The Seer's Choice: A Novella of the Golden City Page 5

  “You don’t have to do that, Captain.”

  He glanced up. “Have to do what, Miss Jardim?”

  She sighed. “I don’t know how to say this.”

  “Try,” he suggested. “I’ll not be critical.”

  No, he wouldn’t be. “You’re being nice to me,” she said, “when you need not.”

  He set his chin on his fist and waited.

  “Mrs. Anjos told me,” she said softly, keeping her eyes averted, “that what I did to you on Sunday—when you nearly passed out and I put everything back—that kind of action creates a bond. I’ve tied us together. With my gift, I mean, and I don’t know how to undo that, Captain.”

  He regarded her with a furrow between his thick brows. “Is that why you think I asked you to join me for dinner?”

  She shrugged. “She says it’s the bond. You’re being tricked by your mind. You don’t need to be nice to me, Captain.”

  He sat back in his chair, silent for a moment. “You do know that I have a seer’s gift, don’t you?”

  She nodded. She’d never seen much evidence of him using his gift, but he seemed to keep most things to himself.

  “One of the problems with being a seer is that you sometimes do things simply because you know you’re going to do them.” He paused for a moment, giving her time to consider that, then added, “It’s usually wiser to know why you’re doing things. For example, I might walk past a house and think, I’m going to purchase that house. I could go ahead and purchase it right away, but would it not be wiser to view the house first and make an informed decision instead?”

  That complication of his gift had never occurred to her. There wasn’t an equivalent in her gift, she thought, but the logic had a parallel in terms of society’s expectations. Girls were told that achieving a marriage was more important than why it was being pursued or with whom. “I understand.”

  “That day, in your mother’s library when I was introduced to you,” he said, “I knew that you would someday be my wife.”

  What?

  Genoveva swallowed. She didn’t even remember meeting him that day. And he’d. . . ?

  “I couldn’t imagine then,” he continued, “any reason you would accept a man like me, a man from the seminary with only a captain’s pay.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but he held up one finger.

  “To be honest, I couldn’t imagine why I would court you either, Miss Jardim. I assumed you were a spoiled aristocrat who’d done nothing more in your life than hunt a husband.”

  She caught her lower lip between her teeth. Given society’s past gossip about her, that claim wasn’t a surprise. She did have a reputation as a husband hunter, mostly her own fault.

  “In the last few months, you’ve proven me wrong,” Captain Pinheiro added. “I admit I’ve been keeping an eye on you, but I’ve also kept my distance, trying to determine the why of the situation. In this last week, I believe I’ve figured it out.”

  “Figured it out?” she repeated breathlessly.

  “Well, it’s rather like I’ve toured the house and discovered it was exactly to my taste.”

  Genoveva licked her lips, uncertain whether she should tell him that she felt the same. Did he expect her to confess that?

  “So again, Miss Jardim,” he said, “would you like to have dinner with me?”

  “Yes, Captain,” she said, feeling a strange warmth in her heart. “I would like that.”

  

  She didn’t seem to mind returning to Botelho’s restaurant, although she did give the tripe and bean soup a doubtful look. Rafael doubted she’d often eaten tripe growing up. “If you want to pick out the bits of tripe,” he said, “Botelho won’t be angry.”

  “I don’t want him to think I don’t like his offering,” she whispered.

  It was amusing to hear the society girl worried about insulting a former police officer turned restaurateur. “Put it on my plate, then. It’s one of my favorites. No one will know.”

  She blushed, perhaps aghast at the implied familiarity. He was sure ladies didn’t pass food off their plates. But she took her fork, gingerly picked out a square of tripe, and set it on the edge of his plate. She dug through the rest of her soup, picking out a few more pieces of tripe. Botelho always added plenty of other meats, so she wouldn’t starve.

  He didn’t know exactly where to start the conversation, but something had been bothering him. “Will you tell me about Alessio Ferreira?”

