Compromised into a Scandalous Marriage
Autor
Lydia San Andres
Lecturas
17,3K
Capítulos
22
Chapter One
Sebastian Linares had always felt more at home in the sugarcane fields on the outskirts of town than among the ornate masonry houses of San Pedro de Macorís. The only thing he liked about being in the bustling port town, in fact, was the sea-fresh breeze that swept through the buildings, dispelling the heat and disporting itself with hats and hems and tree branches.
The breezes were the furthest thing from Sebastian’s mind as he dismounted from his horse and tied it to the hitching post outside the red-and-white building that housed the town’s fire brigade. Warm, humid air pressed against his skin, and Sebastian was in the act of reaching into his pocket for a handkerchief with which to mop the rivulets of sweat running down his temples when he noticed a coach rolling to a stop on the opposite side of the street.
The coachman jumped down from his perch and opened the shabby black door to reveal a flash of white fabric, even brighter than Sebastian’s freshly laundered handkerchief. A small brown hand appeared out of the darkness of the carriage, and after it followed a wide-brimmed hat that even Sebastian could tell was not fashionable.
And then, like a budding rose unfurling its petals, a woman emerged from the carriage, unbending and straightening as the coachman helped her down. Her white skirts, full over a nipped-in waist, danced slightly in the stifling air when her heels struck the paving stones. Though she wore no beads or jewelry or anything that would catch the light, Sebastian felt as though he’d been dazzled.
He was fairly sure he hadn’t made a sound, so it must have been the strength of his gaze that drew the woman’s attention. She tilted her head, and when her hat brim moved to reveal her smile, it was as if the sun had broken through the clouds.
Paulina Despradel. She had been a quiet, unobtrusive figure in the background the two times Sebastian had visited the Despradel quinta to complete his business dealings with her brother, Antonio.
There was nothing unobtrusive about her now.
It was clear from her expression that she had recognized Sebastian. Belatedly, he doffed his hat and inclined his head in greeting. Her face brightened, and she started across the street, turning to tell her protesting maid, “Surely my brother wouldn’t object to my stopping for a neighborly chat.”
The hand she extended toward Sebastian was encased in a glove made out of fine netting and ringed at the wrist with a profusion of lace; resisting the urge to linger over it, he squeezed it briefly between both of his own as they both inclined to press their cheeks together.
Sebastian was far from an expert in women’s fashions, but even to his untrained eye her frock seemed overly laden with frills and furbelows. A shocking quantity of lace had been employed liberally throughout, frothing each ruffle and flounce and giving the effect that she was being swallowed by fabric.
“Good morning, vecina,” he said, making sure to use the formal you when he added, “It’s a pleasure to see you. What brings you to town on such a stifling morning?”
The property Sebastian had bought the year before was far enough away from the Despradels’ home that he rarely saw Paulina and her brother. Although he had come across Antonio in the streets of San Pedro a time or two before, this was the first time he had seen Paulina in town.
“I’m on my way to Don Enrique’s store to buy some things for a little gathering my brother is hosting tonight in honor of my birthday.” The brown skin of her cheeks looked a little flushed, and Sebastian would have thought it was from the heat if her eyes hadn’t been shining.
He inclined his head. “My kindest regards to you.”
“Thank you, Señor Linares. My apologies for not issuing a formal invitation, but I would love it dearly if you could stop by the house and celebrate with us.”
“Please, call me Sebastian,” he said and hesitated. Being neighborly was all well and good, but he did have a lot of work left to do at the mill. “As wonderful as that sounds, I’m afraid I won’t be able to attend. I was, however, also on my way to Don Enrique’s. Shall we walk together?”
“That would be lovely,” Paulina said, and they fell into step along the narrow sidewalk, the maid trailing behind them. “I must say, it’s so nice knowing that we’ve neighbors again. Particularly in Villa Consuelo, abandoned as it’s been for so long. I’m glad there’s finally someone to breathe life into it once again.”
“I was hoping to do just that,” Sebastian said. The house, at least a hundred years old and built solidly enough to withstand earthquakes and hurricanes, was still empty of furniture, the property as dilapidated as it had been when he’d purchased it almost a year before. He had big plans for it, though. And he’d get to them, soon, maybe, when he wasn’t so busy at the mill...
Paulina glanced at him from under the brim of her oversize hat. “How are you liking our little town?”
It took a second for Sebastian to realize that she had taken him for one of the many Cubans who had settled in San Pedro after fleeing the war at home. When he did, he didn’t bother to correct her—he was recently arrived from Havana, after all, and as far as he was concerned, the less the townspeople knew about his past, the easier a time he would have fitting in among them.
“There’s nothing little about it,” he replied. “It’s grown remarkably in the last few years—or so they tell me.”
“Is it anything like Havana?” she asked curiously.
“In some ways.” Sebastian had given little thought to the differences between both cites, save for the fact that he’d been part of a happy family in one and of a diminished one in the other. He forced lightness into his tone. “Havana is like an old dowager countess—grand and glamorous and secure of her place in the world. San Pedro is beautiful, to be sure, and growing more prosperous by the day, but it wasn’t that long ago that the town was a fishing village.”
