“The only sensible thing to do on a warm day,” Luz Alana said and beamed at her sister. She seemed genuinely pleased with the news. Most guardians would rebuke the child for supposedly unladylike behavior and remind her the proper ways a young lady should behave, but not this lioness.
“Sweetheart, this is Mr. Evanston Sinclair.” She raised a hand toward him, but her eyes were a little guarded now. He found himself yearning for the open, smiling looks he’d been regaled with in the brasserie. “This is my sister, Clarita, and my cousin Amaranta Marquez Puello. Aurora you met last night.” She blushed at the mention of their encounter at Le Bureau, and heat washed over Evan. “Aurora is the very first woman licensed to practice medicine in Mexico,” she informed him, her voice full of pride.
“And this is Manuela.” Luz Alana gestured to the beauty with russet curls, standing on the other side of Amaranta. “She’s an artist, and two of her paintings will be shown at the Paris Salon.”
Manuela bowed, offering him a very wicked smile. “Mr. Sinclair, three times in two days. If this was Venezuela, you’d be inquiring about a dowry by now.”
Oh, this one he would have to watch out for.
“Manu,” Luz Alana warned, which only made her friend’s smile deepen.
He bowed in courtesy. “A very impressive group, indeed,” he said sincerely. They were all beautiful and clearly accomplished. But he could not take his eyes off Luz Alana.
“Does your beard itch?” Clarita asked, making him laugh.
Evan scratched his chin. “Not usually, but I do have to care for it.”
“How?” she asked and crossed her arms in front of her in an identical imitation of her older sister.
“Clarise Luz, where are your manners?” Luz Alana attempted to rebuke the child, but the force of it was dampened by the woman’s indulgent tone. This little girl was clearly adored by these women, and she knew it.
“It’s all right,” he told Luz Alana, who didn’t look very upset. He turned back to Clarita, who was waiting rather impatiently for his answer. “I—or my valet, rather,” he admitted, “trims it with very small scissors, and then he rubs bay oil in it.”
“Do you comb it?”
He couldn’t help his grin. “Every day.”
This seemed to satisfy her. Evan looked at the three other women, and noticed they were all sending concerned glances at a paper now in Luz’s hand.
“You talk like my da.”
“I am Scottish, like him,” Evan answered without prompting, one eye on Luz Alana as she read.
“We’re going to live there, in Edinburgh,” Clarita said and then looked up at her sister again, as if needing confirmation.
“That’s right, we’ll be there soon,” Luz Alana said distractedly, gaze fixed on the note.
“Do you know any children there?” Clarita asked, cracking Evan’s heart in two.
“I do. My sister has twins. One girl and one boy. They’re eleven,” he told her, and she seemed to mull this over.
“I’m ten. Maybe we can go meet them? The children.” The yearning in her small face disarmed Evan. The Heith-Benzan women seemed to be set on ruining him today.
“Not today, darling. Perhaps once we’re in Edinburgh we can meet Mr. Sinclair’s niece and nephew,” Luz Alana hedged, valiantly attempting to smile, but Evan could see that whatever she’d read in that letter was not good news. “We have to go to Cairo Street.” Her voice shook when she spoke, and it was all Evan could do not to ask what was wrong.
“Can he come with us?” Clarita appealed, turning to him. “Luz Alana is going to buy me a picture book about the Valley of the Kings.” Evan could see Luz Alana fighting tears, but after a moment she got herself back in control.
“What did it say?” Amaranta murmured.
Luz only shook her head. Aurora’s face darkened with fury, and Manuela’s crumpled while Clarita asked Evan about the twins. But by the time the child turned around, the women were all looking down at their young charge as if everything was right in the world.
A pride of lionesses, indeed: whatever trouble was brewing, they would not worry the child with it. Evan could barely contain the need to intervene. To destroy whatever made this fierce woman look so scared.
“Clarita, sweetheart, we have to go. I need to respond to the letter before the telegram office closes in thirty minutes.”
“If that’s going to Edinburgh, I can have it couriered for you,” he blurted out. “We have a clerk at the British pavilion that takes telegrams to the main office. That one’s open until the evening.” Sounding casual was an impossibility at the moment.
She hesitated.
