Harlequin Historical November 2015, Box Set 2 of 2 (27 page)

Chapter Eight

It is now. Come at once.

M
ary stared down at her father's crumpled note in her gloved hand. Such a small, short thing, delivered by a pageboy who immediately ran off when he thrust it into her hand. But she understood it. It changed everything in a moment. Yet she had been ready. She had been taught to be ready all her life.

The carriage jolted to a halt again, making Adriana wail into her handkerchief. Mary quickly stuffed the note into her reticule, next to her latest letter to Louisa in London trying to explain life in Lisbon, and she peered out the window. What
would
her friend think of such a wild scene?

It was no surprise that the journey from their house to the docks, which would usually take no more than about an hour, was at such a crawling, maddening pace. The maze of alleyways and narrow lanes that wound down from the hills of Lisbon to the river below were crowded with carriages and carts, all piled high with crates and trunks, all inching forward in the churned, sticky mud left by the days of rain. A few brave souls had taken the journey on foot, running past with their belongings balanced on their shoulders, but most of them were trapped in lumbering vehicles.

And time was running out. The British fleet waited to escort the royal convoy out of Lisbon before the French moved in. Mary had to reach them in time.

They inched forward again, and the box Mary held between her booted feet, the box holding their most valuable papers, slid away. She reached down to pull it back and almost hit her head on the cases piled on the opposite seat. Her hat fell down over her eyes, momentarily blinding her. All she had to guide her were Adriana's quiet sobs and the cries and shouts from the street, muffled by the windows.

Mary gave a choked laugh and quickly pressed her hand to her lips to hold it back. There was too much hysteria all around them already. She wouldn't give in to it, too.

She pulled off her hat and tossed it on top of one of the boxes. Adriana sat next to her, Mary's jewel case in her lap, and she looked as pale as milk as she squeezed her eyes shut and whispered a prayer.

‘Almost there now, Adriana,' Mary said reassuringly. ‘We'll be able to board right away, I'm sure.' She wondered wildly if Sebastian Barrett would be there when she did and how she would feel to see him once more. But there was no time for such thoughts now and she shook them away. But he lingered at the back of her mind.
Damn him
.

Whether they would be able to embark right away was another story altogether. Mary peered outside again, at the slate-grey sky that arched above the tiled roofs and church spires. If it started raining again...

‘I hope so,
senhorita
,' Adriana whispered.

‘And just think—in a few weeks we shall be in Brazil!' Mary said, determined to stay cheerful. ‘I've been reading about it a great deal in the last few days and it sounds most intriguing. It will be winter here very soon, but there it's all golden sunshine and bright blue skies. White sand beaches, which I've never seen before. I'm sure they can't be like the rocky beaches at Dover! And the fruit—I can't wait to taste it. I've never had a mango.'

Mary knew she was babbling, but surely that was better than a heavy, pressing silence where there was nothing to do but think about what was really happening around them—a whole city was fleeing.

It seemed to help. Adriana opened her eyes. ‘Mangoes,
senhorita
?'

‘Oh, yes. And pineapples. I've lived in many places before, but never anywhere like this,' Mary said. ‘I brought my books about Brazil. Perhaps we can read them on the voyage and then it won't seem quite so strange when we get there.'

But it
would
be strange, a hot, tropical place far away from Europe, from everyone they knew. It would be quite intriguing, Mary thought, to have a new start. New friends. A place where no one knew her so very well.

No one like Sebastian Barrett, that was, and he was the very first person she wanted to leave behind. Seeing him at the ball had been too flustering, too overwhelming, and she couldn't afford this kind of distraction now.

The carriage at last reached the docks, but they were caught in a web of all the other vehicles and could go no further. The coachman helped Mary down and, as soon as she stepped out of the carriage, she was consumed in wild noise.

Piled up everywhere were crates stamped with the mark of the royal treasury and the royal library, hundreds of them. Tilted among them haphazardly were pieces of fine, carved furniture from the palaces, and jewelled crosses and plate from churches, all jumbled into boxes. Smaller trunks, cases of linen and provisions of food and wine waited to be loaded as well.

