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“You should take her along, Fernando.”
Cecília had nearly choked on her dinner when her grandmother took her side in the argument with Avô Santa Rita.
“Senhor Romão has been trying to get you to go into town anyway, hasn’t he? You could stay there with the girls until you work out other accommodations.”
There was, no doubt, more happening than either of her grandparents had let Cecília in on, and Avó Gouveia had followed the statement with a thinly veiled attack on Papai and Mamãe’s marriage: “Anyway, we should be making certain that Cecília Madalena is meeting the right people now that she’s eighteen. We don’t want history to repeat itself, after all.” But if it meant that she wasn’t left wasting away in Loures while Bibiana returned to Lisbon, Cecília was more than happy to take it.
Located just to the west of Lisbon proper, Senhor Romão’s house seemed to have escaped any real damage, the jagged brighter stripes of white plaster on top of older layers the only visible sign that repairs had been made to the structure. With four stories and a red-tile roof, it was familiar enough to make Cecília’s chest ache. If only her home had been a few miles west rather than in the Baixa... If only they had been slightly higher up on one of the hills...
She shook her head to clear it before she could fall too far down the hole of if only. She had given into that despair more than once in the months she had been all but alone with her thoughts at her grandparents’. There were better things to focus on.
She turned back toward the carriage just in time to see Avô Santa Rita helping Bibiana down to the brick pathway that led to Senhor Romão’s door. Silent as ever, Bibiana had allowed Avó Gouveia to dress her in a full gown that morning and lead her into the carriage. If not for the entirely empty expression, she would have looked like a perfectly normal young lady. Cecília prayed that would be the case sooner rather than later.
The door of the tall house opened, and a well-dressed older man, who Cecília had to assume was Senhor Romão, moved down the front steps to greet them. “Senhor Santa Rita! So glad you made it. I trust your trip was pleasant.”
“Oh yes,” Avô Santa Rita said, as though he hadn’t spent several hours complaining about the bumpiness of the road, the heat of the carriage, and just about every other part of the journey. “It was so kind of you to offer your home to us.”
“Of course, of course!” Senhor Romão continued with the same exuberance. “We have missed you over the past years, and it is an honor to host a criança milagre.” He dropped his eyes to Bibiana.
The urge to put a protective arm around her sister at the new scrutiny passed through Cecília, but Bibiana continued to stare at nothing, so Cecília contented herself by bunching her skirt in her fist.
“And you must be Cecília.” Senhor Romão shifted his attention.
Cecília gave a curtsy, feeling slightly off-balance in the new low-heeled shoes her grandmother had gotten her to go with what Avó Gouveia considered appropriate court dress. “A pleasure to meet you, Senhor Romão.”
“Enchanted.” He bowed. “I believe it was suggested that you were interested in making your introductions around Lisbon?” Though he still addressed Cecília, he looked to Avô Santa Rita for confirmation. Getting a short nod, he continued, “If you are not too tired from your journey, there is a party at Senhor Mendonça’s tonight that would be a very suitable entrance to society. I would be thrilled to have all of you join me.”
A jolt of excitement, followed closely by a wave of guilt, ran through Cecília’s body at the idea of a party. It had been years since she had been to anything close to one, and even then, the “parties” Mamãe had taken them to were never more than a dozen women in someone’s salon.
You’re here for Bibiana, she told herself. Not to go to parties.
Still, she couldn’t stop herself from praying her grandfather would agree to go.
“Why don’t we get settled first?” Avô Santa Rita avoided answering.
“Of course, of course.” Senhor Romão motioned to some of the servants loitering by the doorway. “Let’s get you to your rooms, then we can catch up, eh?”
Cecília watched her grandfather’s response to the continued exuberance—another simple nod—before she went to Bibiana’s side to lead her inside. Something about Senhor Romão’s friendliness seemed off, as though he was taking genuine amicableness and making it absurd or perhaps playacting altogether. Cecília could only assume the man was after something, though she couldn’t imagine what. The Santa Ritas were an old family but only fidalgo, minor nobility. It was hardly a name that led to deference.
Whatever the reason, though, it had gotten her to Lisbon with Bibiana rather than rotting in the country, so Cecília would gladly take it.
