The Arrogant Duke

‘But I understood from – from the solicitor in London—’ She halted again. She was asking too many questions once more. After all, there was a possibility that Mr. Forster had deliberately refrained from telling her that her employer was to be a duke. After the problems he had had hiring someone, maybe he had thought that such a revelation would jeopardize his chances of obtaining a satisfactory applicant.

Miguel was studying her with some amusement in his dark eyes, and Juliet gathered her scattered senses. After all, what of it? She had met dukes before, and they were only people like anyone else. What was there to alarm her?

She compressed her lips ‘Is this the car?’ she asked, amazed at her own composure.

Miguel inclined his head. ‘Sim, senhorita. Ah, Pedro, have you got all the luggage? Good. Come, senhorita.’

She followed Miguel across to the car, ignoring the speculative glances of the group of islanders who watched them with interested dark eyes. Really, thought Juliet, with something like annoyance at her own disturbed frame of mind, what was she getting so het up about? Just because she had discovered that her employer was a Portuguese duke. It was ridiculous!

But still she couldn’t banish the thought that a duke was slightly different from a mere senhor, and in her precarious position the fewer complications there were the better.

Miguel stowed the cases, had a good-natured chatter with Pedro, then slid into the front seat of the automobile, and set it in motion. They drove along the quayside, past the now waving children, whose mothers gave wide smiles, and up a curving track which led along the coastline. The steep gradient brought them to a higher road which wound round the heavily foliaged hillside. Here Juliet had a magnificent view of the whole coast, its bays and headlands giving it a wild and untamed beauty. The coves were white with coral sand, rocks rearing their ugly heads above the creaming surf. Inland was the exotic beauty of plant life, bushes of oleander and hibiscus providing brilliant splashes of colour, while some rarer varieties which Juliet could not name added their own pink and gold charm to the view. They were sweeping down again now, into a valley whose walls were networked by fast-flowing tumbling streams, at whose brink tiny blue flowers grew. A river ran through the valley floor and here were fields of waving sugar cane, and the sweet smell was intoxicating.

Unable to resist, she leaned forward, and said: ‘Does this plantation belong to – to the Duke?’

Miguel glanced round once, and then returned his attention to the road. ‘Senhorita, this whole island belongs to the Duque.’

‘Oh!’ Juliet sat back in her seat.

Miguel, encouraged by her question, remarked: ‘Do you think you will like it here, senhorita?’

Juliet bit on her bottom lip. ‘I – I’m sure I shall,’ she said awkwardly. ‘Is – is it far now?’

‘Not far,’ Miguel answered. And then: ‘You have come to be a friend for the young senhorita, is that right?’

Juliet hesitated. She had no wish to say too much, but his question seemed innocent enough. ‘That’s right,’ she said now, nodding.

‘Senhorita Teresa,’ murmured Miguel, almost as though he was speaking to himself. ‘Yes, it will not be easy.’ And with this cryptic comment he said no more.

They left the valley through a narrow pass in the hillside, towering bastions of rock on either side of the narrow road. They emerged on to a plateau, which fell away steeply at the far side to the shoreline at the other side of the island. The sun was growing higher and the heat seemed intense even in the open vehicle. Juliet fumbled in her bag, and slid dark glasses on to her nose, wishing the journey was over.

Now they were descending again, a winding road along terraces cultivated with coffee beans. Nearer sea-level, they branched on to a side road which brought them to tall gates, standing wide, and a drive which led up to the home of the Duque de Castro.

Juliet caught her breath in a gasp when she saw the quinta for the first time. Built of mellowed grey brick, it stood on three sides of a central courtyard, but Miguel brought the car round to the front of the building and halted on a gravelled forecourt. Surrounded by trees which provided a backcloth for its almost medieval beauty, with the sun turning its windows into golden tongues of flame, the quinta was imposing and impressive, and wholly unlike anything Juliet had even vaguely imagined. Without waiting for Miguel to assist her, she slid out of the car, and stood looking up at the arched portals of its entrance, emblazoned by the crest of the de Castro family. Through an arched hallway, the central courtyard could be seen where a fountain played in its centre, providing a constant and cooling sound of running water.

Miguel smiled at her expression, and said: ‘Come. Consuelo will show you to your room. You will have time to relax before meeting the Duque and his niece.’

