Of Gold & Blood Series 2 Books 1 & 4

by Jenny Wheeler

“And showing those portraits — that would shame the family?”

  “Well, no one’s really taking studies of women, are they? Plenty of important men, but no women. Father would never want to be a first in anything.”

  “Nonsense!” He leaned back in his chair and gave her an indulgent smile.

  “All sorts of women are now having their portraits taken. Mrs Sarah Astor for starters, though I admit she hasn’t allowed it to be shown in public. President’s wives, famous singers like Jenny Lind, beautiful young French women — you know the process was developed in Paris don’t you — character studies of older anonymous women proudly displaying their eye glasses. There is nothing disreputable in it at all.” He watched and waited while she sipped her coffee, and when she put the cup back down he leaned toward her.

  “Elanora, have you ever asked yourself what you want from life?”

  As soon as the question was out he wanted to swallow it back because she stiffened as if she’d been stung. She pulled back imperceptibly from the table, from him, spine rigid against the straight wooden back of her chair. Then she exhaled and seemed to concede something.

  “Truth is, Mr Castellanos, there was only one thing I thought I wanted in life, and I’ve discovered I can’t have it.” She glanced at him and hastily looked away, back at the table, at her hands holding the handle of the cup.

  “Am I permitted to ask what that one thing was?” He felt like a man venturing out on thin ice, unsure whether it would hold his weight or capsize under him.

  She sat still and silent, her shoulders hunched forward, for what seemed like an eternity.

  “The one thing I wanted was to marry my childhood sweetheart and live happily ever after. Naive, wasn’t it?”

  “Why naive?”

  She shook her head. “I accuse my father of not understanding the changing rules, but I was blind to them myself. Everyone knows New Yorkers live and die by the marriage market.

  “The merchant class likes to see themselves as self-made men, but take a close look at a roll call of the richest men downtown and you’ll find pretty well all of them either got a start or substantially boosted their capital by marrying well.

  “It’s the New York game. And since my father’s illness has incapacitated him to the point where he’s of no economic benefit to an enterprise … Well, you can draw your own conclusions.” Her mouth twisted into a brief bitter line. And then she gave a half laugh behind her hand, covering it.

  He reached out and took her hand very gently in his own and held it. Her skin was warm and dry, and he could feel the gentle pulsing of her heart at her wrist.

  “You could always elope?”

  He wasn’t sure whether he’d intended the remark as a wry defusing of her intensity or if he seriously meant to suggest it as an option. He was aware he was holding his breath as he searched her eyes.

  “Elope?” The word came out jerky and sharp. She shook her head and began laughing. “Elope. Well there’s just one problem with that. You need two willing participants.” She glanced up at him and the bitterness had vanished. She was genuinely amused.

  He let go of her hand and pushed the hair back out of his face.

  “Any man who doesn’t want to elope with you doesn’t deserve you anyway.”

  Her merriment brightened further, her mouth falling open, revealing perfect white teeth, eyes sparkling.

  “Oh, my dear Mr Castellanos, how very Spanish — how very romantic …”

  She’d taken the opportunity to turn the conversation into a joke, to slam the door shut on any further discussion of her life. He wasn’t sure if he felt charmed or disappointed. He couldn’t resist pushing one step further.

  “Spanish and romantic? I plead guilty on both charges.” He laughed along with her, and then he sobered. “But just tell me one thing. Say you did elope — what would your father do?”

  “My father? He would shut the door on me and never open it again.” The mirth faded from her eyes.

  She made to push her chair away from the table. “I think it’s time I went back home. I’m having far too much fun here for it to be good for my health.”

  She stood up and reached for the coat that she’d shed on the back of the chair as the room had warmed up.

  He stood immediately and held it out for her, noticing as he did the way his heart beat quickened at the sight of her shining blond hair caught up at the back of her head, exposing the lovely vulnerable curve of her neck. He masked a sigh as he escorted her out into the watery sunshine.

