The Daughter of Doctor Moreau(35)

“What’s your favorite book?”

She enjoyed books about pirates and her father’s science textbooks alike, but she wondered if he’d think her silly if she admitted to enjoying tales of great romance. “I like Sir Walter Scott and fell in love with Brian de Bois-Guilbert,” she said at last.

“Don’t tell me…he’s from that book…oh, what is that?”

“Ivanhoe.”

“Of course! But isn’t he a villain? Or am I misremembering?”

“Oh, no.” Carlota shook her head, her voice now louder and more certain. “He’s more complicated than that. He loves Rebecca, and she doesn’t love him. He’s vowed to never love again, and he’s filled with conflicting emotions.”

“I thought he was the villain, but thank you for correcting my flawed notion. You fancy Ivanhoe and what else?”

“Other books. I liked Clemencia. It’s romantic. Have you read it?”

“I wasn’t studious and skimmed my assigned readings,” Eduardo said, sounding proud of himself.

“What did you learn in the city, then?”

“I did learn a little, even if I’m no scholar. My father wants me to pay attention to our properties now, so I suppose I should brush up on my math. The particulars of the hacienda are for the administrator and the mayordomo to handle, of course, but it doesn’t hurt to take a look at the ledgers once in a while. My father hardly ever visits the estates, nobody really does, but he thought I should look at them, at least once. Vista Hermosa used to have cattle, but now it’s a sugar-producing hacienda. That’s all I knew about it until a few weeks ago.”

“I can’t understand how you wouldn’t intimately know the places you own,” Carlota said, frowning. “How can you tell all the different types of earth if you’ve never held them in your hands?”

“What different types of earth could there be?”

“All kinds! Tsek’el, which is bad for growing, and k’an kaab k’aat, which is thin and red. Boox lu’um is black and rich, and k’an kaab is yellow. If you don’t know the soil, then you can’t understand how to grow new things or how to burn it for the new crops. Learned men must know these things.”

“I am a failure then,” he said cheekily and gave her a big smile. “Will you be my teacher?”

“I don’t presume to be so wise. Besides, you are teaching me how to dance.”

“Bah. Dancing is not hard. Certainly simpler than Latin. I’m not very good at Latin.”

“I’m good at languages.”

“Perhaps in the end you surpass me at everything.”

“Perhaps you are modest, sir.”

“I’m not. But I can show you another step, would you like that?”

She felt more comfortable with him now that they were dancing. The newness of him was more exciting than frightful. Accustomed as she was to her father’s stern, demanding exterior and Montgomery’s somber musings, she much appreciated Eduardo’s good humor. She smiled back at him and nodded, relishing the way his eyes fixed on her, full of infectious delight.

It followed her through the house, this delight, even after the dance had finished and they’d said their goodbyes. It almost itched; it was a strange, restless eagerness, and she wondered if he felt the same.

That evening, when Carlota brought her father his cup of tea, he congratulated her.

“You did well today,” he said, as she placed the tray on the side table. “Eduardo seems impressed with you. Marriage would do you good, and it would give us options.”

“What do you mean?” she asked softly.

“When I left Paris, it was without my family’s support. You could say they disowned my studies, my work. I’ve had to build a new life for myself without them, without anyone. My brother owes me a share of the family fortune, but would he relinquish it? No. And would I get on my knees and beg for it? Never. Let him rot. I’ve survived without him.”

Her father seldom talked about that part of his life. She knew he’d done revolutionary work related to blood transfusions, but why he’d abandoned France, how he’d made his way to Mexico, that he didn’t like to talk about. It surprised her to hear him speak candidly, so rather than interjecting, she simply listened, nodding her head.

“I want to give us options, Carlota. The Lizalde name opens doors. Their fortune is immense. I’ve had to offer myself in the employment of others, to make do and follow the path set down by moneyed imbeciles. If you were to marry into such a family you’d have a chance to make your own choices.”

“Then you think…you think you’d like one of them as a husband for me? Because they are wealthy?”

“Wealth is power. You can’t go through this world without two pesos to rub together and when I pass away there will be little left. This house is not mine, Carlota. Neither is the furniture nor the equipment in the lab. This is all borrowed, girl.”

“But then you speak as though I have no choice, papa, and you spoke of choice just now,” she whispered as she stood by her father’s bed.

He clasped her hand firmly. “Carlota, a girl must be sensible, and I need to count on you to be sensible. The Lizalde boys might be our best…no, our sole chance. Child, these might be the most important days of your young life.”