Chapter 4
As Sirius wandered the hallowed halls of Westminster, he cursed the fact that he even had to be there in the first place.
But despite his best efforts, he’d been unable to pin down Viscount Westhope, and Sirius was annoyed. After missing him at the balloon festival, Sirius had met him again to play billiards at their club, but the gregarious viscount had been surrounded by friends, which made engaging in a deep conversation all but impossible. Sirius tried, though, and Lord Westhope reciprocated his attempts at conversation in that easy manner some men have when they are confident in who they are and their place in the world. Sirius had worked hard to create a similar image for himself, and few people seemed aware that he walked around every day wearing a mask. Whitfield, of course, but then only because the duke was his closest friend, and Gideon Fox, because the man was shrewd and insightful. But seeing as the man wore a mask himself, Fox had never judged him, and Sirius was grateful.
There was now a new person to add to the list: Isabel Luna. She had seemed to look beneath his veneer during their conversations at the festival, and he found it uncomfortable to be the subject of her keen stare…especially when he knew it was usually sparked by his roguish actions.
But truly, what choice did he have? Sirius had a job to do, and playing the role of an incorrigible rogue was part of it. He had no business befriending unmarried ladies, no matter how awkwardly charming they were.
Coming to a stop in the middle of the hall, Sirius pressed his fingers to his temples. Now was most certainly not the time to allow his thoughts to wander to the riddle that was Isabel Luna.
After casually inquiring about the location of the viscount’s office, Sirius mentally recited the story he had fabricated as an excuse to pay the man a visit. But when he arrived at Westhope’s office, the viscount was not in sight. Biting back a slew of curses, Sirius pivoted, staring down one end of the hall and then the other. He tapped his hat against his palm as he contemplated what to do. Would the viscount be at the club? It was still a bit early, but it was possible. Or perhaps Sirius could track him down to—
“I’m surprised to find you here, Dawson.”
Jerking his head about, Sirius smiled when his gaze collided with Gideon Fox’s.
“I’m not a complete stranger to these halls, you know,” he said after regathering himself, holding out his hand in greeting.
Fox shook it, a warm smile in his eyes if not on his lips. His friend possessed a reserved nature, and was a man who kept his emotions locked tight. Sirius thought Fox would have made an excellent officer, leading soldiers with his firm and steadfast example. But Fox had shunned the military in favor of politics. He had made a name for himself in Commons as a firebrand, a reputation he imagined would be bolstered by his marriage to the politically savvy Ana María Luna. Although the pair had caused quite the scandal when they first returned to London after their marriage, they were quickly winning over critics and foes alike.
Truly, Sirius should have assumed Fox would be at Westminster, for if he was not with his lovely wife, he was stalking the halls of Parliament, garnering support for his many proposals, and lending his voice and his vote to all manner of causes.
And it occurred to Sirius that if anyone knew about Westhope, it would probably be Fox.
“Would you like to come back to my office while I finish up a letter, and then we can get a drink?” Fox jerked his thumb at the open doorway behind him. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a stiff one.”
Sirius nodded and silently followed his friend back to his office. He whistled when he stepped across the threshold and looked around.
“Faith, this space is much different than the one you had when I first met you.”
And it was. At least three times the size of the narrow office Fox had been given when he’d first won his borough seat. Now, his friend’s large oak desk sat before a set of beveled windows, painting his desktop in sunlight. A bookshelf lined an entire wall, with a plush velvet settee tucked into the corner. It was a space designed to make an impression, and pride for his friend swelled Sirius’s chest. Fox had waged numerous battles to find success within Parliament, and Sirius was happy he was receiving the recognition and respect he deserved.
Sliding into one of the armchairs angled before Fox’s desk, Sirius gestured to the bookshelf with his head. “If you would like some suggestions for books to fill your shelves, let me know. It appears your collection is off to a stellar start.”
From where he sat, Sirius spied a nice selection of both fiction and nonfiction books; poetry collections and philosophy tomes; and history volumes, in what appeared to be both English and Spanish. The sight brought a smile to his face.
“Isabel has been assisting me with building up my library. I had wanted to keep all my books at home, but she insisted that I need a collection here as well. She claimed it solidified the perception of me being a learned gentleman.” Fox smoothed his hands down his lapels. “Ana agreed, so who am I to say no?”