All the carriages had churned deep ruts in the mud and now all was utter chaos. People were screaming, crying, clutching at their belongings. Mary strained up on her toes, but she could see nothing past the press of the crowd that surged around her, the listing stack of crates. She felt carried away by them on a wave of fear and excitement.

She had to find her father, but she saw no familiar faces around her. Many of the ladies wore veils and were swathed in cloaks, but she couldn't glimpse Teresa or any of her other friends. It was just an anonymous sea of humanity, surging around her, carrying her forward.

She hoisted the box of important papers under one arm and grabbed Adriana's hand with the other. ‘We must find the
Hibernia
,' she shouted above the roar. That was where her father told her a berth would be waiting; surely if she could just make it aboard, he would rejoin her soon.

But finding her way there seemed a Herculean task. Pulling Adriana with her, Mary pushed her way through the crowd, dodging elbows and snatching hands, ignoring the cacophony of Portuguese and Spanish around her.

‘But I have a pass!' one man sobbed, holding up a crumpled, stained paper. He was obviously a court official, with his satin breeches and powdered wig, but he was splashed with mud, like everything around him, and his fine coat was ripped. ‘Prince Joao himself promised me a place.'

A soldier pushed him back and Mary slipped past them. The emotion in the heavy, rain-soaked air was so palpable she could almost taste it, sour and metallic at the back of her throat. Frantic fear, desperation, excitement. Children wailed in their nurses' arms, families shouted each other's names. She tried to find her friend Teresa, but couldn't see her anywhere.

Mary swallowed hard to get rid of the fear and pressed onward. Wailing herself would do no good. At last she reached the quay, where rows of skiffs waited to ferry passengers out to the waiting ships. The press of the crowds fell behind her as she tumbled on to the wooden walkway and she faced a most astonishing sight.

Ships as far as she could see, bobbing in the choppy grey waters. Massive, implacable and seemingly so far away. She saw the Portuguese royal flag flying on a few of them, the ships of the line that waited for Dom Joao and his family, and the British colours of their escort. There were many smaller vessels, too, even fishing boats that surely couldn't hope to cross the Atlantic. But everyone was desperate to be gone today, any way they could.

She scanned the galleys and skiffs that were being boarded to row out to the ships, so heavily loaded they rode low in the freezing water, yet she still couldn't see her father. Further down the quay she glimpsed Nicholas Warren from the English delegation, waiting to step into one of the boats.

‘Mr Warren!' she shouted in a most unladylike fashion. By some miracle, her words carried above the frantic noise and he turned to wave at her.

‘Follow me, Adriana,' she cried, but their path was suddenly blocked by a flock of black-coated officials, all shouting and pushing. She couldn't shove her way through by more than a few inches. She glimpsed the boats rowing out over the water, away from her, and she was trapped in stillness, like in a nightmare.

‘Let me help you, Miss Manning,' a deep voice said behind her.

Mary whirled around and was pushed by the pressing crowd into the shelter of a tall, strong body. She knew immediately whose arms closed around her, for surely no one else smelled like that, of a citrus soap and starched linen, even in the midst of mud-splashed chaos. No one else felt like that, of safety and strength. But she knew that safety was just an illusion, for it was Sebastian Barrett who held her.

She wanted to run away, to push him back, to protect herself as she had not been able to in London. But she also wanted to wrap her arms around him and hold on tightly to his strength.

‘I...' She tried to step back, out of that confusing warmth of his embrace, but she was trapped against him by the crowd.

‘Are you looking for your father?' he asked, his calm tone like an oasis.

Perhaps he was a terrible rake, but he had been blessed with a damnably soothing voice.

Mary tilted back her head to look up at him. He looked as if he had just stepped into a ballroom, his evening coat sharply tailored and immaculate, his hair falling in bright waves from beneath his hat. She was suddenly painfully aware that her own hat was gone, that she was a rumpled mess, her hems splashed with mud, her hair falling from its pins. But this was surely no moment for social niceties.

