Page 36 of Gabriela and His Grace

“Is that true, Señor Luna?” Whitfield inquired, setting his empty glass on the table and leaning toward her father. “I’d enjoy hearing how you came to have the ear of President Juárez.”

It was just the right thing to say to Elías Luna, who never shied from discussing his rise from his humble beginnings in Michoacán to his place as a close adviser to the president of Mexico. Signaling for a manservant to bring the men another round of tequila, her father regaled them with tales of traveling miles down craggy and steep dirt roads to reach the school where he first learned to read and write. Later he told of meeting Benito Juárez while the men were law students, before they both worked as law clerks for criollo solicitors in Mexico City. When President Juárez had been elected as governor of Oaxaca, her father was a member of his cabinet. The two Indigenous men had supported each other through the years, serving as allies in a political world aligned against anyone who could not boast Spanish antecedents. It was a chip her father carried on his shoulder even now.

“While I’m certain the path you took to arrive where you are today was fraught with challenges, you have much to show for your hard work. A lovely wife”—Whitfield looked to her mother with a nod—“three discerning daughters, and now a granddaughter—”

“Gah, I am surrounded by females,” her father grouched, swiping his hand through the air dismissively. “There is no Luna man to carry on the tradition.”

Gabby flinched.

“That seems rather unfair. From everything you have told me about your values and the dreams you hold for Mexico, it is your daughters who embody the future of those very things.” Whitfield lifted a shoulder. “Señora Fox aids her husband to draft legislation to lead England into the future. Señora Dawson works for the First Lady of Mexico, helping to care for those who fight the imperialists. And Señorita Luna here uses her considerable charisma to lobby for reforms and win friends among the very people whose support President Juárez needs if he is to win the propaganda battle against the French.”

Her father drummed his fingers on the tabletop, his dark eyes fixed on Whitfield’s face. “Is that how you see them? My girls?”

Whitfield leaned back, his posture one of easy confidence. “I do, indeed. I see three young women I think you should be proud of, because I certainly am.”

“Bah. I should have had sons,” her father pushed, waving his hand.

“And yet it is your daughters who will care for you in your old age. Who will ensure that your last remaining years on this earth are ones of comfort. Of respect. Sons go off to join their wives’ families, but daughters keep you as a part of theirs.” Whitfield cocked a brow. “If you give them a reason to.”

Suddenly Gabby didn’t know what to do with herself. She reached for her cup of coffee, but the delicate china rattled in her trembling hands. Setting it back down, Gabby twined her fingers in the skirts of her day dress and willed her heart to stop thundering in her ears. No one ever confronted her father.

Yet Whitfield had. The duke had politely shined a light on Ana María’s and Isabel’s accomplishments…and even her own. Gabby had been acquainted with Whitfield long enough to know that he was not inclined to offer compliments. Flowery platitudes to soften the miens of judgmental dowagers, sure, but authentic, sincere compliments? Definitely not.

Yet Whitfield has complimented you numerous times on this trip…

Her father was staring at the duke with his brows knit together.

“Gabriela,” her mother said suddenly, snapping Gabby’s attention to her. María Elena’s gaze slid from her husband to Whitfield. “Tell us about the work Ana María and her Señor Fox are engaged in right now. From what I understand from her letters, they’ve hosted several dinner parties and engagements to secure support for some sort of enfranchisement proposal.”

The tension in the air dissipated, and Gabby’s frame relaxed. After taking a sip of coffee, she smiled at her mother and explained the reform proposal.

• • •

“The man either hates you or respects the hell out of you.”

“Yes, well, I’m quite used to inspiring such conflicting emotions in others,” Sebastian murmured, propping his leg on his opposite knee.

After lunch had ended, Sebastian had returned with Sirius and Isabel to their home while Gabriela had stayed to spend time with her mother. Her shoulders had been tense and her jaw hard as she watched the group depart.

Yet when Sebastian had taken his leave of her, the smile Gabriela had directed up at him was unlike any she had ever bestowed upon him before. It brightened her whole face, as if the sun were contained within her chest.

Sebastian replayed her look now as he sat with Sirius on the patio at Casa Inglesa, the name the locals had given the home after Sirius and Isabel had moved in, glasses of lemonade in hand. Isabel had correspondence for Señora Maza de Juárez to see to, and had excused herself to the attractive study that was all her own in the front of the home. Sirius had mentioned how he’d commissioned the construction of six large bookcases to store Isabel’s extensive collection of books, explaining that he wanted her to have a grand library and study to call her own. As a result, Isabel had an impressive office that rivaled any Sebastian had seen in a grand Mayfair townhome.

Sebastian’s parents had never cared for each other the way Sirius so lovingly tended to his wife’s happiness. He could admit, even in the dark recesses of his own mind, that while he was pleased for his old friend, he was also jealous. Horribly jealous, for Sebastian knew such affection would never exist between himself and whichever unlucky woman became his duchess.

The memory of Gabriela’s bright smile flashed through his mind, and Sebastian tipped his head back and drained the last of his lemonade.

“Is he what you expected?” Sirius asked, nodding his head in thanks to the manservant who refilled Sebastian’s glass.

Sebastian worked his jaw as he considered this. “I don’t know what I expected. I had heard enough stories from you and Fox, and even Miss Luna herself, to know her father was a hard man. And he was, most definitely, that.”

Sirius arched a brow. “I sense there is an unspoken but in your words.”

“But,” Sebastian emphasized the T sound, “he was not as intimidating as I anticipated.”

“Really? Why not, do you think?”

“Because he reminds me of my father.”