“Sir—” Commander de Sola sat up straight. “This is the only man in the country capable of operating el Gigante. His services are urgently needed in the water meadows.”
“Then find someone else to do it, or pay him a wage for his services,” the Viceroy snapped. “Now, Senor Douglas. There is something on the tip of your tongue and I wish to hear it.”
Betray Gloria’s most private concerns and become a free man? Or keep silent and return to gaol, possibly for the rest of his life—to say nothing of Joe’s life?
And of what significance was it, really, the little tidbit that Ella had let drop? How much of a secret could it be if she had no fear of taking all and sundry into her confidence? Perhaps it was not a secret at all. Many couples in London society lived that way, and no one seemed to think it of any consequence.
“I—I do not know much of her marriage at all,” he said awkwardly, his heart beating as though it would gallop out of his chest. “We were only reunited this evening, where there was not much time for intimate conversation. But her maid let slip that her—that is, that she and Mr. Fremont do not—I mean, that—”
“The marriage has not been consummated?” the Viceroy finished, his face shedding its gloom and becoming animated.
Dash it all. This really was most uncomfortable. And society couples notwithstanding, he was betraying Gloria in a most intimate manner by talking about her behind her back.
“I do not think so,” he mumbled, sinking into his chair in shame. “But I have not been brought up to talk of such things.”
“Ah, but in the Royal Kingdom, such things are the currency of life,” the commander said in an attempt to be reassuring. “You have paid a small price indeed for your freedom.”
Perhaps he had. But Evan did not think so.
Nor did he feel much like a free man as they rose and took their leave.
Chapter 21
Despite the fact that she wore a secondhand dress, Gloria sailed into the de la Carrera y Borreaga hacienda as though she were a queen. Her hair was soft and still held its curl from the fiesta the night before, and was twisted and pinned up into the most flattering chignon of which Ella was capable, with a festive little pouf of ribbons tucked into it that matched the trim on her gown. She wore her wedding ring on her left hand, and her mother’s tawny topaz on her right, none the worse for wear for having spent weeks sewn up inside her corset.
With the captain waiting outside in the courtyard, she was shown into what could have passed for a morning room in any house in England, save for the fact that it looked westward, out to sea. The Viceroy sat unattended in a wingback chair near a leaping fire, though it was not cold.
She sank into a curtsey and bowed her head.
“Senora Fremont. Please rise and join me. Would you care for tea?”
A pretty Sèvres tea service sat on a low table. “Thank you, sir. May I pour for you?”
He smiled, and she pretended she had not seen the dark circles under his eyes, nor the cheeks that seemed to have hollowed out another fraction since they had danced together the evening before. When she handed him his tea, prepared the way she liked hers—with milk, not lemon—the cup rattled just a little as he took it from her.
Ella had said the burden of prophecy might be too much for him. Gloria had an uncomfortable feeling she might be right.
“Are you well, sir? Did you sleep well?”
He took a sip of his tea and put the cup and saucer aside. “I cannot say so. I was obliged to send for your English friend, Senor Douglas, to interpret a dream.”
She hid her reaction behind her own cup, and said merely, “I hope he was able to help.”
“I do not know. He gave an interpretation, but I do not believe it can be the truth.”
“That is the way of dreams, is it not? Though I understand that Mr. Douglas is highly regarded in scientific circles on the subject.”
“Has he interpreted any of yours?”
Gloria shook her head, the three dangling curls at the back of her chignon tickling her neck. “We have not known one another long enough to discuss our dreams—our conversations have been more along the line of ‘You’ve assembled that gun incorrectly’ and ‘Pass the stew’ and ‘Will we ever see home again?’”
The corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. “He thinks very highly of you. As do I.”
Heat scalded her cheeks. “That is very kind of you, sir.” But he had much less evidence on which to base an opinion than did Evan. The latter had saved her life, and she had saved his.
“As you have come all this way to speak with me, perhaps you ought to begin.”
Gloria set her cup aside and took a breath to steady her nerves. “Thank you for your willingness to hear me, sir. As His Excellency the Ambassador will have told you, the train bearing your purchases was set upon by air pirates near the town of Resolution, and the mechanicals stolen. But even if they had not been, I would still have journeyed here after my father’s death to beg you not to put them into use.”
She lifted her gaze to find his upon her, steady and waiting for her to go on.
“It is the ambassador’s belief that the lands east of the mountains, the Rio de Sangre Colorado valley and the Texican Territories, are somehow rich with gold. But sir, it is a fact that no gold has been found there.”
“A fact according to whom? For stories have been handed down for generations in our families telling of rich deposits in the river caves. Of treasures left behind when families were forced to move farther west by flood and attack.”
“Believe me, sir, there is nothing in those caves but the villages of the ancient ones. They are sandstone. My knowledge of geology is sparse, but even I know that gold is not formed in sandstone.”
“It was carried there, of course, by our forefathers.”
“Why should they do that?”
