by Henke, Shirl
Fortune's eyes swept the assembly for dramatic effect. Several of the men were slack-jawed in amazement and Don Encarnación and Don Hernan were furiously angry. But Mariano? His expression appeared bland, almost unconcerned as he polished off another drink.
“So what is your point—that we should throw up our hands and let the land reform lunatics take our ancient heritage, divide up our proud haciendas among the peons in forty-acre tracts?” Don Encarnación asked, his dark complexion livid red beneath his tan.
“Hardly! But unless someone can stop Juarez, I plan to keep my options open. A smart man makes his own laws and acts to protect his heritage—if he plans to hang onto it. There is nothing I'd like more than to see Juarez out of the picture. Without him the whole rebellion would unravel into internecine warfare and we could pit one petty republican general against another. But with him as their icon, they won't be stopped until that infamous little black carriage of his rolls back into Mexico City!” He looked measuringly around the room as he took a generous swallow of port.
“What you're suggesting then is that we should eliminate the Indian,” Mariano said as blandly as if he were discussing putting down a spavined old horse.
Nicholas shrugged. “I understand it's been tried already...unsuccessfully. Now I fear it's too late.”
He casually walked over to the latticed doors and peered out into the courtyard, as if unaware of the implication of his words, but he could sense the silent exchange going on between old Encarnación and his companions. Were they all in on the plot? Probably. Mariano was a cipher though. The old don's son seemed as apolitically decadent as Anselmo had been. I wonder...
The gathering broke up shortly, ostensibly so the men could dress for the evening. Nicholas suspected Encarnación and his minions had probably closeted themselves to discuss whether or not to trust him, hopefully to invite him to join their scheming. All he could do in the meanwhile was keep his eyes and ears open when any opportunity to learn something presented itself.
Standing in front of a mirror in their suite, he inspected his appearance. He had dressed traditionally in the fitted short jacket and silver-trimmed pants of a criollo. The suit was black with a snowy white lawn shirt and white silk stock that contrasted with his swarthy complexion. The only color in his outfit was the brilliant crimson sash at his waist. He opened the door of his small dressing room and found Mercedes standing expectantly in the center of the enormous bedroom. She was surrounded by the lavish ostentation of frescoed ceilings, gold leaf wallpaper and Persian carpets, but still her slender figure dominated the room.
“Doña Mercedes, you are the jewel of the House of Alvarado,” he said in a low growl of appreciation as he strode across the dark maroon and gold rug to take her hand.
Her gown was of deep violet silk, a stunning and dramatic color that overpowered most blondes, but with her dark gold hair and eyes, it only heightened her vibrancy. The plunging vee at the front of the dress revealed an enticing swell of pale gold breasts where an heirloom necklace of amethyst set in silver filigree nestled lovingly.
Raising the heavy stones, he placed his mouth on the warm satiny flesh, inhaling her delicate fragrance as he tasted her skin. “Lucky gems,” he murmured, feeling her pulse begin to accelerate.
“I take it that means I meet with your approval?” She had let the maid, Magaña, labor over her hair until it was curled and piled high with silver and amethyst combs securing its heavy weight. One long soft lock draped over her right shoulder, begging a man's touch.
Nicholas could not resist. Taking the curl and twining it about his index finger, he replied, “I told you you'd be the most beautiful woman at the fiesta.”
She laughed tolerantly. “You haven't even seen the other ladies yet. I met several of them in the sala earlier. Doña Ursula, our host's daughter-in-law, is quite striking,” she said, recalling the raven-haired beauty with the flashing violet eyes.
He raised an eyebrow. “Mariano's wife? I'd expect her to be a bit long of tooth.”
“His second wife. The first died some time ago. Ursula was forced into the arrangement last year, an innocent of seventeen, but she's become worldly wise now.” The instant she said it, her eyes flew to his, realizing the implication. “Lucero—I didn't mean—”
“Shh...” He silenced her with a soft kiss. “What's past is past for us. Let's look only to the future.”
