Bride By Mistake (28 page)

A large, square stone house came into view. Nine graceful stone archways flanked the front entrance, with five more along the balcony of the upper story. Poplars lined the driveway leading up to it, and an ornamental pond lay to one side.

“It’s a beautiful house,” Luke said.

“My family built this in the sixteenth century,” Isabella told him, pride evident in her voice. “It was called El Nuevo Castillo for about three hundred years, but in my great-grandfather’s day he announced that everyone must call it El Castillo de Castillejo.” She said nothing more, but the lurking dimple told Luke the story wasn’t over.

“And so now people call it… ?” he prompted.

“El Nuevo Castillo.” She laughed. “People are slow to accept change in this part of the country.”

“They seem to accept Ramón, all right,” he pointed out gently.

Her smile faded. “They have no choice. He inherited the title and the estate. No matter that he is a vile bully and a thug, he is still the Conde de Castillejo.”

Luke said nothing. The people they’d just been talking to might not love Ramón the way they loved Isabella, or respect him as they did her late parents, but neither did they give the impression they thought him a vile bully or a thug.

The carriage drew to a halt in front of the graceful line of
archways. Isabella wiped damp palms on a handkerchief. “Do you have your pistol?”

“He’s not going to shoot me out of hand,” Luke assured her.

“You don’t know that.” She picked up her cloak, which she’d already folded in a bundle, and clasped it to her chest.

“I’ll take that.” He took the bundle from her arms, felt between the folds, and removed the pistol he knew would be there.

“But—” she began.

“You will not call on the sister whom you haven’t seen for eight years with a pistol in your hand.”

“But what if Ramón—”

“Leave Ramón to me.” He handed her the cloak and returned the pistol to the concealed hollow in the armrest.

Servants ran out and put down the steps to the carriage. Luke descended first then turned to hand Isabella down. She descended the steps like a young matador entering the ring.

As she stepped into the sunlight there was a gasp from the waiting servants. It was a repeat of the earlier scene, with tears and exclamations of “Little Master!” and “Señorita Isabella!” She greeted them by name, hugging some, having her hands kissed by others.

“Where is Marta?” she asked, looking around for her old nurse.

“Marta has not lived here for years,
señorita
.”

“And her daughter, Carmen?”

“Married a man in the next valley. Marta lives with them.”

As Isabella caught up with all the news, it became clear that many of the beloved old house servants she remembered no longer worked at Valle Verde. She gave Luke a significant look.
Ramón.

And then a sudden hush as the servants fell silent and drew back as a tall, grave young woman glided into the entrance.

No need for introductions; it was obvious who this was, even though there was not much of a resemblance between the sisters. Half sisters.

Perlita was tall and stunningly pretty, with red gold hair
smoothed back in an elegant chignon and gray green eyes fringed with long, sooty lashes.

Luke stepped back. Isabella’s big moment; the reason they’d come here. He waited for the joyous reunion.

Nobody moved.

There was a long silence as the two young women eyed each other. No long-lost reunion here. Luke was reminded of two cats circling each other, hostile and wary, each one waiting for the other to pounce first—only these two didn’t move. What on earth was going on?

The people of the estate edged closer, craning to see, to hear. They would have known about these two girls from the day each was born. The daughter of the mistress, now in charge of the house. The daughter of the house, now a visitor.

Perlita snapped her fingers and issued rapid orders for the carriage to be taken around the back and the horses seen to. All but the house servants melted away. Perlita was very much at home here, Luke saw; very much mistress of the house. Isabella had said her sister was nineteen, but only in years was this girl younger than Isabella. She seemed altogether more experienced, more sophisticated, and it wasn’t simply her clothing.

And she did not have the manner of a helpless innocent needing to be rescued.

P
erlita had Papa’s eyes. Bella stared at her half sister, close-up for the first time in her life. Not just Papa’s eyes, but his long lashes, and there was also something in the way she held her head that reminded her of Papa, too. It was an almost physical pain, seeing the resemblance. Why should she have Papa’s eyes and not—

No. Bella pulled herself up. She would not think such thoughts. She was here to help her half sister, not wallow in old resentments. Perlita’s looks were not her fault. Besides, having Papa’s eyes only proved their relationship.

But oh, did she have to be so very beautiful? Bella could see the way Luke was looking at her. Perlita was dressed in a
sophisticated green dress that exactly matched her eyes. The dress was fashionable, cut low and tight to display a lush bosom, a tiny waist, and an hourglass figure. She wore no jewelry; she didn’t need to. Like her mother, she was beautiful.

Beside her Bella felt small and plain and ill-dressed. She thrust the thought aside and drew herself up. Looks didn’t matter, she told herself. Character was what counted.

Hollow comfort.

Still, she wished her sister wasn’t quite so beautiful. It was almost intimidating, especially with Papa’s eyes staring at her with barely concealed hostility.

Nonsense, she was the elder sister, and the legitimate one, and she had every right to visit her childhood home. “How do you do, Perlita.” She inclined her head stiffly.

“Sen— Isabella,” Perlita responded and gave an equally stiff nod. She didn’t move.

Now what? Bella wondered. She could hardly push Perlita aside and shove her way into the house.

Luke gave a soft cough and stepped forward. “And I am Isabella’s husband, Lord Ripton.” He bowed.

“Her
husband
?” Perlita blinked and glanced from Bella to Luke and back again. The relief in her face was obvious. She had not known Isabella was married.

“Yes, her husband. You may call me Luke, since in law, we are now brother and sister.”

“Brother and sister?” Perlita echoed blankly.

“Something like that,” Luke said in an easy manner that Bella envied. “Isabella and I are on our way to England, but she’d heard you were at Valle Verde and wanted to call in, to see how you were.” He made it sound so casual, a mere whim. Bella was grateful.

