Bride of Fortune (40 page)

      
They made their way around the room, being introduced to various
hacendados
and their ladies, making polite conversation. Mercedes watched Doña Ursula, Mariano's bride, make her way to them in her capacity as hostess for the widowed Don Encarnación. Nicholas noted that the short voluptuous brunette was a beautiful woman who was well aware of her effect on men and knew how to use that effect.

      
Ursula Terraza de Vargas had chosen a dramatic silver-shot blue organza gown as a pale contrast to her dark hair and eyes. The décolletage of the gown revealed ripe heavy breasts and the layers of silvery ruffles on her skirts no doubt concealed plump pleasing curves of hip and calf, but she was a bit fleshy and short of leg for his taste. Still, her slanted violet eyes were intriguing as she smiled at him with a predatory gleam in them.

      
“Dona Ursula, this is my husband, Lucero Alvarado,” Mercedes began the introductions.

      
“My father-in-law has spoken of you. I understand you served in the Imperial Army. You simply must tell me all about it,” Ursula gushed breathlessly.

      
Nicholas watched her curtsy and bat her lashes like the seasoned coquette she was, letting her fan open and close artfully against that over bounteous cleavage, teasing him.

      
“There's not much of war that's fit for a beautiful lady's ears,” he rejoined smoothly.

      
“Then you will tell me of his majesty's court, for I know you were there—shall we say during the first waltz tonight?”

      
After she had excused herself to mingle among the other guests, Mercedes mimicked beneath her breath, “You will tell me of his majesty's court! A command performance.”

      
“Jealousy becomes you,” Nicholas said with a chuckle. “I find it endearing.”

      
“Only give me no cause for it and I shall remain endearing,” she replied sweetly, dreading the months ahead when she would put his love and loyalty to the test as she grew thick and shapeless in pregnancy.

      
Nicholas broke into her reverie. “I believe the guests of honor have arrived.”

      
He gestured to a slender, dark-haired man with a rigid military bearing. At his side was a younger woman, voluptuous and as tall as he, with dark auburn hair and a bold yet merry-looking face. Both were colorfully dressed even in this flock of gaudy plumage. The princess wore red velvet, and enough diamonds to weigh down a smaller woman. Prince Salm-Salm was resplendent in imperial white and gold, his chest covered with a rainbow of ribbons and heavy gold and silver medals.

      
“If he steps out onto the verandah, he'll tinkle like a wind chime,” Nicholas whispered to Mercedes.

      
“Jealous wretch.” She giggled. “He's an imposing figure of a man.”

      
In profile he was hawk-faced with a large Roman nose and high forehead. A thick set of mutton chop sideburns and heavy handlebar mustache covered his stubborn Prussian jaw. His hair was brown, dramatically accented by one silver streak swept back from his brow.

      
The royal couple—actually he was the second son of a minor German princeling and she was American—began to amble in their direction, champagne glasses in hand, making polite conversation along the way. Mariano Vargas escorted them.

      
“I think we're about to have a signal honor bestowed upon us,” Nicholas said dryly.

      
Vargas introduced them with the same casual watchfulness Nicholas had detected earlier. Was this some sort of test? The Prussian's Spanish was halting at best, so they spoke mostly in a mixture of English and French. “It's an honor, Prince Felix, Princess Agnes,” Nicholas said, returning the Prussian officer's formal bow.

      
Mercedes curtsied, noting the indulgent smile the formal prince bestowed so often on his wife, who was openly friendly.

      
While they talked, Nicholas still had the eerie feeling Mariano was measuring him. Vargas indolently drained his champagne, then signaled a waiter for a refill. What, he wondered, was the connection between the Vargas family and the imperial court? Did the prince know about the plot to kill Juarez? Was he perhaps the instigator?

      
Nicholas had heard the Prussian possessed a reputation as a skilled politician as well as a professional soldier. The only way to find out if Salm-Salm was involved was to cultivate him. But Fortune had to be careful of how easily he conversed in French. If he betrayed too much fluency around Mercedes, she would note it. That he also could muddle along well enough in German would convince her that he was not Lucero. He vowed to confine his conversation to French and a bit of English and hope she would not pay attention in the noisy crowd, which was beginning to filter out into the courtyard for the pole dancers.

      
Mariano escorted the princess and Mercedes, allowing the prince to chat freely with Don Lucero as they made their way outdoors.

      
“I understand you served at court briefly. I think I remember you,” Salm-Salm said.

      
“I was there only briefly, sir. You do me a great honor to have noticed.”

      
The prince studied the hard-looking man with the scar across his cheek, then touched his own ruddy cheek where a similar thin white line disappeared into his whiskers. “A dueling scar from—how do you say it?—
in meinen unerfahrenen Jungen Jahren.”

      
“Your misspent youth,” Nicholas supplied, then immediately realized his error when the Prussian nodded shrewdly. “I acquired my scars fighting as an irregular. I was a captain in the
contre-guerrillas
for a few years. The men are an international mix. I had a Westphalian comrade who taught me a smattering of German.” Which was true, only he had met Kemper while he was still in the Legion in North Africa.

      
“Most interesting,” the prince replied, bemused. “You have far more facility with languages than I.”

      
Nicholas’ gaze moved quickly ahead to Mercedes, but she was engaged in animated conversation with the princess and Mariano and did not overhear the exchange. “War is a stern taskmaster. You yourself well know how a soldier's life and an officer's effectiveness depend upon understanding and communicating orders. More of the men were European and North American than Mexican.”

      
“It is a strange business, this war.” The prince sighed. “But tonight we are here to celebrate,” he said, his mood once more lightening as he looked from the five brightly attired dancers to the one-hundred-foot pole which they would eventually climb.

