Page 52 of Gabriela and His Grace

Her mother continued. “Your sisters married British men. Well connected, influential they may be, but British nevertheless. Your father believes that with your light skin and light eyes, you could attract a Spanish husband who could bolster the family’s legacy and help lead Mexico into an era of reconstruction and reform.”

“He wants me to marry a peninsular,” Gabby whispered.

“Surely you’re not surprised by that.” María Elena waved a dismissive hand. “You look like a Spaniard, more so than your sisters. It has been your father’s hope for the majority of your life. I believe he was relieved when you returned home without a husband.”

Her legs were wobbly as she returned to her seat. Although she longed to pull her knees into her chest and curl into a ball, Gabby sat straight backed on the chair. “I understand.”

María Elena’s expression brightened. “I’m delighted to hear it, querida. Your father will be pleased.”

As Gabby listened tight-lipped to her mother as she chattered away about Señor Espinoza and the other young men—and not-so-young men—who were eager to align themselves with Elías Luna and his family, she grew more and more nauseated. Gabby should have known this would happen. She had been arrogant to believe she could return to Mexico a different Gabriela Luna than the girl who had fled it. Stupidly, she’d thought she could show her father that she’d changed and grown more mature, but he would always view her as the same silly girl he deigned to pay attention to only when it suited him.

She was the fool.

But no longer. Gabby had been wrong to return, but that did not mean she was helpless. Isabel and Sirius would help her. And didn’t Whitfield say he would always be available to assist her? Swallowing, Gabby knotted her hands together in her lap and prayed her countenance gave away nothing of her impatience to her mother. She had a note to send to her sister, and Gabby was desperate to see to the task before her newfound resolve was tested.

• • •

Throughout dinner that night, Gabby did her best to play the role of a dutiful daughter. She dressed in her navy brocade silk gown with the black lace underlay, and wore the simple sapphire and silver drop earrings Ana María and Gideon had given her for her last birthday. The maid had styled her hair in a simple updo, and Gabby had even applied a touch of color to her lips. Her mother had gasped when she walked into the sitting room, her face alight with admiration as she pressed a kiss to both of Gabby’s cheeks. And while her father had not said a word, Elías had nodded his head after taking in her appearance.

Señor Espinoza proved to be a friendly enough gentleman, if a little pompous. The son of a wealthy banker from Barcelona, he’d only emigrated to Mexico after the War of Reform had ended, but he’d quickly risen through the Liberal ranks. Gabby could understand why her parents wanted a match between her and the young peninsular, for Espinoza practically fawned over her father. Oh, he’d paid compliments to her beauty and engaged her in conversation—just enough to not tax Gabby’s already frayed nerves—but then Espinoza had spent the majority of his time trading tales and discussing strategy with her father. She tried multiple times to add to the conversation, not accustomed to being so completely overlooked during a dinner party, but her father would simply cut her a glance and then ignore her.

It infuriated her, but Gabby did her best to hide it. She replayed happy moments she’d spent with her sisters in London, and imagined what her friends with the women’s group were doing to shape a franchise bill. Gabby even allowed herself to reflect upon the voyage to Mexico, when Whitfield had encouraged her to speak about politics and share her opinions about the occupation. Or when he teased her while they played hopscotch with the children. Or when he’d danced el jarabe tapatío with her, his breath caressing her lips whenever the steps brought them close together. She even allowed herself to imagine what his lips would have felt like against her own. What they would have tasted like—

“Gabriela,” her mother hissed in her ear. “What are you doing?”

Starting, Gabby darted her gaze about and realized her father and Señor Espinoza were already making their way from the dining room to enjoy drinks and cigars on the patio. She hadn’t even noticed when they’d risen from the table.

Placing her napkin aside, Gabby thanked the servant who pulled out her chair and turned to her mother. “I apologize. I was woolgathering.”

María Elena sighed. “You’ve been doing so well, mi amor. Don’t make a mistake now.”

Anger surged up her throat, and with as much grace as she could muster, Gabby asked, “What sort of mistake do you believe I will make?”

“Ay, Gabby,” her mother grumbled, “must I list the multitude of ways you’ve acted out over the years?”

Holding her mother’s gaze, Gabby moved a step closer to her. “Did you ever wonder why I acted out so much as a child?”

“Because you wanted things to be your way. If you desired something and it was not given to you, you became upset.” María Elena ran her knuckles over Gabby’s cheek. “You’ve always wanted more. You were never satisfied.”

It was a soul-crushing realization to learn one’s own mother didn’t truly know her. And Gabby rather doubted her mother cared to know her. Not the real Gabby, at least. It assured Gabby that her decision to send a note to Isabel earlier in the evening had been prudent. Ignoring the cold, empty certainty that took root in her chest, Gabby shook her head.

“It’s not that I always wanted more. It’s that I wanted enough.” Gabby stared at the doorway her father had walked through, a bitter resignation settling over her. “I was starved for attention, yes, but more so I was starved for love. You gave me what you could, but you alone couldn’t give me what I needed.”

With her shoulders sinking, Gabby walked to the doorway but paused, glancing back at her mother. “I’m done grasping for crumbs.”

Not giving her mother a chance to respond, Gabby slipped away. She knew María Elena would not follow her as they still had a guest, so she quickly gathered the small number of her dresses, gowns, and undergarments she’d brought with her and packed them in her trunk. Racing around the room, she snatched up her books, jewelry, hats, and hairpins, shoving them into a satchel. Taking one last glance around the space, Gabby released a long breath. She had been comfortable here, but this was not home. Her mother was not her home anymore, and at some point in the future, Gabby would allow herself to mourn the loss of their relationship. For now, though, she needed to leave.

Throwing her satchel over her shoulder, she hoisted her trunk through the doorway as best she could. Thankfully a servants’ entrance led to the narrow alley that ran behind the villa, and Gabby did not have to drag her trunk for long before she spied the sleek black carriage waiting for her. Without a word, the carriage door flung open and Sirius ran down the alley toward her.

“Let’s hurry. I’d rather not have a confrontation with your father,” he murmured, taking the satchel from her shoulder.

The driver grabbed her trunk and stored it while Gabby climbed into the cab. She gasped when she spotted Isabel waiting for her in the dim interior.

“Oh Isa,” she exclaimed, launching herself into her sister’s arms.

“Ay querida,” Isabel crooned, stroking the hair back from Gabby’s brow. “I was hoping your note had just been a precaution, but of course we came. I’m sorry that things have gone this way.”

The carriage lurched forward, and Gabby glanced out the window over her sister’s shoulder. Her parents’ brightly lit villa moved farther from view as they rumbled over the gravel street, and she bit her lip to keep the tears at bay. Gabby felt like a failure.