22. Chapter Twenty-Two

Clarissa was with her mother in the drawing-room the following morning when Marianne arrived. The butler showed her in, but Marianne only made them the briefest courtesies before stating that she was there to visit the earl, and marching off to his study.

"Well," the countess muttered. "Marianne certainly has a bee in her bonnet today. Is this something to do with you, my girl?"

"I'm sure I have no idea what you mean, Mama." Clarissa feigned innocence, though inwardly she was dying to know what her aunt was saying to her father.

"Excuse me, my lady." The housekeeper entered the room with a respectful curtsey. "There is a slight problem in the kitchen, if you might have a few moments to spare?"

"Very well!" The countess sighed and rose to her feet, and Clarissa was left alone. She lost no time in sneaking out into the hall and hurrying along to the study door, crouching to listen at the keyhole.

"...being utterly unreasonable, Arthur," Marianne was saying in clipped tones that signalled her impatience. "The girl is clearly in love. Forbidding the match will only drive her into his arms all the faster. Is that what you want?"

Clarissa held her breath, heart pounding as she awaited her father's reply.

After a tense pause, the earl heaved a heavy sigh. "No, of course not. But dash it all, Marianne, the man's a foreigner. And penniless to boot. How can I endorse such a union? Clarissa deserves better."

"You're quite capable of changing your mind when shown the error of your ways, Arthur," Marianne pressed on relentlessly. "It's one of your finer qualities, loath as I am to admit it."

Clarissa could practically hear her father's bristling indignation from the other side of the door. She imagined him drawing himself up to his full height, his face flushed with outrage at the very notion that he, the Earl of Creighton, could be wrong about anything.

"Error of my ways?" he blustered. "I'm only trying to do what's best for the girl. She's my daughter, for God's sake. I have a duty to see her well settled."

"And you don't think she would be well settled with Captain de Silva?" Marianne asked, her tone softening a fraction. "A man who clearly adores her, who has proven himself honourable and hardworking? A man to whom, I might add, she owes her life? She would not be here without his intervention with the corsairs, Arthur, a fact of which you must be well aware."

"He's Catholic!" the earl protested, but Clarissa wondered if he was beginning to weaken, as his voice was noticeably quieter.

Marianne scoffed. "What is that to you? Buy a special licence and have them marry from Creighton House. Lavinia will survive the disappointment of not being able to see her daughter married at St. George's in Hanover Square, I am sure."

There was a long, weighted pause. Clarissa held her breath, scarcely daring to hope.

Finally, in a voice so low she had to strain to hear it, her father asked plaintively, "Do you really believe I should allow this, Marianne? That I should give my blessing to Clarissa marrying so far beneath her?"

Clarissa's heart leapt into her throat. Everything hinged on Marianne's reply.

"I believe," Marianne said slowly, carefully, "that you should trust your daughter's judgement. And your own eyes. Anyone can see that Clarissa and Rafael are deeply in love. Surely that counts for something?"

The Earl huffed out an impatient breath. "Love! What good is love when the man hasn't a penny to his name? You saw that crumbling castle of his!"

Marianne's voice sharpened. "Arthur, open your eyes and really look at your daughter for once in your life. Have you seen how Clarissa glows when Rafael is near? How quick she is to laugh, how eager to share her thoughts and opinions with him?"

There was a rustle of silk skirts, and then the click of the study door opening. Clarissa hastily lurched to her feet and took a couple of steps back.

"Just think about what I've said," Marianne urged, and then she walked out into the hall, pausing only briefly as she saw Clarissa there, before passing her with a smile and heading for the front door.

Clarissa barely had time to whirl around and pretend to be engrossed in a painting on the opposite wall before her father's voice rang out.

"Clarissa, come in here please."

She winced, feeling like a naughty child caught with her hand in the biscuit jar. Schooling her features into a mask of innocence, she slipped into the study. "Yes, Papa?"

