SS La Bretagne, April 1889

Life in the Caribbean had taught Luz Alana Heith-Benzan a few vital lessons. First, corsets in the tropics were the purest form of evil. Second, a woman attempting to thrive in a man’s world must always have a plan. Third, a flask full of fine rum and a pistol served well in almost any emergency.

And most recently, if one was to ever find herself setting sail for the Continent in search of a fresh start, one must do so with her two best friends at her side.

“Can I go up to the Eiffel Tower too?” Luz’s little sister asked, as if she could sense she had been left out of Luz’s musings. “I promise I won’t drink any of your champagne.” Clarita had been attempting to commandeer their schedule while in Paris since the moment they’d boarded the first steamer in Santo Domingo.

“Clarita, you’re ten. You would not get champagne regardless of the circumstance.” That elicited a frustrated huff from the little monster, who at the moment was sitting primly by a bay window with the blue sky and water at her back, posing for a portrait.

“Stop needling her, Luz. You know how she fidgets, and I’m almost done with the sketch.” The artist was Manuela, one of Luz’s two best friends and Clarita’s most fervent enabler. “Don’t worry, querida. I’ll smuggle you up the tower.”

She was, at the moment, capturing Clarita’s likeness while her sister sat with her hands crossed over her chest and eyes closed, affecting a disturbingly funereal air. One eye popped open. “Can we go to the catacombs?”

“Don’t encourage her, Manuela. At this rate we will spend the summer traipsing through cemeteries.”

Clarita responded by lolling her tongue, making Manu guffaw.

Luz’s sister had become obsessed with the macabre after their father’s death eighteen months ago. She’d tried her best to fill the void he’d left, but with both their parents gone, she also knew there was nothing that could repair becoming an orphan at such a young age. That still didn’t make Luz any more inclined to haunt every graveyard in Paris.

The truth was that despite the hardships of the last few years, and her unease about what the future held for her and her sister, she was looking forward to the summer. Leaving Santo Domingo had been bittersweet: no matter how sound the reasoning, leaving home was its own sort of death. But there had been too much mourning in her life already. Looking ahead was the only alternative.

They were finally only a day away from the harbor at Le Havre. From there, another day of travel would take them to the French capital for three months at the Exposition Universelle. Three months of opportunities for her to meet buyers for her rum, Caña Brava. Three months in which to get her and her sister’s future in order, before the two of them were to permanently settle in her father’s ancestral home in Edinburgh.

Unexpectedly finding herself at the helm of her family’s distillery had been…difficult. On more than one occasion, Luz wondered if she was capable of stewarding their legacy into the future. A dream that had begun almost fifty years ago with Luz Alana’s mother Clarise and her grandfather Roberto Benzan. A distillery owned and operated not by the children of Spanish colonials but by a Black family. Where every pair of hands that worked to make the rum—from cutting the sugar cane to preparing the spirits for shipment—was entitled to a share of the profits. Caña Brava from its inception had been an experiment in what industry without exploitation could be, and it had thrived for decades.

Her father, Lachlan Heith, a Scotsman who had arrived in the Caribbean looking for investment opportunities, had been the main investor of the distillery. It had not been long before Lachlan proposed marriage to Clarise, and for the next thirty years poured his life into her and her vision. After her mother’s death, her father had continued their plans to expand Caña Brava’s operations. Their rum was well-known all over the Americas. From the Unites States to Argentina, Caña Brava was coveted for its quality and unique smoky flavor. Lachlan wanted to bring the rum to European markets. His strategy was to elevate the spirit’s image, to replace the bottles of brandy being served in the grand homes of Britain and the Continent with their Gran Reserva. Luz was more interested in making products for everyday people. Her father loved the hands-on operations, being in the distillery with the workers. Luz preferred to think of new ideas. Where he’d wanted to focus on selling their rum to the higher echelons of society, Luz believed the key to future success was to enlist the lifeblood of commerce: women merchants. The modern woman had ideas and preferences of her own and that were distinct from men’s, and Luz saw the potential in focusing on them as a market. Her vision for the future of Caña Brava was not quite what her father had wanted, but he at least recognized her talents and innovative thinking.

