“Really, Sonya,” Ginny said with a lift of her brow, “I am capable of making my own decisions. While I appreciate your concern, I assure you that the situation isn’t nearly as bad as you may think.”

It was quiet in the drawing room, the servants having already brought a tray of hot Louisiana coffee and the small pastries that Sonya loved. Dustings of sugar frosted steamy pastries, the sweet smell almost cloying. A low fire burned, and the sharp light of late summer streamed in through floor-to-ceiling windows that opened onto a wide gallery.

Frustration creased Sonya’s brow, a slight furrow in a face that was rarely allowed to reflect her emotions. Her gown was a flattering deep-rose silk, her pale skin flawless still, save for a tiny network of lines at the corners of her blue eyes as she looked at Ginny.

“I told William you wouldn’t listen.”

“Listen to what? Vague warnings of doom should I go to Mexico? Steve’s grandfather is still influential there and has many friends in high places.”

“Yes, and he was influential the last time, and it did you no good. Ginny, listen to me! I don’t know why I feel this way, but I do. No, don’t turn away, please! It’s all so wrong, don’t you see? The rebellion going on, the threat of another revolution, and then the unrest along the borders. You know far better than I how dangerous it can be. Why will you risk your life?”

Ginny took a sip of the hot chicory coffee; it scalded a path down her throat, strong and bitter. “Because I do not want to be separated from my husband again.”

The truth of her reply stunned them both. For several moments the only sounds were those of the logs in the fire and the distant hum of servants beyond the closed doors. It was an illuminating self-discovery.

The delicate Limoges cup Sonya held rattled slightly in its saucer, breaking the spell the truth had cast. “I see. Even if it greatly endangers you?”

“Yes. Even if it takes me from my children for a time, even if I risk grave peril. Oh, don’t you see? I’ve changed. I don’t know how or why, but after all this time—the years I’ve resisted what I felt, hated him, distrusted him, wished I’d never met him—I’ve realized that he’s the reason behind all I’ve done, even if indirectly. I can’t help what has happened to me beyond my will, but I can help what I do now. I intend to go with him.”