Lisbon: Richard and Rose, Book 8 (3 page)

We let him lead the way, the better to keep an eye on him. With Carier downstairs and the captain and crew watching the plethora of visitors on deck, we were as safe as we could be.

Richard turned before he left the deck and addressed the crowd. He hardly had to raise his voice, but a hush fell over everyone. “I want most of you gone when I return. Only those who are absolutely necessary for this inspection may remain.”

He didn’t have to threaten or promise anything. His orders would be obeyed, and his tone held only certainty and the absolute arrogance he could evoke when he wished.

We descended below deck to the sound of feet tramping over the planking above our heads as the crew ushered the spectators off the yacht.

Just past our room was a suite that we’d had converted to a nursery. The gentle chatter of the nurses wafted out as we opened the door, drowned by our daughter’s delighted squeal when she saw us.

Before anyone could stop her, Helen pushed past her nurse and ran to me, and immediately I bent to kiss her. The fragrance of her hair and the way she nestled into me enchanted me every time she did it. I couldn’t imagine how some parents would choose to deprive themselves of the sensation. She had begun to walk freely alarmingly early, and now, at the age of eighteen months, she toddled proficiently, something that drove her nurse to distraction.

“Good morning, my darling.” I greeted her with a fond kiss, pressed to her forehead since she was already squirming against me. I laughed and picked her up.

All our nursing staff was present, the three babies held in their arms. Even the official softened, smiling when he saw the children. He spoke to the interpreter who translated what he said for us. “
Señor
Alvarez says you have fine children. He commends you.”

Richard didn’t hide his annoyance. Personal remarks from someone we didn’t know were more than presumptuous, they were insolent. His face became a frozen, arrogant mask of disapproval. “I wish I could say the same. Ask him if he’s satisfied and ready to leave.”

The magistrate hadn’t attempted to speak English, but he replied to the interpreter in Portuguese, his words stilted. “He says he has seen enough, my lord.”

I had a feeling the official wouldn’t push his luck and insist on seeing the rest of the ship, and I was right.

Richard nodded to Carier, who guided the officials out of the nursery, leaving me free to speak to the head nursemaid. My daughter squirmed and I returned her to the floor where she clutched my skirts and gazed up at me until I bent to her.

“I know better than to ask if you’ve behaved well, but I trust you haven’t caused poor Whitehead too many headaches?” Smiling, I glanced up at Whitehead, her lace-capped dark locks smoothly fastened back in a way I envied, since it took all the skills of my maid Nichols to keep my hair in order. Whitehead was neat in word and deed, a most excellent nurse and now head nursemaid, although Helen remained her particular charge.

Whitehead smiled back at me and bobbed a curtsey. “She is speaking more easily, my lady, and just an hour ago she said, ‘Mama come?’”

I hugged my child. “Would you like to see your brothers?”

Helen nodded and then turned from me, stretching her arms up. “Dada take?”

In time she’d manage “Papa”, but since her first recognisable word had been “Dada”, Richard encouraged her to continue to use it.

He bent to her, as I had, but lifted her in his arms as he kissed her cheek. “My lovely girl. Have you done your lessons today?”

It was a joke between them. Helen showed every sign of intelligence and escaped the nursery to visit her father whenever she could, which wasn’t often. Richard usually took her on his lap and called it “doing her lessons” to prevent her getting into trouble.

His daughter could twist him around her tiny finger. If anyone had told me that the coldly formal viscount I’d first met, who stared at me without expression, would turn into this man, taking pleasure in a child’s chattering nonsense, I’d have laughed them out of existence. But he had.

An awakening cry made my stomach tense in response. Even though I couldn’t feed my babies, my milk having dried up during my illness, the response, like something understood rather than learned, pulled at me, furled my nipples and tightened my muscles. I had engaged the service of two wet nurses to feed the boys.

Three of them. Three boys.

For me, the horrors of their birth had faded, obscured by the joy of their arrival and my subsequent illness. Richard could remember every detail. Unlike the birth of Helen, when he’d waited downstairs as he was supposed to, this time when he heard I was in difficulties, nothing had kept him away. Defying the strictures of his mother and the expectations of society, defying everything but his love for me, he’d come when I needed him. And seen things he should probably not have witnessed.

Giving birth was a messy business and not something a loved one would want to remember. But I came through it, tired but triumphant. I only feared the experience had added to the fear he had now, so he couldn’t see me without remembering my pain and distress.

A day later, after I’d fallen into a life-threatening fever, he remained by me, ignoring everyone but me. One of the things that disturbed me the most came later, when he failed to tell me how he’d felt during that time. He preferred not to remind me, or maybe he didn’t wish to remind himself, but when I caught him watching me when he thought I wasn’t looking, it was with a look of sombre desperation in his eyes. He’d come close to losing me, and it had shocked him more than he cared to acknowledge, I guessed. I had to guess because he wasn’t telling me.

Raucous cries greeted us as our babies awoke, interrupted from their usual routine. Richard held Helen close, and I heard her chuckle as the demands of the boys became apparent. Richard—who we called Dickon—James and William already had their own personalities, and we loved them all. I had wanted to call my youngest son Lancelot, but Richard convinced me it would be unfair to saddle a youngster with such a name, so we had compromised and used Lancelot as a second name.

Dickon flailed his limbs against the nurse who held him, and I thought he smiled at me. Of all the boys, this one had the sunniest temperament. He would need it. Although as yet unaware of the fact, he was heir to one of the greatest peerages in England.

Family history led me to believe that I might have twins, but I hadn’t expected triplets. Especially when they all lived. The youngest, William, was sickly at birth but possessed of a determination of spirit that saw him through the dangerous first month. Now he was gaining weight rapidly, although next to his more robust brothers he still appeared frail.

