"What happened then?" Beth prompted more curious than she cared to admit about Rafael Santana. "Once they knew Dona Faith was dead and Rafael still alive, what did they do then?"
"Nothing. I think, and so do a lot of other people, that Don Felipe was pleased with the situation. Certainly he wasted little time in arranging a suitable second marriage for Don Miguel, Rafael's father. That marriage, I might add, produced only girls, much to Don Felipe's disgust."
"And?"
"And, when it became apparent that there was going to be no male heir, Don Felipe began to think about the grandson stolen by the Comanches. I don't know how he did it—everyone thinks it was through that same half-breed, who was in and out of San Antonio all the time—but Don Felipe finally had Rafael tracked down and identified, and then had him captured by his men. It was risky and dangerous, but Don Felipe was set on it—his Spanish pride wanted that male heir, even one with Comanche blood in his veins and raised by the Comanches would be acceptable."
Her voice full of sympathy for the young Rafael, Elizabeth asked softly, "And Rafael? How did he feel? Was he happy to be reunited with his family?"
Reluctantly Stella confessed, "Rafael was, from what anyone will say about what happened, little better than a wild savage. It took almost three years of 'taming' him on the family rancho before Don Felipe felt it was safe to send him to Spain for further education and training. It was while he was in Spain that his grandfather arranged the marriage with Consuela's family. Both Consuela and Rafael were forced to bow to family pressure—unfortunately for them. I've often wondered," Stella mused, "what pressure could have been put on Rafael to make him agree to the marriage. The only thing that comes to mind is that his grandfather threatened some sort of retribution against the Comanches—perhaps Rafael's Comanche family. It must have been drastic enough to make him marry Consuela."
Frowning, Elizabeth asked, "How do you know so much about Rafael's family? I wouldn't think that what you're telling me would be common knowledge."
Stella grinned. "Now, that's where you're wrong. Everyone in San Antonio knows about Rafael Santana! When his mother was captured by the Comanches it couldn't be hidden, nor when Rafael was stolen back—although no one knew about that until almost a year later—not even his father was privy to Don Felipe's actions. For one reason or another Rafael has always been the subject of gossip—even before he was born."
Fascinated, unwilling though she was, Elizabeth asked, "But why?"
"Because Don Felipe has never forgiven his son for marrying the daughter of a half-breed Comanche and an American trapper. Everyone knew how strongly Don Felipe objected to the marriage, and from what my mother says, the marriage caused the town to buzz for weeks. Don Felipe didn't forbid the marriage, but he did everything he could to stop it short of outright force. Since then, everything that has happened to Rafael or anything he does only adds to the gossip."
"It must be hard for him to know that no matter what he does, people will be talking about him."
"Ha! Not Renegade Santana! He doesn't give a damn what people say. The first thing he did when he returned from Spain was disappear with the Comanches for a year. Returning, with all the wealth and power of the Santana family behind him, what did he do but strike out with old Abel Hawkins, his maternal grandfather, and trap wild horses until Abe died a couple of years ago." Stella smiled wryly. "For that I admire him. Everything he owns, except what he inherited from Abe, he earned, and to Don Felipe's fury he refuses to live the life Don Felipe thinks is suitable for his heir." Stella's smile deepened. "When Rafael joined the Texans in rebelling against Mexico, everyone thought the old man was going to die of sheer rage." Stella's smile faded. "Rafael's joining with the Texans came as a surprise to a lot of people—Texans included, though there are many who are very happy he threw his lot in with them, Sam Houston among them."
Toying with the hem of her blanket, Elizabeth asked with studied indifference, "Consuela, how does she fit into his life?"
Stella grimaced. "She doesn't. They have lived apart for years. The marriage was over when they arrived from Spain four years ago, and it's only gotten worse since then. Rafael avoids her, and with good reason—she is detestable."
Elizabeth frowned. "But if that is the case, how is it that she is here in New Orleans with him?"
"Ah, she is here... but not with him. And I'll wager that Don Felipe is behind it." At Elizabeth's questioning look she added, "He wants a great-grandson, and how can he get one if Consuela and Rafael are never together?"
