“And?”
“None of the ships are of interest to me,” Poppy said, with a slight nod toward Elisa to indicate that discussing the Seadragon just now might not be the best idea.
Elisa stood up and excused herself. “You two will want to talk anyway. It’s time,” she announced as she walked away. Poppy decided that for such a sweet person, Elisa could be a bit of a bully.
“Time for what?” he asked, puzzled.
“Never mind,” Poppy said, shaking her head. “Elisa is a little romantic, that’s all.”
Thankfully, Carlos didn’t press the matter. He slid into the seat Elisa just vacated, staring moodily out over the water.
“You’ve been busy,” Poppy noted after the silence stretched too long.
He nodded. “Trying to coordinate the navy, Customs, and the local law to catch this man is more work than I ever could have imagined. It’s actually a strong argument for the more old-fashioned approach.”
“What? You’ll kidnap him and make him walk the plank the way the pirates used to do?”
“It has a certain direct charm. But I do so want to do this the proper way if I can.”
“Why?”
“I can’t very well try to build a country if I refuse to follow basic laws. If Santo Domingo is ever independent and recognized by other nations, it will be because it’s a nation of laws. Not just the result of the latest skirmish between colonial powers, which is what’s happening now. Men willing to ignore the rules in one situation tend to ignore the rules in the next situation too.”
Suddenly, he pointed to her dress. “Isn’t that the third dramatic change you’ve done to that gown?”
“I’m experimenting. Since I seem destined to destroy my dresses, it’s good to have ways to refresh them.”
“If you continue to do that, you could wear the same dress for decades.”
She chuckled. “Sadly, it won’t work for long.”
“Why not?”
“Because the basic shape of a dress never remains the same. Styles change. Already the waistlines of dresses are dropping lower from just a few years ago, and the sleeves and bodices are changing too. The sort of frothy Continental look from the turn of the century seems passé now. Ladies want fabrics with more weight to them. A robe a la greque wasn’t much more than a nightgown. The newer styles are much more structured.”
“I prefer the nightgown look.”
She sniffed. “This is why men shouldn’t be in charge of fashion. They’re either swaddling women in miles of fabric to hide them, or declaring one layer of gauze sufficient for an evening gown.”
“And yet the ladies all follow the whims,” he pointed out. “So who’s at fault?”
“If this devolves into blaming women for everything because Eve ate an apple, I’m going to return to the house.”
“Please don’t. Have you thought about what I asked you?”
“About the dress?”
He rolled his eyes. “About the marriage.”
“Oh! No, I haven’t.”
“What.” It wasn’t a question.
“Didn’t we agree to not discuss it until such time that it becomes, er, necessary?”
“You said that,” he countered. “My offer stands whether it’s necessary or not.”
Poppy blushed. “Is this part of your insistence on following the rules? You slept with me, so now you have to make the offer?”