Her face lit up with a sudden smile. “Can you imagine the conversations they would have if they could meet? The venerable old countess and the little fisherman?”
Sebastian couldn’t help echoing her smile at the fanciful thought. He made no response, however, as they had reached the corner.
All six of the tall, thin doors leading to Don Enrique’s store were open to let in the light and breeze. Paulina paused in one of the doorways, as if to savor the sight of the neatly arranged shelves and gleaming display cases. Don Enrique dealt in imported wares, and the array of beautifully packaged goods must have captured her imagination.
Sebastian was well aware that this was where he ought to bid her a good day while he continued on about his business. He had half a dozen things to do in town, most of them more important than stopping at Don Enrique’s for some candied pineapple for his business partner’s widow.
It still stung, thinking of Dilia as a widow. Sebastian glanced again at Paulina’s face, as if the wonder in her expression could arrest his sudden onslaught of pain.
“Will you look at those feathers?” she said suddenly, nodding at the counter that held what looked like odds and ends for trimming dresses or hats.
Taking off his Panama hat, Sebastian followed her through the store as she made her way to the counter and pointed at it. The feathers were half as long as his arm and tinted in brilliant jewel tones. “What kind of bird do you think could have produced such things?”
“Not one I’d ever like to meet,” he assured her.
To the right, a laugh rose from a trio of young women as they held silk flowers up to their hats. Sebastian couldn’t help but notice how Paulina’s gaze flew immediately to the trio and lingered, growing wistful. One of the girls glanced over and caught Paulina’s eyes; though she gave Paulina a curious smile, none of them came over to say hello. Not acquaintances, then.
“The ribbons are wonderful,” Paulina said, half to him and half to the young clerk lounging against the ladder fixed to the shelves. She pointed at one of the spools under the glass of the counter. “Might I have a look at the red one?”
The clerk obliged, and Paulina wound one end of the velvet ribbon around her fingers, rubbing it lightly with her thumb. The scarlet looked festive against the golden brown of her skin.
“That color would look lovely on you.” One of the young women had broken away from the rest and was regarding Paulina with a frank, open smile. “I can’t wear it myself, but it suits your complexion.”
“Do you really think so?” Paulina asked, looking pleased.
“If it’s not too forward of me, I concur,” Sebastian said. “As a matter of fact, I was just thinking that—”
A hand reached out and clamped around Paulina’s wrist. “We won’t be needing any ribbons today, thank you.”
Antonio Despradel, Paulina’s brother, was one of those men who thought their money and their standing in society conferred on them the authority they otherwise lacked. Sebastian had met the man only a handful of times while in the process of purchasing the sugar mill Antonio had inherited. Carlos, Sebastian’s business partner, had once remarked that Despradel reminded him of a rooster. Not the fighting kind, but the kind that lorded over the chicken yard, pecking at the hens and puffing out its chest.
It had been an apt comparison.
Without releasing Paulina’s arm, Despradel began to stride to the other side of the room, saying, “Heavens, Paulina, sometimes I wonder if you aren’t twelve years old. This is why I don’t like leaving you on your own, you know. You’ve scarcely more discipline than a child.”
Sebastian was nobody’s hero, but neither was he enough of a cad as to let a woman be mistreated in his presence. He reached Paulina and her brother in two long strides, reaching to tap the shorter man’s shoulder.
“That’s no way to touch a lady,” he said when Despradel turned, thin lips parted in surprise.
Sebastian didn’t want to fight. Not here, among these luxurious and fragile-looking wares. The best way to avoid that, he’d learned from experience, was to inject the promise of violence into his voice. “In fact, that’s no way to touch anyone at all. I’d let go of her if I were you.”
Despradel’s lips spread into a genial smile, even as his gaze flickered from side to side as if to ascertain if other people were looking at them and how much he could get away with. Sebastian had spoken quietly, but sure enough, almost all of Don Enrique’s patrons had stilled in anticipation of a dispute. Silence hung over the store for one long second, then Despradel released his sister’s wrist and ostentatiously stepped away, his hands raised.
“No need to get upset,” he said with ringing bonhomie. “Just trying to hurry my sister along—we’ve a lot to do before her party tonight, and she is awfully prone to distraction.”
“All the same,” Sebastian replied with exaggerated politeness that almost certainly did not match the look in his eyes, “that’s no reason to handle a woman so roughly.”
The mutual dislike crackling between the two men was broken as Paulina, now freed, swept past them. “I’d just as soon not be handled at all,” she said tartly. “Come, Antonio, if you’re in such a hurry.”
The spectators, realizing there was to be no bloodshed, returned their attention to their shopping.
Sebastian stepped back, letting the menace in his gaze serve as warning to Despradel. The other man responded to it with a smile so insolent that Sebastian felt something inside him snap.
Despradel’s eyes widened at whatever he saw in Sebastian’s eyes, but all Sebastian did was brush past him on his way to his sister.
“Paulina?” he said when he reached her. “I’ve changed my mind—I should be pleased to attend your party.”
“Tío Sebas!”