Elizabeth blushed. "Doesn't it bother Rafael to upset his grandfather?"
"He thrives on it. There is such bitter hatred between those two that I often wonder how it will end. If Rafael were not Don Felipe's only male heir, I would fear for his life."
"His grandfather would not kill him! I can't believe that, Stella. Surely you are exaggerating?"
"You don't know Don Felipe, and if Don Miguel were to father another son on his second wife, Rafael's life wouldn't be worth a burnt candle. Sometimes I wonder who hates him the most—his wife or his grandfather."
"Is that why Consuela would spread lies about me? To hurt him?"
A considering expression on her face, Stella said slowly, "Partly. And partly to discredit you in Rafael's eyes, I think."
"Discredit me?" Elizabeth exclaimed. "Why would she do that? Especially if she doesn't want him anyway?"
"She doesn't want Rafael herself, but while Consuela doesn't want Rafael for herself," Stella answered, "he is her husband, and she doesn't want him to have any sort of lasting relationship with another woman. A puta or a whoring wife she can stomach, but someone who might mean something to Rafael she wouldn't put up with. I hate to tell you this, but while Rafael is notorious around women, you are the first innocent I have ever seen him trifle with. Usually his affairs are with older married women who know precisely what they are letting themselves in for. Normally, he doesn't display interest in someone as young and obviously naive as you." Frowning, Stella admitted, "That's what worries me. If Consuela thinks more than physical desire is motivating Rafael, then she'll do her damnedest to not only destroy you, but any interest Rafael may have. Now, do you see why I'm worried?"
Elizabeth nodded. In a shaken voice she murmured, "Oh, how I wish I had never gone to that soiree—but most of all I wish you weren't leaving. Whatever am I to do, Stella?"
"Come now!" Stella said bracingly. "I have probably overemphasized the situation and you have nothing to fear. Rafael will soothe Consuela's suspicions, and if we are fortunate, what happened tonight between you and Rafael will go no farther. If the worst happens, hold onto the thought that shortly you and Nathan will be leaving New Orleans and any scandal behind you. I don't think she can create much of a scandal on what she discovered tonight. Remember, all she knows is that you and Rafael were alone in the cloakroom for a few minutes—and while she has a vicious tongue, there is only so much she can say about it."
"I hope so," Elizabeth said gloomily. "What a horrid ending to my first soiree. I don't think I'll ever be able to attend another without remembering this one."
"Don't be so dramatic, honey. A year from now all this will be behind you. Now go to sleep and don't think about it. Think only good thoughts, and think of how you were enjoying yourself before Rafael came to our notice."
"Of course, you're right. I'm turning this into a high tragedy; I shall stop it immediately."
"Good! Now sleep well, Beth, and I'll see you in the morning."
Waking shortly after ten o'clock to a bright, sunny morning, Elizabeth took time dressing, and it was well after eleven before she descended the stairs in search of Stella. Finding her way to the room where they had dined the evening before, she was met there by a servant who informed her that Senor and Senora Rodriguez were out at the moment but that Dona Stella would return shortly. In the meantime would Mrs. Ridgeway like some hot chocolate and some fresh croissants? Mrs. Ridgeway would.
So it was that
Stella found Elizabeth nibbling on the flakiest pastry she had ever eaten in her life, when she returned a half-hour later.
"My, you're up earlier than I expected. I thought you would sleep until afternoon. Have the servants seen to everything you wanted?"
"Oh, yes. Why should you think I would sleep till noon when you have been up for some time?" Elizabeth returned, smiling.
"Ah, but I had business, you see," Stella said, the brown eyes twinkling.
Guessing what kind of business, Elizabeth's smile faded. "Business about last night?"
"Yes. Do stop worrying. I called upon Margarita Costa this morning on the pretext that I had lost a glove last night, and in the process she and I had a little gossip about Consuela. I don't think you have much to worry about there. Consuela didn't say anything last night; if she were going to, then would have been the time to do it. Margarita was full of compliments concerning you, which she wouldn't have been if Consuela had started any rumors." Looking pleased, Stella added, "I also managed to convey, ever so politely, you understand, that for some unknown reason Consuela Santana took one of her noted dislikes to you, and that Margarita should ignore any tales Consuela might spread. Margarita has no love for Consuela either. So, even though Juan and I leave tomorrow, Margarita will help weaken any poison Consuela might spout."