“To the future,” she echoed softly and took his arm. They headed downstairs to face the glittering assembly.
Nicholas said, “I understand there are to be pole dancers out in the courtyard and a formal dinner before the musicians strike up in the ballroom. Then fireworks to end the evening.”
Her eyes lit up. “I've never seen pole dancers.”
“It would appear Don Encarnación is really rolling out the royal carpet for his guests of honor.”
As they strolled down the wide carpeted stairs into the main sala, Mercedes observed the brilliantly gowned and jeweled women. Here and there the glitter of gold epaulets and pure white of an imperial court officer's uniform stood out among the crowd. Most of the men were dressed in the same expensive and conservative manner as her husband, but to Mercedes, none filled out the fitted suit half so well as Lucero, with his broad shoulders and long lean legs. The brightly colored sash at his waist only emphasized his flat belly which felt as hard and sleek as all of his naked flesh. Stop it! Here I am undressing him with my eyes in front of a room filled with people!
They made their way around the room, being introduced to various hacendados and their ladies, making polite conversation. Mercedes watched Doña Ursula, Mariano's bride, make her way to them in her capacity as hostess for the widowed Don Encarnación. Nicholas noted that the short voluptuous brunette was a beautiful woman who was well aware of her effect on men and knew how to use that effect.
Ursula Terraza de Vargas had chosen a dramatic silver-shot blue organza gown as a pale contrast to her dark hair and eyes. The décolletage of the gown revealed ripe heavy breasts and the layers of silvery ruffles on her skirts no doubt concealed plump pleasing curves of hip and calf, but she was a bit fleshy and short of leg for his taste. Still, her slanted violet eyes were intriguing as she smiled at him with a predatory gleam in them.
“Dona Ursula, this is my husband, Lucero Alvarado,” Mercedes began the introductions.
“My father-in-law has spoken of you. I understand you served in the Imperial Army. You simply must tell me all about it,” Ursula gushed breathlessly.
Nicholas watched her curtsy and bat her lashes like the seasoned coquette she was, letting her fan open and close artfully against that over bounteous cleavage, teasing him.
“There's not much of war that's fit for a beautiful lady's ears,” he rejoined smoothly.
“Then you will tell me of his majesty's court, for I know you were there—shall we say during the first waltz tonight?”
After she had excused herself to mingle among the other guests, Mercedes mimicked beneath her breath, “You will tell me of his majesty's court! A command performance.”
“Jealousy becomes you,” Nicholas said with a chuckle. “I find it endearing.”
“Only give me no cause for it and I shall remain endearing,” she replied sweetly, dreading the months ahead when she would put his love and loyalty to the test as she grew thick and shapeless in pregnancy.
Nicholas broke into her reverie. “I believe the guests of honor have arrived.”
He gestured to a slender, dark-haired man with a rigid military bearing. At his side was a younger woman, voluptuous and as tall as he, with dark auburn hair and a bold yet merry-looking face. Both were colorfully dressed even in this flock of gaudy plumage. The princess wore red velvet, and enough diamonds to weigh down a smaller woman. Prince Salm-Salm was resplendent in imperial white and gold, his chest covered with a rainbow of ribbons and heavy gold and silver medals.
“If he steps out onto the verandah, he'll tinkle like a wind chime,” Nicholas
whispered to Mercedes.
“Jealous wretch.” She giggled. “He's an imposing figure of a man.”
In profile he was hawk-faced with a large Roman nose and high forehead. A thick set of mutton chop sideburns and heavy handlebar mustache covered his stubborn Prussian jaw. His hair was brown, dramatically accented by one silver streak swept back from his brow.
The royal couple—actually he was the second son of a minor German princeling and she was American—began to amble in their direction, champagne glasses in hand, making polite conversation along the way. Mariano Vargas escorted them.
“I think we're about to have a signal honor bestowed upon us,” Nicholas said dryly.