Which was why, she could only assume, after his death she’d found out that he’d passed the operations of the distillery to his second-in-command and left her in charge of the expansion to Europe. She’d been hurt by the slight, affronted that her father did not trust her with the business that her mother’s family had built, until she realized that staying in Santo Domingo was much too painful. That she desperately needed a fresh start. And so, before her departure she’d transferred the majority of her holdings in Caña Brava to the people who, like her family, had nurtured it from the beginning.

She’d left with the promise to find them new prospects, new markets, new buyers… Building partnerships was where she’d always excelled. She hoped her skills would be as effective in Paris as they’d been in the tropics. Like her mother before her, Luz left with the intention to blaze a few trails.

“Did you hear that, Luz?” Clarita’s voice, which every day sounded less like a little girl’s and more like a young lady’s, brought Luz Alana out of her thoughts.

“Sorry, amor. What did I miss?”

“Manu has made us appointments at the House of Worth!” Luz had to bite her lip at the reverence in Clarita’s voice. The child also loved dresses…as long as they were dark as night.

“You have more tiny black dresses than I know what to do with, Clarita,” Luz admonished. She’d been complacent in indulging her sister’s penchant for gloomy clothing for months after their mourning period had ended, but she would put her foot down at acquiring more of them. “No more new dresses until you’ve had a chance to wear the ones Manu bought you in New York,” Luz said, to which Clarita responded by making a very unladylike noise. Luz turned her attention to Manuela, who was still focused on her sketch.

“More gowns, Manu?” Luz asked and received a shrug in answer. Luz’s friend had wheedled permission to come to Paris with the excuse of securing a proper trousseau for her upcoming nuptials. Her betrothed and her parents, who had been waiting for almost three years for Manu to set a date, had agreed enthusiastically. So far it seemed Manuela intended to spend the man’s money until he regretted ever setting his sights on her. They’d already spent a fortune in New York. It didn’t matter: Manuela treated money like air. Something she consumed without any thought, always expecting there would be more when she needed it.

Their current accommodations were the perfect example. When Luz enlisted her friends to make the trip to the Universal Exposition, Manuela had written back insisting they travel in one of the new steamships from the French Line. This one had been decorated by Jules Allard, the Vanderbilts’ personal designer. Because only a sea vessel outfitted for the likes of Alice Claypoole Vanberbilt herself would do. It wasn’t that she objected to fine things: on the contrary, she quite liked the tearoom they were sitting in now. The pale blue and green damask drapes, the ornate Aubusson carpets and the velvet-covered armchairs built if not for comfort, certainly for broadcasting opulence. It was just harder to enjoy these things when one knew how much money was required to access them.

Luz hadn’t exactly grown up without comforts either. Her family’s business provided the means for that and more—but this was a different level of affluence. The kind of overt display of wealth meant to stun and intimidate. The kind of environment that usually brought with it people Luz had to mentally arm herself for. And it wasn’t that she could not handle herself among this crowd. Two years in a Swiss finishing school had prepared her well for this, but it was exhausting. It was a world she always navigated with caution. She could never fully let her guard down among the so-called well-born, lest one of the barbs they deployed so swiftly caught her unaware.

“I could get her just a few things, Luz,” Manu muttered softly, still absorbed in her task, her countenance a study in concentration as her charcoal-stained fingers fluttered over the page. Luz noticed the dark smudges on the otherwise-pristine cuffs of her friend’s lavender jacket and was struck by a wave of pure affection. Manuela, who loved baubles and expensive things, never thought twice of ruining them when it came to pleasing those she loved.

