Page 35 of Gabriela and His Grace

Gabby jerked her chin back, and she darted her gaze to Isabel, who shook her head in confusion. There was no way her father would be impressed with such a moniker, and Gabby wasn’t sure she was flattered by the title. Once again, her worth had been reduced to her appearance—

“Of course she is,” her mother said, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “You’ve only grown more beautiful, mi hijita.”

Mr. Luna, however, scowled first at the duke and then at her. “Be that as it may, I fail to see how that is an accomplishment.”

Keeping her chin high was a struggle.

Whitfield leaned back in his chair, his glass of tequila dangling from his fingers. “Allow me to elaborate, then. As a young, unmarried lady, there is only so much Miss Luna can do to call attention to the illegal occupation of Mexico. But what she can do is be a face for it. And she’s done just that. Miss Luna has earned friends among influential members of the ton, the very members who hold the ear of the queen and her advisers, and the prime minister and Parliament. She speaks of her countrymen’s continued struggle against Maximilian and his supporters, and brings a sense of familiarity to the cause because people have come to know her and respect her. I know my own appreciation for the resiliency of the Mexican people is a direct reflection of those same traits I see in your daughter.”

Somehow Gabby kept her countenance impassive, even while she struggled to breathe. She knew that Tío Arturo had hoped she and her sisters could serve as goodwill ambassadors for the people of Mexico, but Gabby had often wondered if she had succeeded. Her temper flared with unfortunate public regularity, and she had responded sharply to various gentlemen more than once. How frequently she extended “goodwill” to her British neighbors was in question.

“All three of your daughters have been an asset to the Luna family name,” Sirius interjected. “And certainly not because of the men they married.”

“Hmm,” Mr. Luna hummed, his shrewd gaze pinging between the occupants of the table before settling on the duke once again. “How do the British people view Mexico and its illegal occupation?”

Whitfield stared into his glass for several seconds. After taking a sip, he said, “I think the fact that most members of the ton even know about the conflict here in Mexico is a direct result of your daughters. They speak passionately about their home here and how they were forced to leave it due to France’s aggression. Not only does Miss Luna charm society members at social events and gatherings, but Mrs. Fox works with her husband to propose laws and policies that will not only benefit those who live within the empire, but bolster the empathy and understanding between our two countries.”

Gratification spread from Gabby’s chest through her limbs to tingle in her fingertips. Had she really drawn British attention to the war effort in Mexico? Was it possible all those boring evenings she’d plastered a smile on her face and traded inane chatter had not been endured for naught? Dios mío, Gabby had always hoped she’d have an opportunity to be brave and help her countrymen in some grand manner, as her sisters had. But if Whitfield was to be believed, perhaps just smiling and laughing was an act of defiance unto itself.

The simple fact that the duke lauded her efforts to amplify the conflict in Mexico among her neighbors in the ton was praise her father would never have given her if the roles were reversed.

And Whitfield didn’t have to do it. He could have been honest about the British public’s apathy for the occupation, or how any event outside of England, and to a greater extent Europe, would never generate the sort of interest as a homegrown affair or threat.

However, Whitfield did not do that, and Gabby was grateful. She snagged his gaze and dared to smile at him. Just a little.

“I’m sure Ana has not been able to assist her Señor Fox as much as she used to now that the baby is here,” Mrs. Luna said, a fond look bringing life to her face.

“Estella definitely dominates her time, but Ana still manages to host dinners and lunches, organize parish events, and accompany Gideon to fundraising affairs. And Gideon is a doting father. He’s quite a serious man, you know, but he seems to come alive whenever Ana and Estella are near.” Gabby reached into her reticule. “Have you seen a picture of them?”

Her mother sat up straighter. “Ay no, but I would love to.”

Extracting the envelope with photographs that she’d shown Isabel the day prior, Gabby rose to her feet and spread them on the table before her mother. One featured Ana María and Gideon, one was of Ana María with little Estella, and the last one was of the family of three together, the baby nestled in Gideon’s arms and Ana María’s hand on his shoulder.

“Que guapo,” her mother whispered as she gingerly picked up the picture of the three members of the Fox family. Her hazel eyes grew glassy as she studied it. “Ana looks so, so…orgulloso.”

“She does,” Isabel agreed, coming to study the picture over their mother’s shoulder. “But then she should be. She has a husband who loves and respects her, and a beautiful baby to call her own. Look at her cheeks!”

Gabby laughed, pointing at the photo of Ana María and Estella. “She’s only six months old, and she already has the entire household wrapped around her little finger.”

“And not just the household,” Whitfield interjected. “Miss Fox bosses me around and she can’t even speak yet.”

“You love being ordered about by beautiful ladies,” Gabby quipped.

The duke inclined his head, his blue eyes sparkling behind his spectacles. “It seems I do.”

A bolt of heat shot through Gabby’s blood, and her mouth went dry. She darted her attention to the photographs, but she struggled to focus. All she could see was the knowing look in the duke’s gaze as he murmured those words. Surely he hadn’t meant to imply—

“Señor Fox is very handsome,” her mother murmured, oblivious to the tension percolating in her youngest daughter. “He cuts quite a figure.”

Mr. Luna snatched the photograph his wife held out to him and considered the subjects in it. “I didn’t know he was a Black man.”

The table went quiet, and Gabby’s irritation sparked. She may have a difficult time defending herself from her father’s slings and arrows, but Gabby had no such compunction defending others.

Handing the picture of Ana María and Estella to Isabel, Gabby knotted her hands together at her waist. “Gideon’s grandmother escaped from the American South many years ago. His father was a Scot. He graduated from Cambridge and worked hard to earn his seat in Parliament, and has earned a reputation as a shrewd, ambitious politician.”

Mr. Luna’s expression did not change as he considered the photograph, yet Gabby knew her father. He was not pleased with what he saw.

“Isabel mentioned that you, too, worked hard for your success, Mr. Luna,” Sirius said, his tone friendly but his gaze sharp.