Seeing his stoic, proper friend so happy with his wife and marriage had jealousy sinking its claws into his throat. Sirius was of an age where most of his old schoolmates were married and filling their nurseries, and yet he was still perfecting the life of a wealthy bachelor about town, tumbling into beds with various ladies and courtesans, and coloring the gossip pages with his conquests. It was all a facade, of course, meant to hide the true seriousness of his endeavors, and those same endeavors made settling down impossible. And lonely.
But even if he could steal a piece of domestic felicity, Sirius knew he didn’t deserve it. Why should he get to marry and have a family, live a full life, when so many of his men—men infinitely better than him—did not have the opportunity?
So instead, Sirius pushed down all those feelings of what could have been, and focused on what was.
“If Miss Luna is assisting you with your book selection, I will graciously surrender the floor, for she has excellent taste,” he said.
Fox tilted his head to the side. “I wasn’t aware you and Isabel had spoken of books.”
“While you and your lady wife were celebrating your vows at Dancourt Abbey,” Sirius began, noting with a twinge of amusement when Fox severed eye contact to dutifully study his desktop, “Miss Luna and I had several conversations about the state of my library and what books I could acquire to elevate it.”
“Yes, well”—Fox coughed into his fist—“I am still indebted to you for everything you did to ensure Ana and I could marry, and marry in such fine fashion.”
Fox had offered to marry Ana María to protect her and her sisters, and Sirius had hosted them at Dancourt Abbey for their wedding and the first few weeks of their marriage. He’d had an up-close view of his friend’s marriage of convenience as it morphed into one of love, and the happy memories of such an event imbued the old abbey with a bright, cheerful light. His staff still spoke fondly of the “pretty Mexican sisters” who had spent the summer with them.
And now Sirius wished he had taken time to actually converse with Isabel beyond a few exchanges, whether about books or her fascination with balloons or her fear of heights, instead of avoiding her. Sirius couldn’t help but feel as if he had squandered an opportunity.
“You owe me nothing, my friend.” Sirius shook his head…to dismiss Fox’s suggestion and to clear his thoughts of the younger Miss Luna. “I know if I were ever in need, you would assist me just as readily.”
“Of course I would.” Fox propped his elbows on the desktop and set his chin in his folded hands. “Now tell me why you’re here at Westminster.”
His knack for getting right to the point was a reason Sirius liked Fox. “What do you know of Viscount Westhope?” he asked, keeping his voice as deceptively innocent as he could.
But Fox was not fooled, for his gaze narrowed minutely. Still, his friend was discreet, and did not give voice to any of the questions flashing in his dark eyes.
Fox leaned back in his chair, tipping his head toward the coffered ceiling. “Westhope is a nice fellow. Friendly, gracious, easy to converse with. If I find myself at a meeting with him, I try to take a seat at his side, for he will not drone on and on in my ear when I’m intent on following the conversation.”
Friendly, gracious, and easy to converse with was Sirius’s impression of the man, as well. But such an impression provided no hint of the man’s sympathies toward the French, and as long as they remained unknown, Lieutenant Colonel Green would continue to scrutinize him.
“So you would say he’s serious about voting his seat?”
“Westhope’s participation is not limited to his vote.” Fox drummed his fingers on the wooden desktop. “He sits on committees, he works to gather cosigners and supporters for his bills, and he debates policy admirably.”
“He sounds like quite the politician,” Sirius drawled.
“Honestly, he is. I like him.” Fox snorted. “And you know I don’t like most of the men who walk these halls.”
“Indeed I do.” Sirius dropped his gaze to his lap, mentally debating what to ask next. Before he could speak, Fox did.
“Is there a particular reason you are inquiring after the viscount?”
Sirius was shaking his head before his friend finished speaking. “No particular reason.”
Fox pressed his lips together, disbelief flashing across his face. But the man was too well bred to push Sirius on this obvious lie, so he nodded. “Since you’re here, allow me to extend an invitation for you to join Ana and me for dinner tonight. If you don’t have other plans, that is.”
“I do not. And I would be very happy to dine with you and Mrs. Fox.” Sirius frowned. “Will it just be the three of us?”
“No. Isabel and Gabby will join us, along with Se?or Valdés and Lady Yardley.” Fox chuckled. “Gabby made me promise not to invite Whitfield, so please do not mention it to him.”
It was Sirius’s turn to be amused. “She really does not like him, does she?”
His friend shook his head. “I’m not entirely sure why, either. They’re so very similar in temperament, I thought surely they would get along.”
“Perhaps that’s why, though.” Sirius rose to his feet, a parting smile on his face. “Neither is quite used to thinking highly of others, so they confuse their emotions with distaste.”