"Oh, Stella, you are so good to me. I shall miss you very much. How dreadful that we should have such a brief meeting—I wish you were beginning your visit instead of ending it."
Stella's face softened. "I know, pet, I know. It does seem unfair, doesn't it? But don't worry. Juan and I will be coming back in a few years and besides, who knows—someday, you may come to Santa Fe."
Thinking of that, it was almost with happiness that Elizabeth bid her friend farewell the next day. Nathan was at her side, having canceled an appointment with the tailor for the purpose of meeting the Rodriguezes. Stella did not find him impressive, but she could see that Nathan had a fondness for his bride, and it gave her hope that all would be well with Beth.
Riding back to their hotel, Nathan apologized again for not being able to meet the Rodriguezes earlier. "I'm sorry that I could not come for dinner and the soiree the other night, my dear. I do hope you forgive me. If only you had let me know earlier I could have made other arrangements."
"I didn't mind, really. But it would have been much nicer if you could have been there," Elizabeth replied, unable to think of that disastrous soiree without a guilty quiver.
His gray eyes kind as they rested on her face, Nathan murmured, "Perhaps it was better I wasn't with you. You and your friend must have had plenty of time to gossip and giggle; you didn't need a husband hovering in the background."
Elizabeth returned a determinedly cheerful comment, finding herself reluctant to discuss further her visit with Stella or what had transpired. Nathan gathered as much and changed the subject. They had a delightful luncheon together in a quaint little restaurant that he had discovered and then strolled back toward their hotel. Glancing at his watch, Nathan said, "My word, it is gone two o'clock and I am to meet a fellow at two-thirty about a racehorse that interests me. I know you must think me a very casual sort of husband, but would you mind if I left you to your own devices the remainder of the afternoon—and," he added with a guilty countenance, "most of the evening?"
Glad to have several hours of her own, Elizabeth agreed. "You go on, Nathan. I may go for a carriage ride about the city later with Mary, but other than that I think I shall enjoy resting a few hours in my room. Will you be very late?"
"I don't know. This horse is on a stud farm some distance from the city, so we may eat dinner at an inn along the way. I expect I'll be back sometime before midnight, though. Do you want me to wake you?"
"No. I'll see you in the morning, then."
Nathan escorted her to the hotel and a few minutes later departed. Elizabeth discarded her charming straw bonnet and relaxed in her hotel suite, leafing through a copy of Godey's Ladies Book. She was surprised when she was interrupted by a private servant in a black-and-gold uniform. She listened politely to his message, but her eyes widened when she heard of Consuela Santana's invitation for a meeting that afternoon.
Now, why? Elizabeth thought, perplexed. Why does she want to see me? Should I go? Or should I ignore it? She bit her lip, staring blindly after the servant's departing figure. Perhaps it would be best, she decided.
The address where they were to meet was unfamiliar to Elizabeth, but as she was a stranger to New Orleans it didn't concern her. She left a note for Nathan, stating that she had been invited to visit with a lady she had met at the soiree she had attended with Stella. She told Mary the same thing and then, determined to convince Consuela Santana that there was nothing between herself and Rafael, she had the doorman of the hotel obtain a carriage for her.
If the driver of the carriage was surprised that a lady like his passenger wanted to be taken to the ramparts of the city, where the gentlemen of New Orleans kept their quadroon mistresses, his face did not betray it. Who knew the whims of the fancy? Still, when they pulled up before a charming little whitewashed cottage surrounded by a picket fence, he hesitated. "Um, ma'am, would you like me to wait for you?"
Elizabeth, reassured by the well-kept appearance of the cottage and overall air of respectability of the area, sent him a confident smile. "Oh, no, that won't be necessary. You see, I don't know how long I shall be, but I am certain the lady I am visiting can arrange some sort of transportation for me when I leave. Thank you very much, though."
