But will they understand why I was not with them, why it was better for them to stay in Mexico with Don Francisco than to be with me, when I am not certain I understand it myself?
“But I have seen you—I know! You look just like the portrait that Papa has hung in his study.”
Stricken, Ginny glanced up to meet Steve’s amused gaze, her first thought of the painting so recently done by Alma-Tadema that hung in the Royal Academy. Surely Laura had not seen that painting, the one of her as The Sultan’s Captive where she wore practically nothing save a few wisps of strategic gauze! Why had she not thought that one day her own children might see the painting?
“Don’t worry,” Steve drawled, his amusement evident in the grooves that bracketed his mouth, “the miniature in my study is not too—revealing. It’s quite suitable for young children, and a good enough likeness. I had no idea Renaldo was an artist of sorts. It must be Missie’s influence.”
Of course! His cousin Renaldo was a gentle, kind man who had been very generous to Ginny, and worried so that his wild cousin Esteban would actually kill her one day. It must have been his idea to send the painting to remind the twins they had a mother. How like him to be so thoughtful.
“Did you like the painting?” Ginny asked, and Laura studied her with a slightly furrowed brow.
“Yes, very much. But the painting is of our mother, Papa said. Did you know her?”
“As well as anyone could, I think, though there are times I do not think I know her well at all….” She stopped and bit her lip, emotion making her voice quaver and her lower lip tremble slightly, uncertain what she could say to this child staring up at her with such innocent trust.
It was Franco who stated the obvious, his tone flat. “You are the lady in the painting, so you are our mother.”
She glanced at him, reminded suddenly of Steve by the wary, reserved gaze the boy directed at her, so different than his twin’s openness.
“Yes,” she said, taking a deep breath, “I am your mother.”
“Where have you been?”
Taken aback, she flashed Steve a rueful glance, saw from his face that he had no intention of helping her and said quietly, “I was on my way to you when I became very ill. As soon as I recovered and could travel again, I came to be with you.”
Franco’s steady gaze did not waver. “It took you a long time, ma mère, to join us.”
“Yes.” Her throat tightened so that she could barely force the words past her lips. “Far too long.”
Silence settled briefly, broken by Laura’s impulsive forward motion into her lap, her small body squirming close as she said, “We are glad you have finally come! I have a new puppy. Would you like to see her?”
“Yes…yes, I would like that very much,” Ginny got out past the lump in her throat. Laura’s sweet face was a blur beyond the hot tears that stung her eyes.
Blindly she allowed the child to pull her up from the ottoman, watched as Laura remembered her manners and turned briefly to her father to ask permission to leave and heard his gruff consent. Her eyes swept over Steve, saw the faint smile on his hard mouth.
“It’s always been easy for you, green-eyes,” he said softly. “Welcome home.”
She caught her breath. Home. Strangely, she always thought of Mexico when she thought of home, instead of France, where she had been brought up. Perhaps soon they could return, to bring up their children in the warmth and beauty of Mexico. After all, she still had the Hacienda de la Nostalgia, a marriage gift from Don Francisco, and of course Steve owned a house and extensive land as well. They could take Laura and Franco to Monterey, where the beautiful house overlooked the ocean and the slick black rocks along the California coast, where sea spume laced the air with salty tang and it felt so clean…. Yes, there was much they could do as a family now.
Laura’s impatient tug on her hand reminded her of the new puppy, and with a laugh she followed the exuberant child from the parlor and down the hall toward the kitchen where she could already hear excited yaps. Franco was slower in following, his wary reluctance reminding Ginny so much of his father. There was so much of both of them in these children, and her heart leaped with the prospect of their future together. All would be well now. It had to be….
“Maman!” Laura broke free and raced to kneel beside the small spaniel puppy that bounced enthusiastically against her. “Maman, come and see how soft Silky’s ears are….”
It was the first time one of her children had called her Mother, and Ginny could not stop the happy tears that rolled down her cheeks as she knelt beside the child to stroke the spaniel.
“Yes, my love,” she whispered, “they are very soft.”
Laura slanted her a frowning glance from eyes that were slightly uptilted at the corners, unusual eyes like her mother’s, with the same gypsyish slant that made Ginny’s green eyes so remarkable and exotic.
“But you are crying, Maman….”
“Because I am so happy, my sweet. Only because I am so happy….”
And I hope nothing happens to take that happiness away again….
2
Music swirled above the glittering jewels and gas lamps that brightened the vast ballroom filled with the elite of London. Aristocratic heads turned to watch the striking couple that seemed oblivious to the stares, though they were certainly used to them by now.
Of course, Steve Morgan—also known as Esteban Alvarado—the American millionaire who had somehow been appointed as Mexican ambassador, always stood out in a crowd, with his tall, lean good looks and the air of danger that attended him.
“Yes,” a dowager