***
CECÍLIA DID HER BEST not to plaster her face to the carriage window as they rattled up the uneven path to Senhor Mendonça’s home. Not far from Senhor Romão’s, the larger house seemed likewise untouched by the quake, and in the mix of the orange-pink dusk light and golden torches lining the path to the front, the tall white walls glowed. With Bibiana settled into the room they would be sharing and seemingly content to continue staring at a wall, Cecília had internally justified attending Senhor Mendonça’s party by deciding she would go and be introduced but wouldn’t let herself enjoy any of it. As building excitement continued to buzz through her body, however, it seemed she was already beginning to fail on that count.
The carriage rolled to a stop, and Senhor Romão smiled from his spot next to Avô Santa Rita. “Ah, here we are. Looks like a fine turnout tonight.”
Avô Santa Rita gave some murmur of agreement as a man dressed in dark-blue livery hurried down the front steps of the grand house and opened the carriage door.
“Senhorita.” Senhor Romão motioned gallantly for Cecília to go first.
She offered a smile of thanks, though she honestly would have preferred to have had the other men out of the carriage before she attempted to navigate the doorway herself. Avó Gouveia had spared no expense in outfitting Cecília for Lisbon, and after nearly a year of bed dresses around her grandparents’ house, the wide pannier and rich silk left her feeling off-balance. The new heeled shoes and folded ruffles of lace certainly didn’t help.
She could only hope she would be able to hide how ungraceful she felt around people no doubt much more used to court dress. Avô Santa Rita and Senhor Romão followed her out of the carriage, and with a quick word to the doorman, they were all swept inside.
The energy in the room made Cecília’s skin buzz. Internal bargain or not, Cecília soaked in the mass of bodies and voices like a starving man who had suddenly arrived at a feast.
“Santa Rita,” a voice cut through the din, and a large, rotund man made his way through the crowd. “I thought that was you.”
Avô Santa Rita turned and smiled. “Sousa, I hadn’t heard you would be here.”
“I wouldn’t think of missing a Mendonça party!” The round man, Senhor Sousa, laughed heartily. “They’re the event of the week.”
“That’s what I told him.” Senhor Romão inserted himself into the conversation. “I don’t believe you’ve met Senhor Santa Rita’s granddaughter, Senhorita Cecília Madalena?”
Senhor Sousa gave as deep a bow as his stomach would allow, the thick curls of his wig swinging forward with the motion. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, senhorita. Your first time in Lisbon?”
The question hit her hard enough that she was momentarily struck dumb.
“It seemed time for her to make a debut at court,” Avô Santa Rita answered for her, skillfully avoiding another direct question.
“She will be a welcome addition, I am sure,” Senhor Sousa said before bringing his eyes back to Cecília. “I believe the ladies have withdrawn upstairs, if you would like to join them while your grandfather and I talk.”
She glanced at her grandfather to check if he took any issue with the idea. When he didn’t object, she offered what she hoped was a courtier-worthy smile. “Thank you very much, senhor. That would be lovely.”
Senhor Sousa motioned for yet another man dressed in rich-blue livery and directed him to take her to the ladies. With a deep bow, the footman turned for the grand staircase and led Cecília deeper into the house. She took small steps as she followed, as much to look around as to be fashionable. Like at Senhor Romão’s, places inside the house had obviously been patched, but whoever had covered the damage had done a masterful job. One would have had to have been looking for evidence of the quake to know the house had been hit. She slowed at one of the portraits, studying an older man with a stern face but kind eyes. “Who is this?”
The footman started, seeming slightly shocked that she had spoken to him, but he looked at the portrait as well. “The late Senhor Mendonça, senhorita. This way.”
Cecília spent a final glance at the portrait then followed the man to another door. Though the energy wasn’t quite as intoxicating as in the main hall, the hum of conversation inside the room still left excited butterflies fluttering in Cecília’s stomach.
I’m supposed to make a good impression, she reasoned with the lingering guilt in her chest. Being blithe and friendly will do that better than standing in a corner, sulking.
She could have a little bit of a good time, she supposed. Truly, it was for her grandparents’ sake more than hers. It was what her grandmother had sent her to do, after all.
The footman pulled the door open with a grand gesture and bowed as Cecília stepped past him into the large room. The hum died slightly as attention in the room shifted to her, and Cecília thanked her stays for keeping her shoulders pulled back before she could falter. She added a second thanks to her grandmother, for as formal as her new gown was, it didn’t come close to matching the folds of patterned taffeta and satin the ladies around the room wore.
