The Infamous Miss Rodriguez: A Ciudad Real Novella Read Online Free PDF

like Graciela might as well have dragged the man into an alley and chopped bits off him to put into the stew.
    The story hadn’t reached Mrs. Ferrer or the other members of the Board, more was the pity, and what was worse, ever since then, Alvaro and Aunt Elba had treated Graciela like a teakettle that might explode any moment. Thought they hadn’t said anything outright, Graciela could tell they didn’t trust her to do anything as simple as run an errand without proper supervision.
    “I don’t need to be escorted to the shoemaker’s. By you, or anyone else,” she added, glaring at Aunt Elba, who matched her look with one of her own.
    “Don’t sulk,” Alvaro said, reaching over to chuck her under the chin. “You’ll have your shoes soon enough. As a matter of fact, you may go to the department store and charge a new pair to my account. Charge half a dozen of them if you like.”
    She’d charge every single pair in La Parisienne if she thought it would make him reconsider his engagement. But as she’d thought before—it would be devilishly hard to for a single person to make any sort of dent in his family’s fortune. That was the main reason Aunt Elba had championed the engagement.
    Graciela put down her cup, misery threatening to engulf her.
    She banished it instantly. There was a way to get out of the engagement, and she was going to find it. Hopefully sooner, rather than later.
    Smoothing the linen napkin she had crumpled into a tight ball on her lap, Graciela raised it to her lips and laid it beside her plate as she forced herself to smile. “That’s all right. I might call on Beatriz instead. She has a new hat she wants me to see.”
    Satisfied with this apparent show of docility, Alvaro rose from his seat. “I’ll see if I can make some time to take you to the shoemaker’s later this week.” He paused at the doorway. “Walk me to the door, my dear.”
    Graciela followed Alvaro into the foyer, where one of the housemaids was waiting with his hat and silver-topped walking stick.
    “I’ll take you dancing next week,” he said, ignoring the maid and grasping Graciela by the elbows. “So get yourself the prettiest pair of dancing slippers you can find.”
    “I don’t want slippers.” Graciela looked into Alvaro’s dark, gleaming eyes and said, “I don’t want anything except my freedom from you.”
    “Don’t be so dramatic,” Alvaro said, laughing as he dropped a kiss onto her lips. “I promise I’ll make the time to take you to the shoemaker’s sometime this week.”
    He left, and Graciela didn’t bother returning to the dining room. Telling the maid to call for the motorcar, she took her parasol from the stand in the corner and slammed out of the house.
    The ride to Beatriz’s house did nothing to quell her anger. She was almost fuming when she entered the drawing room in which Beatriz was embroidering. From the great quantities of red thread that had been used on it, Graciela guessed her friend was working on another gory battle scene.
    “I hate him,” Graciela said as she flung herself into a chair. “I hate them . They treat me like a child—they won’t even let me go to the shoemaker’s on my own.”
    She’d tried to, but either Alvaro or her aunt had given the chauffeur strict instructions to take her only to Beatriz’s house. She would have jumped out of the motorcar and gone on foot, just to prove she could, but it had rained the night before and she was wearing her new shoes with the little cuban heel and the suede would spoil if it got wet.
    She could see her future stretching out in this manner: Alvaro instructing the cook to make only the food he thought she ought to eat, the modiste to make only the gowns he approved of…
    It was enough to make Graciela want to scream but Beatriz was looking more amused than anything. “I heard Mrs. Imbert tell Alberto Moya that you attacked the butcher with a smoked ham.”
    “The reports of the incident were greatly