Page 50 of A Captain For Clarissa
In her mind’s eye, she could see Rafael’s ship, the Santa Dorotéia, cutting through the waves, its sails billowing in the wind. She imagined herself standing on the deck beside him, the salt spray kissing her face, the warm breeze tangling in her hair.
In her dreams, they would sail to Portugal, to the crumbling castle and neglected vineyard that were Rafael’s birthright. Together, they would restore the estate to its former glory, pouring their love and dedication into every stone and vine. She could see herself walking hand in hand with Rafael throughthe sun-drenched vineyards, laughing and talking, sharing their hopes and dreams.
At night, they would retire to their chambers, where Rafael would take her in his arms and love her with a passion that set her soul ablaze. She would give herself to him fully, body and heart, and together they would create a life filled with joy and purpose, far from the shallow intrigues and petty scandals of the English aristocracy.
Clarissa sighed, her heart aching with longing. It was a beautiful dream. But was it truly possible? Could she really abandon everything she had ever known, defy her family and her duty, for the sake of love?
Clarissa closed her eyes, letting the dream wash over her, filling her with a fierce, unshakable resolve. Yes, she thought. Yes, I will come to you, my love. I will brave any storm, face any obstacle, to be with you. And together, we will create a love that will endure through the ages, a love that will never die.
Chapter Eighteen
Torre do Rochado hadnot seen such celebrations in decades. The castle was filled to the brim with flowers and celebrating guests for Isabella’s wedding.
The music swelled as Isabella and her new husband, Mario, the Conte di Bardolino, took to the dance floor for their first dance as man and wife. Rafael watched from the sidelines, acutely aware of the empty space beside him where Clarissa should have been.
As the happy couple whirled past, Isabella caught his eye, her radiant smile fading into a sympathetic frown. She leaned close to Mario and whispered something in his ear. He nodded and gracefully led her off the dance floor. It was mere moments before Isabella was marching up to Rafael, hands on her hips, her new husband trailing in her wake with an amused expression on his face.
“What are you doing, fratello mio? Why are you not dancing?”
Rafael sighed and took a sip of his wine. “I am in no mood for dancing, I am afraid. Do not let my ill temper blight your day, dear one.”
“He is missing Clarissa, I think,” Mario said with a small laugh.
“Oh Rafa,” Isabella shook her head. “Can’t you see? The poor girl is in love with you! And you let your silly male pride get in the way.”
“In love with me?” Rafael scoffed. “I think not. She left!”
“Men! Honestly, you are all so blind sometimes.” Isabella grabbed his arm, her grip surprisingly strong for one so slight. “Listen to me, Rafael. That girl looked at you like...like Mama used to look at Papa. She left only because you did not ask her to stay!”
Could it be true? Had he completely misread the situation with Clarissa? The thought filled him with equal parts elation and dread.
If he had ruined things with his rash words and selfish assumptions… Dio mio, he would never forgive himself. He had to make this right, pride be damned. Even if she rejected him, he had to try.
Rafael set down his glass and kissed Isabella on the cheek. “Grazie, sorella. You have given me much to think on.”
She smiled and patted his face. “Go to her, Rafa. Fight for the love you deserve.”
“Do not worry about the estate,” Mario put in. “Isabella and I will oversee things in your absence.”
Relief and gratitude washed over Rafael in equal measure. “Thank you, brother. Your support means more than I can say.”
With renewed purpose, Rafael set about making preparations for his journey. As he packed his trunk, his mind whirled with possibilities. What if Clarissa refused to see him? What if her feelings had changed? No, he could not afford to think like that. He would win her back, no matter the cost.
As the carriage carried him away from the sun-drenched vineyards of his homeland, Rafael’s heart soared with hope and trepidation. He was sailing into uncharted waters, but for Clarissa, he would brave any storm. England, and his heart’s desire, awaited.
The carriage jolted to a stop before an elegant London townhouse, its façade a pristine white against the grey, misty sky. Rafael alighted, his heart hammering in his chest as he approached the door. He rapped the brass knocker, the sound echoing through the quiet street.
Moments later, the door swung open, revealing an urbane butler. “May I assist you, sir?” His gaze raked Rafael, a frown lowering his brow as he took in Rafael’s worn travelling clothes. “I don’t believe…”
“I must speak with the Marquis and Marchioness of Glenkellie immediately,” Rafael interrupted, his voice firm with resolve.
“I will see if they are receiving, sir. Your card?”
Rafael blinked. “Ah - I don’t have a card. Please tell them Rafael de Silva is here.”
“Very well, sir.” The butler ushered him inside, leading him to a well-appointed drawing room and leaving him alone with an expression that suggested he rather thought Rafael might put his dirty boots up on the sofa if left unsupervised for too long.
Scarcely a minute had passed before the door burst open, revealing Marianne and Alex, their expressions a mixture of shock and delight.
