To Madness
Chapter Eleven: Age Nineteen
A little
A lot
(He loves me) Passionately
To madness
Not at all—from a French game
"We're special people."
On the most beautiful day in the world, Jaime took Constancia for a ride in his carriage.
The sky was blue, the sun was shining and the whole of creation seemed to be wishing them good luck, for Jaime had a very special plan for the day.
She'd sneaked off, so no nosy duena was shadowing them, and besides, Jaime was an old friend, and to be married soon, as soon as he picked a bride.
Constancia didn't see that they needed a duena, though she would've liked it they had needed one, knowing what that would mean.
They strolled along. Constancia was in a delicate lace dress and Jaime was in a fancier suit than usual. Constancia couldn't help but love the red cloth, and the gold braid on it. He looked wonderful.
"Constancia, there is something I must speak to you about," he began, and his voice was softer than usual.
"What, Jaime?"
"You know when I said that picture I painted would be a gift for my bride?"
"Si, I do." She wished he hadn't brought that up.
"There was something I didn't mention, on that day. I did have someone in mind, you know that, but I didn't tell you who. Now I want to."
Constancia clutched her parasol so tightly it almost hurt. He couldn't marry someone else! "Who, Jaime?"
"You." He moved to stand in front of her. "I love you so much it hurts. I've always loved you and I need to know if you love—"
The only reason Constancia had been still was because she was in shock. The instant she realized what he was saying, down went the parasol and she lunged at him, pulling his head down to her height and kissing him as hard as she could, clutching him around the neck with her arms.
His hands went to her waist, and as he straightened he took her with him. "I'm thinking that's a yes," he gasped, and Constancia nodded.
"It always was," she whispered, and he lowered her. Arm in arm, they walked, picking up the parasol as they went back to the road.
They stopped in Santa Clara for a moment. Jaime was meeting someone in the tavern and Constancia waited in the carriage, dreamily thinking over the events.
She was startled back into the world when a voice next to her drawled, "Constancia."
Her eyes flew open and she saw a drunken, filthy vaquero standing there, staring at her.
"It would be Senorita de la Torres to you," she snapped, straightening up and making herself as tall as possible.
"Oh, no, you told me long ago it was Constancia." He returned, his eyes narrowing.
She looked at him in disgust, then confusion. "Jose?" She asked slowly. "What has happened to you?"
"Jose? Wouldn't it be Senor Gomez?"
She became aware that it really wasn't proper to be speaking to him like this, out in the open, and she really didn't want to be speaking to him. "Pardon, Senor Gomez, but I think I see my—"
Noticing her tone, he stepped forward and grabbed her arm. "Constancia," he hissed, and she could smell his drunken breath. "Remember that day?"
"Let go of me," she said, still reluctant to make a scene, but wishing that they were more people in the pueblo at this time of day.
"I don't think so," he hissed.