Spanish Lullaby by Emma Wildes Page B

all accounts. She was not one of them. “It's been four years,” she said in a voice that held credible detachment to her relief. “I am sure everyone has changed some. Perhaps you have even grown up yourself after getting to play solider, Carlos. For Aunt Mary's sake I am glad you survived. Now, if you will excuse me, I am going up to the house to change for tea."
    "I'll walk with you."
    "Excuse me if I decline."
    He fell into step next to her anyway. Her step-cousin always had an infuriating knack for doing as he pleased. The fact his legs were much longer than hers precluded walking faster unless she broke into an childish run and she refused to do that so she simply gritted her teeth. He slanted her a look and his mouth twitched again. “I'm going that way myself,” he explained without apology.
    "As usual, my wishes do not count. Perhaps you haven't changed after all, my lord."
    "Perhaps. I see I was optimistic to hope you'd forgotten the way we parted, Juliet."
    Surely not even someone as arrogant as her handsome cousin was that presumptuous. “No,” she said shortly, studiously looking ahead and not at him. “But it really does not matter. I do not care about your presence here one way or another."
    "Total indifference? I see."
    "Exactly.” She reached for the gate into the gardens but he politely circumvented her and opened it instead, waiting for her to precede him. He was very tan, she realized, his graceful fingers bronzed as he held the latch.
    "You never answered my letters.” He spoke in the same conversational tone he'd used ever since he stepped out of the barn.

    "I never read them.” Juliet brushed past him and started up the path to the back of the house.
    Blooming flowers rose in fragrant banks on either side, the air warm with just the slightest hint of a breeze. Normally she would enjoy the lovely afternoon—she had, in fact, on her ride—but now she just wanted to get in the house as soon as possible.
    To her surprise Carlos did not follow her but simply stood there, still holding the gate, motionless.

    * * * *
It should have been one of the happiest evenings of her life. Unfortunately, despite her son's safe return and her joy over that miraculous fact, Mary Deburgh, the sixth Duchess of Chedwick, instead had a dismal feeling. The tension during the sumptuous meal celebrating Carlos’ safe return was just the beginning.
    She'd predicted this all along, not that her husband would ever admit she was right.
    As much as she disliked doing it, this evening alone told her she would have to meddle.
    For the good of everyone.
    Her son looked well. She studied him with a mother's critical eye across the table. Thinner than he should be, but that would change soon enough now that he was home, and he'd always been naturally lean, like her first husband, his father. He was as handsome as Juan Carlos also, if not more so, with the same aristocratic bone structure and striking dark coloring.
    In contrast, Juliet was fair, all ivory skin and golden hair. Enormous blue eyes dominated her delicate face, and though she was slender, she'd filled out nicely in the right places, which men seemed to appreciate if one counted the many offers for her hand in marriage. The fact she'd finally accepted one in direct conjunction with the ending of the war was not a coincidence.
    Mary sipped her wine. It was ludicrous to come to the conclusion her niece had waited for Carlos, and then at the last minute suddenly decided to become engaged, but it seemed to be the truth.
    The clink of china was the only sound in the vast dining room during most of the meal and even her husband, Gerald, had roused himself once or twice to make small talk, a minor miracle.
    Though there was normally more family in residence, Gerald's sister, Juliet's mother, was visiting a friend and wouldn't return for a few days, and their youngest two children, Robert and Harold, were on a fishing trip to Wales.
    Maybe with more people at the table it