Her father was seated behind his massive oak desk, his fingers steepled beneath his chin as he studied her with narrowed eyes. "Sit down," he ordered, nodding to one of the chairs arranged across from him.

Clarissa perched on the edge of the seat, her spine ramrod straight, her hands folded primly in her lap. Inside, her stomach churned with nerves. She met his gaze, determined not to be the first to look away. The silence stretched between them, fraught with unspoken tension.

Clarissa drew in a fortifying breath, gathering her courage. "Papa, may I ask you something?"

Her father's brow furrowed but he inclined his head. "Go on."

"Why is it so important to you that I marry well?" The words tumbled out in a rush. "You're an earl now. Nobody can take that title away. You have money and status. When is enough, enough?"

The earl's eyes widened at her blunt question. He leaned back in his chair, contemplating her as if seeing her clearly for the first time. "I want what's best for you, Clarissa. A secure future. A respected position in society."

"But I would have that with Rafael!" Her voice rose with passion. "He may not be wealthy now, but he has noble blood, a distinguished naval career. We love each other, Papa. Isn't that what truly matters?"

Her father's jaw tightened. "And what of your dowry? What if I choose to withhold it?"

Clarissa lifted her chin, meeting his challenging stare directly. "Then so be it. I never counted on receiving it." She thought of Rafael, of the dilapidated but charming castle that was his birthright. "Rafael and I are perfectly willing to put in the work to restore his estate. We don't need a fortune to be happy."

The earl drummed his fingers on the desk, conflict playing across his face. Clarissa's heart pounded as the silence lengthened.

At last, the earl sighed deeply, his shoulders sagging. "You really do love him, don't you?"

"With all my heart," Clarissa replied without hesitation, her voice ringing with conviction.

Her father's gaze softened, a glimmer of understanding dawning in his eyes. "I suppose I've been too focused on the trappings of status and wealth. But seeing you now, so resolute, so..." He waved a hand, searching for the right word. "...alive with purpose, I realise that perhaps I've been measuring success by the wrong standards."

Clarissa held her breath, hardly daring to hope. Was he truly coming around?

The earl rose from his chair and came to stand before her, placing his hands on her shoulders. "If Captain de Silva is the man who brings such joy and determination to your eyes, then who am I to stand in the way?" A wry smile tugged at his lips. "I suspect you'd find a way to marry him with or without my blessing."

Tears of relief and happiness welled in Clarissa's eyes. "Oh, Papa!" She threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly. "Thank you. Thank you for understanding."

He returned her embrace, patting her back affectionately. "And you'll have your dowry, my dear. Use it to build the life you dream of with your captain."

Clarissa laughed, a sound of pure, unbridled joy. She stepped back, wiping at her damp cheeks. "I can hardly wait to tell Rafael. He'll be thrilled!"

"Then go to him," her father urged, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "And invite him to dinner tonight. I believe it's high time I got to know my future son-in-law properly."

"Arthur!" The screech from the door made them both turn around. "You cannot seriously be countenancing this… this travesty !"

"Sit down, Lavinia." The earl patted Clarissa's shoulder, urging her gently towards the door. "Go pen a note to your aunt, telling her and Glenkellie to come to dinner and bring the good captain with them," he said quietly. "Leave your mother to me."

As Clarissa gratefully fled the study, she heard her father firmly saying "Lavinia, my dear, one of our daughters may have married a duke, but it is quite unreasonable to expect them all to have such success…"

Marianne turned out not to have left the house at all; perhaps she had seen Clarissa go into the study and decided to wait in the drawing-room to discover the outcome. One glance at Clarissa's flushed cheeks and joyous smile, and Marianne stepped forward to embrace her.

"Oh, my dear girl! He conceded?"

"He did. Thank you so much for speaking to him." Clarissa hugged her aunt tightly.

"Pshaw." Marianne shrugged off her thanks. "He'd have seen reason eventually, but I am gladdened if I could help speed your happiness even a small amount."

