Sonya shuddered lightly. A faint stain colored her high cheekbones, making her blue eyes bright. “Since…since William’s accident, I’ve found it more agreeable to remain in the background.”
“Are you afraid?” Ginny stared at her in surprise. “It was all a mistake, you know. The assassins shot the wrong man. They meant to shoot Don Ignacio. All that unrest in Cuba should have warned him, for he is a man to earn many enemies.”
“Perhaps.” Her lips were tight, a look of strain marking her face. “It just seems that…that no one is safe anymore, doesn’t it? I mean…during the war here, it was expected, but still, because I was married to William, a Virginian and a United States senator, no one dared accost me. And then it just seemed that there were not as many criminals running loose, or men who don’t mind risking all for so little, as they do now. I—I don’t know anymore, where, if, there’s a place that’s safe.”
She looked up, a beseeching gleam in her eyes, as if she were a child needing comfort and assurance.
At a loss, Ginny didn’t answer for a moment, unsure how to soothe her stepmother, or even if she wanted to. Idly pleating a fold of her cream-colored polonaise between her fingers, she inhaled deeply to stem the old resentment.
Years of wariness were too deeply ingrained to confide in Sonya now, or to allow herself to be drawn into a more intimate discussion despite the first impulse to comfort Sonya’s fears. Her reply was mundane, her assurance uncertain.
“My father would never allow anything to happen to you. You’ll feel much better in the morning, I’m sure.”
Sonya reached for her, fingers curled into claws that gripped Ginny’s arm with surprising strength, digging into green silk as she whispered fiercely, “Ginny, you must not go to Mexico! It’s…it’s too dangerous for you.”
“What…what are you talking about? I know there is civil unrest now, but not like before, when the French were there and Juarez was struggling for power.”
Sonya’s gaze darted around the room, past the low brick archway that shielded them from prying eyes before returning to Ginny, her tone rife with urgency. “There are always men who are greedy and ruthless. Think of your past, of everything that happened to you then. It might all happen again.”
“Sonya, I do believe you’re being far too pessimistic about this. Steve has assured me that the situation is not as grim as it was then. Yes, of course there will be some tense moments, but nothing like the Juarista revolution.”
Recoiling slightly, fine white lines formed around her lips as Sonya frowned. “You won’t listen to me.”
“Really, I don’t think it’s as bad as all that, but I will be careful, I promise.”
“They’ll be wondering where we are.” Sonya’s hands twisted nervously in front of her, knuckles white as sun-bleached bones. “Please, don’t say anything to William about this. He’ll think I’m just being a hysterical female again.”
“No. No, I won’t say anything to him.” Ginny managed a reassuring smile to hide her own private doubts. She had already voiced her concerns to Steve, and he had shrugged them aside. Now the doubts surfaced again. Sonya looked a wreck, her pale face and trembling hands conspicuous.
As they neared their table, Ginny said calmly, “I have a lovely morning dress in the Pompadour style and colors, a pale-blue silk and white flowered brocade with pink bows. It does not suit me, and with a few alterations, I am positive it would be lovely on you.”
Sonya looked startled, then nodded her understanding as they reached the table where Senator Brandon sat alone and alert. “That would be very nice, Ginny. Thank you.”
Her father looked pleased to see them so amicable, and as he struggled to stand, she put a hand on his shoulder to push him gently back down.
“Where’s Steve?” she asked as she tucked the elegant back of her polonaise to one side so she could seat herself. It was bulky, with a rich green passementerie, fringe and double loops of green silk, not really made for sitting, but more for strolling.
“Your husband went to renew an old acquaintance, I believe,” Brandon said dryly, and Ginny followed the direction of his glance.
At first, she did not see him, then caught a glimpse of Steve’s lean form half-hidden by a potted palm. He was so elegant in his evening wear, the black broadcloth coat and stark white linen shirt suiting his dark good looks to perfection.
When he glanced around, her heart leaped, then dropped like a lead ball as she recognized the men sitting at the table behind him—Jim Bishop and Paco Davis.
Sonya’s fears of earlier didn’t seem quite so childish to Ginny now, for full-blown panic rose sharply to almost choke her as she stared at the two men who had always meant danger to her. Oh God, she had thought perhaps this time it would be different.
As Steve headed back to their table, his face was set in a carefully blank expression that gave away nothing. Jim Bishop returned her stare with his usual grave passivity, but Paco had the grace to give a sheepish shrug and halfhearted grin that she was too irritated to acknowledge.
“What a coincidence to see them here,” she said when Steve took his seat. He gave her a bland smile.
“I had the same thought. You’re nearly out of wine, my love. Shall I order more?”
Defiantly, Ginny stared at him as she drained the last of her wine, then set the glass on the table with a distinct thud. “Yes, but do make it champagne, Steve darling. You know how I adore it.”
“Among other things,” he said easily, and beckoned for the sommelier to attend them.
Champagne was brought, an excellent vintage that was dry and bubbly, and she sipped it steadily as her mood grew dark and anxious. It seemed that every time either