      
Don Encarnación, spying his special guests with the Alvarados, made his way to them. “I should have known two soldiers would find much in common—and your wives both speak English. How fortunate. But if I might tear you away for a bit, I have some other guests most eager to make your acquaintance.”

      
Speculatively, Nicholas watched the old don and the Prussian prince vanish in the crowd, drawing the princess with them. Mariano remained behind with Mercedes and him.

      
“A most engaging man, Prince Felix,” Nicholas remarked, waiting for a reaction from Mariano, but just then the entertainment started.

      
The crowd oohed and aahed in delight as the dancers began. They were elaborately costumed in harlequin suits of vivid red, blue, green and black with feathered headdresses and sequined masks, a peculiar blend of ancient Aztec ritual combined with European showmanship. They circled the pole in a dignified slow processional dance, then nimbly scrambled to the top of it, where each attached a rope to his ankle. Once this was accomplished, they flung themselves out into midair, one by one. All five of them spun in dizzying arcs round and round the pole while the ropes slowly slipped down toward the ground. Miraculously the ropes did not entangle with one another as the men went through all sorts of elaborately convoluted movements, flailing their arms, their free legs, and indeed their entire bodies to keep themselves in simulated flight. Drums and flutes kept a steady rhythm to which their stylized “dance” adhered. Finally, when they came within a few feet of the ground, each one landed deftly on his free foot and unfastened the ankle binding. The guests honored them with thunderous applause.

      
Smiling delightedly, Mercedes said, “That was absolutely incredible. They're as good as the circus acrobats I saw in Madrid when I was a girl.”

      
Having rejoined their group during the performance, Ursula said archly, “That should make the Princess Salm-Salm feel right at home.”

      
Mariano gave her a censorious look. For the first time seeming a bit nonplused, he explained, “What my wife means is that Princess Agnes once performed as an acrobat in the circus.”

      
“That's where her 'dear Salmi' met her,” Ursula whispered with poorly concealed delight. “She was a bareback rider in pink tights. It's really quite a scandal that she's received at court. My aunt Honoria says the empress dislikes her but the emperor won't hear of dismissing her. He—”

      
“Enough, my pet. The prince and princess are our guests and no one should gossip about the imperial court.” Mariano's voice was soft but the look in his eyes was hard and glacially frigid.

      
Observing the exchange, Nicholas thought,
So there is one thing that can get you to show some emotion—your spoiled young bride.
The girl was obviously bored and piqued at her husband for thwarting her love of gossip. Perhaps cultivating her would be an easier way to find out what he needed to learn—if he could do so without having Mercedes claw his eyes out in a jealous fit!

Chapter Seventeen

      
After the rope dancers finished, Don Encarnación formally introduced Prince Felix Salm-Salm and Princess Agnes to the local notables from Chihuahua and Sonora who had been invited for the occasion. The guests of honor led the procession into the dining room where a fifty-foot-long table of polished mahogany was set with Sevres china. Giant ice sculptures and masses of zinnias, crimson bell and dahlias were positioned at intervals along the table.

      
At the special request of the prince and princess, Nicholas and Mercedes were seated across from them and his aides. One, a young Prussian Junker, Lieutenant Arnoldt von Scheeling, made Mercedes distinctly uncomfortable although he did nothing overtly wrong. Indeed, he was the soul of punctilious courtesy, yet something in his manner disturbed her. His square face was pale-complected and clean shaven, typical of the North German gentry from which he came, but his light gray eyes reminded her of the outlaw Lucero had killed on the Hermosillo road.

      
“This war never seems to end,” Princess Agnes lamented. “It really is such a trial for poor Max. Now that Carlotta is gone, he wanders about Chapultepec like a lost soul.”

      
“I've heard that the emperor and empress are very close,” Mercedes said sympathetically, recalling Ursula's snide remarks about Carlotta's contempt for Princess Agnes du Salm.

      
“Well”—Agnes leaned closer to Mercedes to speak in confidence while the men were busy discussing military matters—“she is frightfully astute and conscientious about matters of state. Max relies heavily on her judgment, but when it comes to matters of the heart...” She shrugged expressively. “He is a lonely man.”

      
“How like a woman to attribute all a man's failings to his inadequate love life,” von Scheeling said in ponderous Spanish. His tone was filled with patronizing amusement.

      
Agnes' eyes narrowed. “Oh, Max's
love
life,” she emphasized the word, “is rather full. What he lacks is the genuine female companionship that transcends mere physical liaisons.”

      
“Ah, a rare commodity, indeed. Tell me, Doña Mercedes,” von Scheeling said, turning to her, “do you believe in transcendent love?”

      
Mercedes’ eyes swept involuntarily from the taunting Prussian to Lucero, then quickly back. Her sense of unease increased when she realized von Scheeling had noted the troubled expression that quickly flashed across her face. “Perhaps,” she replied enigmatically, meeting his coldly mocking gray eyes head-on.

      
“I do believe we have embarrassed the lady, Princess,” von Scheeling said without taking his eyes from Mercedes.

      
“Then perhaps we should change the subject,” Agnes replied to him. “Tell me about life on a great Sonoran rancho.”

      
As Mercedes and Agnes chatted, ignoring von Scheeling, he was drawn into the conversation between the prince and Nicholas.

      
“It's difficult for us to imagine what life is like here in the north when we live in the safety of the capital,” Felix said thoughtfully.

      
Nicholas replied, “Don Encarnación has his own militia to protect
Hacienda
Vargas from the enemy. Most
hacendados
aren't so fortunate.”