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“Has the reality lived up to the fantasy?” Cora asked, as she came to stand beside Manuela, her back ramrod-straight as she looked out into the Parisian night.
“It’s wonderful,” Manuela said, and even she heard the longing in her voice.
“But...” Cora prompted.
“Nothing,” Manuela lied. “Nothing, it’s just...” She drifted as she considered what to say. “Patricia said she’s walking away from her inheritance to stay here with her lover. It seems like Frede and Cassandra are estranged from their families, too. It’s so much to give up.”
Cora didn’t respond for such a long time, Manuela began to worry she’d offended her.
“Patricia comes from a very wealthy family, and though she will lose her parents’ inheritance, she recently came into a bequest left to her by her aunt. She has enough to live comfortably, if not lavishly, for a very long time. Her lover is also the child of a very eccentric shipping heiress who doesn’t much care who her daughter takes up with.” Cora had taken off her gloves, and her hands were stark in the moonlight resting on the railing of the balcony. “Cassandra did lose her family when she chose her life with Frede, but you’ve seen them. They belong together.” She couldn’t deny that. No one who saw Cassandra and Frede could. “Their choices are not yours, Manuela.” There was a pregnant pause then, and even through the darkness she could sense Cora’s hesitation. “Are you questioning your decision to marry Mr. Kingsley?” Hearing her fiancé’s name from Cora stunned her. It felt wrong, like an intrusion, to have any part of her life inserting itself into this moment.
“How did you know his name?” she asked, and Cora sent her a sideways glance that saidYou can’t be serious.
“The same way I found out your parents’ names and that you would be here in Paris this summer,” she informed Manuela, her eyes focused on something in the distance. “Whenever it comes to my business, I always arrive prepared, princesa. That should not be a surprise.”
There were many things she could’ve said then. But she didn’t want to talk about any of it. Not her parents, not Felix, not the looming end of this summer in Paris. She didn’t want to confess her pathetic money woes to Cora. She didn’t want the self-judgment or the bitterness that usually followed any conversation about her future. She’d come to Paris for a reprieve from all that.
“Is your name just Corazón?”
A surprised sound came out of Cora at the change of topic, and again she took her time to answer. “Aymara,” Cora replied. “My full name is Corazón Aymara. My mother’s people were Aymara.” Manuela could hear the hesitation in her voice. No one had told her but, somehow, she knew Cora rarely discussed her mother. “She left the Altiplano to go work as a seamstress in Iquique. She was well-known, dressed all the wealthy ladies on the north coast of Chile. That’s how she met my father. He came to have some clothes made for his first wife. Shortly after he took my mother as his mistress, and when his wife died, he married her.”
Manuela’s eyes widened at that. She’d assumed that Cora’s family was one of those old colonial ones that dated back to Reina Isabel.
“My father was born dirt poor. He spent a lot of money trying to erase his origin from people’s memory.” Like marrying his daughter to British aristocrats.
Cora turned to face Manuela then, her arms crossed over her chest, a faraway look on her face. Manuela didn’t dare speak, scared that if she did, Cora would remember who it was she was telling this story to. “He loved her, but I think he resented her for it too. She was the only thing that revealed to the world who he truly was. That he preferred a working-class woman, someone who came from the same world he did. That’s why he became obsessed with marrying his daughters to men with titles. My three sisters are all married to peers.”
“Are you close to them? Your sisters?”
“Not really. I am much younger than them. I was the only child of my parents’ marriage.” She added after a moment, “Do you have siblings?”
“I don’t. I’m an only child.” In the fragile silence that followed, Manuela asked, “Were you ever close to your parents?”
Cora made a noise that Manuela couldn’t quite discern. “My father and I never quite understood each other, and my mother...” Again, one of those long pauses and Manuela braced herself. “She died when I was born.”
After that they stood in silence for a long moment, Manuela lost in her thoughts. She wanted to ask Cora about her marriage. She wanted to know how someone who insisted on being so cold and calculating had in a matter of hours shown herself to be considerate and generous—even to Manuela, who had put her in such an awkward position. She had so many questions, but she was certain that bringing any attention to Cora’s more gracious side would have a very adverse effect on this fragile intimacy between them.
“I must admit, I didn’t think this would be where you’d bring me.” She’d expected Cora to uphold her part of the bargain, but she never imagined she’d be granted access to an obviously important part of Cora’s life. She didn’t know what to make of it.
The duchess watched her for a moment and seemed to be searching for the real question behind Manuela’s words, but eventually she only shrugged. “I wasn’t planning to,” she admitted coolly. “But when I found you at the gallery today, I thought it might be useful for you to meet some of these women.”
Manuela didn’t know what to say. It had been an altering evening, even if she didn’t quite know how exactly. Even now as she looked through the door and watched them all eating and laughing, existing, even thriving in a world that would’ve preferred to deny their very existence, she felt like a child in front of a window full of sweets she could not have. No, it was more dire than that. She was the child who’d been caught stealing a few sweets and was now denied entrance forever. The truth was that she didn’t think she had the courage to give up everything they had, but she did have the remainder of the summer. “I expect you to continue to dazzle me as our outings continue,” she added, if only to add some levity to the moment.
Cora laughed quietly. “I’ve devised a strategy,” the duchess replied, her voice so close in the darkness. It made Manuela shiver. “Because I have learned very quickly that you are hell on my plans.”
Something tight and hot coiled tight inside Manuela hearing that bewildered want in Cora’s voice. It was too dark to see, but Manuela felt her moving closer. Then a hand slid into hers. “Come on, princess. You only get eight of these. You don’t want to be wasteful.”
Manuela allowed the duchess to lead her back inside and for the rest of the night forced herself to focus on the weeks ahead and nothing more.
This was, after all, a very auspicious start.
Eleven
“Here we are,” Cora said placidly as her carriage arrived at Manuela’s door just before seven in the evening. “I shall collect you in the morning for a ride in the Bois de Boulogne.” It required an immense amount of restraint for Manuela not to scream in frustration. To say that things had gone downhill after that first lovely evening at Cassandra and Frede’s was a gross understatement. She’d foolishly assumed Cora had eased her in with that dinner and would take her to increasingly more exciting—risqué—establishments. She’d been sorely mistaken. Manuela had already been on half of her outings with the duchess, and she had yet to be taken to a single scandalous evening’s entertainment.
The dinner at Cassandra’s was one of the best nights of her life and she’d assumed things would only improve from there. But a full two weeks in, with the exception of those two very early yet promising kisses with Cora, Manuela was still completely untarnished by vice or sin, and quite frankly she’d had enough. And it wasn’t as if there weren’t opportunities. “I heard there is a gathering in Montmartre tonight,” she said suggestively, then watched with frustration as Cora’s face immediately shuttered.
Cassandra—who she’d made fast friends with and had seen for tea multiple times since they first met—had personally told her that this very night Cora was invited to a party at a brasserie in Montmartre that catered exclusively to women. So when Cora sent her a message saying they’d be going out that evening, she foolishly assumed she would finally be introduced to Montmartre. Instead Cora had dragged her to yet another lecture, and now expected her to end her evening at dinnertime. It was a damned travesty.
