Authors: Jacqueline Hope
"Just the same," Maria insisted, "I intend to honor your aunt's request to stay until this matter is finally settled." An aggrieved expression on her face, she sipped sulkily at her coffee, eyes lowered.
The sound of steps interrupted the brief silence, and glancing quickly around Anne saw an elderly man and woman enter the room. The man, who had to be Carlos's father, had a thin, stern face with a neatly trimmed, gray-streaked, Vandyke beard. His thick gray hair was combed straight back from his high forehead. He had a narrow, aristocratic nose, fine, firm lips, an extremely erect posture, and seemed wrapped up in an impenetrable, imperious air. As Anne watched him walk in, she felt once again swept back in time, as she had the night before upon entering this castle. Here was a man who surely belonged to the Middle Ages, whose portrait she had glimpsed a hundred times in art museums, the perfect owner of this castle, a man who looked every inch the Spanish nobleman he was.
The gray-haired woman who walked at his side was also quite tall, extremely erect of posture, with a pale skin remarkably wrinkle-free. At first glance Anne felt sure the woman had been as beautiful in her youth as her niece Dolores was now. Again Anne felt that she now understood Carlos and his family much better. Unlike nondescript people like Michael and herself, these people had a name, a heritage, a tradition to uphold. They
were
tradition. And she and Michael were ignorant upstarts trying to push their way into a proud, settled way of life where they weren't wanted and didn't belong. If Michael had any pride, he'd return Dolores to her family and drop out of her life. And if
I
had any pride, Anne thought, with a sudden wave of pain, I'd push Carlos out of my heart once and for all!
"Father, how well you're looking." Carlos jumped up, smiling, and walked over to greet the elderly man. He pressed a quick kiss on his father's cheek, then turned to the woman. "And Aunt Isabel, you're looking well too, as radiantly beautiful as ever." He kissed her on the brow and momentarily put his arm across her shoulder to give her a hug. "Maria's already here, as you can see, but come meet my friend, Anne, who arrived with me during the night."
The trio stopped a few feet from where Anne sat, and Anne rose nervously to her feet, doing her best to face these imposing aristocrats without cringing or crumbling.
"Aunt Isabel, father, this is Anne McCullough. Anne, my father, Philip Frederico Diego Alvarado, duke of Palencia, and his sister, Isabel Dona Teresa Alvarado."
"How do you do?" Anne's cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she wondered how one addressed people such as this. Certainly not by their first names. But—how?
"To meet you is our very great pleasure indeed," Carlos's father greeted Anne gallantly, offering her a very slight bow. His stern old face broke into a small, pleasant smile. "Possibly you are an acquaintance of Carlos's American friends with whom he has recently spent a few days on the French Riviera, is that so?" One of the duke's brows lifted rather quizzically as he awaited Anne's confirmation.
"Well, no, I'm not," Anne murmured tensely, her cheeks flushing even more warmly.
Carlos smiled at her reaction. "No, father, that's a good guess but an incorrect one. Anne was with me on the Riviera, but we didn't meet there. The fact is we met in Morocco, then again in Paris, and have been traveling together ever since. I mentioned her name, father, but possibly you did not catch it. This is Anne McCullough, the sister of the young man with whom Dolores is presently traveling, Michael McCullough."
"The sister—" The old man echoed this softly as though in shock. Carlos's Aunt Isabel, who had been standing beside her brother smiling pleasantly, stiffened at once, drawing herself up even more rigidly. As though of one accord, the elderly pair backed away from Anne, both of them eyeing her with instant distaste.
A moment later the duke's eyes drew away and from then on it was as though Anne no longer existed, or at any rate was no longer present in the room. "And why did you bring such a person here?" Duke Philip demanded of his son. "I don't understand this, Carlos. Explain yourself. What is the sister of that thief and scoundrel doing here? And why has not Dolores returned as you have repeatedly assured me that she would? Your only sister is in dire jeopardy, yet first you take off on holiday to enjoy yourself on the Riviera and now you arrive home with this—this person who most assuredly does not belong here. I cannot fathom your behavior in this matter and demand that you explain, right this moment."
