Ana María and the Fox (The Luna Sisters, #1)

by Liana De la Rosa

Ana María placed her hand on his arm, and his heart abruptly seemed to beat in the spot where they touched.

“She was. Despite everything she endured, she still believed the best in people. I try to remember that when those I work with in Parliament refuse to look past the end of their noses.”

“Isn’t that why armies invade and far-off countries exert dominance over others? To claim their resources, be that gold, silver, land, or human flesh?” A deep sigh seemed to drain her. “It’s why I speak Spanish and why you fight for those who have been stolen away from their homelands.” “And it’s why you’re here now.”

“These people? These pillars of polite London society? They would be helpless as newborn babes if they were forced from their homes in the middle of the night. They balk at cold baths and cold cups of tea, as if such things were a necessity instead of a sign of their privilege. Strip away all that bestows their elevated status, and their refinement and gentility would melt away like snow on a rainy morning.”

you know Father and Mother would never permit us to attend, so we can be rebels together.”

Gabby suspected Lady Yardley fancied Tío Arturo, and the more Ana María watched the two older people interact, the more she agreed that there was more to their relationship than either would admit.

“But, Isa, surely we need a gentleman to translate science for us.” Ana María swept her hand toward the lecture hall entrance. “I mean, I may even need assistance determining where to enter, let alone make sense of Mr. Darwin’s specified analysis.”

“Do not worry, hermana.” Isabel grabbed her wildly gesturing arm and tucked it around her own. With a placating smile that made Ana María snicker, she patted her hand. “I’m here to help explain difficult things to you. As the ugly sister, I have had more opportunities to learn, for I was never expected to perform for Father’s many allies.”

Their father’s treatment of Isabel was so unfair, but almost more so because Ana María had not once thought to counteract his actions. She’d never questioned or challenged their father’s conduct toward her. Instead, Ana María had been resentful of Isabel, for she had not been held to the same standard as she was; her sister had seemed able to do whatever she pleased, while Ana María jumped through hoops like a circus animal. In reality, Isabel had been made to feel inferior simply because she looked like their father.

“As if science and numbers were capable of corrupting a woman.”

“It seems as if some in society believe a woman can be corrupted by a gusty breeze. A springtime shower.” Isabel narrowed her eyes minutely. “The attentions of a handsome gentleman.”

Ana María did her best to hide her surprise by coughing into her hand, but Captain Dawson remained focused on her sister, his expression changing from cordial regard to teasing flirtation in one blink of his striking eyes. “Are you worried my handsome face will corrupt you, Miss Isabel?” Taking a step forward, her sister chuckl...

“I would not call Captain Dawson a gentleman.”

It must have been something distasteful for her serious, stoic sister to have developed such a dislike of him, and still Ana María was simply happy to see her sister moved by something other than her books.

Isabel had always given the impression she was more comfortable with fictional interactions than real ones, perhaps concerned with being too awkward or shy. But Ana María found Isabel wasn’t awkward in the least, but droll and intuitive, catching subtle details that escaped Ana María’s notice.

It was that epiphany that spawned her need to prove she was more than just a docile doll to be manipulated as her handler saw fit.

But listening to Mr. Darwin hypothesize how mockingbirds in the Galápagos had changed and adapted to environmental conditions made her realize how, in essence, she had done the same.

She, Isabel, and Gabby had arrived in England with very rigid orders on their shoulders, but in their new environment, they were changing. Adapting. Evolving, perhaps.

Was it possible to be a good Catholic and embrace Mr. Darwin’s evolutionary view at the same time?

“Count yourself blessed that it was I you divulged such a thing to and not Isabel, who has already flayed a gentleman for expressing the same opinion.”

Comforting in a way that made her want to snuggle into his side and bury her face in his chest so she could saturate her lungs, her blood, with him.

“Scripture says we were created in God’s image, but how can that be possible if we’re just evolved apes?” “Well, if you must know, I’m certain several members of Parliament have not evolved much past our supposed ape ancestors.” Laughter surged up her throat before she could contain it. Although he did not join in her amusement, the light danced in Mr. Fox’s dark eyes as he watched her.

A grin pulled her cheeks taut. “And then I can meet this man who encourages you not to be afraid of the world around us, but instead to explore it.”