“Oh, please share this theory with Gabby tonight.” Tipping his head back, Fox let out a bark of laughter. “I do so anticipate her reaction.”
“Until tonight, then.” Sirius offered a wave as he stepped out the door. “I’m anticipating the entire evening.”
“Ana, that dress looks divine on you.”
Isabel’s older sister twirled about, the full skirts of her emerald-green evening gown glinting in the glow of the gaslights. “Gracias. I adore the color and Gideon is quite fond of it on me.”
“Gideon is fond of whatever you wear, whether a dazzling gown or a coarse potato sack.” A dimple appeared in Gabby’s cheek as she smirked. “Although I’m certain he’s fonder of when you wear nothing at all.”
Ana María pressed her hands to her cheeks as she laughed, while Isabel simply rolled her eyes. Gabby enjoyed shocking people and had been doing it her whole life to earn attention from others. As the youngest Luna sister whom their father had long hoped would be his much-desired son, Gabby had often been pushed to the side and ignored. Isabel was ashamed to think of all the ways she had done the same, confusing her sister’s antics as proof of her being spoiled, instead of the frustrated actions of a child who simply wanted to be seen.
This realization allowed Isabel to maintain her patience with Gabby, even when her exuberance became a bit trying.
“You’re lucky Lady Yardley is not present. She would be appalled by your innuendo.” Any scold contained in Ana’s words was softened by the smile in her voice.
“Yes, well, her ladyship enjoys finding fault with me, so I might as well make it easy for her,” Gabby grumbled, sliding into an armchair and crossing her arms across her chest.
“Do you need a bit of a respite from the viscountess?” Ana María accepted a pair of earrings from her maid, Consuelo, before she cocked her head at Gabby. “If so, you know you’re welcome to stay with Gideon and me for a spell.”
“And leave behind Isa?” Gabby scowled. “Never.”
Isabel made a noise in the back of her throat. “Lady Yardley’s townhome is hardly far. It will not hurt my feelings if you want to spend some time with Ana.” She fidgeted with the fit of her gloves. “Although I will miss you both.”
“Isa,” her older sister crooned, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, “you are more than welcome to come stay, as well.”
“Yo lo sé,” Isabel murmured. “But it will be good for Gabby to have a break from me and the viscountess.” In truth, she might be able to accomplish more without worrying about her altogether too observant younger sister becoming suspicious. “Perhaps I can visit next, though?”
“Definitely.” Ana María swayed back and forth with her. “I’ve longed for our chats. Just the three of us gossiping, in Spanish.”
“I miss hearing Spanish all around me.” Isabel exhaled loudly. “I become homesick when I think about it.”
“Me, too, actually.” Gabby’s expression turned wistful. “I also crave the warm weather, the delicious food—are the British afraid of seasoning? Everything they cook is so bland.”
Isabel met Ana María’s eyes, and the pair laughed. Gabby shook her head while she watched them, her own mouth quirking in amusement.
“Laugh all you want, but you know I’m right,” she declared.
“It’s hard to argue your point,” Isabel said, pressing a hand to her chest, “when I reach for the saltcellar before I even take a bite of my meal.”
Ana María took a seat next to Gabby, dabbing at her eyes. “You know how I’ve been searching for a new cook after Mrs. Wheaton left to live with her daughter in Yorkshire?” When her sisters nodded, she continued. “Well, I’ve found a candidate. And the best part is she’s Mexicana.”
“What?” Isabel exclaimed. “How is that possible?”
“Many Mexican families have emigrated over the last few years, whether to escape the conflict with the French or the civil war before that. Tío Arturo has kept abreast of their numbers, and frequently meets with many of them to help them get settled.” Ana María smiled. “He recommended Se?ora Gomez to me, and she will start tomorrow.”
“And just in time for my visit.” Gabby clapped her hands together gleefully. “I cannot wait to taste enchiladas again.”
“Let’s hope Se?ora Gomez is able to find the ingredients needed to make them,” Ana María pointed out.
A knock on the door interrupted their conversation. At Ana María’s call, Consuelo entered again with a letter in her hand.
“Se?ora, esto es para ustedes. Se?or Valdés just arrived, and he wanted you to have it inmediatamente.”
Isabel’s mouth went dry, and she struggled to swallow as Ana María quickly unfolded the letter and scanned the contents.
“It’s from Mother,” she said breathlessly. “They’ve received word that the French may be marching toward their location.” Ignoring Gabby’s sharp gasp, Ana María kept reading. “They’re moving, and she’s not sure when she’ll be able to write again.”