Juliet looked down at her dark blue slack suit, and felt relieved. At least she was to have the opportunity of changing before meeting so autocratic a personage as the Duque de Castro.

They entered through heavy doors which stood wide to the morning air, into a hall, marble tiled and panelled with rosewood. A white-painted wrought iron rail supported a wide, shallow staircase, which curved gently up to a long gallery. There were flowers everywhere, on pedestal stands, or simply in huge urns, artistically arranged. There was the smell of beeswax mingled with the perfumes of the flowers, and Juliet thought she would never remember Venterra without recalling the fragrance.

She was looking about her with interest, as Miguel brought in her suitcases, when a dark-skinned woman, with tightly curled hair, approached from along a passage to the left of the hall. Dressed all in black, apart from a white apron, she looked warm and friendly, and Juliet responded to her smile. Was this Consuelo whom Miguel had spoken of?

As though in answer to her unspoken question, Miguel returned at that moment, and standing down the cases he was carrying said: ‘Ah, there you are, Consuelo. As you can see, Senhorita Summers has arrived.’

Consuelo eyed the young man with twinkling eyes. ‘You are late, Miguel!’

Miguel raised his shoulders indignantly. ‘The plane has just landed – is this not right, senhorita?’ he appealed to Juliet.

Juliet nodded, fingering the strap of her handbag, and Miguel seemed to realize her position, for he said: ‘Senhorita Summers, this is Consuelo Rodrigues, housekeeper to the Duque, and my mother’s cousin.’

Juliet smiled, and made a perfunctory greeting, and Consuelo folded her arms. ‘Welcome to the Quinta de Castro, senhorita. I hope you will be very happy here.’

‘Why – thank you.’ Juliet moved uncomfortably This was her first taste of being an employee and she was not aware of what was expected of her.

‘The Senhorita’s room is ready?’ questioned Miguel. ‘I think she would like to wash and relax for a while before meeting the Duque.’

Consuelo gave a vigorous nod. ‘Everything is ready. Muito abrigado, Miguel. I can manage now. José is waiting for you in the orchard.’

Miguel smiled once more at Juliet. ‘I will probably see you later, senhorita,’ and then he turned and went out through the wide doors.

Juliet sighed after he had gone. His friendliness had been a kind of balm, and now she felt tense and nervous again. Not that Consuelo was an alarming person. With her round, ample girth and beaming face, she seemed amiable enough, and when she picked up two of Juliet’s cases and made for the stairs, indicating that Juliet should follow her, Juliet picked up her hand luggage and did so.

The shallow staircase was lined with portraits, and Juliet stared at them, entranced. There were dark, swarthy men and camellia-skinned women, single portraits and family groups, with children dressed in heavy velvets and satins, totally unsuited to the hot Venterra climate. Juliet wondered how long there had been Duques de Castro on the island. Probably for hundreds of years, since the first Spaniards discovered the West Indies. It was a period of history that had always interested her, and her thoughts occupied her to the exclusion of everything else.

Consuelo surged ahead, but Juliet had barely reached the curve of the stairs when footsteps sounded across the tiled courtyard and entered the hall below. She looked down curiously, when a man appeared, wondering who he might be. Tall, dark-haired and deeply tanned, a midnight blue silk shirt open at the throat to reveal the smooth column of his neck rising from the rippling muscles of his chest, he was easily the most attractive male Juliet had ever seen, and she couldn’t help but stare until he turned icy grey eyes in her direction.

‘Por dues!’ he swore angrily. ‘Miguel was right! Come down here, senhorita!’

There was no please or thank you, no apparent sign of anything remotely resembling politeness, and Juliet froze with indignation. The man tapped a slender riding whip against the highly polished leather of his boot.

‘Did you hear what I senhorita?’ he asked coldly. ‘I am not used to being kept waiting!’

Consuelo had turned now and was coming back down the stairs. ‘This is Senhorita Summers, senhor,’ she said, by way of an introduction.

Juliet stiffened. This then must be her employer, the Duque de Castro. Oh lord, she thought dismally, isn’t he charming!

‘I am aware of the young woman’s name!’ the man snapped. ‘Senhorita! Are you paralysed, or merely petrified!’