Before Carlos had a chance to reply, the duke's elderly sister addressed her nephew in Spanish, Maria jumped up and joined in the attack, and when Carlos finally got a chance to speak he too spoke in Spanish. Anne stood by the table in acute embarrassment, her dry mouth aching for a sip or two more of coffee, while she felt too uncomfortable to reseat herself or reach for her cup. She was afraid that if she tried to lift her cup she was so nervous she might easily spill the coffee.
And that's all I need
, Anne thought, lowering her glance as a small, unhappy smile twitched along her lips.
As the family argument continued to rage in a language she couldn't understand, with no one even glancing her way, Anne decided her best course of action was to leave the room as quietly and unobtrusively as possible. She stepped away from the table and walked quickly toward the exit. Just as she reached the open double doors into the hall, her nostrils were assailed by the delectable odor of hot food being carried in on trays. Anne suddenly felt so hungry she almost turned back, drawn by the delightful aroma of what would assuredly be deliciously appetizing food. But her embarrassment proved even stronger than her hunger and she exited quickly from the room, walking hurriedly away down the hall. It wasn't until she reached the front entry that she was out of earshot of the heated family argument being carried on in Spanish.
Because she could think of nowhere else to go, Anne went upstairs to the room in which she had slept. Sighing, she packed everything she had taken from her suitcase the night before, then carefully tidied the room, trying to erase every scrap of evidence that she had ever been there. She was in the bathroom, carefully washing the black marble basin, when she heard a loud rapping on her bedroom door. The next moment the door opened and the elderly valet she'd met downstairs stepped into the room.
He carried a tray upon which sat various covered dishes. The escaping aroma of the food reminded Anne of just how hungry she was. Smiling in delight, she walked over to the valet, murmuring, "
Gracias, gracias
," and took the tray from him. After a careful survey of the room, she spread a towel on the magnificent chest at the foot of the bed, sat down on one end and spread out her breakfast feast before her. And a feast it was: orange juice that tasted freshly squeezed, toast, butter, strawberry jam, six slices of crisply fried bacon, scrambled eggs, a sweet roll, a bowl of oatmeal with sugar and cream, and an ample supply of coffee. Anne dove in with relish and surprised herself by eating every bite. Carlos's family not only had a beautiful home in which to live, they obviously had an excellent household staff, and, best of all, a most efficient and marvelous cook. How one's outlook on life could improve with a hearty, delicious meal like that one!
After downing the last sip of coffee, Anne decided to leave her room and venture downstairs. Possibly Carlos and his family had resolved their differences by now and Carlos would inform her that, as she was most definitely
persona non grata
here, she was free to leave. Failing that, maybe Michael and Dorrie would show up today. Yes, Anne thought, feeling unreasonably happy and optimistic as she descended the stairs, surely they would arrive today. And once they had—
Anne sighed. Well, who knew what the outcome would be once they arrived? Would Dorrie and Michael be able to persuade her family that he was not a thief and scoundrel after all but Dorrie's one true love, and that the two of them were determined to marry? Would Dorrie's elderly father relent and give the young lovers his blessing?
But no matter what the outcome, Anne thought suddenly, her head suddenly aching, she would be leaving Carlos forever. Michael's chances of winding up happily married to Dorrie might be very slight, but at least some slight chance did exist, while her own chances of winning Carlos were absolutely nil. It was idiotic even to allow herself to think of him that way. She could see that even more clearly now that she was here in his home, and had met his father, aunt, and good friend Maria. Anne's head suddenly ached even more keenly. Who was Maria anyway?
As she reached the downstairs hall, Anne saw in dismay that the object of her thoughts was rapidly approaching her.
"Well, hello, again," Maria greeted her with cool condescension. "Weren't you hungry? You walked out earlier just as breakfast was being brought in. I'm looking for my fiancé. I don't suppose you've seen him?"
Anne felt something heavy and cold drop down through her. "Your fiancé?" she echoed. "Carlos, you mean?"
"Of course Carlos!" Maria snapped, with a look that said,
Who else could it be, you idiot
? "He left the dining room a very short time ago and seems to have disappeared. If you happen to run across him, you might mention that I am looking for him." Maria swung away and began ascending the wide stone stairs.
