Winds of Fate [Books IV-VI]

Interlude: La Condesa de Sevilla (Part Three)

"Señorita."

She jolts and tucks the amulet in her chest.

"Sí?" Theresa faces the señor. Señor Facundo nods and leads her down the dark passageway and into the chamber at the end of it, where Doña Margareta, in her dark blue robe and black mantilla, sits by the window. Her hair now mostly gray. Her eyes weary but determined, a glint of fire is in them, scalding her head to toe. She stares back, unafraid now than weeks ago. The Condesa de Sevilla opens a black fan, and Señor Facundo directs Theresa to a settee opposite the Condesa. This she accepts.

"I shall bring water, Señora Condesa."

Doña Margareta nods. "Gracias, Facundo."

He leaves. Theresa remains still. Grief has numbed her heart. Not even fear for this formidable aristocrat could now quake her. She watches the Condesa never keep her eyes off the door, and Theresa wonders if the Doña wished not to do this once more... to not be alone. The Condesa turns to her. However, that annoyance in those eyes tempered, and now, she is no more than an old mother, weeping for days on end for a beloved son. That was unquestionable. Theresa knew it the moment they first talked to each other.

"I do not appreciate a scandal in front of my house, Theresa," Doña Margareta begins. "This is not how we do things in this family."

Theresa winces. "The guards will not listen."

"Just like you, young lady. I have already told you..." Doña Margareta presses her fingertips to her forehead. "We were clear. Weeks ago. That you will leave Sevilla."

"And I have, Señora," Theresa shivers, ignoring how the Doña raises her brows. "Is it my fault that Antonio still found me, Señora Condesa?"

"Stubborness is indeed something no one can take away from Antonio. I do not discount his actions toward you." Doña Margareta grips her fan tight. "However, you could turn him away."

Theresa presses her lips tight and clasps her hands together for strength. "I had. I tried—"

"Well, you did not try enough, young woman."

Her brows knot. There is truth in there, but how could the Doña make her out to be the villain here, when it is her son who wanted to disobey tradition and betray his station over and over again.

She will not stand for it.

"I may be a peasant, Doña Margareta."

Their furious gazes meet, and the Condesa just scowls darkly. A trait Tonio had unfortunately shared.

Theresa doesn't breathe as she continues, "But I refuse to be blamed for an aristocrat's actions when he is clearly a man who thinks on his own and acts on what he wants."

The Doña narrows her eyes at her.

She couldn't care. "He went to my pension, and I turned him away. We found each other in Triana, and I tried my best to quell that fire. But Don Antonio, your son..." Theresa catches herself, her voice watery from speaking the name, from acknowledging who this woman is before her. Not only Doña Margareta Ortega, La Condesa de Sevilla. She is his mother. The woman who brought him into the world... She meets the Doña's eyes, "He was my friend first before he was my master."

A shadow of pain replaces that fire.

"No matter how much we forget it, Señora. Perdoname." Theresa concedes. There is no point to it. The Condesa is well in her right to be mad at her, for endangering the city and for entertaining Antonio's moves. "I couldn't—"

"Break his heart?"

Theresa stiffens.

Doña Margareta stares her down. "Or yours?"