  Her eyes lifted slowly to meet his. “You’ve heard about . . . him?”

  “I heard rumors. But I would rather hear what actually happened from you.”

  “I wasn’t his lover,” she insisted. “Never.”

  Rafael shook his head. “That’s not what I meant. There were rumors that you pursued him, and I can’t imagine you doing so.”

  Her straight brows drew together. “Did you know him?”

  “We met a couple of times,” he admitted. Alessio hadn’t known they were cousins, but he’d been genial enough to a common police captain.

  Genoveva sighed. “I was eighteen when I first came out, and he was kind to me. He talked to me. He made a point of dancing with me. That’s all it was. But Lord Carvalho . . .”

  He’d noted that she never referred to Carvalho as her father. Rafael didn’t blame her.

  “. . . he went to Alessio Ferreira,” she continued after a moment, “and offered me to him, rather like selling him a horse. He promised Alessio that I would turn a blind eye to his affairs, that I would be a dutiful wife and produce an heir for him, and that he could pack me off to the countryside afterward.”

  Rafael’s disgust for Carvalho increased. “Did he tell you that?”

  “Yes. Carvalho explained my duties as a potential wife to me clearly.” She took a sip of vinho verde, perhaps hoping it would calm her nerves. “Alessio told me about it later, as well.”

  How painful that conversation must have been. “Were you in love with him?”

  She shook her head. “I was infatuated with him at first, but . . . could you imagine? It would be like yoking a racehorse together with a rabbit. He was far too dangerous for me and I knew it. The only thing Alessio Ferreira and I had in common was a fondness for dancing. He always made a point of dancing with me, and others assumed there was more than that.”

  And as he’d heard that Genoveva Jardim was an excellent dancer, Rafael couldn’t blame Alessio Ferreira for asking, even knowing that the association would hurt her reputation. Alessio hadn’t feared scandal. “Have I offended you by inquiring into your business?”

  “No.” She licked her lips. “Most people just believe what others say of me. No one ever bothers to ask.”

  While her reputation wasn’t precisely tarnished, gossips had proclaimed her desperate for a husband, and many would assume that was born of promiscuity. “I’m not always a proper gentleman,” he admitted, “and I was curious.”

  That statement actually made her smile. “I’ve been through three years of balls and soirees, and proper is not a title merited by many gentleman of the Golden City. You’ve been far more proper than Alessio Ferreira ever was.”

  He could believe that. Alessio Ferreira had lived a shockingly loose life, taking lovers indiscriminately. “It’s good then, that he didn’t accept Carvalho’s offer.”

  “He had no intention to marry,” she said, “so there was no chance of that. He told me that he couldn’t be faithful to any woman, but . . .”

  Rafael regarded her with raised brows.

  “Well, he was kind, even if a terrible rake.” Genoveva sighed dramatically. “I might as well confess that I was pressured to pursue his brother after his death. Carvalho wanted their family’s money to bolster his own coffers. At first I found that a ridiculous idea. Duilio Ferreira seemed a bit of a simpleton and he never dances, but then Carvalho started pushing me harder and threatening me with the convent. Ferreira was actually quite clever and kind, but he was in love with someone else, s
o my pallid effort was for naught in the end.”

  He’d always known that the business with Duilio was more Carvalho’s will than her own. “Expectations of others often push us to do things we wouldn’t do on our own.”

  She smiled sadly. “I wish I had gathered my nerve to leave his home before making a fool of myself.”

  “It had to have been a frightening choice for you to make.” He’d had occasional twinges of guilt over that during the last few months. He could have sought her out immediately after she’d left that house and asked her to marry him. It would have meant safety for her. But he hadn’t wanted to tie himself to someone he didn’t know, no matter how lovely she was.

  “I always knew there were alternatives, should I fail. My mother gives me money on occasion, when she thinks Carvalho won’t learn of it. And if things became unbearable, I could always have turned to the convent. I’ve never truly feared starvation.”