Anne stood in the hall staring up after the departing woman. So—that's who Maria was. Carlos's fiancée. He could at least have told me, Anne thought sickly, then immediately scolded herself for daring to imagine that it was any concern of hers. Dorrie had warned her that very first day that while Carlos might become involved in any number of romances, he would never marry a woman who wasn't his social equal. Maria apparently was. And no matter how her heart might ache, it was absolutely no concern of hers.
Seeing no one else around, Anne decided to go outside for a walk. After she'd pulled open the heavy carved door and stepped through it, she saw to her surprise that Carlos was striding energetically up the wide steps to where she stood. Her heart caught in pain at sight of him, his aristocratic face unfairly handsome in the midmorning light. As he caught sight of her, a smile curved his well-formed lips.
Reaching her side, Carlos took hold of her arm. "Well, I've been looking everywhere for you. When you left the dining room earlier, I thought maybe you'd been offended."
"And why would I have been offended?" Anne jerked her arm free of Carlos's hold and glanced angrily at him. After all, he was the one to blame for dragging her here and thrusting her into this totally impossible situation.
Carlos's black eyes fixed on hers and in response to her obvious anger, he grinned even more broadly. "All right, all right," he murmured placatingly, "I know you were not treated with the greatest courtesy and I apologize for that, but try to see it from my family's point of view, please. In any case, let's forget it for now and go for a walk. I'd like to show you the gardens and the view."
"But your fiancée's looking for you," Anne snapped tartly. "She asked me to tell you if I happened to see you."
"My fiancée?" A puzzled look appeared momentarily in Carlos's eyes, then disappeared almost as quickly as it had come. "Oh, Maria, you mean. We'll have to postpone our walk then, but if you'll wait for me here, please, Anne—"
"You didn't tell me you were engaged!" Anne snapped with even more obvious anger, her blue eyes spitting fury.
Carlos had taken a step away, but he turned back at once, again looking surprised. As his eyes met Anne's candidly, he shrugged. "But we're not formally engaged yet," he responded matter-of-factly. "That Maria would even refer to me as her fiancé surprises me. I never refer to her that way."
"But—are you engaged or aren't you?" Anne demanded, her pulse pounding hard. She told herself scornfully she had no right to ask—and no possible interest in Carlos's answer—even as she spoke these words.
Again Carlos shrugged, his grin vanished, his expression growing increasingly guarded. "In a way, yes. In another way, no. From the day Maria was born it was agreed upon by our families that one day we would marry. I've always known this. Maria has always known it. In that sense we are already betrothed. At the same time, as I explained to you last night, I do not expect to marry for several years yet, possibly, like my father, not until I am forty. So why should we become formally engaged so many years before we intend to marry?"
"And meanwhile," Anne lashed out with uncontrollable anger, "you enjoy yourself with an endless string of actresses and showgirls, right?"
Carlos's face broke into a broad, surprised grin. "Showgirls and actresses? Wherever did you get that idea? Obviously you are confusing me with someone else, maybe the hero or villain of some movie you have seen. I'm a hardworking businessman, not a playboy. Ah, you Americans," he ended, shaking his head in deep amusement.
"Confusing you with someone else indeed!" Anne flared furiously. "I saw how you eyed all those long-legged, painted, voluptuous women at the cafe you took me to in Paris. And the very first thing Maria asked me was whether I was an actress, proving she knows you all right, just as I do!"
"She asked if you were an actress?" Carlos asked incredulously, then he burst out laughing, as though the idea amused him beyond words. "An actress? Oh, good heavens, couldn't she take one look at you and see that you aren't? An actress, indeed!"
Carlos laughed again, almost as heartily, while Anne's cheeks flushed crimson. Was Carlos defending her against an insult Maria had thrown at her, or insulting her himself? She didn't know. She only knew she felt furious, angrier than she'd ever been in her life.
"And as for that cafe we went to," Carlos added as his new burst of laughter died away, "have I not as much right as other men to look and enjoy? Does this make me a playboy? Certainly I enjoy looking at pretty women, actresses or not, showgirls or not. From the first night we met I have mentioned that you, Anne McCullough, are an extremely pretty girl, so I enjoy looking at you. If a man is to be condemned for that, how many would be left alive in this world, eh, tell me that?"