious gossips, was heard to remark, "Perhaps there's more to that Portuguese fellow than meets the eye."

"He's certainly handsome enough," Lady Jersey replied. "Can't blame the Creighton gel in the slightest. If I was twenty years younger…"

"Try thirty!" Lady Belmont retorted, before both ladies laughed wickedly.

And then, to Rafael's utter astonishment, a matronly lady in a lavish gown approached, a blushing young woman at her side, nudging Ellen to introduce them.

"Lady Partlebury, Miss Partlebury," Ellen said with a small smile, "allow me to introduce Captain Rafael de Silva."

"Captain de Silva," Lady Partlebury twittered eagerly. "My daughter Amelia is most eager to make your acquaintance."

Rafael blinked, scarcely able to believe the sudden change in his fortunes. The once hostile stares had transformed into appraising glances, the sneers replaced by coy smiles.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Partlebury," he managed, bowing politely over her gloved hand. His mind whirled with the implications of this unexpected development. Could it be that the tide was truly turning? That the Ton was beginning to see him as more than a foreign interloper?

As more ladies began to approach, their eager daughters in tow, Rafael couldn't help but marvel at the power of perception. How quickly opinions could change, how easily prejudice could be swayed by the endorsement of a respected few.

The same happened when Alex took him to his club. The Duke of Wellington himself was present, and with one glance at Rafael's uniform, rose and offered his hand. "An honour to have you join us, Captain," he said in fluent Portuguese, even before Alex had made the introductions.

"The honour is mine, your grace," Rafael returned with a deep bow.

"None of that, now. Some brandy!" The duke gestured to the waiter. "Take a seat and tell me about your ship, young man."

Clarissa's heart sank as her mother's iron grip tightened around her wrist, pulling her inexorably towards the ballroom exit. She craned her neck for one last glimpse of Rafael.

"Come along, Clarissa," the Countess hissed, her voice barely audible above the strains of the orchestra. "We are leaving this instant."

Clarissa stumbled slightly, her silk slippers catching on the polished parquet floor. "But Mother, surely we can stay a little longer? The evening has barely begun."

"I will not have you associating with that... that fortune hunter," her mother snapped, tugging Clarissa along like an errant child.

Clarissa's cheeks burned with indignation. How dare her mother speak of Rafael that way?

As they reached the cloakroom, Clarissa's thoughts whirled in a maelstrom of emotion. The scent of Rafael's sandalwood cologne still clung to her gloves from their brief dance. She inhaled deeply, savouring the memory of his strong arms around her waist, his sea-green eyes gazing into hers with such tender intensity.

"I cannot believe you would embarrass us so, dancing with that Portuguese upstart," her mother muttered as she roughly fastened Clarissa's cloak. "What will people say?"

Clarissa lifted her chin defiantly. "They will say that I danced with a brave and honourable man, Mother. Captain de Silva is no fortune hunter."

The Countess's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You know nothing of the world, foolish girl. Now come, our carriage awaits."

As they swept down the marble steps, the cool night air kissed Clarissa's flushed cheeks. She cast one last longing glance at the glowing windows of the ballroom, wondering if Rafael was searching for her even now.

"This is for your own good, Clarissa," her mother said, her tone softening slightly. "You'll thank me one day when you're safely married to a respectable English gentleman."

Clarissa bit back a retort, knowing it would fall on deaf ears. As she climbed into the carriage, she vowed silently that this would not be the last time she saw Rafael de Silva. Somehow, some way, she would find a way to be with the man who had captured her heart.