  Where are you going with this, Rafael Castellanos y Ordonez? Can’t you see she’s way out of your reach? This can only end badly.

  Head and heart battled within him as he made the casual stroll up the hill back to Elanora’s home.

  As she unlocked the front door she turned to face him. “Oh, sorry, I forgot to mention. Aunt Glory says you are welcome to return for supper later, if you wish. She’d be happy to have a guest. It doesn’t happen very often.”

  She gazed up at him with wide expectant eyes.

  Yes really, it was no contest. His heart would win.

  Nineteen

  “My father is in town and would like to meet you.”

  Rafael had made no mention of his parents or his past life when he’d been at her aunt’s for supper the previous evening, so the invitation came as a surprise.

  “Oh? In town from where?”

  “From Washington. He’s a diplomat.”

  “Oh? A Spanish diplomat?” She knew she sounded dizzy, but he’d completely blindsided her with his casual revelation.

  “That’s right.”

  She giggled. “Sorry. I mean what else could he be?”

  “Well, my mother is Scottish, so I guess he could have been … a Scottish diplomat?”

  His eyes were twinkling with mischief.

  “Rafael. You didn’t say!” She held up her hands in a gesture of surrender.

  “You didn’t ask.”

  “And that’s fair comment. So is he an ambassador?”

  He nodded. “He’s actually Spain’s ambassador to Mexico. The war that’s been going on the last few years has caused awful degradation and ruin, but I gather peace is about to be proclaimed. That’s what brings Father to Washington, anyway. And why Mother isn’t with him. She preferred not to travel this time.”

  Elanora nodded. “I see. And this meeting. When? And where? And should I be nervous?” It was her turn to tease.

  “Dinner at the Rainbow Room.”

  Her stomach did a small flip. The last time she’d been there was for her birthday. Everyone who was anyone wanted a table there, and if William and Eustace were out and about, there was a chance they’d be eating there. But what did that matter? She was nothing to them, right? And anyway, Eustace was already on his way to the Indies, having had his trip already delayed once by his mother’s death. He had to be.

  “Oh goodness. I might just have to go home to collect an evening gown. I don’t think I brought anything suitable for the Rainbow Room with me. I wasn’t expecting to go anywhere so grand.”

  “Just look your normal understated beautiful self, that’s all that’s required. Don’t worry. He’ll love you.”

  Twenty

  “Miss Elanora Travers, meet my father, Marqués Angel de Castellanos y Ordonez.”

  She was as ready as she ever would be. In deference to Coco she was in ‘half mourning’ in a high-necked grey silk trimmed in black lace layers down the full skirt. The nipped-in waist felt tight tonight, and she thought uncomfortably of Amelia in Trinity church on Christmas Eve.

  Elanora bobbed a quick courtesy and extended her right hand. “Delighted to meet you, Marqués.”

  He was a head shorter than Rafael, a stout barrel of a man in comparison to his willowy, athletic son, sporting a smoothly trimmed dark beard and a black evening cape. His eyes were piercing, and he had a presence and authority unmatched by any other man in the room.

  In the first few intense second
s after she sat down, she sensed he was gauging her mettle, but she didn’t feel uncomfortable under the silent interrogation.

  “A very beautiful dress, Senorita. I am glad to see Rafael has such good taste.”

  His mouth quirked up at one corner, and she realized he was having a joke at Rafael’s expense. He turned to his offspring and said, “And you, my son. How is the art of the daguerreotype progressing?”

  Rafael leaned in to Elanora. “Father is quite a virtuoso with the camera himself — and mostly self-taught.”

  The senior Castellanos waved away his comment and turned his attention to the table.

  “I think it’s a night for champagne, Senorita. Do you drink champagne?”

  Elanora nodded politely. “Sounds lovely. Thank you.”

  They’d been ushered into a red leather banquette she suspected was reserved for special guests, positioned so it overlooked the main dining floor. She could see heads turning as they were seated, curious diners contorting themselves to check out who’d arrived. They’d be disappointed it wasn’t a Vanderbilt or an Astor, or at least someone they recognized.

