8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

T he clear blue sky over Florence held the promise of a beautiful day. However, the glorious weather did little to ease Rafael's troubled thoughts as he gazed contemplatively out the window of his opulent suite at the Villa Ginori. His mind was consumed with uncertainty over whether or not to confess his growing feelings for Clarissa. The memory of Alex's meaningful words about her need for a swift and respectable marriage weighed heavily upon him.

Rafael let out a weary sigh, his emotions turbulent. He cared deeply for Clarissa, more than he could have imagined. Yet he continued to question whether he could provide her the life she deserved as the daughter of an earl.

His conflicted musings were interrupted by an urgent pounding at the chamber door. Before Rafael could respond, the door burst open to reveal a breathless messenger wearing the uniform of Rafael's ship.

"Captain de Silva!" the messenger exclaimed. "I come with news of gravest importance."

Rafael's heart clenched with foreboding. "Speak man. Has there been trouble with the Santa Dorotéia?"

"No Captain. I bear tidings regarding your sister." The messenger hesitated only a moment. "Another Portuguese ship, the Santa Luisa, made port in Livorno a few hours ago and the captain relayed news from your family. Your sister, Senhorita Isabella, has fallen desperately ill."

Rafael reeled at the news, steadying himself against the windowsill as a swell of anguish rose within him. Isabella was more than just his sister - she was the gentle heart of his family, a light guiding him home through even the darkest of storms. To imagine her life now hanging precariously in the balance was a blow Rafael could scarcely comprehend.

"Tell me... tell me everything," he managed to rasp out, his own voice sounding foreign to his ears.

The messenger relayed every detail he knew of Isabella's sudden fever and wracking cough. With each word, Rafael's fear and desperation grew. His beloved sister needed him, yet the woman who had captured his heart was here in Florence. He was torn between two impossible choices, neither of which he could bear to make.

But deep down, Rafael knew his course had been charted from the moment he heard Isabella's name. She was his family, his home—he would not fail her now when she needed him most. Steeling himself, he turned to the waiting messenger with new conviction.

"Return to the Santa Dorotéia and prepare to leave immediately," he ordered. "I will follow you as soon as I am able to make my farewells here, and we shall return to Portugal with all speed." A fleeting image of Clarissa arose within his mind's eye—her unbound hair kissed by the sun, her fearless candour that had charmed and challenged him in equal measure. Everything in him protested against merely leaving her now, yet his duty called him home. Clenching his fists, he let out a cry of frustration.

"Rafael?" A voice at the door made him turn, and he saw Alex standing there, looking at him with concern. "Is something amiss?"

"Indeed."

"Is this about what we talked of last eve?" Alex raised a brow, and looked surprised when Rafael shook his head.

"No, I have received grave news from home. My sister is seriously ill, maybe even…" He could not even speak the thoughts. "I must go to her. And yet…" He gestured helplessly. "My duty is also here."

"Clarissa is not a duty, Rafael," Alex disagreed at once, "and I know she would be the first to tell you that you must go to your sister at once, without delay."

Still, Rafael could see the conflict on Alex's face. Alex was Clarissa's guardian here in Italy, and safeguarding her reputation was a duty he took seriously. It could not be long before word spread of her disappearance from Athens, and the scandal would not quiet until she was respectably married.

Rafael hesitated, thinking, before delicately posing a question. "I am aware that you and Lady Glenkellie have remained in Florence so long because of the ardours of the journey back to England with your children so young. But it occurs to me that I might offer a solution to several problems at once, if you were to accompany me back to Portugal and accept my hospitality for a spell, thus breaking up your trip home into gentler stages."

And giving me time to see if Clarissa could potentially be happy at my estate, as my wife, he did not add, but as Alex studied him, he was quite sure the other man astutely comprehended.

"We will need to prepare to leave at once," Alex said thoughtfully.

"A hasty leavetaking, I am sorry… unless you wished to wait for another ship to bring you to Portugal?" Rafael thought to suggest.

Alex shook his head decisively. "No. Honestly, I would rather be gone from Florence before word of Clarissa's escapade in Athens reaches the city. My mother might remain with her sister, but I am more than happy to begin our journey home. If you will excuse me, Rafael, I will find my wife and have our packing done; we will be ready to depart in a few hours at most. If you would find Clarissa and advise her of our plans?"

Rafael opened his mouth to say surely that was not his place, but Alex had already left the room, striding confidently off like the former military officer he was, accustomed to giving orders and having them obeyed.

With a rueful smile, Rafael set to the task Alex had left him with. He had little enough to pack, only the one bag of belongings he had brought with him from his ship, so left that with the servant to manage and set off in search of Clarissa.

He found her in the garden, seated on a bench before a beautiful statue of the goddess Diana, writing in the journal he had learned was rarely far from her hands. She set down her pencil at the sight of him, a welcoming smile coming readily to her face.

"Captain de Silva. Do join me!" The smile slid from her face as she noticed his serious expression. "You look as though something troubles you."

