The Sometime Bride Read Online Free PDF Page B

wager a pony Boney will turn on Spain within the year.”
    “ Oh, undoubtedly,” Blas agreed with the touch of dry superiority to be expected from a young man addressing his juniors, conveniently forgetting both were products of households where politics, diplomacy, and intrigue were daily topics of discussion. “I fear all our monarchs leave a good deal to be desired. Too much intermarriage, one presumes.”
    “ Incest,” Cat nodded, startling both young men. “Papa says the Braganzas are nearly as bad as the ancient Egyptians.”
    “ You shouldn’t know about such things,” Gordon declared hotly. “I do wish your father would learn . . .”
    “ Enough!” said Blas. “You won’t win Catarina’s regard by criticizing her father. Shall we simply say a number of European monarchies suffer from too little strong red blood? Since we are all at the mercy of our monarchs, let’s be realistic, Cat. Take a look at what we face.”
    Blas swept the red and white checked cloth from atop the wicker basket and poked among its contents until he found a fat round loaf. He plunked it down on the far end of the rectangular wooden table. “Here,” he announced, “is Britain. Snug behind its oversized moat, quite content to let the rest of Europe fight its battles. No, little Cat, sheathe your claws. That’s the God’s truth. Hear me out.”
    Blas tapped the top of the fat loaf of bread. “We have a mad king who is not quite mad enough for anyone to declare a Regency. Our new Secretary for War is willing to send men to fight in Denmark and Egypt and against the Spaniards in South America. But no one in merrie olde England, my lovely Cat, is willing to challenge Boney directly. So there will be no help from home. ”
    Gordon Somersby nodded sage agreement. His father’s opinion was exactly the same. After all, Thomas Audley was his expert consultant.
    Blas grabbed up a modest-sized oval loaf and placed it in the center of the kitchen table. “And here,” he declared, “is Portugal, which is blessed with a mad queen whose son Dom Jãoa has been Regent for eight years and is cursed with a sour and ugly wife who begs her father, the King of Spain, to invade her husband’s country.
    “ And in Spain”—Blas slapped down a considerably larger loaf next to “Portugal”—”King Charles and his son Ferdinand squabble for power like princes of a petty principality instead of the third most powerful country in Europe.”
    Blas picked up the wicker basket full of the remaining loaves and placed it with dramatic flair at the opposite end of the table from the round loaf of Britain. “And here, beyond the Pyrenees,” he pronounced, “is France with the best-trained army and the most brilliant commander since Julius Caesar. Believe me, Boney will not tolerate Spain’s idiocy. So in the end, Somersby is right. Boney will have no choice but to gobble up Spain, leaving Charles and Ferdinand without a kingdom to govern.”
    Gordon turned to Catarina, solemn earnestness suffusing his young countenance. “He is absolutely right, Cat. You have to understand. There’s no chance of rescue. Castlereagh won’t send troops to Portugal, not even to protect the supply line to Gibraltar. There’s no lack of ships—the French haven’t had a navy since Nelson licked ’em at Trafalgar. But father says that even if our troops were ready, the government wouldn’t send ‘em. Boney’s just too strong for us, and that’s a fact.”
    Catarina’s shoulders drooped, but a sharp eye could detect a stubborn set to her chin. “I think we’d best be going,” she murmured. Cat picked up “Spain”—distinguished by a decorated swirl of raised dough—and handed it to Gordon before putting the remaining loaves on the pantry shelf.
    “ You have ruined it, Blas,” said Cat with soft sadness as she returned to the table, the empty basket drooping at her side. “This has been our game, you see, a lark that added a bit of sparkle, a