The Society Bride. Fiona Hood-Stewart

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      Ramon glanced down at Nena once more. She was lovely, and unaware of it. Just as she was unaware of what awaited her just around the corner. Her grandfather’s death would shake her for ever from the safe cocoon she’d lived in all her life. It would be harsh and painful, he realised sadly. For as an only grandchild she was probably even more protected from the world than if her parents had been alive. Also she’d have no one—except some friends and her financial advisors—to turn to. Perhaps, he reflected sombrely, Don Rodrigo was not so wrong to want to protect her from all that might be waiting for her out there. All at once Ramon shared the old man’s fears for her.

      ‘Maybe we should be getting back,’ he said abruptly, glancing at the thin gold watch on his tanned wrist. ‘My parents will be wanting to leave soon.’

      ‘All right.’ She jumped up and he picked up the jacket, throwing it over his shoulder again as they made their way back to the group on the lawn.

      It was odd, he reflected, that a plan which only an hour ago had struck him as absolutely preposterous now seemed considerably less so. Plus, as both Don Rodrigo and his father had pointed out, it was a marriage, not an affair. He was thirty-two, and would have to think of marriage and a family shortly anyway. Wouldn’t it be infinitely preferable to be married to a lovely creature like Nena, whom he could mould to his liking, teach the art of love, yet continue enjoying the Luisas of this world on the side? he reflected somewhat ruthlessly. All in all, having a beautiful, well-mannered society wife, whom he could take pleasure with in bed from time to time without changing his routine, might not be such a bad thing after all.

      ‘My love, I have something I need to speak to you about,’ Don Rodrigo said to his granddaughter the next evening over dinner.

      ‘Yes, Grandfather?’ Nena looked at him closely. He seemed very tired. In the past few days he had barely left his room, except to sit on the lawn yesterday afternoon with the Villalbas. ‘Is something wrong?’ she enquired anxiously.

      ‘After dinner we shall retire to the study and have a chat,’ he said, knowing the moment had finally arrived when he must tell her the truth.

      Since the acceptance that morning of the proposition of marriage by Ramon Villalba he had known it was essential she learn about his illness and what the future held, however painful.

      Don Rodrigo sampled a tiny spoonful of chocolate mousse. It turned bitter on his tongue. He had faced many hard moments in his life, but telling this child whom he loved so dearly that the end was near would rank among the cruellest blows life had dealt him. His only solace was that Ramon Villalba had, for whatever reason, accepted his proposition.

      Half an hour later, seated as always on the tapes-tried footstool at his feet, Nena listened in anguished horror to her grandfather’s words.

      ‘But that’s impossible,’ she cried, grabbing his hands and squeezing them tight. ‘It can’t be true, Grandfather, there must be a mistake. You must have other tests—other opinions. It simply can’t be right,’ she ended, sobbing.

      ‘I’m afraid I’ve already done all that,’ he responded sadly, stroking the mane of tawny hair fanned out on his lap and soothing her tears. ‘That is why I have had to make provision for you.’

      ‘Pro-provision?’ she gulped, raising her head, still trying to absorb the horrible news he’d imparted.

      ‘Yes, my love. You must be taken care of, provided for.’

      ‘Please, Grandfather, don’t talk about it,’ she sobbed.

      ‘I’m afraid I must. Time is short and measures must be taken.’

      ‘Wh-what measures?’ she gulped sadly, trying to regain some control as the truth sank in.

      Don Rodrigo hesitated, then, with a sigh, forged ahead. ‘Yesterday you met Ramon Villalba.’

      ‘Yes,’ she whispered, taking his handkerchief and blowing her nose hard.

      ‘And you found him—pleasant?’

      ‘Yes, I suppose so. He was polite. Look, Grandfather, what has that got to do with you being ill?’ she burst out, leaning back on her heels, eyes pleading.

      ‘Ramon Villalba has proposed marriage.’

      ‘Marriage?’ Nena let out a horrified gasp and stood up, clutching the damp handkerchief between her nervous fingers. ‘But that is absurd, Grandfather. How can I get married to a man I don’t know, whom I don’t love? I don’t want to get married. I—’

      ‘Shush, child, do not get so agitated. Come here.’ He held out his hand and she sank once more to the footstool. ‘I have talked to the Villalbas. We all agree that this marriage is a good thing.’

      ‘How—how can you say that, Grandfather? It’s archaic. Nobody is forced to marry any longer; it’s unheard of. Oh, please, Grandfather, this can’t be real. There must be a mistake. I’m sure if you went to another doctor—’

      ‘Now, now. I want you to listen, Nena. Carefully. I am absolutely decided on this marriage. And I want the wedding to take place as soon as possible.’

      ‘You mean he came here to inspect me, as he might a horse or a piece of cattle?’ she cried. ‘Why would he propose an arrangement like this?’

      ‘I can think of several reasons—all of them perfectly valid,’ Don Rodrigo answered firmly. ‘He needs a wife from a good family and of excellent upbringing who is unsoiled. Also he is adequately prepared to take care of our business ventures.’

      ‘So that’s it,’ she whispered bitterly. ‘A business arrangement. Oh, Grandfather, how can you auction me off like this? It’s all too horrible.’ She turned, and her shoulders shook as she sobbed. Her pain at learning of her grandfather’s terminal illness was somehow increased by the knowledge that a man whom she’d ended the afternoon finding most agreeable was in fact nothing but a dirtbag. ‘You talked with him without knowing if I wanted this?’ she whispered at last, turning back to him, her eyes glistening with tears.

      ‘Yes, Nena, I did. Villalba is a practical man. I have informed myself, followed his career over a period of several years. He will take care of you, look out for you and the fortune you are going to inherit.’

      ‘I don’t care about any of that!’ she exclaimed.

      ‘Maybe not, but I do. Please do this for me,’ he added, a softer, pleading note entering his voice. ‘I can die in peace knowing that you are in his hands.’

      ‘Oh, please don’t talk like that,’ she begged once more, kneeling next to him.

      ‘Then agree to my request,’ Don Rodrigo said, exercising a considerable amount of emotional pressure. He sighed inwardly. It was the only way to bring the matter to a fast and satisfactory conclusion. ‘Answer me, Nena. Tell me you’ll do as I ask.’

      Nena stared through her tears at the carpet, her emotions in turmoil. The last thing she wanted was to be married to a man she barely knew. A wave of frustration overtook her. This was, after all, the most important step in her life—yet she had no control over it. Despite her feelings, she already knew what the answer must be.

      ‘I’ll do it, Grandfather,’ she whispered.

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