Few things in Sebastian’s life were as gratifying as the enthusiasm with which the four little boys greeted him as he approached the elegant pink house at the end of the street.
They’d been tossing the ball around in front of the house, but at Sebastian’s arrival the boys, whose ages ranged from twelve to a tender four, clustered around Sebastian. Experience had taught them to look in Sebastian’s pockets for treats; he let out a bark of laughter as eight eager little hands dug into his pockets with more enthusiasm than finesse—to the detriment of the sturdy black fabric of the suit he usually wore into town. It took them mere seconds to extract the marbles and pilones he’d bought at Don Enrique’s, and he knew that it would take even less time for them to finish off the red sucking candy shaped like miniature mortars and pestles.
It was a heartening—and welcome—change from the wariness with which the boys had regarded Sebastian since the day he’d ridden into town with news of their father’s collapse at the mill. David, the youngest and Sebastian’s godson, had acquired a most disturbing habit of bursting into tears whenever he saw Sebastian, as if he was a herald of death, come to announce the passing of another loved one.
“Tío Sebas, will you take us to look at the corriente?” asked David, who already sported a red border around his mouth to match his flushed cheeks.
The current? “Erm, what?”
“He wants to go see the workmen who are putting up the posts for the electrical wiring,” José, the oldest, explained. “Mamá said it’s dangerous to be around the men while they’re working, but she won’t mind if you take us.”
Sebastian must have walked past them, but he’d been so intent on Paulina that he hadn’t even noticed them. He laid a hand on José’s curly head. “I’m afraid I can’t today—I’ve some business with your mother. Is she home?”
“She’s inside,” David piped in. “Trying not to melt from the heat because these damn people think everyone should dress like they’re in Europe instead of on a damn tropical island.”
That sounded like Dilia, all right.
“I see.” Sebastian managed to say it gravely, though it took plenty of effort to hide his smile. “Will you go and ask if I can come in? I wouldn’t want to intrude if she’s, ah, not dressed as a European.”
David scampered up the steps. Sebastian leaned against the slim white columns that supported the arched porch and watched the other boys as they played with their new marbles.
A peal of laughter from inside the house let him know that David had delivered his message. “Come in, compadre,” Dilia called, poking her head out of an upstairs window.
It was cooler inside the house, though not by much. Dilia was sitting so close to the window, it was debatable whether she was inside the house or out. She was indeed fully and very properly dressed, in a black skirt and a high-necked shirtwaist. The painted fan in her hand was her only concession to the heat, though her gray-streaked curls were plastered to her temples.
“Hot, isn’t it?” he said as he dropped a kiss on her cheek and the box of candied pineapple on her lap before taking the seat opposite hers. The mahogany armchair with its embroidered cushion had once graced the parlor of her Havana house, and the familiar sight never failed to make Sebastian feel a little wistful for old times. “Feels like it’ll storm today.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Dilia said, setting her needlework on the round table next to her. “I sent for some ice water. Will you stay for a cup of coffee?”
“Don’t go to any trouble on my account.” Sebastian set his Panama hat on his knee. “I’ve got to get back to the mill. I only came into town to make a deposit into your account. There should be enough in there to carry you through the next couple of months.”
“That’s right.” Dilia’s grin might have made her eyes sparkle, but it filled Sebastian with apprehension. “Why waste your time having coffee with old widow women when you could be strolling with pretty girls? I saw you walking with the Despradel girl earlier.”
He gave a brief nod. “She invited me to a party she’s having tonight.”
“And you accepted? Well, well...” Dilia’s right eyebrow arched.
Sebastian shrugged. “It would have been rude to decline the invitation.”
“That’s never stopped you before,” Dilia observed. “Oh, don’t get me wrong—I think it’s perfectly delightful that you’re finally getting acquainted with your neighbors. I’m just surprised that you consented to a party. You act as if you took a blood oath to spend all your time at the mill, you know.”
Antonio Despradel had driven the mill to ruin through mismanagement. It had only been with great effort that Sebastian and Carlos had been able to turn a profit in the first year—and there was still so much to be done. He lay awake at night thinking of it more often than not. It wasn’t only that Carlos had invested his entire fortune in modernizing the mill to Sebastian’s exacting specifications—a fortune that would have been at Dilia’s disposal if it weren’t for the labor-saving but ruinously expensive cane-processing machinery Sebastian had been convinced he needed to turn the mill around. No, it was the people who weighed on Sebastian’s shoulders. The workers at the mill, most of whom had mouths to feed. Carlos’s family. All the people who depended on Sebastian’s ability to eke out enough of a profit from a crowded market.
“I have an obligation to you and the children” was all that Sebastian said.
“Yes, and where will we be if you work yourself to death?” Dilia snapped her fan shut and struck Sebastian lightly on the arm with it. “You are barely twenty-five years old, Sebastian, with no family of your own. Talk to pretty girls. Go to parties. Heaven knows you deserve to enjoy your life.”
“What I deserve is to enjoy this delightful ice water without having to fend off an arranged marriage,” Sebastian said, smiling at Dilia’s enthusiasm. “Save the matchmaking for someone else, my friend. The last thing I need is a wife.”