Swaying on her feet, Isabel knotted her hands in her skirts as emotion after emotion crashed over her in unrelenting waves. If the French discovered where her parents—where Presidente Juárez—were hiding, all would be lost. The war would be over. Any chance of regaining independence from the French would be almost impossible if the president and his cabinet were captured. Despite her very complicated feelings about her father, Isabel would never want him to fall into French hands.
Nor her mother. ?Ay Dios!
“Ana, what can we do?” Gabby jumped to her feet, stalking back and forth as she wrung her hands. “I know we’re here and they’re there, but surely with Tío Arturo’s help, we can do something.”
“Maybe Gideon or the duke can help us secure a ship to meet them along the coast and deliver them to safety.” Isabel chewed the inside of her cheek. “There are no more blockades to avoid—”
“I don’t think that will work, querida.” Ana María bit her lip as she crinkled the letter in her hand. “Mother wrote this letter two weeks ago. Possibly three. They’ve long since moved on to their new hiding spot.”
“Or they’ve been captured,” Gabby said, her voice small and broken. It was so unlike her fiery sister that it served as a dose of cold water over Isabel’s head.
“No. No, I refuse to believe that. If anyone from the administration had been captured, we would have heard. It would have been blasted all over the papers,” Isabel declared, clenching her hands into fists, hoping with every fiber of her being that she was right.
“But the papers have already shown they have no real interest in reporting on the war in Mexico,” Gabby sneered, though fear glinted in her hazel eyes. “Many in society approve of Napoleon’s actions!”
Isabel spun away to face the window. She could not bear to meet her sister’s gaze, for she was right. With the affairs of the empire and the political strife in the States, the British public’s attention was divided across many issues. There was little concern for the unlawful French occupation of Mexico, which was why her sisters had been working so hard to make a name for themselves about town to put a human face on the conflict. They had succeeded in so many ways, and Ana María’s marriage to Gideon, an emerging powerhouse in Parliament, had been a feather in their cap. Yet they needed to do more to win the public’s—the government’s—support.
Isabelneeded to do more. Resolve sparked hot in her gut, and doused with a healthy dose of desperation and fear for her parents, it threatened to turn into an inferno.
“Let’s speak with Gideon and Tío Arturo, and devise a plan,” Ana María said, her voice hitched. Still, she nodded decisively, and Isabel was thankful for her sister’s calm assurance.
“Very clever of you, darling,” Gideon said as he paused in the doorframe, his dark gaze sweeping across the room before it settled on his wife. “Se?or Valdés just shared the news with us downstairs.”
He crossed immediately to Ana María and was followed into the room by Tío Arturo and, surprisingly, Captain Dawson. The men wore grave expressions, but Isabel’s spirits inexplicably lifted when the captain met her eyes.
She sank onto the settee as her uncle immediately launched into a recitation of everything he had learned about the administration’s movements since receiving the dispatch, and assured his nieces that their parents were safe. Gideon joined the conversation next, explaining his ideas for how to draw Parliament’s attention to the conflict, Ana María and Gabby pelting him with suggestions and concerns.
Isabel tried to follow the conversation, but a headache was building behind her eyes, the steady drum of pain an echo of a single word: failure. She was a failure. If she had been successful in finding information to aid the rebel government, her parents wouldn’t now be in danger. Why could she not do anything right? Even during her abduction, Ana María had managed to secure information that later helped the Juárez government capture a sizable weapons cache. Her sister had been in a terrifying situation and still had the presence of mind to look for documentation to help their countrymen.
Well, no more. As the heels of her hands pressed into her eyes, Isabel focused her thoughts. Her search tactics thus far had not produced results, so she would study them to determine what she could do differently, because she refused to feel this sting of helplessness again.
She was ripped from her thoughts by a deep dulcet voice.
“Miss Luna”—Captain Dawson kneeled down before her, his blue, blue eyes darting over her face—“I’m so sorry you find yourself in this situation. I presume it leaves you feeling a bit helpless.”
A breath caught in her throat, and it took her a moment to say, “It does. And I despise feeling this way. Not knowing if they’re in danger or not, and not being able to do anything about it.”
Her words were nothing more than a hoarse whisper, and any other time Isabel would have been appalled to showcase such emotions to Captain Dawson. But something in his eyes—a gentleness she’d never noticed before—convinced her that he would treat her vulnerability with care.
The captain nodded. “And with the time and distance between here and there, knowing their current status is doubly difficult.”