Juliet felt something flare up inside her at his arrogant words. Just who did he think he was? Just who did he think he was talking to? For a moment she was tempted to reveal her real identity. After all, Robert Lindsay’s was a name to be reckoned with in financial circles. And then the temptation died. She doubted whether anything she might say in that direction would achieve more than her instant dismissal. This man lived many miles away from the mercenary capitals of the world, and obviously considered himself a law unto himself.

But she did not intend that he should see that he had either annoyed or disturbed her. With the control of years of training she slowly descended the staircase, until she made contact with the marble floor of the hall. At this level, he was even more overpowering. Tall herself, he was still much taller, with a width of shoulder and a litheness of movement not out of place in an athlete.

‘I am neither paralysed nor petrified, senhor,’ she said, with more confidence than she was feeling. ‘I gather you are my employer.’

The man looked down at her with narrowed eyes. ‘I am the Duque Felipe Ricardo de Castro, senhorita. I do not recall employing you!’

For a moment Juliet was nonplussed. Then, gathering her scattered wits, she said: ‘I do not understand, senhor. I was employed by a firm of solicitors in London, as companion to your niece, a Senhorita Teresa de Castro.’

The man studied her insolently for a moment, then turned to Consuelo. ‘You knew about this, Consuelo?’

‘Sim, senhor!’

‘Since when?’ he thundered angrily.

‘Since two hours ago, Felipe,’ remarked a cool voice from the direction of the door which led to the outer patio.

Juliet glanced round and saw a small, slim, attractive woman standing there, dark, like the Duque, with smooth dark hair that clung to the curve of her head like a cap. She was dressed in a delicate shade of cyclamen, and looked cool and sophisticated. She smiled warmly at Juliet, and wrinkled her nose at the Duque.

‘Darling, don’t be cross,’ she continued. ‘You know Teresa needs somebody.’

The Duque snapped his fingers furiously. ‘I know that you wait until I go riding before telling my staff to expect a visitor about whom I know absolutely nothing!’ He moved restlessly. ‘It is not six months since you employed that American girl, Laura Weston, and after that fiasco I refused to consider anyone else. You knew this, Estelle!’

‘Querido, you are embarrassing Senhorita Summers. At least let us have this conversation in private. Consuelo, take Senhorita Summers to her room, and I will speak to the Duque.’

‘Sim, senhora!’ Consuelo turned, but Juliet felt frozen to the spot. This was something neither she nor Rosemary had envisaged. Was her carefully planned ruse to fail because the advertisement had been placed without the Duque’s knowledge or condolence? She felt almost numb with incredulity.

Now the Duque turned his dark eyes on her again. He studied her for a moment longer, and then without a word turned and strode across the hall and entered a room at the far side, slamming the door after him.

The woman he had called Estelle continued to look unperturbed. ‘Go with Consuelo, senhorita. Do not concern yourself with these matters. I can assure you, your job is not in jeopardy.’

Juliet moved at last, and followed Consuelo stiffly up the staircase. She wished she felt as certain. All she could remember was the blatant fury in the man’s grey eyes, and the force of his attraction which had hit her like magnetism.

CHAPTER TWO

HER room overlooked the sea, with a balcony on which was a long, low lounger where it would be heaven to sit on hot days. The room, decorated in shades of blue and green and grey, with a bathroom to match, was luxurious and comfortable.

Consuelo stood down her cases, and looked at her with her smiling eyes. ‘This is all right, senhorita?’

‘Oh, yes, thank you, Consuelo. It’s wonderful. But–’ She halted, and Consuelo looked at her sympathetically.

‘The senhora means what she says,’ she said understandingly. ‘The Duque will not dismiss you without reason.’

Juliet sighed and sank down on to the bed. ‘But – well, the Duque apparently didn’t even know I was coming!’

‘No, senhorita.’

Juliet frowned. ‘That woman – who is she? Is that his wife?’

Consuelo laughed, folding her arms across her heavy breasts. ‘No, senhorita. The Duque is not married. The Senhora Vinceiro is the widow of his cousin, Pépé. She lives here on Venterra, not far from the quinta.’

‘I see.’ Juliet shook her head, still feeling rather bewildered. ‘When – when will I see the Senhorita Teresa?’

‘Whenever you are ready, senhorita. Senhorita Teresa is with Senhorita Madison at the moment. She has been acting as both nurse and companion since Senhorita Weston was dismissed.’