"A very great amount, dearest Aunt! Why, if you had not invited Diana and I on your wedding trip to Italy, I should never have met Rafael in the first place!"

"I suppose that is true," Marianne said, looking a little surprised. "And I daresay Diana would not have married Balford, either. I did do exactly as I hinted to your mother I might – found you both the perfect husbands, although that was never my intention. I just wanted to offer you the opportunity to see some more of the world."

"An opportunity I will be forever grateful for." Clarissa embraced her once again. "You – and Uncle Alex, of course – will always be honoured guests at Torre da Rochedo."

"I shall be delighted to see how the vineyards bloom for their new mistress. Now, why don't you pen a note for me to deliver to Rafael, with your good news?"

The sunlight streaming through the windows of Creighton House's grand ballroom cast a bright golden light across Clarissa's ivory gown as she stood at the entrance, her heart fluttering like a caged bird. She took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of lilies and roses, huge arrangements of which adorned every surface, and tightened her grip on her father's arm.

"Ready, my dear?" the Earl of Creighton asked gruffly, his usual stoic demeanour betrayed by a slight tremor in his voice.

Clarissa nodded, unable to form words as the string quartet began to play. As they took their first steps down the aisle between rows of seated guests, she caught sight of Rafael at the front of the room with the vicar who would perform the ceremony, his sea-green eyes locked on her with an intensity that made her knees weak. In his naval uniform, he cut a dashing figure against the backdrop of white flowers and golden candelabras.

"I never thought I'd see the day," her father muttered as they walked. "My little hellion, all grown up and marrying a Portuguese sea captain."

Clarissa couldn't help but giggle. "Did you ever imagine I'd settle for anything less adventurous, Papa?"

The earl harrumphed, but Clarissa felt his arm tighten around hers. As they reached the front of the room, he turned to face her, his eyes suspiciously bright. "Clarissa, my girl," he said, his voice rough with emotion, "I love you. And no matter where your adventures take you, you'll always have a home here."

Tears pricked at Clarissa's eyes as she embraced her father. "Thank you, Papa," she whispered.

As her father placed her hand in Rafael's, Clarissa felt a thrill of excitement course through her. She gazed up at her soon-to-be husband, marvelling at how fate had brought them together.

"You look radiant, meu amor," Rafael murmured, his accent sending shivers down her spine.

Clarissa grinned mischievously. "And you, my Captain, look positively dashing."

The vicar cleared his throat. "Dearly beloved," he began, "we are gathered here today…"

As the ceremony began, Clarissa's mind wandered to the life that awaited them in Portugal. The challenges of restoring Rafael's family estate seemed less daunting now, with the promise of facing them together. And as they exchanged their vows, Clarissa knew that no matter what the future held, their love would be the compass guiding them home.

As the newly wedded couple turned to face their guests, Clarissa caught sight of her mother dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief. Lady Creighton's shoulders shook with quiet sobs, her face a mixture of joy and sorrow.

"Oh, Mama," Clarissa whispered, her heart clenching. She hadn't expected her mother to be quite so emotional.

Before she could move to comfort her, Diana glided over to their mother's side, her face glowing with a secret joy. Clarissa watched as her sister leaned in close, whispering something that made Lady Creighton's eyes widen in surprise.

"What do you suppose Diana's telling her?" Rafael murmured, his hand warm on the small of Clarissa's back.

Clarissa shook her head, puzzled. "I'm not sure, but whatever it is, it seems to have worked wonders."

Indeed, Lady Creighton's tears had ceased, replaced by a beaming smile as she embraced Diana tightly. Clarissa caught her sister's eye, raising an eyebrow in silent question. Diana merely winked, patting her stomach discreetly.

"Oh!" Clarissa gasped, realisation dawning. "I do believe we're to be aunt and uncle quite soon, my dear husband."

Rafael chuckled. "It seems the Balford line is secure. Will must be overjoyed."