“To keep it safe from robbers.”
“They have more concern for gold than for the persons of the women in their own country? No one keeps them safe from robbers.” Gloria struggled to calm a sudden burst of nervous energy that came perilously close to temper. “Do forgive me, sir.”
“Women must be kept safe and protected by their own families.”
“I know. Except for women like me, who have a legitimate reason to journey so far—we are reduced to—” She stopped. “But I am wasting Your Serene Highness’s time. The point is, it is my belief as the president of a company that trades in both the Royal Kingdom and the Texican Territory that your people would find more prosperity in opening your borders to trade and the pursuit of their gold through business than they would in declaring war in an attempt to take it by force, if it really exists.”
“Go on.”
Could he really be listening? Was there truly hope, after all that she and her friends had been through? Gloria fortified herself with another sip of tea.
“I inherited the Meriwether-Astor Munitions Works and all its subsidiaries when my father died. I propose that we work together not by importing mechanicals of war, but machines for agriculture, for construction, and for exploration. We might form partnerships among the Texicans and enjoy mutual profit—and we might also find ways to see to the care of those who are less fortunate, offering them a means of making their living off the rancho.”
“In other words, you would have us change our entire culture in order to make money?”
Oh, dear. That was not what she meant at all. She must make him understand. “By no means, sir. I simply suggest that there are ways of accumulating gold that do not involve declaring war on others and putting innocent lives at risk. And I believe there may be those among the rancho owners who share this desire for peace. They would certainly support you should you decide to change the direction in which you steer the kingdom’s future.”
She could say no more without being accused of sedition. But surely he must see that people who wanted peace were no threat to him?
“You state your case eloquently,” he
said.
A trickle of relief ran through her. Perhaps she would not be tossed into gaol just yet. “I can only say what is in my heart.” She gave him a soft smile, and did her best to look feminine and unthreatening.
“A heart that is brave, and loyal, and good.”
“Sir…” She blushed and bowed her head.
“So says your friend, Senor Douglas. He also says you are a crack shot.”
With a smile, she said, “He possesses the same qualities, and means Your Highness and your kingdom no harm.”
“Tell me this, Senora Fremont … how did you reach San Luis Obispo de Tolosa when my roads and trains are so dangerous to a lady traveling alone? What means did you employ to ensure your safety so that you could reach your objective and we could have this audience here today?”
She gazed at him. What on earth …? “I came in the company of my husband, my maid, and an escort of my husband’s crew,” she said at last. “Is there another way I should have come?” She restrained herself from mentioning the silly prejudice against airships, which would have made the journey much more comfortable, to say nothing of short.
“No. But by your own admission, your marriage is in its infancy. Could it be that it is a marriage of convenience only, formed between two people with a common goal? What is the captain’s stake in this?”
Now she hardly knew where to look. “Sir … my goodness … that is very … you cannot expect me to …”
How had he known?
“You have not consummated your marriage, have you, Senora Fremont?”
“Good heavens!” Gloria stood—turned—remembered she could not leave the royal presence without permission—and sank again on to the little sofa. Or rather, her knees gave out and it was lucky it was there. “That is most impertinent!”
“You are even more beautiful when your color is high,” he said, apropos of nothing.
“Sir, I must insist—I request your permission to withdraw.”
“I do not give it. I am the only one who may insist.”
“Then you need a lesson or two in propriety,” she said crisply. The nerve! “I trust you are not making an inappropriate suggestion to me? I must confess I had thought better of you than that.”
She thought he might turn her out of the room, or order the execution with which his wretched Ambassador had threatened her. But instead, he grinned, like a small boy who had been irritating on purpose, to stimulate a reaction.
“Heaven forfend,” he said. “No, I am making the most appropriate suggestion possible. I do not know how you convinced the good captain to make your mission his own, but let us come to an agreement here and now. I will stop all preparations for this war and send all my troops back to their homes … if you will allow me to have your marriage annulled.”
She stared at him, her mouth going slack and her eyes widening with shock. She could not have heard him correctly. One did not simply wave one’s hand and make such momentous changes in the lives of near strangers. Even kings and princes did not have that power over citizens of other nations.
And yet … was this not everything she had dreamed of? To stop the war, to save countless lives, including those of her friends along the river, who even now were counting on her to succeed? And as for her marriage … was not the dissolution of something that had barely begun a small price to pay?
Her husband understood the terms under which they had agreed to marry. She did not know how the Viceroy had come by his information, but it did not matter. Stanford did not love her. They had barely even become friends. And if at times she wished she had not been quite so firm about the bolster down the middle of the bed, if her blood had rushed in her veins just a little at the thought of what might have come to pass this very evening … well, the two of them would recover, in time.
The consequences were simply too important for one woman and one man to put their own wishes and needs before those of others far greater. Before those of countries whose stability and peace depended on them.
“And … if I do?” she finally managed past a constriction in her throat that felt very much like tears. “What possible benefit could there be in my once again being unmarried? I shall still have to travel, and in greater danger than ever.”
