“It has been too long since you came among us, Little Master,” an old man said, tears in his eyes. “The true blood of Valle Verde.”
“Oh, Madonna, how like your mother you have grown, little one,” a motherly looking woman exclaimed.
Another woman nodded, wiping away tears with a blue rag. “The image of our dearcondesa, the very image of her.”
Isabella did not look too thrilled to hear of the resemblance, Luke observed, but she asked after each person eagerly, inquiring about their families and exclaiming over the news. She’d told him there was nothing for her at Valle Verde anymore, but she was loved by these people, he saw. And she loved them.
And he was taking her to England, where she’d be regarded as a foreigner and an outsider.
Finally, when all the personal inquiries were done, and she’d introduced him as her husband, and he’d been cautiously approved—he at least spoke Spanish like a Spaniard, even if the accent was a southern one—the talk turned to Ramón.
“He is not a gentleman, like your father, but he works hard,” one man said.
“He might not be acondeby blood, but—”
“He’s not a gentleman at all,” a woman interrupted, and there was a general murmur of agreement. Beneath it, Luke thought, there was also some level of approval. Interesting. The old order was changing.
“He’s a sinner and will burn in hell,” another woman muttered. “Taking that girl to his bed and no talk of a wedding.”
Isabella shot a glance at Luke. Her sister?
“Thecondeneeds to marry money, you know that. The estate needs it.” Several people glanced meaningfully at Isabella. Luke wondered if she’d noticed. Clearly Ramón wasn’t the only person who thought she should have married her second cousin. Twice removed.
“No excuse for him to live in sin, though, is it?” the first woman said fiercely. She shook her head. “He’s a godless man.”
“As to that, the oldcondewas hardly a pillar of the Church—” The man broke off and glanced at Isabella in embarrassment. “My apologies, Little Master,” he said. “I meant no insult.”
She shook her head. “None taken, Elí. I know what my father thought of the Church. But now, we must hurry along, or the new Conde de Castillejo will be wondering who the people are who keep his workers from the fields.”
She made her farewells and returned to the carriage, and they continued their jolting path down the potholed driveway.
Isabella sat silently, her thoughts far away, her brow furrowed.
“LittleMaster?” Luke said after a while.
She gave a rueful half smile. “A pet name.”
“I guessed that much.” Luke waited for the rest.
She hesitated, then explained. “My father always wanted a boy. When it became apparent that my mother would never give him one, he started to treat me as the heir. He took me out among the people with him and taught me about the running of the estate and… oh, and all manner of things that a boy should know.” She stared out of the window a moment. “And after Mama died, he even dressed me as a boy, and that’s when the people started calling me Little Master, just for fun, you understand.”
He understood more than she realized, and not only her attachment to her breeches, but all he said was, “Those people love you.”
She nodded. “I’d forgotten what it was like to belong.” She stared out of the window, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears and added in a husky voice, “And I’d forgotten how beautiful Valle Verde is.”
A large, square stone house came into view. Nine graceful stone archways flanked the front entrance, with five more along the balcony of the upper story. Poplars lined the driveway leading up to it, and an ornamental pond lay to one side.
“It’s a beautiful house,” Luke said.
“My family built this in the sixteenth century,” Isabella told him, pride evident in her voice. “It was called El Nuevo Castillo for about three hundred years, but in my great-grandfather’s day he announced that everyone must call it El Castillo de Castillejo.” She said nothing more, but the lurking dimple told Luke the story wasn’t over.
“And so now people call it… ?” he prompted.
“El Nuevo Castillo.” She laughed. “People are slow to accept change in this part of the country.”
“They seem to accept Ramón, all right,” he pointed out gently.
Her smile faded. “They have no choice. He inherited the title and the estate. No matter that he is a vile bully and a thug, he is still the Conde de Castillejo.”
