The Golden City

“Whatever my prince bids me, madam,” Silva said in an obsequious tone. “If my duties take me from your presence, I can only mourn my loss.”

Relieved she was sitting behind them and not in their line of sight, Oriana rolled her eyes.

“So, what do you make of this year’s crop of girls, Silva?” the lady asked.

“Sadly, they all suffer again this year in comparison to Lady Isabel,” he returned smoothly. “Is she here tonight?”

“Surely you’ve heard? She’s eloped,” the lady said in a whisper that carried clearly to the ear of all but the deafest matron. “Ran off with her cousin’s betrothed. Lady Amaral has taken to her bed, I’m told.”

Thank the gods, Oriana thought. That meant Lady Amaral wasn’t likely to show here. Her presence on top of Silva’s would have been unbearable.

Silva gasped at Lady Beja’s gossip. “I’ve been so busy I hadn’t heard a word.”

The lady snapped her fan across his white-gloved knuckles, and then pointed at Oriana with it. “Miss Paredes there knows all, I suspect.”

Oriana sighed inwardly. Apparently Isabel’s disgrace meant that her own name was now known to every gossip in the city. Oriana turned in their direction, giving in to the inevitable.

The lady crooked an imperious finger. “Come here, Miss Paredes.”

She rose and obediently crossed to the lady’s other side, feeling Silva’s eyes on her. “Yes, Lady Beja. May I fetch something for you?”

The lady fastened a clawlike hand on Oriana’s arm and hauled her down into the seat her companion had left empty. “Sit here. Now, where has Lady Isabel gone?”

“I no longer work for the Amaral family, Lady Beja.”

“You did until then.” The old woman slapped her fan across Oriana’s right hand, sending uncomfortable reverberations through her webbing. “No point in keeping secrets for a family who threw you out, miss.”

Oriana clenched her jaw, ignoring the fading discomfort. “Isabel introduced me to Lady Ferreira before she left, lady. And if I had secrets about Lady Isabel, I would hold them for her sake alone.”

The old lady laughed. “A loyal companion? How unusual. Torres would sell my bed curtains in the market the very day I died.”

“I cannot believe that, my lady,” Oriana protested.

“Wait and see, girl.” She waggled her fan in the direction of her returning companion. “That one’s mercenary through and through.”

“Tell me, Miss . . . Paredes, it is?” Silva inserted, leaning forward in his chair to favor her with his notice. “Do you know when Lady Isabel and her new husband will return from abroad, then? I would like to pay my respects.”

He appeared completely earnest, filled with concern for an old and dear friend. But he was also acting as if he’d never met her before, which set her teeth on edge. She couldn’t be mistaken. He’d been in that boat that night. She was appalled at how easily the man lied. That increased the likelihood that Lady Ferreira was right about him.

“The Amaral girl won’t be any more receptive to you now that she’s a married woman than she was five years ago,” Lady Beja snapped.

Silva draped a hurt look across his mobile features. “Lady Isabel misunderstood my intentions completely.”

“I doubt that,” Lady Beja said under her breath.

Ah, now Oriana knew why Isabel had disliked the man so. He must have tried to seduce Isabel, thinking her as foolish as any other girl of eighteen or nineteen.

He smiled fatuously at Oriana now. “Will you take a turn with me about the floor, Miss Paredes? Perhaps you can tell me something of this fantastical news . . . without betraying Lady Isabel’s confidence, of course.”

A gentleman didn’t parade around a ballroom with a mere companion without having some ulterior motive. “I had better not, sir,” she said quickly.

Silva rose smoothly and extended an elbow for her to take. “I insist, Miss Paredes.”

Oriana tried to produce a plausible protest, but nothing came to mind. So she laid her hand on his arm and let him lead her along the edge of the ballroom.

“Now, what actually happened to Lady Isabel?” he asked.

Apparently he’d decided to stop oozing courtesy. Oriana licked her lips. “I told Lady Amaral. She was grabbed by the men who later threw me off one of the bridges.”

He gazed at her doubtfully. “And you floated all that way down the river?”

It was quite a way from the Dom Sebastiao Bridge to where The City Under the Sea was located. “I barely remember, sir,” she protested. “That whole night is a blur for me now.”

They were behind another pair of guests who’d abruptly decided to stop and join in some gossip, forcing Oriana to stand there in place and wait. Silva eyed her narrowly. He didn’t believe her story. What does he know? She tucked her fingers in closer, trying to hide webbing that was already hidden by her mitts.

“Tell me, then, Miss Paredes—” he began, his voice taking on a menacing edge.

“Silva,” a dark-haired man interrupted. “I haven’t been introduced to your young friend.”

Oriana surreptitiously let out a pent breath, grateful that someone had come to her aid. She recognized the man as the Marquis of Maraval, although she hadn’t ever been introduced to him. The Minister of Culture, he was known for his civility. Apparently he had seen that she was uncomfortable in Silva’s company and had come to her rescue.

Silva smirked. “And you’re upset that I got to her first? How amusing. May I introduce to you Miss Paredes, who was once companion to Lady Isabel Amaral.”

When Silva told her the marquis’ name, Maraval bowed smoothly over her hand. “Miss Paredes,” he said, seemingly unruffled by Silva’s glare, “may I escort you back to your seat?”

“I would appreciate that, sir. I was concerned that Lady Ferreira might return while I was absent.” She should have used that objection to avoid Silva’s clutches in the first place.

Maraval settled her hand on his sleeve and turned her back the way she’d come, striding away from Silva. Oriana could almost feel Silva’s angry gaze following her. “I’m afraid my contemporary has a reputation for inappropriate behavior toward pretty young women,” Maraval said mildly.

If it were only that, Oriana wouldn’t have been so flustered by Silva’s attempt to drag her off. She had practice ridding herself of overly insistent males. “So I’ve heard,” she mumbled.

“Yes. He tried to entangle Lady Isabel some years ago,” Maraval continued as they drew closer to the seats where the matrons sat. “As I’m a close friend of her father’s, I took steps to make certain Isabel didn’t fall into his clutches. Although I doubt she would have if left to her own devices. Isabel has always been a clever girl.”

Oriana nodded. Maraval hadn’t visited the Amaral household while she’d been in residence, but Isabel’s father rarely came into the city. Amaral preferred his quiet house in the country to his wife’s company.

“Unfortunately, I’ve never gotten along with Lady Amaral,” Maraval added, “but I went to speak with her Sunday after Mass.”

Oh, dear. They had reached her chair, and Oriana nodded to him and sank down into her previous spot. She wasn’t surprised when Maraval sat next to her. “I didn’t know that, sir.”

Maraval settled his gloved hands on his knees. “Amaral has been ill, and can’t travel here at the moment, but he believes his wife is hiding the truth from him.” He sighed heavily, his features lined with worry. “I’m afraid that rumors are beginning to circulate concerning Isabel’s absence. That Mr. Efisio jilted his betrothed is shocking enough in itself, but that Isabel may have, in turn, jilted him for someone else is far more sensational. I have managed to suppress any further mention of her name in the papers so far, but if she doesn’t reappear soon, the talk might be irreversibly damaging to her reputation.”

Ah, Maraval believed she knew where Isabel was. She did, but she wasn’t going to tell this man that. Oriana closed her eyes briefly. “I haven’t seen Lady Isabel since Thursday night, sir. If she was involved with another man, I know nothing of it.”

“If you can think of anything that will help me find her, I would appreciate your help.” Maraval dug a card out of his jacket pocket and handed it to her. It gave the address of the Ministry of Culture in the old Bishop’s