Page 40 of A Captain For Clarissa
The Conte turned to him with a warm smile, his eyes glinting with something like understanding. “You are very welcome, my friend. We all have our pride - but sometimes, the greatest strength lies in knowing when to set it aside for the greater good.”
Rafael nodded slowly, the words striking a chord within him. Perhaps, he mused, there was a lesson to be learned here - one that went beyond the simple tending of grapes and vines.Perhaps, in the end, it was not weakness to accept help when it was offered, but rather a sign of true wisdom and grace.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sight of Marianne, her vibrant hair gleaming in the sunlight as she knelt among the vines, determinedly pulling weeds. Despite her fine gown, she seemed utterly unconcerned by the dirt and grime, her face alight with a fierce sort of joy as she worked, piling weeds into the basket between her and Clarissa.
Rafael felt a sudden lump in his throat, a wave of emotion threatening to overwhelm him. That these people - his sister, his friends, even the Marchioness herself - would see fit to join in this labour, to work side by side with his own hands... it was a kindness he had never expected, and one he knew he could never fully repay.
Clearing his throat, he raised his voice to address them all. “I... I cannot thank you enough,” he said, his words rough with feeling. “All of you. Your help, your support... it means more than I can say.”
Marianne looked up at him, her eyes soft with understanding. Rising gracefully to her feet, she brushed off her skirts and came to stand before him, her head tilted back to meet his gaze.
“Nonsense,” she said gently, reaching out to lay a hand on his arm. “We’re happy to help, Rafael. After all...” She smiled, a glint of mischief in her eye. “That’s what family does, isn’t it?”
Rafael swallowed hard, feeling a sudden tightness in his chest. Family. The word echoed in his mind, filling him with a warmthhe hadn’t known in years. Looking around at the faces of those gathered - Lucia and Isabella, Mario, Clarissa, Alex and Marianne, even Mr Dalton - he realised that, perhaps for the first time in his life, he truly understood the meaning of the word.
“Yes,” he said softly, his voice rough with emotion. “I suppose it is.”
Clarissa wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand, squinting against the bright sun as she surveyed the sprawling vineyards before her. The air was thick with the heady scent of ripening grapes, and the gentle rustling of the leaves in the warm breeze was punctuated by the occasional chirp of a bird.
She had been working alongside the others for hours, pruning and tying the vines, her hands scratched and scraped from the unaccustomed activity. It was hard work, but satisfying in a way she had never known before. There was something deeply fulfilling about tending to the land, nurturing the delicate plants that would one day yield the rich, full-bodied wine for which the region was famous.
As she reached for another vine, her fingers brushed against something unexpected. Frowning, she bent closer, pushing aside the leaves to reveal an unripe bunch of grapes, cut too early from the vine, crushed and oozing against the soil.Strange, she thought, her brow furrowing.How did that happen?
She straightened up, scanning the nearby rows with a more critical eye. There, a few feet away - a damaged vine, mangled as though rough hands had torn it from its supports and shredded the delicate leaves. And there, near the end of the row, a pile of discarded pruning shears, as if someone had simply tossed them aside in a fit of pique.
“How odd,” she murmured aloud, more to herself than anyone else. “I wonder what could have caused this?”
But even as the words left her lips, a niggling sense of unease began to grow in the pit of her stomach. One crushed bunch of grapes, one damaged vine - it could easily be dismissed as a mere accident. But the shears, left so carelessly behind... that spoke of something more deliberate.
She shook her head, trying to brush aside the troubling thoughts. It was probably nothing, she told herself firmly. A clumsy worker, perhaps, or a wild animal that had wandered into the vineyard in search of a snack. There was no need to worry the others, not when they had already been through so much.
But as she picked up the discarded shears and turned back to her work, she couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. And as the days passed and the strange incidents continued - a broken trellis here, a missing basket there - that feeling only grew stronger.
Rafael stormed through the vineyard, his boots crushing the fallen leaves beneath his feet. His eyes blazed with fury as he surveyed the destruction before him - entire rows of vines, once lush and thriving, now lay in ruins, their branches twisted and broken beyond repair. The tool that had done the damage lay discarded on the ground, a simple sickle, brutally sharp. But whose hand had wielded it?
“Who could have done this?” Rafael growled, his fists clenched at his sides. “To attack our very livelihood, our family’s legacy...”
Clarissa hurried to keep pace with him, her skirts rustling as she moved. “Rafael, please, you must calm yourself. Anger will not solve this.”
He whirled to face her, his expression fierce. “And what would you have me do, Clarissa? Stand by and watch as some coward strikes at the very heart of our home?”
She met his gaze steadily, refusing to be cowed by his temper. “Of course not. But we must be strategic in our response. Rushing in blindly will only make matters worse.”
Rafael drew in a deep breath, visibly struggling to rein in his emotions. “You’re right, of course. Forgive me, I spoke in haste.”
Clarissa laid a gentle hand on his arm. “There is nothing to forgive. Your passion for protecting your family does you credit.”
A ghost of a smile touched his lips at her words, but it quickly faded as he turned back to the ruined vines. “What do you suggest, then? How can we hope to catch this saboteur?”
Clarissa considered for a moment, her brow furrowed in thought. “Perhaps we could keep watch over the vineyard at night, in shifts. If we catch them in the act...”
Rafael nodded slowly, his eyes gleaming with a new determination. “Yes, that could work. We’ll need to be careful, though - whoever is doing this is clearly not afraid to cause harm.”
“I’m not afraid,” Clarissa declared, lifting her chin. “I’ll take the first watch myself.”
“Absolutely not,” Rafael retorted, his tone brooking no argument. “I won’t have you putting yourself in danger, nor any of the other ladies. I’ll stand guard tonight, and I’ll discuss with the other men in the morning if they are willing to assist me.”
Clarissa opened her mouth to protest, but something in his expression stopped her. There was a fierceness there, yes, but also a vulnerability, a desperate need to protect those he loved.