  How interesting that she understood that—that there was a difference between her situation and that of many other women. He was glad she hadn’t been living in fear all these months. “We wouldn’t have let you starve,” he told her.

  She gazed at him, head tilted to one side. “You mean that you wouldn’t have.”

  He inclined his head to concede the point. “Many women would resent that I didn’t do more.”

  “Why should you have?” She set aside her napkin, a worried line between her brows. She seemed about to speak, but shook her head, eyes miserably fixed on her half-eaten dinner.

  Was he about to find out what threatened them? He reached over and touched the side of her hand with his own. “Go ahead and say it. I won’t be offended.”

  It took a moment, her soft lips forming a question that she held back. “What about children?” she finally asked, barely above a whisper. “When you do marry, do you plan to have a lot of children, Captain?”

  He didn’t move his hand. He didn’t know what answer she wanted him to give. He finally settled on the truth, hoping this wasn’t the thing that would doom their relationship. “I’ve never given it much thought. Before a few months ago, I had never considered marriage so I never planned for children. Well . . .”

  “Well?” she prompted when he paused.

  “I had considered adopting a boy or two from the seminary.” He watched her face to see how she reacted to that idea. “When I was a little older, perhaps. There are so many there.”

  “But not children of your own?”

  He thought he understood. Her day’s experience must have made her doubt the safety of bearing a child. Many women didn’t survive, and he didn’t want her to be one of those women who died young. If he was going to marry her, he wanted to keep her with him for the rest of his life, even if that meant ignoring the will of the Church in certain matters. “It never occurred to me that I need to have children of my own, Miss Jardim.”

  Her eyes remained fixed on his face. Worried, he was sure.

  He’d always been careful in his relations with women, not wanting to repeat his father’s negligence. There were ways to reduce the chance of having a child, ways a sheltered girl like Genoveva wouldn’t know. Ways far safer than the solution her patient had attempted. If Genoveva was his wife, they could discuss this in detail, somewhere far more private. This wasn’t the time or place, though, for that discussion.

  Or perhaps she hesitated to violate the teachings of the Church. Or perhaps she wanted a dozen children, and he’d given her the wrong answer. Perhaps that was why she might not marry him.

  He reached across the table and took her hand in his own. “Did I say the wrong thing?”

  She shook her head. “No. It would be a kindness to adopt a child from the seminary.”

  And from her tone, he could tell she meant that. He let loose a pent breath. “Thank you for understanding. I feared that you hoped for a dozen children.”

  “I was surprised by your answer, captain. Most men seem to think that fathering children is the only reason to take a wife. I had assumed that, once he knew how I felt, no man would . . .” She shrugged.

  Ever marry her? Rafael shook his head. She must have been thinking of this before today to have had such a concern. “And you simply don’t wish to have a child?”

  Her hand slid from under his and she put it in her lap. Her eyes sought out the tablecloth. “What if . . . what if I should have a child who turns out to be like my father?”

  And that he understood all too well.

  Her father had been seduced by the strength of his gift into thinking he could stand in God’s place, choosing who lived and who died. She must fear that in herself as well. Then again, he’d always dreaded the possibility of having a child who turned out to be as difficult and self-centered as his own father.

  “What if he should turn out like mine?” He shuddered dramatically.

  And she laughed softly at his mock horror, the mood between them lightening. “I do fear that more than anything else,” she said.

  

  Genoveva lay in her narrow bed that night, clutching the musty pillow to her chest. The moon’s light glowed through the thin curtains, illuminating the threadbare rug, the rickety table, and the ancient armoire that crowded her small room.

  Over the last six months she’d taken pride in this place she’d found for herself. It wasn’t much, but it was clean, there were no vermin on this floor, and when she locked the door she was safe, more or less. She’d told herself that she could make her own way. She didn’t need a father to order her life and command her where to go. She didn’t need a husband to do that either. She’d strived to become a modern woman. She didn’t need a man in her life.