Shrugging his shoulders, he prodded his lazy bay gelding onward. Elizabeth watched him go with a sudden qualm. Perhaps she should have him wait. Consuela might not be as obliging as she assumed. But straightening her slim shoulders to military erectness, she approached the door.
Her knock on the door was answered by an unsmiling Spanish woman and Elizabeth was escorted into a small drawing room. The entire cottage was not large, but it was tastefully furnished and everything bespoke money—money elegantly spent.
A fine woolen carpet lay on the floor and gilt mirrors adorned the walls. Delicate, satinwood tables were scattered here and there, and two balloon-backed chairs, upholstered in a soft shade of pink, complimented the Duncan Phyfe sofa of deep rose velvet. It was the woman seated on the sofa that reminded Elizabeth that this was not just a polite visit.
Her fingers tightening around her reticule of Moroccan leather, Elizabeth said politely, "Good afternoon, senora. It was kind of you to invite me to meet you."
Consuela, her dark eyes never leaving Elizabeth's face, returned an appropriate comment indicating that Elizabeth was to seat herself in one of the chairs opposite the sofa. Elizabeth's courage was rapidly disappearing. Consuela was an intimidating figure, dressed in a gown of dark ruby cashmere trimmed with touches of black lace. Elizabeth felt as if she were facing the Inquisition. Consuela wore little jewelry except for fine pearl earrings in her ears and several valuable rings.
The black eyes veiled, for unnerving seconds Consuela stared at Elizabeth before saying, "It was good of you to come, senora. I believe we have a great deal to talk about, but before we begin, may I offer you some refreshment?"
Elizabeth's first inclination was to refuse, but, thinking it might offend the other woman, she agreed. "Oh, yes! That would be nice."
Consuela reached for a small silver bell nearby on one of the satinwood tables, and from the promptness with which the servant, Manuela, appeared, Elizabeth had the impression the woman had been waiting just outside the room for the summons. When the servant returned, she carried an ornate silver tray filled with English tea in a porcelain pot and small cakes dusted with sugar, as well as a carafe of sangria for Consuela.
Glancing unsmilingly at Elizabeth, she remarked, "I assumed that being English you would welcome tea, but if you prefer you may share my sangria."
Consuela seemed in no hurry to open the conversation, and Elizabeth finished one cup of tea and was halfway through a second b
efore she realized that the beverage had been brewed far too strongly and had a bitter taste. Nonetheless she sipped it thankfully—it gave her something to do while Consuela made what could only be called indifferent conversation.
Growing more bewildered as the time passed and Consuela made no reference to her husband, Elizabeth brought up the subject herself. Bracing herself and gathering her courage before it failed, the violet eyes meeting the dark ones of the Spanish woman, Elizabeth said quietly, "Senora, I do not mean to be impolite, but I do not believe that you arranged this meeting for us to discuss the amenities to be found in New Orleans." Silence met her words, and flustered by Consuela's lack of response she hesitated before plunging on. "I think we have skirted the thought uppermost in both of our minds long enough—your husband." Earnestly she said, "Please, senora, believe me when I say that nothing happened between us. Please, please believe me when I say that nothing occurred to—to shame you or to bring dishonor on any of us."
Beyond stiffening, Consuela did not betray any reaction to Elizabeth's sincere speech. The haughty face impassive, she replied levelly, "You are right. It is time that we spoke of the reason for this meeting. But before we do, more tea?"
Impatiently Elizabeth declined, and suddenly lightheaded, she swayed in her chair. "No, thank you. I'm afraid that something I ate must have disagreed with me, and more tea will only compound the error."
"Perhaps," Consuela returned with the barest suggestion of a smile.
Staring at the other woman, Elizabeth shook her head as Consuela's form blurred and become two shapes. "What, what... do... you mean?" she got out thickly, her tongue feeling as if it were covered in cotton wool.
"Merely that the tea you have been drinking is laced with belladonna. In a moment you will discover exactly why I arranged this meeting." The words were said with such satisfied malice that Elizabeth, fighting to quell a surge of giddiness, was filled with terror. "Why?" she managed to croak.
While Passion Sleeps Page 8
