distance, hoping against hope that it would turn around and come back. She was stranded here, alone with the man of her dreams, dreams that were fast turning into nightmares.
She'd have to make the best of it and try to find in this dark, brooding ogre something of the sensitive, vulnerable man she'd fallen in love with. First impressions could be misleading.
She would rest for a few minutes until the men brought her baggage up, and later she would go down and have a civilized meal with her husband. He would learn soon enough that he couldn't treat her so offhandedly.
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Caroline sat at the huge oak dining room table, the only sound in the room the tapping of her fork against her water glass. She glanced at the empty chair across from her with an angry scowl. Today marked the third morning she had awakened in her new home and the third morning she had eaten breakfast alone. This morning she'd risen early in order to catch her elusive husband, but even that had failed. What time must he get up?
She was beginning to wonder why he'd wanted a wife in the first place. It certainly wasn't for companionship, and if he truly wanted an heir as he'd indicated in his letter, he was going to have to get a lot closer to her than he had so far! Just how long did he plan to ignore her?
Heat rushed to Caroline's face at her own thoughts. Naturally, she was relieved that he'd given her time before claiming his marital rights, but she'd hoped to use the time to get to know him, to dig until she found the man who had written those lovely letters.
Oh, the letters, those damned letters! If not for those letters, she wouldn't be here at all. She'd reread them all, every one of them, and their impact was no less powerful now than it had been the first time she read them. It just didn't make sense.
The natural rhythm of life here comforts and invigorates me, he'd written. I look out over the orchards full of trees my men and I planted as saplings only a few years ago. Now those same trees are heavy with coffee berries. Watching them grow to maturity and yield fruit year after year gives me a feeling of connectedness with the earth, something I never would have experienced had I not left the city.
"You are not eating, Senhora."
Caroline glanced up to see the cook, Ines, standing over her, her hands on her hips, her expression reproving.
"I'm not hungry." Caroline pushed her plate away for emphasis.
"It is not good. You must eat to be strong."
Smiling ironically, Caroline studied the small woman who spoke to her like a mother would a child, despite the fact that she was two years Caroline's junior. Ines had provided Caroline's only human contact since that first day. Their growing friendship had kept her from losing her sanity.
"When did my husband leave the house this morning?" she asked.
"Oh." Ines stopped in the motion of clearing the table to give the matter her undivided attention. "Oh, before daylight."
"Do you know where he might be?"
"Sim, Senhora. He will be at the beneficio."
"What is that?"
"Coffee house, where the beans are dried and processed."
Caroline rose. "And how would I get there?"
"Oh, Senhora, you cannot go there alone," Ines cried. "The patrao—"
"Then one of the servants will have to escort me." Caroline's unwavering gaze locked with Ines's. She was struck anew by the woman's eyes. They were old eyes, old and hard.
"But the patrao, he will be unpleased for you—"
"I am going, Ines," Caroline said emphatically, coming to her feet.
"Sim, Senhora," Ines acquiesced. Her expression clearly conveyed her displeasure and her belief that Jason would be equally unhappy with her actions. "Vincente will take you where you want to go. He will meet you in the courtyard."
"Thank you." Caroline sighed with relief that Ines had given in so easily. She didn't care if Ines disapproved. She didn't care if Jason would be "unpleased." At least displeasure was an emotion. It would be the first she'd seen him express since the surprise he'd evinced on the dock that first day. "I'll be ready in fifteen minutes."
Ten minutes later, Caroline stood on the patio in her brown riding habit, waiting for Vincente. She didn't have to wait long before she was joined by a tall, wiry Portuguese youth who, to her chagrin, spoke very little English.
At least he seemed to know where she