Page 33 of The Truth About Myths
She paused in their midst. "Welcome to thePoseidon. I have only one rule: the first who speaks about politics will be dunked in the ocean."
Claps and laughter followed the statement, soon engulfed by excited chattering and clinking glasses.
Henrique grabbed Dio's arm. "Keep an eye on the love birds."
"But what about you? Never tell me you will resist the duchess? She is riper than a grape in September. The plan can always start tomorrow."
A crewman released the rope tying the boat to the pier. The hull swayed and lurched to the sea. Henrique stared at the gap between the pleasure barge and the dock. Two feet now, and increasing.
Tensing his grip on the railing, Henrique leaped.
Dio gasped. "I'll be damned."
Chapter 12
"For the valiant, the world is as their own estate."Miguel de Cervantes,Don Quixote
Thedaydawnedblueand hot. Isabel tossed away the bed coverings and went to the window, pulling her nightdress from her perspiring skin. Strange dreams had bothered her all night. They all involved tasting sugar, and Henrique's lips. She shouldn't preoccupy herself with the libertine. A genuine threat lurked. Alfonso de Bourbon would arrive today. His presence could undermine the Duke of Aosta's hold over the Spanish throne.
Isabel flung the glass panels wide and supported her elbows on the windowsill, welcoming the sea breeze. The green lawn gave way to the beach, which, in turn, faded under the pressure of the Atlantic. A boat, its sails high and proud, braved the surf.
Shadows passed beneath the rippling water. What hidden threats lurked inside the blue depths? Seen from the safety of her bedchamber, the ocean breathed, a living creature waiting to swallow a person whole. Why hadn't she learned to swim when she was a girl? At least it would have made her less fanciful. With a sigh, she shut the window.
Isabel stretched her arms and donned her robe. She needed to understand Canastra's intentions. Another day hearing the duke's guests' heated discussions... Better prepare her ears. It took a while for her to realize their raised voices and angry gesturing were not fighting but normal conversations.
Portugal and Spain shared a peninsula, and many in Europe couldn't understand why Portugal clung to its independence. The fact was that Portuguese and Spanish were as different as the Flamenco from the Fado. While Spain's cultural dance expressed emotion through passionate movements, the latter contained music with glorious feelings but little action.
She could ask for Dolly's help to uncover information. Since she loved to chat, Dolly could befriend other ladies, and they would open up to her. Isabel strode to the sitting room she shared with Lady Dolores.
A sliver of light peeked from the other bedroom. Was she still abed?
Isabel opened the door. "Dolly?"
The wind fluttered the gauzy curtains. Isabel pulled the sides of her robe close and padded inside. The room was empty.
Clothes lined the back of chairs, and stockings littered the Persian rug. A red garter decorated the recamier. She must warn the girl to get rid of such gaudy unmentionables.
Dolly's writing box lay open atop the escritoire. A letter had been left in the drying sand. Who could Dolly be writing to? Her father, the Duke of Chagas? Isabel doubted it. Prying was wrong, but what if it belonged to that rake, Charles Whitaker?
Gaze rushing to the door and back, Isabel swept the sand away. The revealed words were not to Charles… but to Lady Anne. Why would she write to Isabel's most trusted confidante?
Isabel blinked, trying to make sense of the childlike handwriting. Dolly started by flattering Rafaela, gushing about the Duchess' sophistication, fashionable gowns, and delightful disposition. The sweetness burned Isabel's throat. Then came line after line of complaints about… about… Isabel. The travel and the days spent here in Comillas. How Isabel had made her suffer through bland tea parties and dinners with old, grumpy people.
Those were important meetings. Luis had entrusted her with understanding the mood of the Spanish aristocracy. How could Dolly ignore the need to sacrifice frivolous pastimes for the greater good?
They had an entire load of merriment in Lisbon, didn't they? Could Henrique's words be true? Did her ladies prefer the convent to her household?
The unwelcome thought washed down on her, and she gasped, dropping on the chair and lowering the letter. Hugging herself, she closed her eyes. Joyful sounds pressed against her ears. Everyone laughed—the gulls, the children, the servants, even the sea.
The door swung inwards. Isabel's eyelids shot open. Henrique barged inside the bedchamber, bringing in the ocean's scent. He flung his hand at his windswept hair and scowled at her.
Isabel stood still, her heart picking up speed. "I'm not receiving visits today."
"Have none of your tutors instructed you on common courtesy? Do you take pride in dismissing invitations?"
Her chin weighed a ton, but she lifted it anyway, cloaking herself with all the composure a princess could muster while dressed in a robe and fighting back tears. "My education should not concern you. The only thing I plan on dismissing is you. Please leave."
Frowning, he paused and gave her a bewildered look as if only then noticing her dishabille.