"I have received concerning news, I fear." Taking a seat on the bench beside her, Rafael imparted the ill news of his sister's illness.

Clarissa reacted exactly as her uncle had predicted. "Why are you still here, Rafael? You must go, immediately!"

He could not help the smile which came to his face. "I will be off before nightfall… and you shall come with me."

Her eyes widened with shock, and Rafael hastened to explain. "I have spoken already to your uncle, who came upon me just after I received the news. I have offered Lord and Lady Glenkellie the opportunity to break their journey home to England into stages, by accepting transport aboard the Santa Dorotéia to Portugal, and then the hospitality of my estate for a while. He was pleased to accept."

Clarissa stared at him for a moment before her smile returned, breaking wider than ever across her face. "To Portugal?" she breathed.

"Indeed. I shall be able to show you my home." Right then, he could think of only one thing he wanted more than that, which would be to arrive there with her and find Isabella safe and well.

Clarissa leapt to her feet and threw her arms about his neck, startling him again as she kissed his cheek. "I must go and pack. We shall not delay your departure long, I promise!" she called over her shoulder as she rushed towards the villa.

In the end, Rafael went ahead on horseback to see the Santa Dorotéia prepared to sail as soon as possible. It was not many hours, however, before a carriage rolled up at the dockside and Alex stepped out, turning to assist his wife and Clarissa down, followed by Marianne's faithful maid Jean. Marianne and Jean carefully cradled a babe each as they made their way towards the ship.

"Allow me." Rafael stepped nimbly ashore. "Hello, little one," he greeted the child in Marianne's arms, who blinked at him from wide blue eyes. "Will you let me convey you safely aboard the ship?" He knew the children were not yet a year old and the Glenkellies had remained in Italy so long fearing for their health, but they looked well grown and strong to him.

"My son, Edward," Alex murmured, pride obvious in his tone. "And Jean has our daughter Eleanor."

Both children had their mother's red hair. Little Eleanor was apparently the braver of the two, for she held her arms out to Rafael expectantly.

"Come then, my lady." Rafael chuckled, taking the child in his arms, and carrying her easily up the gangplank. Alex followed with his son, and all three women followed confidently after without waiting for assistance.

Rafael had done the best he could in the limited time he'd had, to make comfortable quarters on his ship for the party. Alex and Marianne would have the captain's cabin, of course, and the two on either side had been swiftly cleared out and refurbished with the finest items which could be procured on such short notice, one made comfortable for Clarissa and one for Jean and the twins. The ship's carpenter had just finished installing a bolt on the inside of Clarissa's door and made a hasty exit, bowing respectfully, as Rafael brought Clarissa to the door.

"To ensure your safety." Rafael indicated the bolt. "I hope you will find it comfortable." He glanced about, seeing the bed topped with a goose-down mattress, the brightly patterned rug on the floor. He grimaced. "I regret we did not have time to obtain more comfortable furnishings for you."

"This is everything delightful," Clarissa said firmly. "Thank you, Captain. I appreciate your, and your crew's, efforts very much."

"Much more comfortable than the ship which brought us from England," Jean agreed from the cabin opposite.

"Captain," a voice called, and Rafael turned to see the bosun at the end of the passageway, expression full of urgency. "The tide."

"Very well." Rafael nodded, before turning back to his guests. "I apologise, but the tide waits for no man, and we must have the Santa Dorotéia beyond the harbour walls before the tide turns."

"Go," Clarissa said with a warm smile, "we shall be quite well here. See to your ship."

He made her a quick bow, barely even hearing the words of encouragement from the others, and made his way back up to the deck, a hive of activity with men rushing every which way, securing barrels and crates and preparing lines to cast off.

"Time to focus," Rafael murmured to himself, trying to shake off the vivid image in his mind's eye, of Clarissa's warm smile and wide blue eyes. He needed to think of a different pair of eyes now, his sister Isabella's, the same sea-green as his own, always laughing and bright with joy whenever he came home. He desperately hoped it would be the case this time.

"Cast off the lines," he ordered, his deep voice cutting through the chaos on the deck. "You there… off, unless you're bound for Portugal with us!" He switched to Italian to bark at one of the local stevedores who was still trying to argue with his quartermaster. The man scowled, but scurried off down the gangplank before it was pulled in.

For the next few minutes the air was filled with the shouts of men and creaking of timbers, the rattle of capstans turning and ropes and sails rustling. To an outsider the activity might look frenzied, but to Rafael's satisfied eye the crew of the Santa Dorotéia were moving like a well-oiled machine, every man in his correct place, performing his assigned task with practised precision.

It didn't take long at all to round the breakwater. Rafael spun the wheel, guiding the bow to the open sea while the bosun roared orders to hoist the mainsail. The sails caught the breeze and the Santa Dorotéia surged forward, cutting through the waves as she picked up speed.

"Hold on, Isabella," Rafael whispered to the wind. "I'm coming."