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Chapter Seven
“Oh, child. This is a very unwise course.”
Shelene was happy to be home, but her aunt was determined to stop her from acting imprudently. After all, where else could she get such personal criticism about every aspect of her life? Her aunt meant well. Spanish families were infamous for their determination to meddle.
She forced a smile, because, when alone in London, she had craved this sort of intimacy. Her aunt, her cousins, the laborers, the horses, the land.
The warm wind blew through the open double doors, the white curtains rustling and floating as the breeze danced with the sheer lace. The finches in the birdcages sang sweetly—another thing she’d missed while in London. The carnations were in full bloom, and the sweet scent wafted into the house. Spain was all things London was not: sun, warmth, cleanliness, family. And when it rained? Sweet petrichor. Shelene could find a book and a chair on the veranda and settle for the day. Rain in Spain compared to London was the difference between good and evil.
“Tía Ana-María, I am no longer a child.” Shelene sipped at her hibiscus tea but peered at her aunt over the golden rim of her cup. “Nevertheless, I will pursue an annulment, as I’ve said. My husband has abandoned me.” She hadn’t lost one word of her Spanish in the last two years. Both Mama and Martina always spoke to her in their native tongue when in private.
“Shame, my dear. Shame. You should not mention such a thing outside this room.” Shetchickedher tongue. “No woman in Spain would do such a thing. Think of the scandal.”
“What else am I to do? I am without a husband. Am I to be bound to nothing?” Shelene asked.
“I could advise you best if you would but share the whole truth.”
What was the truth? That fate had always been unkind to her and Roman? Love wasn’t enough. If it were, they would have been together years ago.
Aside from the joy of being home, she’d been numb and alone since she’d sailed away from Roman. Her mind raced with no clear plan; no reasonable course except the thing she’d blurted in anger.
“I will speak with Father Etienne next week.”
“He will tell you to say a rosary and resist the evil one.” Tía Ana-María waved her hand. “There is no rush. You’ve only just returned, my dear. If your mother or father were alive, they would advise you to take care. In fact, they would advise you to be an obedient wife and patiently wait your husband’s return.”
“I have been the obedient daughter. I have been the obedient Spanish woman. I am not and will never be the obedient Spanish wife, because I don’t have a husband.”
“I know you are hurt.”
“Tía, Roman and I have always been swept away by our emotions. We married without thinking it through, without acknowledging the hurdles that would face us.”
“That matters not. You took a vow. And recently.”
“I can think, and do, for myself. I will do what is right.”
“Young Spanish brides are held to a higher standard.”
Shelene laughed lightly. “My dear tía, Spanish brides are held hostage.”
Tía Ana-María clucked at the offense, her brows raising in alarm. “You’ve been away too long.”
Yet it felt like a lifetime ago when she was last in Spain. Could two years bring about such change?
No. If she was honest with herself, all the change had happened in the last month.
Since the moment she’d first met Roman, she’d never looked at another man. This betrayal was like all the others, except she’d been foolish enough to believe him this time. Her anger would eventually melt away. Would she ever think of anyone else? Probably not. Only death would relieve her of this singular, forceful emotion and even then, she wasn’t sure the weight of it wouldn’t follow her soul to its eternal rest.
Father Etienne was fond of pontificating on eternal peace. Her passion for Roman would transcend time and death, she feared. There would be no peace, only an eternity of longing.
Enough! She sipped at her tea, then breathed in the fresh Andalucían air. This had always been enough. It would be enough again.
Martina had endured Shelene’s tears for the days it had taken to sail home, but Shelene dried them as she stepped from the dock and had even smiled as she’d ridden horseback the last miles to home.
Shelene had not had to invite her aunt. Gossip had reached her before a note from Shelene, telling the family she was home. Her aunt lived at Las Colinas during the winter but during the summer she was much the nomad, traveling to see her friends and the extended family.
Ana-María leaned toward Shelene. “And these men? Why are they here?” she whispered. “It is not right. They are not family.” Mr. Dewey and Mr. Rousseau, though a bit rough around the edges, had secured every little thing Shelene had desired. She shouldn’t be surprised Roman inspired such devotion.
“They are my hired men. They will work here on thehacienda.” There was no reason to tell her family why they were here. She wondered if some of them already knew that her uncle was free again. Aside from the first day here, Dewey and Rousseau had blended into the family’s affairs as any hired help might. But they stood out to her aunt, which reminded Shelene to be careful.