  She sat on high alert, trying to put it all together.

  First, she’d belatedly discovered Rafael’s father was a diplomat. Now she’d learned he was also a Marqués. Elanora’s stomach was queasy. That was some family heritage.

  Rafael had deliberately let her — and her father — think he was an itinerant photographer of no particular means, hadn’t he? Or was it their fault for not paying more attention, for not asking the right questions?

  Her cheeks burned as she recollected Glory’s account of Henry’s brusque dismissal. She hadn’t been there to witness it, but she cringed at the likely exchange. It was amazing Rafael had even bothered to come back.

  The sick feeling worsened. If anyone was a fraud here, it was her, presenting herself like she was an innocent maiden when she was really spoiled goods. She looked across the table to the Marqués and his son, heads leaned in close as they happily chatted about some technical point of photography while the waiter poured the champagne.

  “Forgive us, Miss Travers, it’s been a while since we had a chance to talk, and I always enjoy hearing about Rafael’s latest techniques. That’s one of the wonderful things about photography — there’s always something new to learn. He tells me you met through the gallery?”

  The memory of that afternoon, of the devastating confrontation with Eustace and her final realization he was too weak to ever stand up to his father, deepened her nausea. She felt hot, clammy. She pulled her scrambled thoughts together.

  “Yes, that’s right. Quite by chance really. I’d never been there before — I’d just got separated from friends in the Christmas shopping crowds and wandered down a side lane and there it was!”

  She smiled at the two men who were regarding her with slightly concerned looks from the other side of the table.

  They might differ in their physique, but Rafael was stamped with his father’s dark good looks and sparking intelligence. She wondered what his mother was like, and then was almost immediately glad she wasn’t here. Another woman would probably pick up what an impostor she was at first glance.

  “Are you feeling alright, Miss Travers? Is the temperature in here to your liking?” Marqués Angel de Castellanos was looking at her like a concerned father, eyebrows raised into two lined furrows along his forehead.

  “I was feeling a little lightheaded, but I’m fine now,” she said, sounding more confident than she felt. “Perhaps I’d better go easy on the champagne.”

  She flashed a smile at Rafael and was relieved to see him relax back into his seat with an appreciative answering gleam in his eye.

  “I’ve done some wonderful studies of Elanora. I’m just trying to convince her to allow them to be shown publicly.”

  “Oh?” said the Marqués with a note of curiosity. “I have a lot to learn about America. Why do you need persuading? Your presidents, your generals, they are all happy to be displayed, yes? So what is the problem?”

  Elanora felt at a loss as to what to reply. She shrugged. “I suppose … My father, he doesn’t like the idea of his daughter hung on a gallery wall.”

  “Ah, I see, a proud father. I don’t blame him. A beautiful daughter like you, he wants to take good care of her.” Angel Castellanos smiled indulgently and picked up the menu. “I can tell you, it is very unusual for my son to invite me to meet young ladies of his acquaintance. You must be very special.”

  He looked affectionately towards Rafael. “Now, perhaps we should order? Do you like oysters, Miss Travers?”

  She didn’t like oysters, and that lack of taste seemed to her another breadcrumb, another marker on the shadowed trail that was beckoning her away from any thought of a future with this charming man.

  What was I thinking? Her head spun with self-recrimination. I’m sitting here pretending everything is fine and dandy when I’m possibly — maybe even probably — carrying another man’s child. What would they think of me if they knew?

  As dinner progressed she summoned up all the reserves within her to play-act her part; the vivacious, gracious young woman out to dinner with her charming beau and his illustrious father. Tournedos of filet of beef, roast canvasback duck, aubergine fritters, followed by tortoni and meringue glace. But as the dessert plates were cleared, she was teetering dangerously close to misery.

  As she faded into silence, Rafael entertained his father with lively chatter of petty rivalries and new processes, and his father answered with news of his mother Fanny and the younger children.

