The ball was winding down. The orchestra played a final, languid waltz. Carriages were called, and goodbyes were exchanged with exaggerated warmth that would be forgotten by morning. I stood with my parents at the grand entrance, my face aching from a night of manufactured smiles, my mind still buzzing with the thrill of the game.
I had done it. I had navigated the shark-infested waters and not only survived but had, in my own small way, fought back. The path ahead was terrifying, but it was clear. I would be the ghost. The unseen hand.
As the last guest—a tipsy Spanish magistrate—stumbled out the door, I finally let my shoulders slump with exhaustion. "I believe I might sleep for a week," I murmured to my mother.
"You were magnificent, mija," she said, squeezing my arm, her eyes shining with tears of pride. "Everyone said so. You have made your mark."
Before I could reply, my father's hand was on my elbow. His touch was not celebratory. It was firm. Purposeful.
"Ines. With me. In my study." His voice was low, leaving no room for argument.
A flicker of unease cut through my fatigue. Had he seen through my performance with the Lieutenant? Did he have news of Felipe? Had Captain Vargas already made trouble?
"Can it not wait until morning, Papa? I am so tired."
"No," he said simply, already steering me down the hallway. "It cannot."
The door to his study was closed. He opened it and ushered me inside.
The room, usually his sanctuary, was occupied. Seated in the high-backed leather chairs were three men: Señor Alonzo, the tobacco magnate I'd charmed; Don Sebastian de Leon, a wealthy Spanish shipowner with vast holdings; and a man I recognized as Don Enrique Castilla, a high-ranking official in the colonial treasury.
And standing awkwardly by the fireplace were their sons: the young men I had danced with, laughed with, and deftly avoided throughout the evening. Rodrigo Alonzo, who had talked of nothing but horses. Luis de Leon, who had recited bad poetry. And Carlos Castilla, whose hands had been unpleasantly damp.
My heart sank into the pit of my stomach. This was not a debrief about the ball. This was not about politics or revolution.
This was an auction.
"Gentlemen," my father said, his voice a perfect blend of hospitality and business. "My daughter, Ines."
The three older men rose, offering polite bows and appraising smiles. The three younger men attempted to mimic their fathers, looking like boys playing dress-up.
"Doña Ines," Don Sebastian began, his voice a oily rumble. "You captivated us all tonight. A truly dazzling debut. My son, Luis, has spoken of nothing else." Luis blushed and studied his shoes.
"My Rodrigo was equally enchanted," Señor Alonzo added with a jovial slap on his son's shoulder. "Said you had a keen mind for business! Remarkable in one so lovely."
Don Enrique Castilla simply nodded, his eyes cold and calculating. "A most advantageous match would be made between our families. It would consolidate interests in shipping, tobacco, and government contracts. A very… efficient union."
I felt the blood drain from my face. I looked at my father, my eyes pleading. This cannot be happening. Not now. Not when I have just found my purpose.
My father's face was a polite mask, but I saw the tension around his eyes. He was trapped, just as I was. This was the other side of the game. The price of our status. I was not just his daughter or his secret advisor; I was a key asset in his business empire. My marriage was the ultimate merger.
"The… honor is mine, gentlemen," I forced out, my voice barely a whisper. I curtsied, my mind reeling. This was a roadblock I had not anticipated. A cage whose bars were not made of Spanish steel, but of gilded expectation and familial duty.
My father cleared his throat. "We are, of course, deeply flattered by your… proposals. Such decisions require careful consideration. Ines is young, and her happiness is my foremost concern."
It was a masterful stall. A non-answer that rejected no one and kept all options—and business relationships—open.
The fathers nodded, understanding the language of negotiation. Pleasantries were exchanged again. The sons were gathered up and ushered out, casting backward glances at me—their prize.
When the door finally closed, leaving me alone with my father, the silence was deafening.
I turned to him, my composure shattering. "Papa… you cannot be serious. Rodrigo Alonzo is a simpleton! Luis de Leon is a preening peacock! And Carlos Castilla… he… he leers."
"I am aware of their qualities, or lack thereof," he said wearily, pouring himself a brandy. He didn't offer me one. "But you are not a child anymore, Ines. You are a woman of marriageable age. This is the world. Your actions tonight, as brilliant as they were, have also put you on display. You have made yourself a target… for more than just Captain Vargas's resentment."
He finally looked at me, and the full weight of his dilemma was clear in his gaze. "I cannot protect you from this. To refuse them all would be a monumental insult. It would cripple us. Our business, our standing… it would all evaporate."
The ghost I had so joyfully embraced moments ago felt its chains snap back into place. I could be a secret strategist. I could be a hidden savior.
But first and foremost, in the eyes of the world, I was a bargaining chip.
My grand plans of being an unseen force screeched to a halt. How could I be a ghost if I was to be a wife? How could I operate in the shadows if I was chained to a man who might control my every move?
The path ahead, which had seemed so clear, was now shrouded in a thick, suffocating fog. The most dangerous threat to my newfound purpose wasn't a Spanish captain.
It was a wedding ring.