The Spanish Marriage Read Online Free PDF Page A

expectantly.
    “I suppose I should thank you.” Rallying, he
smiled at her, a slow thoughtful smile that lit his eyes and set Thea’s
heart pounding uncomfortably. “Well then, little Sister, I do thank you
and the other good Sisters of your order, for your well-intentioned interference
in my otherwise inevitable demise. I only hope that you, that is, the convent,
don’t regret the day you took me in.”
    “I hope so, too,” Thea answered tartly. “Lie
back, Señor Mysterioso. You’re still far from well.”
    He lay back but did not cease his questioning. “How comes
an English girl of, unless I miss my guess, good family to be in a convent in
Spain, and in these days, too? Aren’t you a trifle young for...” he
waved his hand idly, “this sort of thing?”
    “This sort of thing? You mean holy orders? I only hope
you’ll have a little more respect when Mother Beatriz or the others are
by; they’d be hurt by your discourtesy.”
    “Again, my apologies. You haven’t answered my
question. You don’t look old enough to be out of the schoolroom. What
were your parents thinking of....”
    “My parents are dead.”
    In the awkward silence Thea heard his indrawn breath.
“I beg your pardon,” he said at length. “I’ve never
been a good convalescent. I promise; no more rudeness. I will be a paragon of
obedience.”
    “I doubt that,” Thea said. “Señor, will
you tell me your name, at least? Only so Mother and the others can stop referring
to you as Señor Mysterioso? Unless of course you like being called by a name
that sounds like something out of Mrs. Radcliffe.”
    He grimaced. “I take your point. I am Matlin. Sir
Douglas Matlin. There, that’s all in order like something from the
refreshment rooms at Almacks’. God, what a world away that seems.”
He leaned against his pillow, closed his eyes, and winced.
    “I do wish you would keep still,” Thea said
crossly. “Sister Juan will wish to change your bandage by and by.”
    “I am all anticipation. You have not introduced
yourself, little Sister.”
    Startled, Thea realized that he thought she was a nun. It was
stupid not to have understood it sooner, but she had become so used to the
endearments—child, daughter, little one—that the Spanish used so
lavishly that she had assumed his “little Sister” to be more of the
same. “I beg your pardon,” she said helplessly. “I am
Dorothea Cannowen, of Grahamley Hall.”
    “And in religion?”
    Thea laughed briefly to cover the awkwardness. “Oh,
you mean these? Sir Douglas, I am not of the order. I wear the habit only for
appearances. A nun!” A shadow crossed Thea’s face; was it not what
she had thought herself? What other choice would there be for her in time? “I
suppose I might as well be. I may be yet, if I cannot find a cure for
it.”
    He looked confused. “A cure? For being a nun? Surely
you aren’t being held prisoner.” His eyes were open again, wide
with amusement. Thea shook her head. “No. I see. A guest, even as I am?”
She gave another nod. “Well, I suppose that some day, if I am patient,
someone will explain to me how a girl from Grahamley Hall comes to be nursing
strangers in a convent in Spain and wearing novice’s robes but not in
Orders herself.”
    Feeling that it was he who had explaining to do, Thea replied
tartly, “Perhaps some day someone will. Just now, I think you should be
asleep. I’ll make some chamomile tea.”
    Mother Beatriz herself called in the stranger’s
sickroom the next day and found Thea trembling with impatience while Matlin
strove to shave himself with a rusty blade and a hand mirror borrowed from
Manuel. “You’ll cut yourself; I know you will,” Thea insisted
angrily.
    “My dear infant, I have been shaving myself these last
ten years; I know precisely what I am about.” Matlin’s drawl was
amused, but his voice was weak and his hand shook slightly.
    “Allow me, Señor,” the Superior said briskly in
Spanish, taking the razor