The Seer's Choice: A Novella of the Golden City (9 page)

“I always knew there were alternatives, should I fail. My mother gives me money on occasion, when she thinks Carvalho won’t learn of it. And if things became unbearable, I could always have turned to the convent. I’ve never truly feared starvation.”

How interesting that she understood that—that there
was
a difference between her situation and that of many other women. He was glad she hadn’t been living in fear all these months. “We wouldn’t have let you starve,” he told her.

She gazed at him, head tilted to one side. “You mean that
you
wouldn’t have.”

He inclined his head to concede the point. “Many women would resent that I didn’t do more.”

“Why should you have?” She set aside her napkin, a worried line between her brows. She seemed about to speak, but shook her head, eyes miserably fixed on her half-eaten dinner.

Was he about to find out what threatened them? He reached over and touched the side of her hand with his own. “Go ahead and say it. I won’t be offended.”

It took a moment, her soft lips forming a question that she held back. “What about children?” she finally asked, barely above a whisper. “When you do marry, do you plan to have a lot of children, Captain?”

He didn’t move his hand. He didn’t know what answer she wanted him to give. He finally settled on the truth, hoping this wasn’t the thing that would doom their relationship. “I’ve never given it much thought. Before a few months ago, I had never considered marriage so I never planned for children. Well . . .”

“Well?” she prompted when he paused.

“I
had
considered adopting a boy or two from the seminary.” He watched her face to see how she reacted to that idea. “When I was a little older, perhaps. There are so many there.”

“But not children of your own?”

He thought he understood. Her day’s experience must have made her doubt the safety of bearing a child. Many women didn’t survive, and he didn’t want her to be one of those women who died young. If he was going to marry her, he wanted to keep her with him for the rest of his life, even if that meant ignoring the will of the Church in certain matters. “It never occurred to me that I
need
to have children of my own, Miss Jardim.”

Her eyes remained fixed on his face. Worried, he was sure.

He’d always been careful in his relations with women, not wanting to repeat his father’s negligence. There
were
ways to reduce the chance of having a child, ways a sheltered girl like Genoveva wouldn’t know. Ways far safer than the solution her patient had attempted. If Genoveva was his wife, they could discuss this in detail, somewhere far more private. This wasn’t the time or place, though, for
that
discussion.

Or perhaps she hesitated to violate the teachings of the Church. Or perhaps she wanted a dozen children, and he’d given her the wrong answer. Perhaps
that
was why she might not marry him.

He reached across the table and took her hand in his own. “Did I say the wrong thing?”

She shook her head. “No. It would be a kindness to adopt a child from the seminary.”

And from her tone, he could tell she meant that. He let loose a pent breath. “Thank you for understanding. I feared that you hoped for a dozen children.”

“I was surprised by your answer, captain. Most men seem to think that fathering children is the only reason to take a wife. I had assumed that, once he knew how I felt, no man would . . .” She shrugged.

Ever marry her?
Rafael shook his head. She must have been thinking of this before today to have had such a concern. “And you simply don’t wish to have a child?”

Her hand slid from under his and she put it in her lap. Her eyes sought out the tablecloth. “What if . . . what if I should have a child who turns out to be like my father?”

And that he understood all too well.

Her father had been seduced by the strength of his gift into thinking he could stand in God’s place, choosing who lived and who died. She must fear that in herself as well. Then again, he’d always dreaded the possibility of having a child who turned out to be as difficult and self-centered as his
own
father.

“What if he should turn out like mine?” He shuddered dramatically.

And she laughed softly at his mock horror, the mood between them lightening. “I do fear
that
more than anything else,” she said.



Genoveva lay in her narrow bed that night, clutching the musty pillow to her chest. The moon’s light glowed through the thin curtains, illuminating the threadbare rug, the rickety table, and the ancient armoire that crowded her small room.

Over the last six months she’d taken pride in this place she’d found for herself. It wasn’t much, but it was clean, there were no vermin on this floor, and when she locked the door she was safe, more or less. She’d told herself that she could make her own way. She didn’t need a father to order her life and command her where to go. She didn’t need a husband to do that either. She’d strived to become a modern woman. She didn’t
need
a man in her life.

That didn’t mean having one might not be a wonderful thing.

