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Cora tsked apologetically, hands in front of her in a helpless gesture. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. She has agreed to talk only to me, and I don’t think it’s advisable, or appropriate, to drag a young woman into a room full of men.” That lowered the temperature in the room, but a few continued to eye her suspiciously. “I would’ve thought you’d be delighted that my being a woman has finally become useful.” The barb landed. The unspoken rule of her being allowed in these rooms was that she never disturbed the facade they’d constructed which conveniently ignored the fact she was a foreigner, a woman—and one who loved women too. But on this occasion she was running out of patience.
“If this thing in Panama is really done, we need to announce an estimated completion of the railroad before all the business delegations leave Paris,” Carroway put in, and she almost cried in relief at hearing someone be sensible for once.
“We can’t announce anything without a deed to that girl’s land,” voiced one of the two Williamson brothers in the back. The two were American traders who didn’t much like doing business with anyone who wasn’t what they considered of their type but were too greedy to stay away.
Her aunt always teased her for the ways in which she prepared to come into these rooms, but it was the only way to survive these men and their nonsense.
“I will get you the deed,” she assured them. “Miss Caceres Galvan responded very positively to the invitation.” The little chit had done no such thing. It had taken more than a dozen notes to finally obtain ayesto her request for a luncheon meeting. Cora mused on the report sitting on her desk from her agent in Venezuela. In addition to procuring her a brief history of the land in question, he’d provided a history of the Caceres Galvans. They were a prosperous Dominican family who had migrated to Venezuela in the late 1860s and had operated a candle-making business with great success for twenty years. But it seemed Miss Caceres Galvan’s father was not as good in the candle trade as his predecessors had been, and the family had been mired in debt for years. This explained the young heiress’s engagement to Felix Kingsley, an American financier looking for some inroads into South American society and with the financial funds to buy his way into that goal.
“How do we know this new owner will sell?” countered Brenton, who was truly scraping at the very last of her nerves.
She knew from personal experience that some South American heiresses were easily swayed by a chance of mingling with European aristocracy, and a duchess was the next best thing to the queen. She didn’t have much to go on when it came to Miss Caceres Galvan, but Cora fully intended to do and say whatever she needed to in order to part the young woman from her land, and once she did, she’d come back here and demand she be named chairwoman of South American Railways.
“I know because, as you are all well aware, I am very hard to say no to,” she told them, standing up and grabbing her walking cane. “I will talk to the heiress and get us that deed. Then we can announce the completion of the railway at the reception at the Charost Palais next month.” That elicited some excited chattering. The British ambassador would be hosting a reception for a group of European businessmen present in Paris for the exposition at his residence. Once the news about de Lesseps began making the rounds, their announcement of a new railway crossing South America would be a boon.
“Ifyou get her to sell,” Blanchet insisted, but Cora was growing bored of this.
“Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me,” she said, collecting her papers. “I have an heiress to persuade.” Cora headed toward the door, perfectly aware that if any of the pairs of eyes trained on the back of her head could transform into blades, she would not walk out of the room alive.
“She invited us here, and now she’s leaving,” protested Brenton as she reached the doorknob.
“I will keep you all abreast of how things proceed with Miss Caceres Galvan, but I anticipate that there will be plenty to toast next month.” Cora practically thrummed with excitement at the idea of rubbing in the face of every major player in Paris that she’d delivered one of the biggest coups since the railways had begun. The only thing standing between her and the kind of power she desired was a mercurial heiress from the Caribbean. And she would make sure to do away with that bit of trouble in short order.
Four
“Are you certain youdon’t want one of us to come in with you? If this conversation turns into a serious offer, it might help to have someone there to talk it over.” By Manuela’s accounts this was the fifth time Luz Alana had asked to accompany her to the lunch since they’d left their town house.
“I will be fine,” Manuela insisted, trying not to get annoyed. She understood that her friends meant well, but their overprotectiveness had begun to wear on her. “I think I can handle a conversation about selling a piece of land. I’m not that incompetent.” Her sharp words seem to reverberate through the carriage, and she immediately regretted the outburst.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized to her friend, who seemed more surprised than hurt by Manuela’s unusual display of temper. “Baluarte is a sensitive subject.”
“No, I am the one who is sorry,” Luz Alana said contritely. Manuela’s chest ached, seeing that mask of pain and grief shroud her friend’s face. All three of them had experienced terrible loss in their lives, but Luz Alana’s had been terrible and recent.
“Let’s not fight, Leona,” Manuela offered, clutching her friend’s hands.
“I’m not sorry,” Aurora retorted from the bench opposite them. “I’m worried about what this old battle-ax is going to try to talk you into, Manuela. You are much too nice, and you make decisions impulsively.”
Manuela rolled her eyes, annoyed all over again. “I’m not going to just give the woman my land, Aurora!” She was interrupted by the carriage pulling to a stop in front of Au Rocher de Cancale, and immediately a nervous flutter began in her belly. “Now you’ve made me anxious,” she complained, staring at the ornate door of the restaurant.
“We are being silly,” Luz Alana, always the peacemaker, conceded. “You will be fine. If this last month has taught me anything, it’s that society ladies detest any kind of conversation pertaining to money. She won’t raise the subject.” Manuela knew Luz Alana was probably saying this more for Aurora’s benefit than anything, but she appreciated the effort regardless. “Enjoy your luncheon, Leona. When we see you at the Mexican soiree tonight, you can tell us all about the dowdy duchess.” The last two words were said in a hilariously nasal and haughty tone, at which Manuela couldn’t help but laugh. She opened the door to the conveyance herself and was met with a very finely dressed footman already waiting with a stepping ladder. Once she was on the sidewalk, she turned back to Aurora who was clearly considering whether to launch herself out of the carriage.
This was how they had always been: Aurora the defender, Luz Alana the planner, and Manuela the wild one of the bunch. Her Leonas, her pride. The ones she could always count on, even when they didn’t understand why she did the things she did.
“I won’t do anything outrageous, I promise.” She leaned in to kiss them both on the cheek. “Besides, what could possibly be waiting for me in there that could make me change my mind?” Once she’d waved her friends off, she walked up to the door which was being held open by another comely gentleman.
How many footmen did this restaurant have?
As she stepped inside, once again that feeling of fluttery anticipation came over her, which was only enhanced by the realization that the establishment was completely empty. It was midday, and this being one of Paris’s most fashionable restaurants, she’d expected to find a boisterous lunch service with garçons carrying trays of food fluttering about. The tables were finely set. Crisp white linens were set with gleaming silverware and crystal goblets, except there was not a diner to be seen.
Had she gotten the day wrong?
“Monsieur,” she asked the footman who’d led her inside. “Le restaurant, est-il fermé?”
“Oui, mademoiselle,” he said, vaguely, just as another man who had the air of someone in charge headed toward them.
“Bienvenue, Mademoiselle Caceres Galvan. Her Grace awaits you in our private salon upstairs.” The man gestured to a set of stairs at the far end of the room. “If you will come with me, please.”
She considered the situation, and the obvious effort to impress her. The duchess might not want to discuss money, but by closing a restaurant for their meeting, she was certainly making the point that she had plenty of it. It was obviously a ploy to dazzle her into selling them the land, but she wouldn’t hold it against the woman. Manuela had absolutely no qualms with having some of the old lady’s fortune lavished on her.
