The Sometime Bride by Blair Bancroft

Lucio Cardoso threw open the door of the coach himself, welcoming the mistress of the Casa Audley with grand formality. Eagerly, Catarina took his hand and stepped down. The warmth of her reunion with the Casa’s large staff did not quite assuage her disappointment as she discovered two faces conspicuously absent from the gathering. Lucio Cardoso led her toward the house, saying quietly, “Marcio must play least in sight for yet a while. Junot is forming a Portuguese army to fight for the French, and no young man is safe from recruitment. Marcio is with his grandparents in the mountains near Mafra.”
    Lucio steered Catarina past the stairs leading up to the covered walkway outside her room. “Don Alejo is waiting in your fa . . . “ The major domo paused, gave Catarina a rueful smile. “Don Alejo waits for you in the study.”
    Don Alejo! Since when had Blas become Don Alejo instead of the formal Don Alexis, as if it Lucio knew him better than she did?
    “ Dona Catarina Perez de Leon,” Senhor Cardoso announced grandly, adding a deeper, more respectful bow to Catarina than she had ever before received from the strong-minded manager of the Casa Audley. Lucio then backed himself out of the room, quietly shutting the door behind him.
    As Blas unfolded himself from Thomas Audley’s chair, Catarina glared at him, her fists clenched into balls. “You have no right to sit there! Papa’s study is not part of this masquerade. This is my house, and I won’t have it!”
    Blas, dressed in the casual daywear of a wealthy young hidalgo of Spain, blinked. The ruffled front of his full white shirt was unbuttoned halfway to his waist. An elaborate design in red embroidery decorated the front of his black jacket and the sides of his tight black pants. A black neckerchief was knotted casually about his throat. “Sit down, Cat,” he invited with remarkable calm.
    After a few additional moments of pouting, she complied, but not without a loud sniff of disdain.
    “ Let us understand one another, Cat. This is my house. And I will sit where I will and do what I will. And you will never again mention the word masquerade. From this moment you will assume every word you utter can be heard by the French. Is that clear?”
    Tears blurred her eyes. Hurt and confused by a homecoming quite different from her expectations, Cat knew only that Blas the boy was gone. In three weeks her alleged husband had aged five years. He was alive and well, obviously successful in his plan to save the Casa Audley from the French. But who was to save it from Don Alexis Perez de Leon?
    “ There’s no point in crying,” he added without a sign of sympathy. “How can you think it possible for me to run the Casa without sitting at your father’s desk? Don’t be such a goosecap—I thought you had better sense. Now stop sniveling and listen to me!”
    Catarina rummaged in her reticule until she found a handkerchief, then wiped her face and vigorously blew her nose. She glared at him from reddened eyes.
    “ Our plan worked, Cat,” Blas reported. “I stayed out of it and let your father’s solicitor handle everything. Marriage lines, settlements, signed deeds. Fortunately, the French have a respect for legal documents. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I didn’t even have to make a stand at the door. One night the Casa closed under the government of Portugal, the next it opened under the government of France.
    “ We’ve been lucky . . . or perhaps a bit more clever than most. All the property of those who fled has been confiscated, a fine has been levied against the country itself, and Junot is busy conscripting a Portuguese army to fight for Boney. How long our immunity will last I can’t say, but I do everything I can to cultivate the French officers who come to the Casa. Hopefully, we shall remain a friend in their eyes.”
    He broke off, regarded her bleakly. “You didn’t really think I meant to keep the Casa, did you?” he asked in tones more