She enjoyed the time she spent in Rafael Pinheiro’s company. It was strange that they seemed to have so much in common, but every time he said he liked something, it was something she liked, too. Well, except for the football, and she could cultivate a taste for that. And he’d eaten tripe and beans at the restaurant earlier that night. She was
not
going to develop a taste for that. But otherwise . . .

She disliked his father, but he didn’t seem to care for Silva’s company either. He’d grown up knowing what sort of man his father was, and had vowed never to be like him.

A healer couldn’t become pregnant without wanting to. If she was truly a modern woman, she shouldn’t have qualms about taking a lover. But she wasn’t
that
modern, was she?

And he’d definitely said the word
wife
.

She had tried to act as if that hadn’t mattered, as if he hadn’t said it, and he’d let it pass.

But what would it be like to be married to him?

If they were married, they would have two incomes, which would mean less worry about eating and paying rent. And a captain must be paid more than she was. According to his landlady, he had the entire third floor of her house, which meant more space than this tiny room she’d rented.

If they were married, she wouldn’t have to worry about men like Medeiros bothering her. She would be safe, wouldn’t she?

She licked her lips, holding her pillow closer. The thought of marrying Alessio Ferreira had frankly terrified her. She’d liked him, but his reputation for sexual exploits hinted that he had a great deal of experience, and wild expectations. There had even been rumors that he sometimes bedded more than one lover at once. As kind as he’d been to her, she hadn’t wanted his attention in
that
way. She’d certainly never dreamed about having Duilio Ferreira in her bed. She’d pursued him on her father’s orders, and he, in turn, had never shown the slightest interest in her. But Rafael Pinheiro?

She knew something about his passions. When she’d read his energies, she’d learned that he harbored strong desires even if he’d not been involved with a woman for months. But she also knew his compassion. He wasn’t the sort who would willingly hurt a woman. He couldn’t fool her about his nature, not when she’d read him so thoroughly.

She pressed her flushed cheek against her pillow, pretending she had her arms about Rafael Pinheiro instead. He wasn’t slender, not like this pillow. Would he smell as he had when he’d come off the football field? Of perspiration? Or perhaps of soap or cologne? She sniffed the musty pillow. No, he would smell better than that. And he would be solid and heavy and warm. Maybe he would sleep with his arms about her.

She didn’t need him, but she
wanted
him.

Even so, she wasn’t going to give up the gains she’d made in the last few months. She didn’t want to become a wife like her mother, always cowed and serving her belligerent husband’s whims. Constancia was happy being a farm wife and looked forward to bearing a dozen children to her husband. That wasn’t what Genoveva wanted, either. Especially not after watching that young woman die this afternoon. Neither did she want to be like her middle sister, Efigénia, angry and frustrated and alone.

There had to be some way to be a modern woman, and have Rafael Pinheiro as well.



Rafael sat on the steps of the church, waiting.

Despite the difficulties of her day, Miss Jardim had made an excellent dinner companion again. They’d discussed her work over at the hospital, his childhood at the seminary for boys, her upbringing split between the city and the countryside.

That afternoon when she’d said he was only watching over her because of the incident the previous Sunday, he hadn’t considered before blurting out what he had. In his haste, he’d bluntly spilled that he’d foreseen he would marry her. And once he’d started talking about it he hadn’t known of a graceful way to stop without telling her the whole.

He’d meant merely to reassure her that she hadn’t bewitched him. Not by using her gift, at least. He remembered her shock when she’d realized she
could
use her gift to affect his mind as much as his body. That was what she’d feared, so he’d hurried to reassure her that he’d been interested in her before that incident.

He had all but asked Genoveva Jardim to marry him.

He could have told her he’d been in love with her for months. It would have been a lie, though, and he didn’t want to lie to her. He wasn’t in love with her even now, was he?

All the same, he did
like
her. Far more than he’d ever thought possible. And he felt alarmingly possessive about her, an impulse he had no right to feel. He’d tried to maintain his distance when Medeiros started to bother her because the man was younger and might be quite wealthy one day. Medeiros seemed a better match for her. But she hadn’t reciprocated the man’s interest. That had been patently obvious to everyone but Medeiros.

Rafael still had reservations. She was ten years his junior. At one point she’d pursued each of his Ferreira cousins, although her father
had
pushed her to pursue them since the Ferreira family was wealthy. That was another thing; they hadn’t talked about money at all. And he had no idea what sort of lover she would make.