As if summoned by their words, the Duke of Balford appeared at Diana's side, his chest puffed out with pride. Clarissa couldn't help but giggle at the sight.

"I never thought I'd see the day when my sister outshone me at my own wedding," she teased, her eyes sparkling with mirth.

Rafael kissed her cheek. "Impossible, meu amor. You outshine the sun itself."

Their tender moment was interrupted by a familiar laugh. Clarissa turned to see Marianne approaching, her vibrant red hair a stark contrast to her elegant gown.

"Congratulations, you two," Marianne said warmly, embracing Clarissa. "I do hope you'll forgive me for not standing up with you. The twins have quite worn me out."

Clarissa squeezed her friend's hand. "Of course, darling. We're just honoured you could make it at all."

Clarissa's eyes swept the room, taking in the joyous faces of her family and friends. Yet, a pang of sadness tugged at her heart. She turned to Rafael, her voice low and tinged with regret.

"Oh, Rafael, I only wish your mother and Isabella could be here to share this moment with us."

Rafael's eyes softened as he gazed at his bride. He cupped her face gently, his calloused thumb brushing her cheek. "My darling Clarissa, do not let it trouble you. We shall have a grand celebration when we return home. One that will make even the most extravagant Portuguese wedding pale in comparison."

Clarissa leaned into his touch, her lips curving into a small smile. "Promise?"

"On my honour as a de Silva," Rafael vowed, his voice rich with sincerity. "Isabella will be positively giddy with excitement. She's been pestering me about planning a festa since I wrote to her of our engagement."

Clarissa chuckled, picturing Rafael's spirited sister fussing over decorations and guest lists. "I can only imagine. And your mother? Will she approve of her son marrying an impertinent English girl?"

Rafael's laugh was warm and reassuring. "My mother already adores you, meu amor. She's been praying for years that I'd find a woman strong enough to match my stubborn nature. She and Isabella very nearly pushed me out of Torre da Rochedo to sail to England to fetch you home!"

"Well," Clarissa said, her eyes twinkling with mischief, "I suppose I'll have to do my best to live up to her expectations."

Four weeks later

Clarissa stood at the wheel of the Santa Dorotéia, her hands grasping the polished wooden spokes, Rafael a steady presence at her back as she steered the ship through the Atlantic waves. The salty sea breeze whipped her hair, and she could taste the tang of salt on her lips.

"We should discuss our plans when we arrive home," Rafael murmured in her ear. "The vineyard won't restore itself, after all, and Mario will want to take Isabella to his home in Italy sooner rather than later, I think, so we will lose his expertise."

Clarissa nodded, her mind already racing with ideas. "I've been thinking about that. What if we..."

Clarissa's voice trailed off as the Santa Dorotéia gave a sudden lurch. She stumbled, but Rafael's strong arms caught her, steadying her against his chest.

"What if we what, meu amor?" Rafael prompted, brushing warm kisses against her cheek.

Clarissa gathered her thoughts, leaning back against him so she could look up at his face. "What if we diversified? I've been reading about new agricultural techniques. Perhaps we could introduce some different crops alongside the grapes?"

Rafael's eyebrows rose, a mix of surprise and admiration crossing his features. "I'm impressed. You've certainly been putting that lively mind of yours to good use."

"Well," she retorted with a grin, "I couldn't very well let you have all the fun planning our future, could I?"

A shout from the crow's nest made them both look ahead, and within just a few minutes the coast of Portugal began to materialise on the horizon. Clarissa felt a flutter of excitement in her stomach. This was it – the beginning of their new life together.

"It's so beautiful," she breathed, drinking in the sight of the sun-drenched cliffs and sparkling sea.

Rafael's arm tightened around her waist. "Welcome to my home, my love."

Clarissa turned to face him, her heart full. "Our home," she corrected softly.

As their lips met in a tender kiss, Clarissa knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, they would face them together. With Rafael by her side, she was ready for any adventures life might bring.

The End