One of the women on the left side of the room, wearing powdered curls piled high on the top of her head, leaned toward the ladies seated around her. The group kept their voices low, but all fixed their eyes on Cecília as if to make certain she knew they were talking about her. Cecília pretended not to notice, keeping her chin high and looking for a good place to sit.
A woman in a coral-colored gown apparently took pity on her. With an annoyed look at the gaggle of women on the other side of the room, she stood and stepped in front of Cecília. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure? I’m Maria. Maria das Dores de Mértola de Vilhena.”
The family names registered as important somewhere in the back of Cecília’s mind. She was nobility of some kind, but Cecília couldn’t say just how important, so she offered a smile and curtsy. “Cecília. Cecília de Santa Rita e Durante.”
Confusion passed through Maria’s wide brown eyes as an older woman snapped her head in Cecília’s direction. “Durante?” She ran her eyes over Cecília as though a snake had just slithered into the room. “Any relation to Aloisio Silva Durante?”
Cecília’s eyebrows rose. “My uncle.”
The woman’s nose wrinkled. “Is the first minister now interested in what the ladies are doing?”
Cecília blinked, trying to make sense of the question. “I’m sorry? The first minister?”
“Sebastião Carvalho,” Maria answered before the older woman could. “The king’s first minister. Your uncle is his man, no?”
“I... wouldn’t know.” Cecília glanced around the room, getting the strong sense that no one in the room considered the association a good one. “I actually hadn’t even heard Senhor Carvalho had been appointed first minister. I’ve been out in the country.” When that didn’t seem to allay the suspicion in the room, she added, “I’m here with my grandfather, Frederico Cunha de Almeida de Santa Rita? Senhor Romão invited him.”
That sent a light murmur through the room. Some of the ladies turned back to their own conversations, but a tall, alarmingly bony woman with fair hair stood and came up beside Maria. “Did he know he was inviting another Durante here?”
Maria sighed heavily. “Did anyone request your opinion, Isabel?”
“I just thought there was a higher standard for these parties.” Isabel shifted her attention, looking down her nose at Maria. “Senhor Mendonça certainly is known for better.”
Rolling her eyes, Maria slipped her arm through Cecília’s and started them deeper into the room. “You can ignore Isabel. Most of us have learned to. Come walk with me.”
Before Cecília could wonder where exactly they were going to walk in a second-story space, Maria half led, half dragged Cecília toward a set of double doors on the far side of the room. Pleasantly warm air welcomed them as they stepped onto a wide balcony that overlooked a well-manicured garden. The last of the orange-pink sunset had disappeared against the horizon and left a clear night lit by the nearly full moon.
“Lovely night, isn’t it?” Maria broke the silence, her voice entirely pleasant, as though the tension inside had never existed.
“Very,” Cecília agreed, trying to think of what the proper thing was to say. “I am sorry if my being here has caused trouble. I truly haven’t seen my uncle in the better part of a year.”
“You really shouldn’t trouble yourself with Isabel.” Maria waved her hand dismissively. “Her mother’s first husband was a Távora, and even though her father most certainly is not, dear Isabel believes that still somehow makes her the most important lady in a room.”
Even if Cecília could only vaguely recall the names Maria had given her, she certainly knew the Távoras. As old as their house was, the noble family was second only to the king’s. With Maria ready to move on, it was likely smartest to proceed to safer, more banal party talk, but Cecília couldn’t entirely dampen her curiosity. “Is there a reason people don’t like Senhor Carvalho?”
Maria’s eyes slid to Cecília.
“I only met him once,” she continued, feeling the need to defend herself, though she wasn’t entirely certain from what. “Briefly, after everything last November, but he seemed very congenial then.”
“The earthquake was his finest hour, some say.” Maria gave a resigned sigh, as though she found the topic more tiresome than anything. “Dom José... well, I would never be one to speak ill of His Highness, but he didn’t weather everything that happened well.”
“He was injured?” Cecília frowned. Her grandparents didn’t keep up on much news, but the king being hurt certainly should have filtered through.
“No, the entire royal family made it safely outside when everything happened, praise be, but the king... He still isn’t completely right, you know? Still won’t step foot inside masonry. People were trying for months to convince him to move to his palace in Mafra while they repaired the one in Belém, but he insisted on building his Real Barraca. All of us at court were left in dreadful little places, waiting for something proper to be built up until a couple of weeks ago. And ever since he named Carvalho first minister, he’s all but let the man do whatever he wishes. Not the wisest of decisions, if you listen to most.”
