“So you think the rebellion will end that quickly?”
“I won’t know that until we arrive, but from what I know of Díaz, the man is an excellent military leader. I rode under his command for too long to think he will lose a military conflict to Lerdo. But politics is another arena, one not as natural to him as to Lerdo. The outcome is uncertain at this point.”
Ginny bit her lower lip, remembering too well the last revolution in which she’d been involved, and the horrors of it. Could she go back and take the risk of becoming caught up in it again?
As if guessing the direction of her thoughts, Steve leaned forward, and his tone was soft. “If you’re having doubts, green-eyes—”
“Maman!” The childish interruption dragged her attention from Steve to the impetuous Laura, who burst into the room with Franco at her heels, an indignant expression on her small face, while Franco’s eyes burned with frustration.
“Maman, Franco said you’re leaving us again, and I told him that was not true. Tell him, Maman, tell him that we are staying together!”
Dismay made Ginny’s hand shake as she set down her teacup and folded the little girl into a warm embrace. “Franco is right, my darling, but only for a little while. Oh, don’t cry, Laura, my sweet girl. Papa and I are just going to get our new home ready for you and Franco to join us.”
Her wailing cry brought tears to Ginny’s eyes, and she pulled Laura onto her lap, cuddling her close as her throat closed with emotion. Steve sat like a stone, his face closed and impassive. Franco was a smaller version of him, the round features of a child blurred with the effort to mimic his father’s stoicism.
Laura’s sobs slowed to an occasional sniffle as Ginny described some of her favorite places in Mexico, told the children how warm it was there, and how their great-grandfather would be so glad to see them again.
“He has missed you so, and writes long letters asking when we will bring you back to see him. You don’t remember Mexico, I know, but it’s your home. Our home. There is lots of sunshine, and wide-open spaces where you can ride your ponies and play with your dogs. Yes, my sweet, you can take Silky with you, of course! She will be happy there, too.”
“But why can’t we go with you now?” Franco asked suddenly, and in his green-flecked eyes, Ginny recognized the return of anxiety.
“We have to make arrangements, son,” Steve said when Ginny floundered. “There is a lot to do, and it’s best that you come later with Tante Celine.”
“Besides,” Ginny said then, smiling, “you love to go to the seashore, and I heard Tante say that she is taking you to Brighton next week. You will like that, won’t you?”
Both children brightened; the tension in Franco’s face eased and he turned to his father as if for confirmation of the promised treat.
It was a small reaction, but that her son filtered any of her promises with his father’s corroboration still pierced her to the heart. Would Franco always be so wary of her? Had she ruined any hope of his ever trusting her again?
Ruffling Franco’s dark hair, Steve assured him that it was true. “Tante Celine and Pierre are taking you on the train to Brighton.”
“Will Miss Prendergast go, too, Papa?” Franco’s gaze was hopeful, a reminder that he had formed an admiration for the lovely Lorna since she had been so much in Pierre’s company of late.
It rankled that her own son would prefer Lorna to her, but Ginny betrayed nothing of her feelings as she said, “If Pierre should invite her, I am certain she will go, too.”
“Then I shall talk to Uncle Pierre and tell him to invite her,” Franco said, “for she likes to play with us.”
“Perhaps because she is still so near your age,” Ginny couldn’t resist saying, and saw the amusement spring into Steve’s eyes at her spiteful comment.
It wasn’t true, of course, for Lorna Prendergast was nearly twenty, but still too young for Pierre in Ginny’s opinion. She was beautiful, well-mannered, and certainly came from an excellent background if her mother’s demeanor was any indication, but Ginny found Lorna to be far too immature and overindulged to care much for her company.
It was obvious that Lorna resented her as well, though that had more to do with Steve than anything else. After all, the girl had made it quite plain that she had been interested in Steve as more than just an escort from New Mexico to London. There were times Ginny felt very much like boxing her ears, but as her father was good friends with Sam Murdock, Steve’s partner, that would never do. Too bad. It might help knock some sense into her head if Lorna realized that the world did not revolve around her own desires.
Yet even feeling as she did, Ginny was glad that Franco enjoyed Lorna’s company; it was important for a child to feel wanted and appreciated.
“Come,” she said impulsively, rising to her feet with Laura in her arms, “let’s go for a ride in the park. Your papa has a fine new phaeton and pair of matched bays that need to be exercised. Shall we?”
“May we take Silky with us, Maman? Oh, and a basket, as we did last time? I love to feed the swans on the lake.”
Meeting Steve’s gaze, she saw him nod, and laughed. “Yes, you may, my little duckling. We shall have Cook prepare a basket of food for us, and bread for the swans.”
It was a beautiful day, with soft sunlight and a fresh wind that smelled sweet and clean once they were free of the congested streets. Steve handled the horses with careless competence. Hyde Park, with its majestic trees, serpentine roads and winding streams, was unexpectedly peaceful in the midst of the chaotic
