to make an offer of marriage to
señorita
Larragoity Cubillas.”
Eugenio thought that Ramón, almost twenty-four, should be settling down to start a family and he thought Ana was a splendid choice for his older son. She was from a good family, well educated, smart, and not silly, like the girls flitting around his good-looking sons. He knew that because don Gustavo lacked a male heir his wealth would go to Ana’s uncle, but he guessed that she might come with a handsome dowry and gifts of cash from the Cubillas side.
Eugenio gave his blessing before consulting his wife.
“They hardly know each other,” she complained.
“They’ve spent many hours together in the month since she arrived.”
“We know nothing about her.”
“We know she’s from an illustrious, wealthy family.…”
“There’s something about her …,” Leonor said. “I have a bad feeling.”
Eugenio and Leonor had been married for twenty-nine years, and he was used to her fancies and premonitions, but nothing ever came of her forebodings. She argued that it was because they paid attention to her warnings that Ramón and Inocente suffered only the typical misadventures of active boys and spirited young men.
“He’s made his choice,
mi amor
, and I believe he’s chosen well,” Eugenio said. “I encouraged the courtship, but perhaps there’s something I missed. Do you have a specific concern about her?”
“No, it’s a feeling.”
“You’re a mother seeing your boy falling in love with another woman.”
“I’m not jealous,” she snapped. “I think they should be settling down, and yes, I want grandchildren. But why her?”
Ana’s parents were not at all pleased with the match either. First there was Leonor. She was a Mendoza and a Sánchez, from families of conversos whose Jewish ancestors had accepted the Catholic faith over two hundred years earlier. Eight generations, however, weren’t enough to erase the stigma of having been Jewish in Spain, especiallyto a family of conservative Catholics. They were also ill disposed toward Eugenio because of his political views.
Before his death in 1833 with no male heir, King Fernando VII convinced the Spanish Cortes to amend the laws defining succession only through the male line to allow his eldest daughter, Isabel, still a child, to inherit the throne. His brother, don Carlos, was favored by conservative elements, chief among them, the Catholic Church. After Fernando’s death, Carlos challenged the then three-year-old Infanta’s claim and civil war ensued. For six long years the two factions fought for control, until, in 1839, with support from England, France, and Portugal, Isabeline forces were victorious.
Eugenio had distinguished himself on the side of the Isabelinos. But the Larragoity Cubillas families were staunch Carlists loyal to Isabel’s uncle don Carlos.
Eugenio traveled from Cádiz to Sevilla to present his son’s proposal. Gustavo listened politely, but firmly rejected the request for his daughter’s hand. Jesusa then reminded Ana that her impetuous nature sometimes caused her to make hasty decisions.
“Remember when you wanted to be a nun because you so admired your teacher Sor Magdalena? Two weeks later you changed your mind.…”
“I was ten, Mamá. What ten-year-old doesn’t want to be a nun?”
“You’re insolent to your mother,” her father said. He threatened to exile Ana to a Carmelite convent in Extremadura if she didn’t give up her foolish obsession.
Neither reminders of close calls nor threats of a fate she considered for herself (albeit briefly) succeeded in changing Ana’s mind. This was the man she wanted to marry. And now.
A well-raised
señorita
in mid-nineteenth-century Spain didn’t challenge her parents. Ana was a good daughter, even if willful and stubborn. She knew it was impudent to argue with Mamá and Papá, so she did what young women of her place and station did when they couldn’t get their way: she developed a
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley