Authors: Brenda Joyce

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BOOK: House of Dreams

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Cass's heart lurched a little; she told herself not to think about what lay ahead for them both now. She was exhausted. Overwhelmed. So much had happened in just a few days. But â¦ what would happen now?

“SeÃ±ora, forgive my English,” the policeman said. “But we found this in the library.
El
conde
has said it belongs to you. In the moment you may keep it, but in the future, perhaps, we will need it as evidence.”

Cass almost smiled. She hid her expression. Evidence of what? She
was right. These cops were out of their league. Which might bode well for her sister. “It is mine.”

“Would you translate,
por
favor
? What does the computer say?”

Suddenly Cass stiffened. And she felt the chills sweep over her entire body. “May I?” she asked, with trepidation.

He handed it to her.

Cass's heart stopped.

Her Word program remained on. But the question she had written to Isabel was gone. In its place was one single, concise sentence, and it was even marked with a period.

I WANT TO GO HOME.

“SeÃ±ora?”

“âHere lies Isabel de la Barca. A heretic and wanton woman. God save her soul. May she rest in peace,'” Cass whispered aloud.

The sun was up. Cass stood staring at Isabel's grave. Isabel wanted to go home.

She sensed him first, before she heard him. A song began in her heart, and it was distinct. Cass didn't turn. But when he stepped beside her, she slipped her hand into his. Tears suddenly filled her eyes.

They had gone through so much. And now what?

“She wants to go home,” she said.

He freed his hand and slid it around her shoulder. “Would it not be appropriate?” he asked. “To bury her in England, where she belongs?”

Cass turned to him and their eyes met. “There's a cemetery at Romney Castle,” she said. “I am sure we can get permission to bury her there.”

“I will help,” he said simply.

She melted all over. “The children?”

“They have just awoken, and Celia is taking them into Pedraza for a huge breakfast. Courtesy of one of the police officers.”

Cass nodded. She knew she had to sit down with Alyssa and try to explain everything. It would not be an easy task. “Maybe we should join them,” she said. For the first time in days, she was aware of having the beginnings of an appetite.

“Maybe,” he agreed. “But I would rather stay here, alone, with you, in spite of how hungry I am.”

In that moment Cass knew what she wantedâthere was no more
denying it, not even to herself. She slipped into the circle of his arms. “So would I,” she whispered against his hard, strong chest. Then she leaned back to look up at him. “I think she's gone,” she said. “I think she is truly gone. Everything feels so different today.”

“I think she is gone, too,” he said. Their eyes held. “Her anger burned for centuries. Today, I think, it finally burned out.”

Cass's eyes suddenly filled with tears. “I know what Tracey went through. It was so hard. I almost killed youâand everyone. She was so strong, Antonio. Butâhow can I blame her?”

He smiled and stroked her hair. “Bless her guilty soul,” he whispered. “Bless them all. But â¦ Cassandra, you did not come close.”

She smiled up at him, relishing his belief in her. “God, the sun feels so good today. Doesn't it?”

“Yes, it does,” he said. “But you feel so much better, Cassandra.”

Cass met his gaze, no longer smiling, filled with a new tension. “What happens now, Antonio?”

“We gave our statements to the police. They think we are all certifiably insane.” His smile was wry. “Your sister will never go to trial, Cassandra, if that is what you are thinking about.”

“She murdered the electrician.” Cass could no longer deny it.

“As much as I hate to speak this way, the good news is that the electrician has no family. I am hoping to use my influence to have this matter simply, quietly, disappear.”

Hope filled her breast. “How is that possible?”

“These are village people,” he said. “They are old-fashioned and superstitious. There are already so many rumors about my family and the cloud of tragedy hovering over us. If we stick to the truth, we may frighten everyone enough that the case will be shelved as unsolved.

“And if not, Tracey would be diagnosed as mentally incompetent to stand trial,” he said. “Any lawyer would tell you that.”

“I'm afraid,” Cass admitted. “For her. But if she is institutionalized, maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing. God, Tonio, she has been severely traumatized by all of this.” And Cass closed her eyes. They had all been traumatized by Isabel.

“You have an expression I am very fond of. It is called âto roll with the punches.' And that is what we are all going to have to do now, Cassandra.”

Cass knew he was right.

“If it is any help,” he said softly, “I have far more influence in Castilla
than I have ever let on. I feel confident that all will end well â¦ for her, for everyone â¦ for us.”

Cass froze. “Us.” A word she had never dreamed of hearing, not from anyoneâand not from Antonio de la Barcaâuntil recently. “There is an âus,' isn't there? Isabel brought us together that first time, butâ”

“Most definitely there is an âus.'” He cut her off, his gaze direct. “And I do not believe she ever brought us together; you intrigued me from the moment we first met.”

Cass was thrilled. And coyly she said, “At the Met?”

He laughed. “So now you are pushy? But if you wish to know, even though I had not yet come to terms with the loss of my wife, I was very aware of you, even then. Beauty and brains are an irresistible combination, you know.”

Cass's elation knew no bounds. Then her smile faded. “And what if we wish to forget this terrible time?”