Wistfully, I watched the wet nurse offer her breast to Dickon. She had a child of her own, but he must be in her bedroom at the moment. By all accounts, he was a good baby, rarely protesting. And unlike my three, he was swaddled.

The vigour with which my son attacked the nipple gave me a sympathetic wince. Perhaps strained pear would be on the menu sooner than I thought. I glanced at Richard and his hand twitched, as if about to reach for mine. But twitch was all it did. I hated his restraint, the fact that he thought before he touched me.

I had learned other lessons since my days as a gentleman’s daughter in quiet Devonshire, especially how to mask my reactions. So with a particularly brilliant smile I bent to kiss my smallest son and take him from the arms of his nurse. I could croon over him, that little piece of my husband I could caress and give my love to in full measure.

Will chuckled and waved his arms. I heard the nurse’s slight disapproving tut but didn’t let on, although I could be completely sure that Richard had heard it too, and that small sound could well cost the woman her position. Richard would not have me maligned in any way.

I glanced up and caught his fond gaze. Before he could look away, I smiled, exchanging the kind of intimacy I longed for. He smiled back, and his shoulders lowered a trifle, an indication that he had relaxed. A tiny breakthrough. I was beginning to think that we would achieve our aim by a series of little breakthroughs rather than one cataclysmic event. I would have to force patience on myself and not push him away by insisting on closer contact before he was ready.

But I missed him so much. He handed our daughter back to Whitehead and concentrated on watching me.

Directing my attention to the baby in my arms, I played with him until the wet nurse was ready for him. He latched on with a little fumbling, unlike his greedy brother, and I watched him, wondering if it was normal to grope quite so much. But every child was different. I, the mother of four, knew that now.

A touch on my shoulder made me shiver with remembered echoes. Richard murmured, his breath warm against my neck, “The officials should be gone by now.”

I turned to him with a ready smile but lurched forwards into his arms when a crash shook the whole vessel.

Chapter Three

Richard uttered a muffled oath. “What in hell was that?”

I picked up my skirts and ran, fully aware that if he caught me, he’d make me stay below, and I had no intention of letting him do that. I’d been protected and sheltered to the point of complete inertia, and I would not allow it anymore. I hadn’t heard wood splintering, so I doubted we’d hit an underwater rock or anything of that nature, but if we had, I wanted to be ready. I doubted we were in danger. It was some kind of accident, I was almost sure of it, and in that case, they’d need my help. I had a deal of experience in attending to the sick, especially as the result of violent accident, and I would not stand by if I could do anything.

If we were in trouble, I trusted the nurses to take appropriate action with the babies, and in any case, I’d be back down soon enough.

Shouts came from above as I scrambled up the stairway. I heard Richard calling my name with increasing urgency but decided to turn temporarily deaf as I gained the top of the stairs and saw a huddle of sailors and the half-dozen officials that were all that remained of our previous crowd, hovering on the periphery. They were gathered around something on the deck. As I walked towards them, the focus of their attention grew all too apparent.

Carier, his craggy face set into stern lines, glanced at me and then away again, showing none of the overconcern for me that his master habitually used these days. Rather, relief limned his features. By that I knew my guess was right, and somewhere in that huddle lay an injured person who might need my help.

The crew around the injured man shuffled back to let me through. The boy was painfully young, barely old enough to shave. He lay on his side, his face contorted in pain, his leg twisted. Unfortunately, it twisted the wrong way.

“How did this happen?” I demanded.

One of the sailors glanced up. I followed his gaze, squinting against the intensity of the light. A man hung from the rigging, on his way down, bright hair glinting against the dazzling sun. He scrambled like a monkey or a particularly acrobatic spider. As I stared at him, he glanced up, as if expecting to see someone higher up. Richard gave a sharp command. “Bring that man to me.”

I looked back at the man on the deck—the
boy
on the deck. He lay moaning, his features paper white, blood gathering from several wounds on his body.

“How far did he fall?” I asked.

One of the men shrugged. “About fifteen feet, my lady.”

I winced at the reply. I shoved my skirts out of the way, heedless of the delicate silk, and crouched on my haunches. I glanced up into Carier’s eyes. He had squatted down by the boy’s other side.

The valet reached into his coat pocket and produced a wicked-looking knife. “Do you have another one of those?” I demanded.

Someone held a razor-sharp stiletto knife in my line of vision. Richard’s signature weapon. I took it with a murmured word of thanks. I didn’t need to look around to sense the tension emanating from him. I’d ignored him and his warnings of danger. We would no doubt have a discussion about that soon.

Not now, though. While Carier sliced the clothing from the boy’s arms, I took care of his breeches and stockings. I heard some sounds of protest, but not from our patient. He was too far gone to do anything other than moan. He sounded pathetically young, and I guessed that only pride was stopping him from crying for his mother. I had treated young people before, and the worse they were hurt, the more they wanted their mothers.

A commotion went on around us, another thump that shook the deck, but I didn’t look up. One slip of that knife and I’d cause the boy further harm.

Shouts and calls of “Get him!” were followed by a splash and several curses. I decided to ignore them as I was busy probing and touching the boy, searching for injuries.

“Just a broken leg here,” I said. “It looks bad, but it appears to be a clean break.”

“Shallow wounds, my lady. Grazes and such,” Carier reported.

“Then we can safely leave Carier to attend to the boy,” Richard said.

“No.” I heard the sharp intake of breath at my response to my lord’s command. Not his, but the men standing around us. “Carier and I have this in hand. He’ll need my help.” For the boy’s sake, I didn’t elaborate what kind of help he’d need.

“It’s not suitable for your delicate sensibilities, my lady,” our ship’s captain said.

Behind us, the Portuguese officials jabbered.