  That didn’t mean having one might not be a wonderful thing.

  She enjoyed the time she spent in Rafael Pinheiro’s company. It was strange that they seemed to have so much in common, but every time he said he liked something, it was something she liked, too. Well, except for the football, and she could cultivate a taste for that. And he’d eaten tripe and beans at the restaurant earlier that night. She was not going to develop a taste for that. But otherwise . . .

  She disliked his father, but he didn’t seem to care for Silva’s company either. He’d grown up knowing what sort of man his father was, and had vowed never to be like him.

  A healer couldn’t become pregnant without wanting to. If she was truly a modern woman, she shouldn’t have qualms about taking a lover. But she wasn’t that modern, was she?

  And he’d definitely said the word wife.

  She had tried to act as if that hadn’t mattered, as if he hadn’t said it, and he’d let it pass.

  But what would it be like to be married to him?

  If they were married, they would have two incomes, which would mean less worry about eating and paying rent. And a captain must be paid more than she was. According to his landlady, he had the entire third floor of her house, which meant more space than this tiny room she’d rented.

  If they were married, she wouldn’t have to worry about men like Medeiros bothering her. She would be safe, wouldn’t she?

  She licked her lips, holding her pillow closer. The thought of marrying Alessio Ferreira had frankly terrified her. She’d liked him, but his reputation for sexual exploits hinted that he had a great deal of experience, and wild expectations. There had even been rumors that he sometimes bedded more than one lover at once. As kind as he’d been to her, she hadn’t wanted his attention in that way. She’d certainly never dreamed about having Duilio Ferreira in her bed. She’d pursued him on her father’s orders, and he, in turn, had never shown the slightest interest in her. But Rafael Pinheiro?

  She knew something about his passions. When she’d read his energies, she’d learned that he harbored strong desires even if he’d not been involved with a woman for months. But she also knew his compassion. He wasn’t the sort who would willingly hurt a woman. He couldn’t fool her about his nature, not when she’d read him so thoroughly.

 
She pressed her flushed cheek against her pillow, pretending she had her arms about Rafael Pinheiro instead. He wasn’t slender, not like this pillow. Would he smell as he had when he’d come off the football field? Of perspiration? Or perhaps of soap or cologne? She sniffed the musty pillow. No, he would smell better than that. And he would be solid and heavy and warm. Maybe he would sleep with his arms about her.

  She didn’t need him, but she wanted him.

  Even so, she wasn’t going to give up the gains she’d made in the last few months. She didn’t want to become a wife like her mother, always cowed and serving her belligerent husband’s whims. Constancia was happy being a farm wife and looked forward to bearing a dozen children to her husband. That wasn’t what Genoveva wanted, either. Especially not after watching that young woman die this afternoon. Neither did she want to be like her middle sister, Efigénia, angry and frustrated and alone.

  There had to be some way to be a modern woman, and have Rafael Pinheiro as well.

  

  Rafael sat on the steps of the church, waiting.

  Despite the difficulties of her day, Miss Jardim had made an excellent dinner companion again. They’d discussed her work over at the hospital, his childhood at the seminary for boys, her upbringing split between the city and the countryside.

  That afternoon when she’d said he was only watching over her because of the incident the previous Sunday, he hadn’t considered before blurting out what he had. In his haste, he’d bluntly spilled that he’d foreseen he would marry her. And once he’d started talking about it he hadn’t known of a graceful way to stop without telling her the whole.

  He’d meant merely to reassure her that she hadn’t bewitched him. Not by using her gift, at least. He remembered her shock when she’d realized she could use her gift to affect his mind as much as his body. That was what she’d feared, so he’d hurried to reassure her that he’d been interested in her before that incident.

  He had all but asked Genoveva Jardim to marry him.

  He could have told her he’d been in love with her for months. It would have been a lie, though, and he didn’t want to lie to her. He wasn’t in love with her even now, was he?