“Until they contact us directly, I suppose we won’t know anything for certain.” Isabel sighed, dropping her gaze to her lap. “As you know, I’m no stranger to war, but it’s impossible to get used to its realities.”
Isabel sensed rather than saw him cock his head to the side. “What do you mean you’re no stranger to war? Why would three gently bred young ladies like you and your sisters be exposed to war more than once?”
“Because we’re Mexican, Capitán.” She snorted indelicately. “Someone has always desired to rule Mexico, whether it was the warring peoples of the peninsula or the Spanish or the French. The Mexican people are forever told who they will be, mostly by others but sometimes by their own.”
“Aah.” Captain Dawson rocked back on his heels, a frown twisting his mouth. “How very frustrating.”
“It is.” She nibbled her lip as she considered him. It was not lost on her that the captain had approached to offer her words of comfort before he had spoken with anyone else. Isabel knew better than to allow herself to think too deeply upon the significance of his actions, especially considering their history with each other. But after Captain Dawson had been kind to her at the balloon festival, and now listening sympathetically as she shared her fears, Isabel couldn’t help the pang in her chest.
Lifting her chin, she grasped for composure. “I’m confident that with my uncle’s help, Gideon will be able to muster the aid we need to have any chance of evicting Napoleon and his puppet emperor.”
When Captain Dawson rose to his feet, Isabel expected him to mumble a word of parting and move away, but he sat beside her. He kept a respectable amount of distance between them, but his tantalizing cedarwood and citrus scent hung in the air, and Isabel still felt the heat radiating from him. Her instincts encouraged her to lean into his side, but instead she knotted her hands together in her lap.
“I have some connections at the Home Office.” Captain Dawson crossed his ankles, his foot bobbing to and fro. “Old friends from when I was an officer. I told Fox I would speak with them to gauge how closely they’re following the conflict, and what would need to happen to precipitate an intervention.”
Her limbs felt frozen in place for a stark second…before the sweet heat of relief coursed up her spine. “Is that possible? Would England consider entering the war?”
Captain Dawson raised a staying hand. “It’s highly unlikely. From my experience, the military only likes to get involved when British interests are directly at stake. And they’re stretched thin with the conflict in New Zealand and Bhutan, as well as the political atmosphere in America.”
“I would think that the rebirth of the French empire would be a direct threat to British interests,” Isabel pointed out, arching a brow.
A bright smile spread across his lips and promptly took Isabel’s breath away. “Another reminder of your cleverness.”
To her horror, Isabel felt heat sweep across her chest, neck, and cheeks, and she ducked her head to hide her embarrassment. And delight.
“But I will utilize just that talking point when I speak with my friends.” His expression turned calculating. “I have little doubt the Home Office is keeping a watchful eye on Napoleon and the actions of the imperial government in Mexico. I do not think the French expected the Liberal forces to cause them as much trouble as they have.”
“They have underestimated our pride.” Isabel shifted until she faced him fully, and dropped her voice. “In fact, I would not be at all surprised if the rebel effort has inadvertently aided the Union in their victory against the Confederacy.”
The captain’s eyebrows shot up, and he leaned closer. “What do you mean?”
After quickly darting her gaze around the room to ensure no one else was listening, Isabel murmured, “This is just conjecture…” She licked her lips. “But it occurred to me that the French and the Confederacy could have benefited from an alliance with each other. The French were eager for Southern cotton, and the Confederacy needed French weapons. Weapons the French may have been inclined to offer the Confederate states had they not needed them to fight the Liberal forces.”
“Christ,” Captain Dawson bit out under his breath, his eyes wide. “If the French had interceded in the war in the States, that would have been disastrous. Not just for the future of that country, but for geopolitical relations across the Atlantic. For free men and women all over the world.”
Isabel nodded even as she tried to swallow around the knot in her throat. Late at night, she had contemplated the different scenarios, mindful that while the world often felt enormous, it was small in so many critically intertwined ways. What happened in Mexico affected their powerful neighbor to the north, which then rippled to Europe and beyond. She was gratified that the captain immediately recognized the gravity of such a circumstance. And if he did, there was hope his countrymen would, too.
She considered the man before her. If Captain Dawson had connections at the Home Office, was it possible he could help her? While it was true he had been kind and attentive to her as of late, it did not mean the captain would be willing to assist her.
And could Isabel stand to be in his presence for so long without her sensibilities falling prey to his charms? Uncertainty, and a healthy dose of caution, had her steeling her spine. Perhaps Captain Dawson wasn’t as glib as she had long thought, but that certainly did not mean he wasn’t dangerous.