The Seer's Choice: A Novella of the Golden City by J. Kathleen Cheney Page A

plans.”
    He laughed ruefully. “I apologize. I set a reservation at the Restaurant Comercial for this evening, for us and a guest. Do you mind?”
    The Comercial, located in the Stock Exchange Palace itself, had been her favorite restaurant before she left her life in society. She was not going to question whether the captain could afford such a venue. “Of course not,” she said. “But I would have preferred you not assume.”
    “You don’t like surprises, do you?”
    Genoveva looked down at her sensible shoes. In her life, it seemed that everything surprising had turned out to be unpleasant. “No, not very much.”
    He glanced about the stands. The players had mostly wandered away from the playing field, and only a handful of spectators still clumped at the other end of the stands. He turned back to her, evidently satisfied that they wouldn’t be overheard. “This is my plan,” he said. “I’m going to return to my apartment and change into formal dinner clothes. Then I’ll escort you—if you wish—back to your rooms so that you can change as well and pick up clothes for a few more days. We’ll return to Lady Ferreira’s home where you can leave the bag, and then we will go to the Comercial where, while we’re waiting, you and I will have a discussion about my finances and expectations and, if you’re amenable, we might make an announcement of some sort to our other dinner companion—who is your mother, by the way.”
    Genoveva swallowed. She understood the word announcement very well. Every girl in society was trained to anticipate that moment as one of the highlights of her life.
    “I’m telling you now so that you won’t be surprised later,” the captain clarified.
    She nodded, not trusting her voice.
    He peered up at the overcast sky, and then offered her his arm. “Shall we go?”
    Genoveva lightly set her hand on his white sleeve, feeling a little breathless. “Yes, of course.”
    He smiled at her, and they began the trek along the cobbled streets back to Bom Sucesso Street where he lived. The breeze had picked up and pedestrians hurried past. Her mind was whirling, but the captain seemed content to stroll along with her in silence while she sorted out all the implications of what he’d said.
    His finances and expectations? Did he have expectations of some manner of inheritance from his father? It didn’t matter. She’d very quickly learned to live within her means. Even so, it would be nice to have a little money set aside for an occasional splurge. His father didn’t strike her as wealthy, though. Paolo Silva struck her as someone who appeared wealthy, which was different. There probably wasn’t a large inheritance coming to Captain Pinheiro on the man’s death. And just to be spiteful, Silva would probably never die.
    A raindrop struck her cheek, and Genoveva peered up at the sky. The clouds had thickened to a deep gray. As they crossed Vilar Street, the heavens opened up and rain pelted down. The captain grasped her hand and dragged her down the street toward a shop awning, and she stumbled along with him. Unfortunately, one of awing’s ties caught the edge of her straw hat and ripped it loose from her hair. She dashed back into the rain to get it, and then ran to join the captain in the doorway under the awning’s protection.
    Her shirtwaist was thoroughly wet now. Her hair must be mussed from the hat ripping loose.
    The captain shook his head, and water droplets from his hair struck her face. Genoveva let out a startled laugh.
    “I’m sorry,” he said quickly. He reached over and, with one finger, wiped some of the water from her cheek. And then he cursed under his breath and glared at his finger accusingly.
    “What?”
    His eyes met hers, and she could tell he was torn between amusement and embarrassment. “I had some dirt on my finger.”
    That meant it was now smeared across her cheek. Genoveva didn’t have a handkerchief with her, and since the captain was in his