Sonya gave a helpless sound, a mixture of a sigh and a sob. Carefully, she set down the delicate cup and saucer, slender fingers arranging it on the tray as if it were vitally important that it sit exactly right. Then she said, “At least be careful. The situation in Mexico is volatile. There’s more at stake than just the resignation of one president in favor of another. There are men who will stop at little to hold their interests, and who may be involved in the efforts to keep their choice in power.”

“I didn’t realize you cared about politics in Mexico, or even in the United States,” Ginny said.

“Normally, I don’t.” A tiny frown creased her brow, and she lifted her shoulders in a dainty shrug. Blond hair caught the light from the window, a soft gleam that framed her face; she looked worried, somehow, something not usually associated with Sonya. “You’ll do what you want, of course.”

“Yes.” Ginny leaned forward, set her cup on the tray next to Sonya’s and rose, her hands smoothing the soft bronze folds of her cotton riding habit over her slender hips. “It’s getting late. I have so much to do before we leave, and I promised I would not be too long. Do you like it here? It’s lovely, and much closer to the city than I thought it would be. It took hardly any time at all to ride out—”

Sonya had risen, too, and said quickly, as if to forestall any questions, “You will go up and bid farewell to your father before you leave, won’t you?”

“Yes, of course. He seems to tire easily these days. I suppose it’s taken him much longer to recover from his injuries than even he thought it would. After all, he almost died from that bullet. I’m sorry I wasn’t here for him.”

“Yes. He used to wonder where you were when he was still so feverish. It took some time for him to realize that you were missing. And, of course, we thought you dead for a long time, until—until we learned you had survived.”

“I imagine it was quite a shock for all of you.”

“You sound so mocking. Must you ridicule me when I’m trying to understand, trying to—build a bridge?”

“Build a bridge? Between you and me? That’s not at all necessary, Sonya. There’s nothing to bridge.”

In a brittle tone, Sonya said, “We both know better than that.”

Ginny caught the undercurrent in her voice. The memory of the last time in New Orleans swept back, sharply.