Juliet had so many questions she wanted to ask. She wanted to know about this fiasco the Duque had spoken about, she wanted to know why Laura Weston had been dismissed, she wanted to know exactly what influence this Estelle Vinceiro had in the quinta. She felt almost amused as she recalled her thoughts on the journey here. They had been wholly to do with the problems she had left behind. She had not known she was coming to face far more.

Consuelo moved to the door. ‘It is now a little after twelve, senhorita. I suggest I bring your lunch to your room, to enable you to unpack and relax for a while. After siesta, which the Senhorita Teresa always takes in her room, I will come and take you to have afternoon tea with her, sim?’

Juliet rose to her feet again. ‘That sounds delightful, Consuelo, thank you.’ She twisted her fingers nervously. ‘Do you – do you think the Duque will want to see me again?’

Consuelo spread wide her hands in a typical continental gesture. ‘Who can say, senhorita? But if you are resting he will not ask me to disturb you. So – I go. If you need anything, ring the bell.’

After Consuelo had gone, Juliet lifted her cases and threw them on the bed. Then she removed the jacket of her suit, and walked lazily on to the balcony. Although she had not been travelling very long this morning, she suddenly felt drained of energy, and she sat down on the lounger and lit a cigarette before attempting to do anything.

In a while, the events of the last few minutes assumed rather less serious proportions, as she saw the amusing side of it all. What a situation! She wished Rosemary were here to share it with her.

A tap at the door heralded the arrival of a young maidservant with a tray containing her lunch. There was a fresh fruit cocktail, pork fried with rice, and a kind of ice cream gateau, followed by coffee and more fruit. It was a very delicious meal, and after she had finished, Juliet felt a little more like work. She opened her cases, hung away her clothes in a capacious fitted wardrobe, and then went into the bathroom to shower before resting on her bed for a while. She had closed her window shutters, and the light slatted through the blinds cast dancing shadows on the ceiling. She watched them for a while, and then her eyelids drooped and she slept.

She awoke refreshed, but startled, with a firm tapping going on at her door. Sliding off the bed, she wrapped herself in a nylon wrapper and opened the door about six inches. Consuelo was outside.

‘It is after four, senhorita. I have told the Senhorita Teresa you are to have tea with her.’

‘Lord!’ Juliet gasped. ‘I’m sorry, Consuelo, I’m not ready. Will you wait five minutes?’

‘Very well, senhorita,’ Consuelo agreed, but she sounded less than pleased.

Juliet fumbled her way into a white crimplene dress, sleeveless, with a high cuffed neckline, and not too short a skirt. Her hair, immaculately pleated earlier, now hung in wisps and with careless fingers she wrenched out the hairgrips and brushed it savagely. It fell, thick and straight to her shoulders, sherry-coloured and very attractive. Cursing to herself for sleeping so long, she began to wind it back into its pleat, when Consuelo tapped again.

‘Senhorita,’ she said persistently, ‘please hurry.’

Juliet lost control of the hair, and it fell loose again. ‘Oh, blast, blast, blast!’ she exclaimed angrily, and then with decision, she combed it smooth and looked at her reflection disconsolately. It was no good. She needed plenty of time and patience to dress it in the pleat, and anyway, she might be going to get the sack, so what did it matter?

She emerged from the bedroom and Consuelo looked at her in surprise. ‘Such pretty hair, senhorita,’ she exclaimed delightedly.

Juliet looked rueful. ‘But rather impractical,’ she said, smiling. ‘I’m sorry I kept you waiting, Consuelo. I fell asleep, I’m afraid.’

Consuelo seemed unperturbed now. ‘It is the climate,’ she said, firmly. ‘Most have the siesta! It is a good idea, sim?’

‘Hmm,’ agreed Juliet enthusiastically, feeling more ready to face any challenge which might come her way.

They descended the main staircase to the wide hall, and then out on to the patio that surrounded the central courtyard. The patio was tiled with mosaic in a variety of colours, while tubs of flamboyants and the ever-present climbing bougainvillea added their own tropical beauty to the scene. A glass-topped table supported a jug, some ice cubes and several glasses, and beside this table a girl was sitting in a wheelchair, glancing carelessly through a magazine. As though aware of another presence, she turned and looked at Juliet, and Consuelo murmured something about getting the tea and left them.

The girl was dark, like her uncle, with long hair worn in a single braid over one shoulder. But her expression was remote and perhaps a little sulky, and Juliet advanced towards her with sòme trepidation.