He shook his head. “No, my dearest lady. You would not be unmarried for long.”
He rose, and extended a hand. Wordlessly, she rose, wondering what on earth he meant. Was their interview concluded?
He clasped both her cold hands in his own, which were equally cold.
“Gloria Meriwether-Astor,” he said gently, his dark eyes intent upon her face, “I have never met anyone like you. You are not only beautiful, you are brave and compassionate, to say nothing of clever, and a visionary in business. I am making you the offer of my hand. Once you are a free woman—which will take no more than three days, I promise you—will you honor me and all my people by becoming my wife, and Vicereine of the Royal Kingdom of Spain and the Californias?”
Gloria stared at him. Gulped. Opened her mouth, then—
“Oh, dear,” she said.
Epilogue
Dearest Mother,
Find Tia Clara at once and brace yourselves for the happiest of news—Honoria is alive! I have seen her—touched her—even danced with her. She is posing as a man, as translator to Evan Douglas, the friend of Gloria whom she thought was dead. Forgive my grammar—time is short and I must get this to the padre or it will miss the mission mail packet.
I do not know when we will see your faces again. I only know that now that I have found her, only God may separate us. She and Evan are both prisoners, though there has been talk of giving her citizenship papers from San Gregorio. If I have to become a camp laundress at the garrison, I will do it, if only I may be near her. Our sister Gloria meets with the Viceroy this very morning. I pray that she is successful, for the burden of prophecy lies heavy on him.
Honoria sends her dearest love to you and Tia Clara, and covers your faces in kisses. I will write again the moment I have news. May God bring us all safely together on the banks of the river.
Ever your loving
Ella Maria
* * *
Dear reader,
I hope you enjoy reading the adventures of Gloria, Lady Claire, and the gang in the Magnificent Devices world as much as I enjoy writing them. It is your support and enthusiasm that is like the steam in an airship’s boiler, keeping the entire enterprise afloat and ready for the next adventure.
You might leave a review on your favorite retailer’s site to tell others about the books. And you can find print and electronic editions of the entire series online, as well as audiobooks. Do come visit my website, www.shelleyadina.com, where you can sign up for my newsletter and be the first to know of new releases and special promotions.
And now, for an excerpt from Fields of Gold, the final book in Gloria’s trilogy—indeed, the final book in this twelve-volume segment of the Magnificent Devices series—I invite you to turn the page …
Excerpt: Fields of Gold by Shelley Adina
Somewhere in the Wild West
March 1895
It was one thing to be afraid for yourself—that cold, paralyzing fear that paradoxically made your innards turn to liquid instead of a solid block of ice. It was quite another thing to be afraid for someone you loved—in a massive, towering cloud of fear that blotted out even the memory of sunshine.
Alice, Lady Hollys, crouched in the dirt next to the prone form of her husband. He lay beneath a stand of ironwood trees in an arroyo that fed runoff into the mighty Rio de Sangre Colorado de Christo. “Ian,” she whispered through dry lips. “Ian, hang on. I’m going for help, but you have to wake up, and press this handkerchief against the wound.”
His eyelids fluttered open and tears of relief sprang into her eyes.
“What … happened?”
“That dadblamed Prussian she-wolf shot you.” And if it was the last thing she did on this earth, Alice was going to return th
e favor. In spades. Lots of spades. The kind you dug a grave with, and that was a promise.
Ian turned his head weakly to the side, and frowned. “Where … are they?”
“Back on the steamboat and already a mile upriver, no doubt. There’s a Texican Ranger airship in a mooring pattern overhead, and the witches vanished like water on a griddle.”
“What’s a griddle?”
Alice’s grim face contorted in pain that radiated from deep inside. “Oh, my darling,” she said brokenly. “This is no time for jokes. She might have been aiming for the heart, but you moved at the last second and she got you right below the collarbone. Heaven only knows where the bullet is, but I have to get you to a doctor, and our only hope is that ship.”
“Santa Fe.” His dear gray eyes searched hers. “You’ll be … recognized.”
“I don’t care,” she told him gently. “If I’m lucky, it’ll happen after I get you into the hospital, and not before. Dearest, I hate to ask this of you, but you must stand and try to walk. We need to signal them, and then find some open ground so they can lower a basket.”
“I’ll try.”
That was her man. Not a word of complaint, not a moan. Simply determination—and a harshly indrawn breath that told her just what it cost him to do as she asked.
But the arroyo that had made such a superb hiding place for the reconnaissance party—intent on destroying the dam the Californios were building across the river—was a disaster for two people needing help. Alice searched frantically from side to side, looking for a place clear enough for the airship’s crew to see them, and large enough for them to let its basket down and get Ian into it safely. But these canyons had long been used for concealment, not rescue. Half a mile from the river, it became obvious that Ian’s strength was at an end, and she was going to have to leave him and attract their attention alone.
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