“Why’s that?”
Maria shrugged. “I can’t say I much trouble myself with all the politics, but he is only a fidalgo, you know. I can’t imagine he truly understands ruling.”
With the best of her pedigree certainly no better than the first minister’s, Cecília held her tongue. It was likely best not to annoy the only ally she apparently had so far at the party, anyway. She looked for something safer to discuss before the sound of something scraping against stone made her turn back to the railing of the balcony. The sharp memory of buildings crashing to the ground swept any thoughts of Senhor Carvalho and the king from her mind. “Is it safe out here?”
“Safe?” Maria furrowed her eyebrows.
“The balcony wasn’t damaged in the quake?”
“Senhor Mendonça has these parties every week. I’ve been out here plenty of times...” She trailed off as another scrape sounded, then a head popped over the railing. Exasperation flashed over Maria’s face. “Mateus!”
“I thought that was your voice, Maria.” The man swung his leg up over the railing. He landed lightly on his feet and straightened his fine jacket. “Do you spend all your time out here?”
“Forgive my brother his manners.” Maria turned to Cecília. “He likes to pretend he was raised on the streets.”
“We just wanted to see how you ladies were doing this fine evening,” Mateus said as a second head appeared over the railing. Ignoring his friend, Mateus ran his eyes over Cecília as Isabel had, though his scrutiny appeared more as though he was trying to picture her without her clothing than determining what type of insect she might be. “And who is this?”
Maria released a harried breath but motioned. “Senhorita Santa Rita, may I introduce my brother, Mateus de Mértola de Vilhena, and his friend, Luís de Terra. Mateus, Luís, Cecília de Santa Rita. She’s come with her grandfather.”
Cecília hesitated slightly at how Maria had removed the Durante name altogether in her introduction, but after the reception inside, perhaps that was wise.
Mateus lowered his head an inch as he continued to study Cecília with an improper level of interest.
Cecília crossed her arms protectively and glanced at the second man, Luís, who was still standing silently by the railing.
Her eyes apparently started him out of whatever stupor he’d fallen into, and Luís bowed to her. “A pleasure to meet you, Senhorita Santa Rita.”
Cecília gave enough of a curtsy to be polite, and she finally lost Mateus’s attention. He looked back to his sister. “All the regulars back tonight?”
“You know you aren’t allowed to be up here.”
Mateus smirked and headed for the double doors.
Luís gave another short bow, eyes bouncing between Cecília and Maria for a moment before he said, “Ladies,” and disappeared after his friend.
Maria sighed again and moved to the railing. “Do you have any brothers?”
“One,” Cecília said. At this point. “He’s a priest.”
Maria laughed. “So the exact opposite of Mateus. He does this every week, you know.”
“Climbs up the balcony?”
Maria nodded. “He loves trouble a little too much. José, our eldest brother, says he’s waiting to see when it finally catches up to him. We expect it to be spectacular.”
A laugh lifted inside, loud enough to carry onto the balcony. Cecília checked behind her as a wave of feminine tittering followed it. “Should we go back inside?”
“I’m fine out here, as long as my brother’s in there. You’re best off staying away from him as well.”
***
CURIOSITY FINALLY BROUGHT Cecília back inside, though with the interloping men drawing all the attention, there wasn’t much more to do inside than out on the balcony. She did her best to preoccupy herself by speaking to the few women in the room who weren’t either circling Mateus or pointedly avoiding Cecília as though she had the plague, but soon enough, the familiar restlessness began to make her jittery. Having to assume that she wasn’t only allowed to stay in the one room as a guest, Cecília made her way back into the hall to see what else was happening.
Male voices continued to drift up the grand staircase, though from glancing over the banister, it seemed the bulk of the party had moved deeper into the house, with only a few lavishly dressed men standing amongst the liveried servants. Cecília debated trying to slip down past them, but even if she thought she could wander that much without facing her grandfather’s ire, she didn’t trust herself not to trip over herself in her gown, so she attempted to content herself with studying the portraits lining the upper hall. All of the faces—generations of the Mendonça family, she had to assume—were striking, handsome men with strong, square jaws and ethereally beautiful women. No doubt, their family tree was a veritable list of old noble families, the type of people who certainly wouldn’t tolerate having their ability to lead questioned.
A door opened behind her, and she turned sharply, just managing to keep her balance on the heel.
