Page 16 of Isabel and the Rogue

Isabel met Ana María’s eyes, and the pair laughed. Gabby shook her head while she watched them, her own mouth quirking in amusement.

“Laugh all you want, but you know I’m right,” she declared.

“It’s hard to argue your point,” Isabel said, pressing a hand to her chest, “when I reach for the saltcellar before I even take a bite of my meal.”

Ana María took a seat next to Gabby, dabbing at her eyes. “You know how I’ve been searching for a new cook after Mrs. Wheaton left to live with her daughter in Yorkshire?” When her sisters nodded, she continued. “Well, I’ve found a candidate. And the best part is she’s Mexicana.”

“What?” Isabel exclaimed. “How is that possible?”

“Many Mexican families have emigrated over the last few years, whether to escape the conflict with the French or the civil war before that. Tío Arturo has kept abreast of their numbers, and frequently meets with many of them to help them get settled.” Ana María smiled. “He recommended Señora Gomez to me, and she will start tomorrow.”

“And just in time for my visit.” Gabby clapped her hands together gleefully. “I cannot wait to taste enchiladas again.”

“Let’s hope Señora Gomez is able to find the ingredients needed to make them,” Ana María pointed out.

A knock on the door interrupted their conversation. At Ana María’s call, Consuelo entered again with a letter in her hand.

“Señora, esto es para ustedes. Señor Valdés just arrived, and he wanted you to have it inmediatamente.”

Isabel’s mouth went dry, and she struggled to swallow as Ana María quickly unfolded the letter and scanned the contents.

“It’s from Mother,” she said breathlessly. “They’ve received word that the French may be marching toward their location.” Ignoring Gabby’s sharp gasp, Ana María kept reading. “They’re moving, and she’s not sure when she’ll be able to write again.”

Swaying on her feet, Isabel knotted her hands in her skirts as emotion after emotion crashed over her in unrelenting waves. If the French discovered where her parents—where Presidente Juárez—were hiding, all would be lost. The war would be over. Any chance of regaining independence from the French would be almost impossible if the president and his cabinet were captured. Despite her very complicated feelings about her father, Isabel would never want him to fall into French hands.

Nor her mother. ¡Ay Dios!

“Ana, what can we do?” Gabby jumped to her feet, stalking back and forth as she wrung her hands. “I know we’re here and they’re there, but surely with Tío Arturo’s help, we can do something.”

“Maybe Gideon or the duke can help us secure a ship to meet them along the coast and deliver them to safety.” Isabel chewed the inside of her cheek. “There are no more blockades to avoid—”

“I don’t think that will work, querida.” Ana María bit her lip as she crinkled the letter in her hand. “Mother wrote this letter two weeks ago. Possibly three. They’ve long since moved on to their new hiding spot.”

“Or they’ve been captured,” Gabby said, her voice small and broken. It was so unlike her fiery sister that it served as a dose of cold water over Isabel’s head.

“No. No, I refuse to believe that. If anyone from the administration had been captured, we would have heard. It would have been blasted all over the papers,” Isabel declared, clenching her hands into fists, hoping with every fiber of her being that she was right.

“But the papers have already shown they have no real interest in reporting on the war in Mexico,” Gabby sneered, though fear glinted in her hazel eyes. “Many in society approve of Napoleon’s actions!”

Isabel spun away to face the window. She could not bear to meet her sister’s gaze, for she was right. With the affairs of the empire and the political strife in the States, the British public’s attention was divided across many issues. There was little concern for the unlawful French occupation of Mexico, which was why her sisters had been working so hard to make a name for themselves about town to put a human face on the conflict. They had succeeded in so many ways, and Ana María’s marriage to Gideon, an emerging powerhouse in Parliament, had been a feather in their cap. Yet they needed to do more to win the public’s—the government’s—support.

Isabel needed to do more. Resolve sparked hot in her gut, and doused with a healthy dose of desperation and fear for her parents, it threatened to turn into an inferno.

“Let’s speak with Gideon and Tío Arturo, and devise a plan,” Ana María said, her voice hitched. Still, she nodded decisively, and Isabel was thankful for her sister’s calm assurance.

“Very clever of you, darling,” Gideon said as he paused in the doorframe, his dark gaze sweeping across the room before it settled on his wife. “Señor Valdés just shared the news with us downstairs.”

He crossed immediately to Ana María and was followed into the room by Tío Arturo and, surprisingly, Captain Dawson. The men wore grave expressions, but Isabel’s spirits inexplicably lifted when the captain met her eyes.

She sank onto the settee as her uncle immediately launched into a recitation of everything he had learned about the administration’s movements since receiving the dispatch, and assured his nieces that their parents were safe. Gideon joined the conversation next, explaining his ideas for how to draw Parliament’s attention to the conflict, Ana María and Gabby pelting him with suggestions and concerns.

Isabel tried to follow the conversation, but a headache was building behind her eyes, the steady drum of pain an echo of a single word: failure. She was a failure. If she had been successful in finding information to aid the rebel government, her parents wouldn’t now be in danger. Why could she not do anything right? Even during her abduction, Ana María had managed to secure information that later helped the Juárez government capture a sizable weapons cache. Her sister had been in a terrifying situation and still had the presence of mind to look for documentation to help their countrymen.

Well, no more. As the heels of her hands pressed into her eyes, Isabel focused her thoughts. Her search tactics thus far had not produced results, so she would study them to determine what she could do differently, because she refused to feel this sting of helplessness again.

She was ripped from her thoughts by a deep dulcet voice.

“Miss Luna”—Captain Dawson kneeled down before her, his blue, blue eyes darting over her face—“I’m so sorry you find yourself in this situation. I presume it leaves you feeling a bit helpless.”