Chapter Twelve
Had it only been three days? It seemed like a lifetime—and it seemed only minutes. Uncle Fletcher had ranted and raved and forbidden her to leave the house, but Carly hadn’t relented. Vincent and his father had returned to San Francisco, the younger Bannister even more furious than Ramon had been.
Everyone was mad at her, but Carly didn’t care.
Once again she was fighting for her life.
She glanced out her bedroom window. Flat, gray clouds threatened rain, and a stiff wind whipped through the heavy branches of the towering oak trees surrounding the house. Absently she wondered when the storm would arrive and whether it would slow their morning’s journey.
They were leaving within the hour, traveling into town, meeting Ramon this afternoon at the mission. Today she would be married.
Well, sort of married.
Standing in front of the cheval glass mirror, Carly surveyed her image.
She had chosen a gown of pearl gray silk, high-necked and long-sleeved with tiny tucks down the front, and a row of small pearl buttons.
There were bands of magenta around the skirt, and the waist-length matching cape was lined with magenta silk.
She loved this dress. It was simple yet beautiful. She felt good when she wore it and she needed to feel good today. She needed all the confidence she could get.
Carly shivered, but she wasn’t cold.
She had hoped to speak to Ramon before the day of the wedding. She was sure he would help her, once he understood it would only be a marriage of convenience. And only for a few short months.
Unfortunately, her uncle had forbidden her to see him.
Now she would have to face those furious dark eyes, try not to wither at the hard set of his jaw.
He wanted a wife of pure Spanish blood, not some poor half-Irish mongrel from a Pennsylvania mine patch.
Ramon would believe she had trapped him into an unwanted marriage and on the surface it was true.
“You are ready, Senorita McConnell?” Candelaria stood by the door.
“Almost. I just have to put on my bonnet.” She scooped it off of the bed, but the younger girl caught her arm.
“Perhaps instead you will wear this.” She held up a beautiful white lace mantilla. “It was my mother’s. I would like you to have it. And I believe it would please Don Ramon.”
Carly’s fingers closed over the fine Spanish lace and a hard lump swelled in her throat. At least she had made one friend. “It’s beautiful, Candelaria. I’d love to wear it.” Her uncle wouldn’t like it, but perhaps Ramon would approve.
Or perhaps it would only remind him of the true Spanish woman he wished to wed.
A painful knot tightened inside her, a foolish sort of ache she shouldn’t have felt. It settled in her stomach, brought an ache to her chest. Carly forced herself to ignore it. She had done what she had to. In time Ramon would be free to marry whatever woman he might wish.
She forced herself to smile and raised the mantilla above her head.
“Here … you will also need this.” The younger girl held out a tall, carved tortoiseshell comb. “You can return it to me later.” Staking the comb into Carly’s hair, she draped the beautiful lace over Carly’s head and shoulders, then stepped back to survey her work and flashed a satisfied smile.
“Now you look like a Californio bride.”
“Thank you, Candelaria. It’s a beautiful wedding present.” Swallowing past the ache in her throat, Carly left the bedroom and walked down the hall to the huge high-ceilinged room where her uncle stood waiting.
He took in her appearance and clamped hard on his jaw. “I see you’re already learning the part.”
Carly ignored his sarcastic jibe. “I know I’ve displeased you, Uncle.
But perhaps in time you’ll understand why I had to do what I did.
” Already she had forgiven him. He was trying to do what he thought best. In time, maybe he would come to understand why she couldn’t marry Vincent.
Maybe when this was over, he would even welcome her home.
Carly hoped so. Her uncle was her only family now.
Still, if he didn’t want her, she would find some way to survive on her own.
The drive into town was tensely silent. It was late in the afternoon, a yellow sun hovering above the red tile roofs, when they arrived in San Juan Bautista, a bustling little village nestled at the base of the Gabilan Mountains.
Rolling golden hills beneath massive spreading oaks peered down on the city, which began as a mission site then grew with the discovery of gold.
The initial boom was past, but along with its Californio inhabitants, a small influx of settlers continued to roll into the town.
Still, it retained its Spanish appearance, mostly adobe-walled structures, some so old they continued to sport hide-covered windows.
The streets were crowded: a freight wagon hauling ore from the recently discovered New Idria quicksilver mine, a Wells, Fargo he had never really promised he would come. They started up the aisle toward the huge carved wooden doors at the entrance, but just as they arrived, the heavy doors began to creak open.
When Ramon walked in, Carly’s heartbeat seemed to stop. She noticed his snug black calzonevas, but there were no festive decorations down the side. A simple full-sleeved white shirt and a pair of high black boots—the occasion, his garments said, wasn’t one of celebration.
A painful jolt ran through her, but she simply lifted her chin.
His eyes were hard as he waited for his mother and aunt, who walked in seconds later with Pedro Sanchez.
Ramon’s gaze scanned her briefly, taking in her elegant pearl gray gown and the white lace mantilla that covered her head.
Something flickered in the cool brown depths then it was gone.
“I am sorry I am late … mi amor.” A thin smile curved his lips. “I hope you were not inconvenienced.” But there was nothing of regret in his dark features. He had been late on purpose. He meant to punish her for forcing the marriage. How could she have forgotten that this too was a side of Ramon?
“You’ve made your point, de la Guerra.” Uncle Fletcher met his hard gaze squarely. “Is there going to be a wedding or not?”
A slight nod of his head. “But of course. That is why we are here, is it not?”
Carly said nothing as he reached out and took her hand, his grip as hard as his eyes and totally unrelenting.
“I-I was hoping I might speak to you first,” Carly said. “There are things I need to explain.”