He shook his head. “Could you? Could you ever forget this? Could you ever forget
her
?”

Cass saw Isabel as she had last seen her, with murderous rage, and then she thought of the woman who had been betrayed by her uncle, her lover, and her husband. A woman who had lost her entire family at the age of eight. “I don't want to ever forget her. What happened to her was a terrible tragedy â¦ a grave injustice,” she said. “No, I don't want to forget. I only want to put the past where it belongs, in the past. And I want â¦” She stopped.

“What?” he asked.

Tears blurred her eyes. “I want a chance,” she managed. “I want a chance to see if this is real.”

“So do I,” he said solemnly.

Their gazes met. Cass could hardly believe this was happening. And as he took her hand, he said, “I need a vacation. When are you going to invite Eduardo and me to Belford House?”

“A vacation?” she whispered, hope soaring.

“And you need a vacation, as well,” he said, as sternly as if he were her doctor.

Cass laughed. The sound was light and carefree and it echoed around them in the brilliantly sunny Castilian summer day. “Will you and Eduardo come home with us to Belford House?” Cass asked formally.

He slowly smiled. “I thought you would never ask,” he said.

EPILOGUE

ROMNEY CASTLEâTHE PRESENT

The castle was above the small cemetery, set higher up on the hill. Cass walked slowly up the path to the graveyard, fighting the gusting December wind. She wore a fleece-lined anorak, but the chill from the windswept sea still went right through her. A wool cap covered her hair. The sky was heavy and bleak, threatening inclement weather.

She was holding two bouquets of white roses in one hand. She pushed open the cemetery gate.

Her pulse picked up its pace. Cass wove her way through the headstones, which were centuries old and now as familiar to her as the back of her own hand. She had to pause thenâshe always did.

In the midst of the many darkened, weathered headstones was one that simply read, “Philip de Warenne, born May 10, 1555, died February 1, 1608.”

Isabel's son. Her lover's bastard. She had been shocked when they had found him there, buried at Romneyâbut his father, Admiral de Warenne, was also there, so it should not really have been such a surprise.

Cass knelt and laid one bouquet at the foot of his grave. Then she stood.

One headstone dominated the large cemetery now. It was not centuries old, it had been erected but four months ago. She approached slowly. The stone was white marble, unstained by tears or time, and as tall as she. It was surrounded by smaller, weather-stained headstones,
and Cass paused before it. Even the earth in front of it was freshly upturned, the small plot of sod green and lush. And a bouquet was there, of withered red roses.

HERE LIES ISABEL DE WARENNE DE LA BARCA
BORN ? 1535 DIED JUNE 13, 1555
DAUGHTER OF RALPH DE WARENNE EARL OF SUSSEX
WIFE OF ALVARADO DE LA BARCA COUNT OF PEDRAZA
A WOMAN WHO SUFFERED THE GRAVEST INJUSTICE
GOD BLESS HER SOUL AND MAY SHE REST IN PEACE
Now AND FOR ALL TIME

Cass felt the tears fill her eyes. It was always this way. She could not visit Isabel's grave without becoming overly emotionalâand more than a year had passed since those few days in Castilla.

Days she would never forget.

There were mornings when she awoke and still missed her aunt terribly. But wasn't there an expression, “When one door closes, another one opens”? She would always miss Catherine, always love her. But she had never been happier.

And Tracey had not been charged with any criminal offense. She had, however, admitted herself into a private London hospital that specialized in alcoholism and drug addictions. Tracey was now an outpatient. She hadn't had a drink since Spainâand she was also being treated for depression.

Cass laid the fresh flowers down beside the withered ones.

Below, a car's horn sounded.

Cass jumped, because she had driven up to the castle's car park by herself, but even as she turned, she knew.

A black BMW had ignored all the signs forbidding cars from going any further, and it was parked just below the cemetery gates. Cass watched as the front door opened and the man got out. He was wearing a black sport jacketâhe must be coldâand tortoiseshell glasses were slipping down his nose. She knew he was smiling at her.

Her heart turned over, hard. She hadn't seen him in weeks; she wasn't expecting him for another day. Eagerly Cass started down the path, waving.

He waved back.

She flew into his arms.

After they had kissed for a very long time, they pulled apart and her husband tucked stray strands of hair back beneath her wool cap. “Hello, Cassandra,” he said.

“You told me you were coming tomorrow,” she said. A few fat flakes of snow were starting to fall.

He helped her into the car. “I lied.” He smiled.

Cass smiled back as he shut the door, and when Antonio had settled in the seat beside her, they drove down the hill, away from the grave, away from the castle where it had all begun, and back to Belford House.

ALSO BY BRENDA JOYCE

The Third Heiress
The Rival
Splendor
The Finer Things

HOUSE OF DREAMS. Copyright Â© 2000 by Brenda Joyce Dreams Unlimited, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www.stmartins.com

Design by Nancy Resnick

ISBN 0-312-26247-7

eISBN 9781429976015

First eBook Edition : April 2011

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Joyce, Brenda.

House of Dreams / Brenda Joyce. p. cm.

I. Title.

PS3560.O864 H6 2000

813'.54âdc21

00-040526

First Edition: September 2000