  “We’ve not been too badly affected by the war in Santa Fe,” he explained. “But once the peace is signed, the capital will have to move back down south, of course. I don’t think your mother is too happy about that. They've had a much harder time down there than we have. Mexico City’s been devastated.”

  Rafael glanced over to Elanora. “I think we need to leave soon, Father. I’m not sure Elanora is quite her usual self, even though she reassured us earlier she was fine.” He let the words fall away gently, a note of concern in his voice.

  She gave a wan smile. “I’m sorry. I have been feeling a little odd, but it hasn’t spoilt my enjoyment. I’ve had a wonderful time. I do thank you so much for your hospitality, Marqués.”

  “You’re welcome, young lady. Anyone who’s a friend of Rafael’s is a friend of mine.”

  Their ride home was made in silence, and at her father’s front door she turned to thank him. “Sorry I was such a sad sack tonight. I don’t know what got into me.”

  He gazed down at her, his eyes liquid. “I’m sorry you aren’t well, but don’t worry, Father was still charmed.”

  “Rafael …” Her voice caught as she began. “It was a lovely evening. Really. And I feel privileged to have met your father. But I think perhaps it’s best if we don’t continue with this … friendship.

  She paused and steeled herself. “I think it’s best if we don’t see one another again.”

  There. She’d done it. The right thing.

  He took a step back and gazed down at her, his expression serene as he read her face. Then he stepped in close again and cupped one side of her face gently in his hand.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Mia Cara.”

  He bent down and kissed her, the softest, gentlest caressing of lips. Light, fluttery to the touch, but magnetic. She wanted it to go on forever, for her never to have to separate from the charge that flowed between them. Instant loss hit her when he stepped away, just as calmly as he’d stepped forward.

  “I will call for you at ten tomorrow. Until then, mia hermosa dama — my beautiful lady — sleep well.”

  Twenty-One

  “What was wrong last night? Something was bothering you. And you seem absolutely fine today.”

  They were sitting in the Castle Gardens, well wrapped up against the fresh wind, a morning coffee snack spread out before them. She had the hood up on her cashmere cape and the fur trim tic
kled as she ducked her head. She owed him an explanation, but that didn’t make it any easier.

  “Rafael, you’re very special to me. I realized just how special when I saw you with your father last night. I feel honored to have been introduced to your family circle, I really do … But I can’t go any further with it. I just can’t.”

  The fine lines around his eyes tightened. She sensed he was holding himself back from reacting strongly to her words.

  “Just can’t? Why not? Forgive me if I am so indelicate as to suggest you didn’t seem to object to me kissing you last night. In fact, I suspect you rather liked it. Liked it a lot.”

  He gave her a dark sultry look which suggested he’d consider repeating the act right here if it weren’t such a public place, and her heart fluttered like a butterfly resting on marigolds.

  She blushed and chewed her lip. “I did, Rafael. Be sure, I did. But that doesn’t change anything.”

  He frowned, and for the first time a muscle in his cheek flexed.

  “What is wrong, for goodness sakes. Just come out and tell me; Is it your father?”

  She shook her head. “You recall when we first met — was that only three weeks ago — you described me as ‘lovelorn’ or some such? And yes, I’d had a romantic disappointment. I was running away from an argument the night we met.” She took a deep breath. “Well, I’ve been very stupid, Rafael. I’ve done the one thing everyone says a girl should not do …”

  He looked wary, but reached out and gently took one of her hands in his. “Go on. I am listening.”

  She gazed at him, unsure of how to continue.

  Nothing for it but to get it out there.

  “Eustace was my childhood sweetheart. I thought we’d be together and he did too. He asked me to marry him. He even gave me an engagement ring on my twenty-first birthday. And I thought … I thought we were going to be together forever.”

  She pulled her hand away from his and linked both hands protectively across her stomach, hugging herself for courage.

  As he gazed at her with those liquid eyes that made her want to melt into him, she saw an awareness light up in them.