Free Fortune's Bride by Roberta Gellis Page A

me.”
    “Good God.” At the moment, Robert could think of nothing
more useful to say.
    “It is not quite hopeless,” Esmeralda began again. “I wrote
most of Papa’s letters to his bankers. Do you think they would recognize my
handwriting and accept that as an identification? Or perhaps,” her voice was growing
unsteady because she was more and more frightened by Robert’s frozen
expression, but she continued valiantly, “I could write to India. Many people
know me there. If someone who knew me in India was now in England, one of my
friends could tell me and that person could identify me, or…or…” She fumbled at
her neck and drew out the locket. “I have this,” she said desperately. “It has
Mama’s picture…”
    “But you don’t know anyone in England who would recognize
the picture, and it would take months for a letter to get to India,” Robert
said somewhat absently.
    He had been growing more and more appalled as he listened,
wondering if he had been trapped in some elaborate coney-catching scheme, but
the locket Esmeralda held had finally jogged his memory. He remembered seeing
it, the one pretty item in a rather drab costume that had endured a few too
many wearings. It was the locket that had attracted Robert and decided him to
ask Miss Talbot to dance first. He breathed a sigh of relief. Of course her
manner was different now. Three years ago she had been barely out of the
schoolroom, too shy to speak up, but he remembered her eyes, too, even though
she had only raised them once or twice.
    “Yes, I know,” Esmeralda breathed, clasping her hands and
fighting helplessly against the tears that were now coursing down her cheeks.
“And how am I to live until then? And where? Oh, do forgive me, Captain
Moreton. This is not your problem. You have already done more—”
    “I know you,” Robert said.
    His voice was strong and so redolent of relief and
satisfaction that Esmeralda’s tears checked. She stared at him for a moment and
then started to laugh, hiccupping between sobs and giggles.
    Poor Robert thought she was hysterical and rose to his feet
making inarticulate noises he thought were soothing and looking anxiously at
the door. Should he try to find the landlord’s wife or some other woman to
help? But how could he ever explain what had driven her into this state? God
knew what would be thought. The idea of trying to express what was necessary to
be said in Portuguese was far more frightening to Robert than riding through an
artillery barrage.
    However, such desperate measures were not needed. Before
Robert could force himself to the door, Esmeralda had caught her breath and
gasped. “You are the kindest person! You did not really recognize me, did you?”
As she spoke she sniffed and wiped the tears from her face with the heel of her
hand. Delicate cambric handkerchiefs were no part of Portuguese peasant
costume.
    Robert gravely presented his own handkerchief, and Esmeralda
used it. “I did and I didn’t,” he confessed. “That is, I knew I’d seen you
before, but couldn’t remember where or when.” He did not mention his brief and
passing suspicion that she had been setting him up for a skinning. He felt very
guilty about that. “But I know you now,” he went on heartily. “Remember your
locket and remember signing your card, thinking what a pretty name Esmeralda
was.”
    Robert stopped abruptly again. He had almost added that he
had also thought it was a pity the girl wasn’t as pretty as the name. Happy in
his escape from one faux pas, he did not realize that what he had said
was almost as cruel as what he had not. Internally Esmeralda winced, but she
took no offense at the implication that her face was not memorable! The hurt
only drew a few more tears, which she wiped away surreptitiously. She knew
Robert had never had any special interest in her and the strong attraction she
felt for him had been most unintentionally engendered.
    “Ghastly hot it was at that ball,” he