‘Hello,’ she said, in a friendly fashion. ‘You must be Teresa. My name is – Rosemary.’ She almost slipped up altogether and said Juliet.

The girl viewed her critically, putting aside her magazine. ‘Who else would I be?’ she asked pointedly, glancing down at the wheelchair.

Juliet drew a little closer. ‘Yes, perhaps it was a stupid remark. However, I couldn’t think of any other way of introducing myself.’

Teresa’s eyes flickered for a moment, and then she resumed her sullen expression. ‘Where have you come from? London?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘Estelle never gives up, does she?’ Teresa gave a short laugh.

Juliet deemed it better not to answer this. She had no desire to take sides without first knowing all the circumstances of the case. So she seated herself in a basketwork chair, also placed near the table, and sighed. ‘What a beautiful place this is. You must love it here.’

Teresa shrugged her thin shoulders, and Juliet noticed how painfully thin she really was. ‘It’s all right,’ she said. She spoke with little accent, and Juliet could only assume she had attended a British school. ‘It’s better than hospital, anyway.’

Juliet bit her lip. ‘Yes. Were you in hospital long?’

‘Long enough.’ Teresa was scrutinizing her intently. ‘What did you used to do, before you came here?’

Juliet felt the colour seeping into her cheeks. ‘Well, I – er – this and that!’

Teresa sniffed. ‘Why did you come here? Did you think it would make a nice holiday.’

‘No.’ Juliet was swift to deny this. ‘No. I came because there was an advertisement in a British newspaper and I thought the job sounded interesting.’ This at least was true.

Teresa wrinkled her nose. ‘I hear my uncle did not exactly welcome you with open arms.’

Juliet had to smile at this. ‘That’s true,’ she answered.

‘I expect he was good and mad,’ said Teresa, a little enthusiasm entering her voice now. ‘After the last time!’

Juliet did not ask the question that trembled on her tongue, but Teresa went on: ‘Estelle keeps trying to get me off her neck, you know! I think she’s jealous!’ This was said with some satisfaction.

Juliet frowned. ‘Jealous? Senhora Vinceiro? Why should she be jealous?’ This was one question she could not help but ask. She was only human after all.

Teresa fingered the pleat of the blue skirt she was wearing. ‘Estelle wants Felipe – it’s as simple as that! She wanted him ten years ago when she married his cousin because he lived on Venterra also, and my uncle was obviously not prepared to marry her then. And Pépé – her husband – died two years ago, he was years older than Estelle, of course, and she was granted her wish. To live on Venterra – and to have a second chance with my uncle.’

Juliet swallowed hard. This – from a sixteen-year-old!

‘I think you’re dramatizing the situation, Teresa,’ she said, glancing round with relief as the young maid appeared with the tray of tea.

‘I am not!’ Teresa sounded angry. ‘Estelle hated it when Felipe brought me here, installing me in his house, making her plans doubly difficult.’

‘Oh really,’ exclaimed Juliet disbelievingly. ‘You’re his niece!’

‘Only by marriage,’ retorted Teresa, at once. ‘My father was not Felipe’s brother. My mother had been married before. My father died ten years ago. He suffered from heart disease.’

‘I see.’ Juliet thanked the maid, and stood up. ‘Shall – shall I handle this?’

Teresa nodded with some dignity. ‘Of course now I am an orphan. And family ties are strong among Portuguese families. I am just as much Felipe’s responsibility whether my relationship to him is distant or otherwise.’

‘I see,’ said Juliet again. Heavens, she thought to herself, what a situation!

The tea was weak, but hot, and the wafer-thin biscuits rather delicious. Teresa drank one cup of tea, but ate nothing, and Juliet felt greedy because she ate three biscuits. Conversation lapsed, and Juliet wondered what was going through the girl’s head. She was obviously obsessed with intrigue, seeing herself as a kind of innocent charmer, who couldn’t help but annoy a woman like Estelle Vinceiro. She seemed to imagine – what? That the Duque was perhaps attracted to her – or merely just sympathetic towards her. Did she imagine Estelle Vinceiro’s jealousy, if indeed it was jealousy, was based on truth? It was incredible! Juliet knew little, and had seen less, of the Duque as yet, but she could swear he was a man in his late thirties, and not some impressionable boy. Oh, it was ridiculous!