Vargas introduced them with the same casual watchfulness Nicholas had detected earlier. Was this some sort of test? The Prussian's Spanish was halting at best, so they spoke mostly in a mixture of English and French. “It's an honor, Prince Felix, Princess Agnes,” Nicholas said, returning the Prussian officer's formal bow.
Mercedes curtsied, noting the indulgent smile the formal prince bestowed so often on his wife, who was openly friendly.
While they talked, Nicholas still had the eerie feeling Mariano was measuring him. Vargas indolently drained his champagne, then signaled a waiter for a refill. What, he wondered, was the connection between the Vargas family and the imperial court? Did the prince know about the plot to kill Juarez? Was he perhaps the instigator?
Nicholas had heard the Prussian possessed a reputation as a skilled politician as well as a professional soldier. The only way to find out if Salm-Salm was involved was to cultivate him. But Fortune had to be careful of how easily he conversed in French. If he betrayed too much fluency around Mercedes, she would note it. That he also could muddle along well enough in German would convince her that he was not Lucero. He vowed to confine his conversation to French and a bit of English and hope she would not pay attention in the noisy crowd, which was beginning to filter out into the courtyard for the pole dancers.
Mariano escorted the princess and Mercedes, allowing the prince to chat freely with Don Lucero as they made their way outdoors.
“I understand you served at court briefly. I think I remember you,” Salm-Salm said.
“I was there only briefly, sir. You do me a great honor to have noticed.”
The prince studied the hard-looking man with the scar across his cheek, then touched his own ruddy cheek where a similar thin white line disappeared into his whiskers. “A dueling scar from—how do you say it?—in meinen unerfahrenen Jungen Jahren.”
“Your misspent youth,” Nicholas supplied, then immediately realized his error when the Prussian nodded shrewdly. “I acquired my scars fighting as an irregular. I was a captain in the contre-guerrillas for a few years. The men are an international mix. I had a Westphalian comrade who taught me a smattering of German.” Which was true, only he had met Kemper while he was still in the Legion in North Africa.
“Most interesting,” the prince replied, bemused. “You have far more facility with languages than I.”
Nicholas’ gaze moved quickly ahead to Mercedes, but she was engaged in animated conversation with the princess and Mariano and did not overhear the exchange. “War is a stern taskmaster. You yourself well know how a soldier's life and an officer's effectiveness depend upon understanding and communicating orders. More of the men were European and North American than Mexican.”
“It is a strange business, this war.” The prince sighed. “But tonight we are here to celebrate,” he said, his mood once more lightening as he looked from the five brightly attired dancers to the one-hundred-foot pole which they would eventually climb.
Don Encarnación, spying his special guests with the Alvarados, made his way to them. “I should have known two soldiers would find much in common—and your wives both speak English. How fortunate. But if I might tear you away for a bit, I have some other guests most eager to make your acquaintance.”
Speculatively, Nicholas watched the old don and the Prussian prince vanish in the crowd, drawing the princess with them. Mariano remained behind with Mercedes and him.
“A most engaging man, Prince Felix,” Nicholas remarked, waiting for a reaction from Mariano, but just then the entertainment started.
The crowd oohed and aahed in delight as the dancers began. They were elaborately costumed in harlequin suits of vivid red, blue, green and black with feathered headdresses and sequined masks, a peculiar blend of ancient Aztec ritual combined with European showmanship. They circled the pole in a dignified slow processional dance, then nimbly scrambled to the top of it, where each attached a rope to his ankle. Once this was accomplished, they flung themselves out into midair, one by one. All five of them spun in dizzying arcs round and round the pole while the ropes slowly slipped down toward the ground. Miraculously the ropes did not entangle with one another as the men went through all sorts of elaborately convoluted movements, flailing their arms, their free legs, and indeed their entire bodies to keep themselves in simulated flight. Drums and flutes kept a steady rhythm to which their stylized “dance” adhered. Finally, when they came within a few feet of the ground, each one landed deftly on his free foot and unfastened the ankle binding. The guests honored them with thunderous applause.