“How I am?” Perlita gave Bella a shocked glance. “You came to see
me
?”

“Is that so strange?” Bella removed her hat and gloves and tugged her dress to straighten it.

Perlita didn’t beat about the bush. “I think so, yes, seeing we’ve never even spoken to each other before this day.”

Bella felt rather than saw Luke’s reaction. She could
almost hear him thinking aloud,
Never spoken to each other?
You dragged me halfway across the country to save a sister you’d never even spoken to?

Her cheeks heated. She avoided his gaze and managed to say with an air of assurance, “Yes, but I decided it was time we met.”

Perlita’s brows rose. “Why?”

Isabella glanced at the servants, avidly watching and listening, and said nothing. Perlita gave a tiny shrug, as if to say, why not, and invited them inside.

Bella stepped inside, and memories swamped her. Nothing had changed. The arrangement of the furniture, the smell, the cool stillness, it was all the same. Even the wall hangings were the same ones that had always hung there, though a little more faded. The tiled terra-cotta floors were as highly polished as ever. Her feet itched to walk the worn patterns of the tiles as she had a thousand times as a child; along the line of red flowers, then onto the blue medallions, avoiding the yellow and brown ones that looked like a lion. They didn’t really, but she’d always pretended…

She hadn’t thought of those tiles in years, but now… It was like being greeted by an old playmate. The footsteps of her childhood.

She forced herself back into the present. The house looked immaculate.

“Welcome to El Nuevo Castillo,” Perlita said coolly.

It felt very odd to be welcomed as a stranger to her own home.

But it wasn’t her home, Bella reminded herself.

After allowing them to refresh themselves after their long journey, Perlita led them toward the large drawing room. Bella hesitated on the threshold. Papa’s favorite room.

As if he knew how she felt, Luke slipped his hand under her elbow. Warmed by the contact, she stepped in. It was unchanged, too. It had always been old-fashioned—Mama had wanted to change it but Papa always refused. It was a man’s room, with heavy varnished woodwork, studded with silver nails, and leather-covered chairs. Even the old dueling
swords that had been in the family for generations remained crossed and mounted over the mantel, gleaming as brightly as they had throughout her childhood.

The room held a thousand memories. Even the smell was the same.

It was as if Papa had just stepped out. Bella’s throat filled as the emotions she’d tried to hold back finally swamped her. Eight years since she’d been in this room. She thought she’d almost forgotten it, but now, being here… Her tongue thickened. She couldn’t speak.

Perlita invited them to sit and ordered refreshments. In minutes tea was brought in along with a plate of small, iced cakes. It was a well run home, Bella conceded as Perlita poured.

Part of her hoped that Perlita was really only the housekeeper, here, but no… not in that dress.

“How is your mother?” Bella inquired politely, steadier after a few sips of hot tea.

“Married and living in Barcelona,” Perlita said. She waited until the servants had gone and said bluntly, “Why have you come here?”

“Because I was worried about you.”

“Worried?” Perlita arched her slender brows. “About me?” She gave a snort of disbelief.

“It’s true.” Bella set her cup aside and took the plunge. “I had heard you were… living with Ramón. I was concerned.”

“You have no need. Ramón is good to me.” Her eyes narrowed. “And why is it any of your business what I do, anyway?”

It was very hard, having Papa’s eyes glittering at her with hostility and suspicion, but the very fact they were Papa’s eyes gave Bella heart. “Perlita, I know we don’t know each other, that we’ve never spoken, or even met, but I’ve known about you since I was a little girl, and you’ve probably always known about me. I’ve lost everyone and—” She broke off. “You’re my sister and I’ve come here to meet you. And to see that you are all right.”

There was a long silence. Perlita stared, her face pale as marble and, despite the fire, looking just as cold. Then her
mouth quivered. “I n-never thought I’d ever hear you say that.”

“I always wanted a sister,” Isabella said softly. “I was so lonely as a child.”

Perlita pressed her lips together and shook her head. “You hated me. You used to watch our house from up on the hill, spying on us.”

“I know,” Isabella admitted. “I was jealous of you.”

Perlita’s jaw dropped. “Jealous of me? But you were the daughter.”

“So were you,” Isabella said. “And you were the daughter he loved.”

Perlita shook her head. “He never once called me his daughter. I was always his little pearl or his pretty one, or simply Perlita, but never,
never
did he call me—or even refer to me—as his daughter. Not once.”

Isabella blinked, puzzled. “But he loved you.”

“He was fond of me, a little.” Perlita shrugged. “But you were the one he truly valued.”

Isabella’s jaw dropped. “Valued? Papa never valued me. I was never good enough. Nothing I did was ever good enough.”

The two girls stared at each other, struggling to come to terms with the very different view each had of their shared past. Beside Isabella, Luke sat quietly, absorbing the implications of what each was saying. He was no stranger to the tangle of family connections and misapprehensions.

A clock on the mantel chimed, and Perlita started and glanced at the time. “Ramón will be here any minute.” She jumped to her feet, looking worried and indecisive. Isabella jumped up looking ready for a fight.

Luke poured himself another cup of tea. He felt cool and distant, as he did each time Fate ushered in danger.

Heavy steps sounded on the tiled terra-cotta floor outside. “I— I’ll speak to him,” Perlita said and ran out of the room.

They heard voices, low at first and then raised in argument.

“Sit down,” Luke told Isabella who was pacing nervously. “Finish your tea. Have a little cake. They’re delicious.”

She turned on him. “How can you think of food at a time like this?”

“Do you want Ramón to know you’re frightened of him?”

She gave him a startled look, then plunked down on the settee beside him. “I’m not in the least bit frightened of him,” she declared and plastered a haughty, unnaturally calm expression on her face.

Thirteen