Page 130

She would have to think of her life differently now, as an organic whole. An evolving entity, in which each part was related to the rest.

The earth, after all, wasn’t a mere collection of geological features, but a system greater than the sum of its parts. Rivers carried minerals from the mountains down to the ocean. Clouds formed over the ocean and showered rain over the land. Forests sweetened the climate and were in turn shaped by it. No one would say the earth was only the ocean, or only a forest.

Why did a woman have to be only one thing?

The baby’s presence in her life wouldn’t make her less of a businesswoman, nor would her work make her less of a mother. It wouldn’t be easy. It wouldn’t be perfect. But the awareness of her son would flow from her heart and pulse through all her thoughts and decisions. They would form their own system, the two of them.

She carried him to the pink velvet chaise longue but stopped before reaching it. A comfortable piece of furniture, this chaise, where Mamaíta used to nap. Why did the prospect of occupying it with the baby make her feel uneasy?

Gingerly she sat, then lifted her legs and half reclined the way her mother used to. She arranged the infant in the crook of her arm and smiled down at his drowsy face. “Are you going to sleep, Benjamin?” To her delight, his mouth opened with a yawn, like a baby bird. “We’ll rest here, then.”

Alan came up to the foot of the chaise and surprised Reina by jumping up and settling at her feet. He wasn’t allowed on the furniture—John had been adamant on that point—but Reina couldn’t bring herself to push him off. For one thing, he was an excellent footwarmer. For another, it made her smile to see him curl into a perfect circle.

“Alan,” she said, “I admire your rotational symmetry.”

She relaxed and flattened her cheek against the soft velvet of the slanted chaise back. It might have been her imagination, but the fabric seemed to hold the phantom scent of Mamaíta’s perfume. A comforting fragrance, but also melancholy.

Now as she thought back, her mother seemed like a beautiful bird in a cage. There had been no opportunity for Manuela to grow and change—she’d been trapped as Bernard Prescott’s mistress. Having a bastard daughter had made it even harder to escape.

But Mamaíta had opened the door of the cage for her daughter. She’d hired tutors and supplied her with books, and had told Reina her mind was equal to any man’s. She’d wanted Reina to make herself into someone the world couldn’t ignore.

And Papa had never dreamed that Reina, instead of following in her mother’s footsteps, would follow in his.

She leaned down to press her lips against the drowsing baby’s head and nuzzled his silky hair. Someday he would have to learn about his father. Long before that, however, she would make him understand that his destiny wasn’t engraved in his veins or lurking among the cells of his blood.

It would be written by him.

Chapter Thirty-Two

The Next Page

Sleep had always been elusive for Reina. Any slight disturbance would jolt her awake: a suspicious creak of the floorboards, a lumpy pillow, the scrabbling of busy rats, the wincing memories of ill-chosen words, or questions such as “Did I lock the door?” or “Why does the British government treat me like a citizen when it’s time to pay taxes but not when it’s time to vote?”

The worst night’s sleep, however, came from dreading an unpleasant conversation in the morning. Her brain wouldn’t stop rehearsing the script for a play that might end in applause, egg-throwing, or someone setting the theatre on fire.

Knowing that John wanted to speak with her privately tomorrow about an unknown subject had doomed any chance of sleeping tonight.

By 11:03, Reina had tried a long bath, a dull book, chamomile tea, brushing her hair one hundred strokes, and rubbing drops of neroli oil on her temples. She would have liked to go for an evening walk, but John would insist on accompanying her. Since he was the one responsible for her anxiety, that wouldn’t be at all helpful.

It had been quite inconsiderate, now that she thought about it, for John to put off this mysterious conversation until tomorrow. He knew her well enough by now to know it would worry her.

As a matter of fact, how could he be so insensitive? More than once, he’d claimed his job was to make her life easier. But he’d just trampled all over her nerves and turned her luxurious horsehair mattress into a bed of nails. John needed to be made aware of his thoughtlessness, as soon as possible. It was always best to correct a mistake promptly.

Someone had to let John know that a butler shouldn’t torment his employer like this.

Reina hurried to her wardrobe cabinet and rummaged through garments hung on hooks until she found a wrapper of deep yellow brocade, with a Spanish pattern of interlaced gold arabesques and red pomegranates. The lustrous fabric had been a Christmas gift from Isabel, who had told her to have it made into a dressing gown.

“But it’s far too nice for that,” Reina had protested. “I already have a simple wool dressing gown—”

“You need an elegant bata de casa,” Isabel had insisted, “to wear over your nightgown if someone calls on you early in the morning.” With a roguish wink, she’d added, “Or late at night.”

Now Reina was glad she’d heeded Isabel’s advice. Not that it mattered what she wore while going downstairs to visit John, of course, but there was no need to look like a frump. She dropped her old wool wrapper to the floor and pulled on the yellow one. Her fingers were unusually clumsy as she fastened the row of red glass-and-gilt buttons down the front and tied the gold cord belt.

After plucking a spindly fireplace spill from a vase on the mantel, she used it to light a finger lamp no bigger than a teacup.

She felt calm and resolute as she descended the main staircase, the skirt of the silk brocade wrapper trailing regally behind her. Unfortunately the queenly effect was spoiled by the continuous rattling of the finger lamp’s glass casing. A design flaw made it impossible to keep steady. She’d never noticed it until now. The manufacturer should be made aware—she would dictate a strongly worded letter to Norman tomorrow.

Then she realized her hand was trembling.