“Mankind is an emotional being.”

Ana María suspected Mr. Fox had been on his own so long that he’d grown used to the utilitarian,

Ana María ached to give him a reason to notice beautiful things again.

“You’re like a prism, displaying your thoughts and emotions in an array of colorful expressions. I’m sure I could watch you all day.”

Hypnotized by his gaze, she searched her memory for a time someone—anyone—had ever looked at her as he did now. As if she were fascinating. Intelligent. Beautiful.

“I’ve been working on a matter that is twofold: a proclamation that England will no longer do business with any country that offers port to any ship engaged in the slave trade. The treaty you mentioned outlaws the practice at ports in Britain and the United States, but I want it to include countries in South America. Like Brazil, where slavers’ ships still find welcome.”

“Because sometimes a man of humble origins, with more tenacity than connections, is not afforded the same consideration as his peers.”

“I admire you, Señor Fox, and I’m certain your parents, and your grandmother, would admire who you’ve become. I know you’ll garner the support you seek, and I hope it, in turn, brings you the greatest satisfaction.”

It was not every Sunday they received guests, and certainly not guests of the Luna sisters’ stature.

This is where she belongs, his heart whispered to him, not in some Mayfair drawing room where she would be a doll in some pompous lord’s collection. Not in a villa in Mexico City, the forgotten wife of some elevated politician. For here, among the modest people of the neighborhood, she shined, for she was herself.

Gideon tore his gaze away. It was not his place to tell Miss Luna where she belonged, and it was certainly a flight of fancy to believe she might belong with him.

He and Father Duncan had always spoken freely with each other, and already the thought of sharing some of his burden with his old friend lifted a weight from his shoulders he had not realized was there.

Gideon rode next to Ana María on the narrow squab. Shoulder to shoulder. Thigh pressed against thigh. Gideon felt delirious with her jasmine scent floating about him, and it took every bit of his self-control to focus on her sisters.

“Precisely. And I’ve found that those who occupy high society have no interest in fraternizing with those who are the backbone of our country. They turn their noses up at them as if their wealth and comfort and privilege aren’t dependent upon the very same people they scorn.”

Against his better judgment, Gideon patted her knotted hands, his skin feeling hot and flushed.

He had to tell her. Ana María Luna may have been promised to another man, but she had to know how she left him at sixes and sevens whenever she was near. Whenever he smelled her alluring scent. Met her soulful dark eyes from across a ballroom. How no day had passed that he hadn’t thought of her. She could never be his, but Gideon had to tell her of how much he wished she could be.

“If a dewy complexion is all the rage, than I am an original, for I positively glow every year during the rainy season in Mexico City.”

If the fire burning in his dark eyes was any indication, his words would have reduced her to ash.

“It’s whitening cream. I thought it might help you feel”—she gestured with the tube to Isabel’s face—“more confident in the ballroom.”

“Isabel doesn’t need this.” Gabby crossed the room and ripped the white tube from Isabel’s hand. “Why would she want to be a pale version of herself when she was born to stand out? When her skin has been touched by the sun?”

“Not everyone prizes light skin,” Gabby hissed, stomping her foot. “Isabel’s features, including her dark skin, are gifts from our people. Of those who lived and breathed and loved for hundreds of years since before the world knew it as Mexico, and were never defeated by the Tenochca Empire.” She flung a hand out at Isabel. “Her bronze skin was worn by warriors. By survivors. To bleach it away because of some grotesque beauty standard would be a cruel sin.”

“You’re beautiful, Isa. I’ve always been so envious of you, with your lovely skin that looks stunning in every color. You don’t look washed out and sickly when you wear yellow.”

“And your hair can hold a curl and is only prettier when it rains, while mine droops and makes me look like Dove after Bauer has given her a bath.”

“But I’m not. What’s ridiculous is that people think if you somehow look like everyone else, you’ll be beautiful. But that’s boring.” She squeezed Isabel’s hand. “And you’re anything but boring, Isa.”

“Isa, I hope you know that Father’s opinions are not ours.”

“In Mexico, I knew it was only a matter of time before Father sold me into marriage, like he did Ana.”

“Well, of course you’d be more interested in your books,” Gabby scoffed. “I’d be more inclined to read your books than to be forced to hold a conversation with those tontos.”