Marie Donovan - Royally Claimed

Benedito popped into the kitchen again. “ Boa tarde , Don Franco.”

“Yes, good evening to you, too. Did you take care of those building supplies?”

“Yes, and picked up the paint, as well.”

“Paint? But we never chose any colors.”

“But I did, Don Franco. So you would have more time to spend with the young lady.” Benedito nodded conspiratorially.

Frank bit back a groan and thanked him. What hideous palette did Benedito choose?

“And Don Franco, I received a call from the mainland.”

“You did?” He didn’t even know Benedito had a cell phone.

“Yes, yes.” Benedito waved his hands impatiently. “Leonor, my beloved wife…” He paused dramatically.

“Yes, I know who she is.” Leonor was the housekeeper at the fazenda . In addition to the traditional agricultural holdings for an annual pittance Frank leased use of several outbuildings for small local businesses and artists’ studios. It boosted local income and kept families together since they didn’t have to send the men and young people off to Lisbon for jobs.

“Leonor needs me at home.”

“Is she all right?” Frank asked. Leonor had the constitution of a mule and if local legend was correct, had last been ill in the early 1980s—a mild cold.

“She, ah…she, well…she has, um, female problems!” Benedito finished triumphantly.

Frank supposed it was possible, not being in that line of work, although Leonor had to be in her late sixties. But the magical phrase “female problems” was like playing the ace in a game of poker—the trump card that nobody argued with. “Female problems.”

“Yes, yes. Oh, terrible female problems.” Benedito shuddered at the horror, whether real or imagined.

“And I suppose they came on suddenly and you need to rush back to the fazenda to help care for her.”

“Oh, Don Franco, I am glad you understand.”

Frank clapped him on the back. “I do indeed. When do we leave?”

“We?” Benedito’s dismay was comical. “No, no, Don Franco, it would be a sin, a sin, I tell you, if my poor little problems were to take you away from your business here in the islands.” He drew himself up. “I will call my wife and tell her—” he paused for effect “—that you need me here. She will manage.” He looked nobly across the sea toward the mainland, the brave husband separated from his ailing wife.

Oh, bravo. Frank was ninety-nine percent convinced Benedito was lying through his coffee-stained teeth, but what if Leonor were indeed ill?

“Oh, go on. Go home.” He waved his hand at Benedito.

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Benedito clutched his hand, but when he bent to kiss it, Frank had enough.

“No more of the grateful peasant routine! Why aren’t you more agreeable to me the rest of the time?”

Benedito widened his eyes. “Your Grace, I have no idea what you mean.”

Frank decided to see if Benedito actually had a phone or was lying even more. “Call the blasted airline and change your return flight.”

His eyes darted back and forth. “My phone, the battery failed just as I was saying goodbye to my dear wife. It stopped right in the middle of hearing her precious voice, right in the middle of our tender farewells…”

Frank tossed him his phone, cutting off the rest of his nauseating description. “Here, use this.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Benedito said meekly, turning his back to make his call.

“Peasants,” Frank grumbled. “Everything went to hell when we were no longer allowed to whip them.”

The older man’s shoulders stiffened in outrage and Frank grinned. Served him right, although he had his doubts about being able to best Benedito in a physical fight. The wily old man undoubtedly fought dirty. Still, Frank was glad to get in the last word. For once.

“YOUR FAUCET IS INSTALLED, Your Grace,” Benedito announced in long-suffering tones, coming up behind Frank as he waded through a dreary email announcement of new rules from the ministry of agriculture. “I skinned my knuckles on the old sink and I think they are infected.”

Frank rolled his eyes. “Too soon for infection. Let me see.” He gestured to Benedito to extend his hand for inspection.

“Eh, what do you know about injuries?” Benedito clutched his hand to his chest. “Maybe I should go to São Miguel.”

“The hospital? If you’re seriously injured, I’ll take you over there myself.”

“Pah, the hospital!” Benedito spat. “Full of germs and sick people.”

“Well, yes. They do have both of those.”

“I was thinking that pretty nurse could look at my wounds.”

“Julia?”

“Yes, Senhorina Julia, with the beautiful black hair.” Benedito sounded half in love with her already.

Frank beat down a weird jealous twinge. For goodness’ sake, Benedito was old enough to be her father. “Oh, let me see this mangled hand of yours.”

After a brief tussle where Benedito refused to show Frank his hand, Frank finally got it yanked away and looked. “Those three scrapes? Your wife would fall on the ground laughing if you asked her to take you to the hospital for that.”

He jerked his arm away. “My wife is not here. She is ailing, poor woman, and I am alone on this island with an unsympathetic duke who mocks my injury.”

“How about some disinfectant spray and bandages? Besides, you’re flying home to the mainland, when?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Maybe when you take your wife to the doctor for her ‘female problems,’ they can look at your hand.”

Benedito pursed his lips. “If Your Grace refuses…”

“I’m not taking you to see Julia for skinned knuckles. Do you know how hard I had to work to get her to go to lunch with me? And she’s coming to the island for the afternoon tomorrow as soon as I drop you at the airport.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” Benedito beamed at him as if he were a particularly stupid student who had finally done something smart. Whistling a ribald folktune, he strutted over to the sink and scrubbed his fingers without even wincing.

“Why, you old faker!” Frank didn’t know whether to throw something at him or give him a raise. “You were looking for an excuse to get me to see her again?”

His only reply was an innocent shrug. “I feel much better already. Perhaps it is your healing presence.”

“I’m a duke, not a saint. Now, don’t you have some packing to do?”

“I have plenty of work to do before I leave, Don Franco. But continue your own work. You will not hear a peep from old Benedito.”

That was what worried him. Like his sisters’ kids, Benedito was only quiet when looking for trouble.

He shook his head as Benedito scooted out of the kitchen. Frank’s phone rang and he answered. “George?”

“Frank, glad I caught you.” It was his best friend from college and brother of the bride. George’s relaxed voice came over the satellite connection. Of course he always sounded relaxed, being in love with Renata, his beautiful and sexy American fiancée. “How have you been?”

“Keeping busy with getting the villa in order. It just needs some cosmetic work and a bit of cleaning.”

“Oh, so you’re in the Azores? I was wondering why the connection took a little while longer. How is it?”

“Lovely as ever.”

“What? You hate being out there anymore. The last couple times you barely stayed long enough to get your luggage off the boat.”

Frank grinned. “Let’s just say things are coming full circle.”

“What? I better call Jack. You sound like you’ve taken too much cold medication.”

“George…” He rolled his eyes but greeted Jack dutifully. George and Frank had been his best men at Jack’s whirlwind wedding in Philadelphia last summer. George had met Lily, Jack’s beautiful American bride, and they had all gone out for cheesesteaks and fries. Yum.