She forced herself to meet his bright green gaze steadily, to smile. ‘Yes. Have you seen him? It took much longer to get here than we planned...' She was shoved again and had to give in and hold on to his arm to keep from falling into the mud. His arm, so warm and strongly muscled, flexed under her touch and his other arm came closer around her.

She glanced back at Adriana, only to find the maid's former fear had fled into fascination with their handsome rescuer. Mary was afraid she looked much the same.

Sebastian looked around them, frowning in concentration, his eyes narrowed. ‘That's no surprise, Miss Manning. You're quite fortunate to have made it here at all. I haven't seen your father, but many of the English delegation are engaged in bringing the Prince and his family down to the docks now. Where are you supposed to be?'

‘I'm meant to embark on the
Hibernia
, but I'm not even sure how to find it.'

He nodded, and before Mary could know what he intended he bent down and swept her up into his arms. He carried her as easily as if she was a feather and everyone quickly made way for him as he led them through the crowd and deposited her on a seat on the skiff. She dared not even breathe, he was much too close. Several other people crowded on to the small boat, pushing her even nearer to his side.

She tried her hardest to ignore the fact that Sebastian sat so close to her in the small boat, his leg warm against hers through the muslin of her skirts, the velvet of her pelisse. It made her want to stay there for ever, even as she wanted to run away, and she could do neither. At the ball when they first met again, she had been able to run away, but not now.

* * *

At last the ship came into view and, despite its formidable, dark hulk against the slate-grey sky, she almost felt relief.

A rope ladder swayed against the side of the ship, sailors peering over the railing high above as the skiff came alongside. One of the rowers leaped out and climbed up the waiting ladder, the wind catching at it with every step. Halfway up, he turned back and held out his hand to help Adriana. Adriana, shrieking and sighing, still found herself able to take the handsome sailor's hand and let him assist her up the side.

Mary had been on voyages before. She jumped up and caught the ladder as Adriana was drawn over the railing on to the deck. But after a few rungs, the heavy wind caught at Mary, catching her breath with its cold touch. The rope was slippery under her gloved hands and her stomach lurched as her whole body swayed. The spray of the waves beneath her made her shiver.

She glanced down and glimpsed Sebastian peering up at her. His face beneath the brim of his hat was dark with—could it be worry? From Sebastian Barrett, charmer of all ladies? Surely not, she thought. The sight of him watching her stiffened her resolve. She wouldn't let
him
see her afraid. See her vulnerable. Not again.

Not ever again.

He looked as if he was about to step on to the ladder, to come after her, and she knew she had to move quickly. She glanced back up and kept climbing. It seemed a mile to the railing and her hands were numb by the time she reached its safety. Two sailors helped her up over on to the deck, as they had with Adriana, and she couldn't seem to stop shivering.

Was it because of the chill—or because Sebastian Barrett was there? Mary found she didn't want to know, not really. He had reappeared so unexpectedly in her life, she was caught completely off-balance. But surely those feelings would pass, as they once had in London.

They
must
pass.

‘Oh,
senhorita
!' Adriana cried. She ran forward to wrap a blanket around Mary's shoulders, clucking sympathetic words in Portuguese Mary gave her a grateful smile, tugging the thick wool closer against her, as if it could be armour to the chill both inside and out. She studied the deck around them, waiting as one by one the other passengers from the skiff were bundled on to the deck. It was a crowd of the English citizens who had been living in Lisbon, as well as a few Portuguese aristocrats, sobbing at leaving their home, barely wedged in among crates of papers and boxes stamped with the royal seal. It was crowded, noisy, confusing.

‘Miss Manning,' a portly man in a naval uniform liberally laced with decorations called. ‘I am Lieutenant Stanhope. Your father asked me to look after you until he arrives. I'm most glad to see you made it safely.'

‘Lieutenant Stanhope. How do you do,' Mary said. She glanced over her shoulder to see if Sebastian had arrived on deck, but she couldn't see him yet. She took a deep breath. ‘Is my father expected soon?'

‘I have had a message that he will make sure the Prince Regent is embarked on the
Principe Real
first, but it should not be long. I have secured a cabin for you and your maid. Rather small, I fear...'