Luís froze for a moment in the doorway before he gave a short bow and stepped fully into the hall. “I hope I didn’t startle you, senhorita.”
“Oh, no. I was just”—she motioned weakly at the painting behind her of yet another handsome man with a charming glint in his eyes—“looking.”
“Senhor Mendonça.” Luís pointed, moving up beside her. “The current Senhor Mendonça.”
Cecília nodded, already having assumed that, based on the newer fashion the man in the portrait was wearing, but seeing no need to answer. Maria had only mentioned staying away from her brother, but Cecília had to imagine it was safest to steer clear of this man as well, at least as long as Maria was the only friendly face she had at the party.
Luís cleared his throat awkwardly. “I hope we didn’t make you feel as though you needed to leave.”
“Beg pardon?” She turned her head to look at him.
“I saw you left and was worried it was because of us.”
“I’m surprised you noticed.”
“Oh?”
“There were a lot of people on your side of the room.”
“Oh,” Luís repeated, giving a chagrined smile. “That’s Mateus, mostly. He’s always liked an audience. I—”
“He wants to force us to sell!” A voice from the bottom of the stairs rose loudly enough to cut Luís off. “Can you imagine the utter gall? That man should be fed to my hounds.”
Cecília’s eyebrows rose as whomever the man was speaking to hushed him. “That was... dramatic.”
“Forgive me,” Luís said as though he had caused the outburst. “You shouldn’t have had to hear that.”
“Do you know whom he meant?”
Luís waved his hand as though he were trying to brush the topic away. “I’m sure it’s just politics. Nothing you would be interested in.”
I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Cecília looked at the staircase for another beat before she affected a yawn. “Oh, pardon me. I don’t generally stay up so late. It might be time for me to find my grandfather.”
He took a step back to remain in front of her as she shifted to leave. “Would you like me to accompany you?”
“I wouldn’t want to trouble you.” She glanced at the staircase again.
“It isn’t a trouble at all.”
“Really, Senhor Terra.” She stepped around him. “It’s very thoughtful of you to offer, but I’m sure I can make my way. Please, enjoy the party.”
Disappointment flashed across Luís’s expression. “I hope I will see you at court this week, then?”
“Perhaps. That depends on my grandfather, I suppose.”
Luís nodded and offered a final bow. “Senhorita.”
“Senhor.” Cecília managed a passably graceful curtsy and stepped around him to go after the man who had been yelling.
Though he had dropped his volume to a more reasonable level, he was still easy enough to follow. She stopped outside a room just off the grand entryway.
“He isn’t the king, and I’m not saying anything untrue.”
“Perhaps, but until we’ve replaced him, it is wise not to shout about the first minister,” a second voice said in a hiss.
Senhor Carvalho again. Cecília brought her hand to the gold cross around her neck, fingering the dents for a moment even though it was half-hidden under the oblong pearls Avó Gouveia had given her to wear for the occasion. Maria apparently hadn’t been exaggerating about how little the man was liked, at least in Senhor Mendonça’s home.
“Dom José can’t possibly know what that cur is doing,” the first man continued, unabated. “He can’t force us to sell just so he can rebuild Lisbon in his own image. He and those estrangeirados friends of his have their way, and there will be nothing Portuguese left once he’s pushed this preposterous plan through. ‘We’ll make it one of the great cities of Europe.’ Pah! As though it weren’t already.”
Footsteps moved down the hall in Cecília’s direction, and she stepped away from the room a second before her grandfather appeared with a few other men.
He faltered mid-step before recovering. “Cecília.”
“Avô.” She bobbed another curtsy for good measure, debating for half a second giving another fake yawn before she decided that would be overdoing things. “I’m sorry if I interrupted. I was just starting to get a little tired?”
Suspicion remained on Avô Santa Rita’s face, but a man she realized was Senhor Mendonça from the portrait upstairs gave a charming smile. “It is getting quite late, isn’t it?” He addressed Avô Santa Rita. “Please don’t let me keep you from your lovely granddaughter, Santa Rita. We can speak more in a few days.”
Avô Santa Rita lowered his head then looked at Cecília. “You can wait in the carriage. I’ll be out in a moment.”
“Yes, Avô.” Cecília didn’t argue, turning for the front door. After nearly being caught eavesdropping, again, on her first outing in months, it didn’t seem wise to tempt her luck. She had more than enough to think about from what she had heard already. And she had Bibiana to check on.