Conquistadora - Esmeralda Santiago [184]
Ana sent Conciencia away and sat in her study, trying to make sense of the latest crisis. Whether through neglect, or la edad crítica, or the female’s need to conceive, everything would now change.
Over the last eighteen years she and Severo had built Hacienda los Gemelos, but half of its canebrakes, pastures, and forests belonged to Severo Fuentes. She knew that, as with her conquistador ancestors, much of his wealth went to Spain. On the other hand, he’d also assured her that he had no intention of ever going back. She guessed that he was a more important man in Boca de Gato by his absence and largesse than if he walked among them, in their eyes still the cobbler’s son in fancier clothes.
He appeared to be content to be whom he’d set out to be so many years ago: a man of fame and fortune. Married to her, an illustrious española, he was also the stepfather of a Spanish military hero’s grandson. By all accounts he’d risen in a way impossible to do on the Peninsula. The only thing he hadn’t achieved was producing a legitimate son to carry his name into the future. The name Fuentes was officially linked only to the slaves he owned.
Now he’d have an hijo de sangre pura. If the boy also inherited his father’s ability and intelligence, it might be this child, not Miguel, who’d continue their work and carry their names into generations.
Ana hadn’t thought about her father in years. What would the arrogant don Gustavo think if his illustrious line devolved into this: the son of his unwanted daughter and the son of a village cobbler?
Ana would be watching the sun go down, as usual, from her rocker. Conciencia was fanning her, but as soon as she heard his step, she disappeared into the house.
“Buenas tardes, mi reina.”
There was a sadness about her that wasn’t there before. Teo brought the sherry, and they waited until they were alone.
“I’m pregnant, Severo,” she said with no preamble.
He wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “I beg your pardon?”
“Pregnant.”
He knelt at her feet and looked into her face. She was doing everything possible to avoid his gaze.
“Ana, is it true? You’re carrying my child?” He placed his hand over her belly, which through the layers of cloth felt no different today than two days ago, two weeks ago, two years.
“I know this news makes you happy.”
“Of course.”
“It complicates everything!”
He sought her eyes and she didn’t look away.
“You’re worried about two heirs fighting over our inheritance.”
“It’s inevitable.”
Hard, hard, hard Ana, he thought. Even the poorest, most miserable campesina allowed herself a moment of joy upon learning she was pregnant, but not Ana.
“We’ve faced greater complications,” he said.
“I’m too old!”
He pulled her off the rocker into his arms. “No, mi cielo, you’re not. You’re just the right age. Our early years were so difficult. You were wise to send Miguel away to ensure his survival. But our child will grow up in our beautiful home and will have the best of everything. We’ll be able to enjoy being parents. Do you not see that, mi amor?”
She held on to him as if she’d fall if he let her go. He kissed her hair, waited for her to agree that, yes, a baby at this stage in their lives was a gift. But she just buried her face in his chest. Ana might never be the mother their son deserved, but with this child, he’d be the father he’d never been.
“Let me see,” he said, walking her inside the house.
“See what?”
“Where the baby is growing. Show me.”
“There’s nothing to see,” she said, horrified and aroused at the same time. “It all happens inside.”
He picked her up and carried her through the sala, past the study and the dining room where Teo and Gloria were setting up for supper, beyond the guest rooms, to their suite at the end of the hall.
“Set me down,” she laughed loud enough for him to hear but not so loud that the servants