not have come now to London had not the matter of his ward’s marriage begun to weigh on his conscience. It was time both girls were wed, and if he found his house too empty after they had gone, he must look about him for a pleasant widow to warm his bed and tend his comforts. Yet he could not imagine his life without Deborah. He smiled as she approached.
‘Father,’ Deborah said, reaching his side at last. ‘I grow weary. May we not go to our lodgings?’
‘Ah, daughter.’ Sir Edward looked at her with affection mingled with approval. She was without doubt a beauty, though perhaps a little too slender. Her cousin was more comely, but her fair English rose looks were not as striking as Deborah’s dark chestnut curls and green eyes. ‘This is well met, my dear. I wished to introduce you to this gentleman. He asked if he might speak with you himself.’
‘Mistress Stirling—your servant.’ The gentleman spoke English with a heavy foreign accent as he bowed gracefully to her. ‘I am the ambassador of Don Manola Cortes, a gentleman of high rank and the owner of fine vineyards in Spain.’
‘I have done business with Señor Juan Sanchez for many years,’ Sir Edward said to his daughter. ‘Some twenty years ago I had the honour to call Don Manola my friend, and Señor Sanchez has brought me much good wine from his vineyards.’
‘My master is a wealthy man,’ Señor Sanchez went on with a smile for Deborah. ‘He has a son, Mistress Stirling. A fine young man of just five and twenty. It has long been the Don’s hope to see his son wed to a worthy young woman. I believe I may at last have found the lady he seeks—a lady of both birth and beauty.’
‘Not so fast, señor,’ Sir Edward interrupted with a smile of caution. ‘My daughter and myself will listen to your flattering proposal. You shall be given a fair hearing, but I must know more of Don Manola’s son. You will furnish us with a likeness of the gentleman if you please, and if my daughter favours the young man—and he her, of course—we may then discuss the details of a marriage contract.’
‘You indulge Mistress Stirling,’ Señor Sanchez replied. He seemed surprised and not altogether pleased. ‘Our ways are more direct, I think. In Spain a father’s wishes are paramount.’
‘Many an Englishman would agree with you,’ Sir Edward said, his eyes meeting the Spaniard’s steadily. ‘It is, of course, accepted that a daughter should marry where her father pleases, but Deborah Ann is precious to me. I shall not lightly give her to any man—no matter how wealthy or virtuous. Her happiness is also mine.’
‘My father does truly indulge me,’ Deborah said, her mouth soft with love as she looked at him. ‘Yet my respect for his wishes is all the greater because of it, sir. I am confident that he wishes only my good, therefore my pleasure is to obey him in all things.’
‘Not quite all,’ Sir Edward murmured. ‘You manage to have your way in many things, daughter.’
Deborah laughed, tossing her head and gazing mischievously up at him. ‘But that is because you are so very kind to me, sir.’
Father and daughter smiled in perfect understanding. Both knew that the girl was capable of twisting the man around her little finger, but both also knew that their love and respect was mutual: neither would willingly distress or hurt the other.
‘Your willingness to oblige your father is most pleasing, Mistress Stirling,’ said Señor Sanchez. ‘I return to Spain on the evening tide tomorrow and will carry news of your beauty and good character to my master.’ He bowed low before Deborah and her father. ‘If you wish it, I shall carry a letter from you to my master, sir. With fair winds I shall return in three weeks. I shall then be able to bring greetings from my master’s son.’
‘The letter will be ready in the morning. We wish you a safe voyage, señor. Do not neglect to bring Don Miguel’s likeness,’ warned Sir Edward with a smile for his daughter. ‘All the ladies like a well-favoured man. Is that not so, Deborah?’
Señor Sanchez bowed once more and walked away.
‘He has always been honest with me in business,’ Sir Edward said to his daughter when the Spaniard had disappeared amongst the press of courtiers. ‘I have settled nothing, Deborah. If you should meet a suitable admirer you truly like and respect before Sanchez returns, I shall not force you to this marriage—nor yet if you should form a dislike for the idea. I would have you content in this as in all things, Deborah.’
‘You are always so good to me, dearest father,’ Deborah said, her hand on his arm. ‘I shall be guided by you. I know you wish only that I might be as happy with my husband as you and my mother were together.’
Sir Edward’s faded blue eyes clouded with sorrow. ‘Would that my dear Beth were here with us now. How proud she would be of her daughter.’ He sighed and touched Deborah’s cheek. ‘It cannot be. Now—did you say you wished to return to our lodgings?’
‘Yes, Father. May we, please? We have seen His Majesty’s procession. There is no reason to linger—and my shoes pinch.’ She did not add that she thought the King so ill favoured with his large eyes, thin beard and ungainly stature that she had found the sight of him progressing through his fawning courtiers less than inspiring.
Sir Edward laughed. ‘Uncomfortable shoes! A better reason could not be found. Where is your cousin?’
‘I left her in conversation with Mistress Goodleigh, but…oh, there she is. She seems to be talking to a gentleman.’
‘No gentleman, if rumour be truth,’ Sir Edward replied with a frown of disapproval. ‘That is the Marquis de Vere, a Frenchman by birth though his mother was an English gentlewoman—and he himself a privateer by all accounts. He preys on Spanish ships. Sanchez has complained of his actions to the King, but apparently his words fell upon deaf ears. His Majesty promised only that he would consider the matter.’
‘Surely His Majesty must listen to the Don’s complaints,’ Deborah Ann said. ‘We are not at war with Spain. Are not the prince and my lord Buckingham in Spain to treat for a marriage between the Spanish King’s daughter and Prince Charles?’
‘Indeed, it is so,’ Sir Edward agreed. It was the news that the negotiations for the Catholic marriage had seemed to go well that had encouraged him to venture to Court once more. ‘One would think His Majesty would rather hang de Vere than welcome him to Court—but it seems the rogue finds favour in the royal eyes.’
‘Why would that be, Father? The marquis is little better than the Algerian pirates who prey on our ships.’
‘Queen Elizabeth was wont to smile on such men,’ Sir Edward said with a little frown. ‘One could not blame her so much, for the might of Spain could have snatched the crown from her had our brave sailors not beaten off the great Armada the Spanish sent against her—but our present king should have no need to fear Spain.’
‘Then one must suppose His Majesty to have other reasons for his leniency.’
‘With a king it is always best to suppose nothing and be ever on one’s guard,’ Sir Edward replied. ‘Your cousin is alone now. Go to her and tell her we are almost ready to leave. There is someone else I must speak to for a moment and then we shall go.’
‘Yes, Father.’
Deborah began to walk towards the spot where she had last seen her cousin. Where was Sarah? Oh, there she was! She had moved to the other side of the gallery. Changing her direction to catch up with her, Deborah was startled when a man stepped directly into her path.
‘Whither so fast?’ a deep, husky voice asked. Deborah caught the faint accent, which she realized must come from his having spent much of his life in France. ‘Why are you in such a hurry, mistress? You were like to knock me down in your haste.’
That was most unlikely! Deborah stared up into the wicked dark eyes of the Marquis de Vere and drew in her breath sharply. Close to, he was even larger than he had seemed from a distance. A powerful man with broad shoulders and strong thighs, his nearness was intimidating. His court dress was fashioned