After reaching the inn, Francisco handed the ducks to the innkeeper.
"You're a little late," she said with a teasing smile. "The young lady is already taking her bath. She'll be ready before you."
"Sorry," Francisco replied, rubbing his neck. "I went to the dry forest first, thinking I might find a deer. But it was impossible—so only after wasting time there did we go to the swamp for ducks."
The innkeeper nodded knowingly. "That's normal. In two months or so, you'll find prey again in that forest. All right, don't interrupt me—I'll ask my husband to prepare the duck. Did you bring the black pepper?"
Francisco slapped his forehead. "Ah, I forgot! You don't happen to have any, do you?"
She smirked. "Of course I do. I told my husband to buy some as soon as I heard you were going hunting. But you'll have to pay for it."
Francisco chuckled. "Don't worry. And could you please have some bathwater ready? I think—" he sniffed his sleeve and grimaced, "—I'm in desperate need of one."
The innkeeper laughed. "Do you have your own soap?"
"Yes, don't worry."
"All right then. Go and get ready, I'll send the water up in a moment."
Francisco climbed the stairs to his room and began to prepare for his bath.Meanwhile, in another room, Catalina was in near despair, surrounded by piles of clothing and unable to choose.
"What do I do?" she murmured, half to herself. "It's not that I don't have good clothes… I just can't decide." She sat by the window, looking out with a thoughtful expression. "I wonder how he'll dress…"
Her daydreaming was interrupted by a knock at the door.
"You can come in," she said.
The innkeeper entered, paused, and laughed softly at the sight of clothes scattered everywhere. "I guessed you might have trouble picking a dress."
Catalina looked puzzled. "How did you know?"
"Because most women go through the same thing when they want to look good for someone special," the innkeeper replied with a grin.
Catalina blushed, then leaned her head on the woman's shoulder. "Can you help me?"
The innkeeper nodded kindly and began sorting through the dresses with her.
While rummaging through the garments, she suddenly gasped."Look! This one looks perfect!"
Catalina, startled by the shriek, hurried closer. She paused, running her fingers over the soft fabric."It seems this is the dress Francisco bought for me in Bogotá," she murmured. "I remember it was quite expensive—it's made of silk. I haven't worn it since."
"This is the one," said the innkeeper with conviction. "Come, I'll help you."
The two women set to work, the quiet rustle of fabric filling the room. The scent of lavender soap and clean linen lingered in the air, mingling with the faint warmth of the afternoon.
After a while, both Francisco and Catalina were ready—so was Carlos. Though it was a romantic dinner, it was customary for family to be present, and since Carlos was Francisco's only close relative nearby, the three of them would dine together.
Francisco was the first to enter the dining room. A table for four stood ready, draped in a red tablecloth—probably Carlos's, given how rare such fabric was in Mompox. Candles burned gently around the room, and through the open balcony, one could glimpse the river, its surface shimmering under the moonlight. Francisco stepped out onto the balcony, taking a deep breath. Tonight, he would propose. His heart pounded with nerves.
A few minutes later, Carlos joined him, cigar in hand.
"Are you ready?" he asked between puffs.
Francisco exhaled slowly. "Honestly, I'm terrified. This proposal… it doesn't follow any tradition. It's entirely unorthodox."
Carlos chuckled. "That's true. I'll have to prepare the arras coins once we return to the estate. What worries me more is how grandmother María will react when she learns her granddaughter married before even leaving New Granada."
Francisco groaned, rubbing his temple. "You don't have to tell her. This should count as a small private ceremony. We'll still hold a proper one when we return—so Catalina can save for her dowry."
Carlos nodded thoughtfully. "You understand well. If Catalina can't bring a good dowry, she might feel ashamed."
Francisco looked out at the river. "For me, this isn't just a ceremony—it's a vow before God. A promise that I'll stay with her all my life."
Carlos smiled faintly. "I can keep the secret. But you know, many of the servants already know about this little ceremony. They'll be taking part in it, so hiding it from Grandmother María might be impossible."
Francisco laughed quietly. "Once they take part, they'll be our accomplices. If Grandmother finds out, they fall with us."
Carlos chuckled, shaking his head. "You're clever."
At that moment, the innkeeper entered with a grin. "Presenting the young lady," she said with mock ceremony.
Francisco turned—and for a moment, forgot how to breathe. Behind the innkeeper stood Catalina, wearing the dress he'd bought her in Bogotá long ago but had never seen her wear.
It was a gown of pale blue silk, light enough to move with the breeze, the fabric catching the glow of the candles. The fitted bodice flattered her figure without excess; short sleeves revealed her caramel-toned arms, and a fine thread of French lace adorned the neckline and the hem of her skirt. Her dark hair was braided with a ribbon of the same hue, falling softly over one shoulder.
Francisco's mouth fell open. "Simply beautiful," he whispered.
Catalina blushed. "Do you really think so?" she asked shyly.
"Of course," he said, smiling. "You look like a goddess."
Smack! Carlos tapped him on the head. "Don't speak heresy," he scolded lightly, then turned to Catalina with a smile. "You do look beautiful, my dear."
Catalina smiled, though the moment that followed was awkward—Francisco staring at her, Catalina staring at her shoes, and Carlos staring at both of them, suddenly realizing that he might need to find himself a partner soon, or future dinners would be painfully awkward.
Thankfully, the innkeeper cleared her throat. "Ahem—gentlemen, madam, if you'll please take your seats, dinner is ready." She winked at Catalina as she passed.
The three exchanged looks and sat down. Through the balcony, the moon—seven nights shy of full—shimmered upon the river, casting a pale silver light across the room.