Smiling delightedly, Mercedes said, “That was absolutely incredible. They're as good as the circus acrobats I saw in Madrid when I was a girl.”
Having rejoined their group during the performance, Ursula said archly, “That should make the Princess Salm-Salm feel right at home.”
Mariano gave her a censorious look. For the first time seeming a bit nonplused, he explained, “What my wife means is that Princess Agnes once performed as an acrobat in the circus.”
“That's where her 'dear Salmi' met her,” Ursula whispered with poorly concealed delight. “She was a bareback rider in pink tights. It's really quite a scandal that she's received at court. My aunt Honoria says the empress dislikes her but the emperor won't hear of dismissing her. He—”
“Enough, my pet. The prince and princess are our guests and no one should gossip about the imperial court.” Mariano's voice was soft but the look in his eyes was hard and glacially frigid.
Observing the exchange, Nicholas thought, So there is one thing that can get you to show some emotion—your spoiled young bride. The girl was obviously bored and piqued at her husband for thwarting her love of gossip. Perhaps cultivating her would be an easier way to find out what he needed to learn—if he could do so without having Mercedes claw his eyes out in a jealous fit!
Chapter Seventeen
After the rope dancers finished, Don Encarnación formally introduced Prince Felix Salm-Salm and Princess Agnes to the local notables from Chihuahua and Sonora who had been invited for the occasion. The guests of honor led the procession into the dining room where a fifty-foot-long table of polished mahogany was set with Sevres china. Giant ice sculptures and masses of zinnias, crimson bell and dahlias were positioned at intervals along the table.
At the special request of the prince and princess, Nicholas and Mercedes were seated across from them and his aides. One, a young Prussian Junker, Lieutenant Arnoldt von Scheeling, made Mercedes distinctly uncomfortable although he did nothing overtly wrong. Indeed, he was the soul of punctilious courtesy, yet something in his manner disturbed her. His square face was pale-complected and clean shaven, typical of the North German gentry from which he came, but his light gray eyes reminded her of the outlaw Lucero had killed on the Hermosillo road.
“This war never seems to end,” Princess Agnes lamented. “It really is such a trial for poor Max. Now that Carlotta is gone, he wanders about Chapultepec like a lost soul.”
“I've heard that the emperor and empress are very close,” Mercedes said sympathetically, recalling Ursula's snide remarks about Carlotta's contempt for Princess Agnes du Salm.
“Well”—Agnes leaned closer to Mercedes to speak in confidence while the men were busy discussing military matters—“she is frightfull
y astute and conscientious about matters of state. Max relies heavily on her judgment, but when it comes to matters of the heart...” She shrugged expressively. “He is a lonely man.”
“How like a woman to attribute all a man's failings to his inadequate love life,” von Scheeling said in ponderous Spanish. His tone was filled with patronizing amusement.
Agnes' eyes narrowed. “Oh, Max's love life,” she emphasized the word, “is rather full. What he lacks is the genuine female companionship that transcends mere physical liaisons.”
“Ah, a rare commodity, indeed. Tell me, Doña Mercedes,” von Scheeling said, turning to her, “do you believe in transcendent love?”
Mercedes’ eyes swept involuntarily from the taunting Prussian to Lucero, then quickly back. Her sense of unease increased when she realized von Scheeling had noted the troubled expression that quickly flashed across her face. “Perhaps,” she replied enigmatically, meeting his coldly mocking gray eyes head-on.
“I do believe we have embarrassed the lady, Princess,” von Scheeling said without taking his eyes from Mercedes.
“Then perhaps we should change the subject,” Agnes replied to him. “Tell me about life on a great Sonoran rancho.”
As Mercedes and Agnes chatted, ignoring von Scheeling, he was drawn into the conversation between the prince and Nicholas.
“It's difficult for us to imagine what life is like here in the north when we live in the safety of the capital,” Felix said thoughtfully.
Nicholas replied, “Don Encarnación has his own militia to protect Hacienda Vargas from the enemy. Most hacendados aren't so fortunate.”