“Manu,” Luz responded in an equally soft tone, because demands never worked with her friend, unless your intention was to get the exact opposite of what you were asking for. “You already bought Clarita four gowns during that outing to the Ladies’ Mile in Manhattan.” Luz ignored the huff coming from her little sister’s direction as she spoke. “You know that until I’m able to get in touch with the solicitor in Edinburgh and discern what our finances will be like, I can’t spend—”

Manuela opened her mouth to protest—and possibly offer financial assistance again—but Luz Alana held up a hand. “No, querida. You have already been too generous.” She blew a kiss in her friend’s direction in an attempt to soften the rebuff.

Luz would not budge on this. She could not be frivolous, not when the only thing she could count on at the moment were the funds her father had reserved for this trip and whatever income she would obtain from the sale of the three hundred casks of premium rum currently in the cargo hold of this ship. Her inheritance was inaccessible to her for now, and the future of Caña Brava was too uncertain for any unnecessary expenses. Despite knowing that Manuela truly wanted to help her financially, Luz also knew how fast women could become burdens and nuisances to their loved ones. She would stand on her own two feet.

“What has Manuela done now?” asked Aurora, startling Luz. The last member of their foursome strode into the tearoom, her long legs swallowing up the carpet, as she arrived at their luncheon table.

“Me?” Manuela asked innocently, her hazel gaze the very picture of angelic virtue. As if she hadn’t just been trying to convince Luz to buy dresses that cost as much as an estate in some parts of the world.

“Yes, you.” Aurora chuckled, as she bent to kiss the top of Clarita’s head before dropping into an empty armchair. Aurora arranged herself in the corner they’d commandeered to take their afternoon tea, her ever-present Gladstone bag still clutched in one hand.

“How were your patients?” Luz asked as she handed Aurora a small plate full of sandwiches. Manuela stopped sketching and waved her hand at Clarita, who flopped down from her pose like a puppet who’d had her strings snipped. They all looked forward to hearing about Aurora’s adventures whenever she returned from her rounds in the third-class cabins. They’d only been on the ship for eight days, but within hours of setting sail from New York, their friend had managed to avail herself to any passengers who needed a doctor and always came back with tales.

“So?” asked Clarita, who had a concerning appetite for the gorier details of the situations Aurora encountered.

“Everyone is doing well,” she assured them with that satisfied grin she sported whenever she talked about her patients. Aurora was always happiest when she could put her skills to use and was never shy about offering them to those who needed them. “The young man with vertigo is improving wonderfully. And Miss Barnier may have that baby before we reach land.” She crossed her legs revealing her split skirts, which a few of the older ladies on the steamer called grossly indecent. A couple of heads turned, and quite a few eyebrows rose at Aurora’s lack of concern with proper feminine posture.

“What were you frowning about?” she asked, circling a finger in the vicinity of Luz’s forehead.

Luz spluttered for a moment but answered before Manu could. “I was explaining to Manuela that I can’t afford more wardrobe-related expenses in Paris.” Aurora was always her ally in matters of moderation and restraint.

“Well, you can’t,” Aurora decreed. “Not until the situation with your inheritance is sorted. You know that, Manu.”

Manuela heaved a sigh, then pursed her lips dramatically as she reached for the cup of tea she’d handed Luz for a bolstering splash of Caña Brava. “Fine, no spending on frivolities.” Luz was certain she didn’t imagine her friend’s mocking tone, but she refused to take the bait.

“Did you write your letter?” Manuela asked, taking the conversation in a different direction, which was her way of conceding to Luz’s wishes.

“Yes,” Luz nodded, folding the document in question to place in an envelope. After tea she’d ask the concierge to post it to Mr. Childers once they reached the port. “Hopefully, I’ll receive some news within the next couple of weeks.” Her friends nodded encouragingly while Luz’s stomach twisted in knots.

Among the many surprises Luz had to grapple with in the past year, the most disconcerting one had been the realization that her father had never changed the conditions of the trust he’d set up for her when she turned sixteen. At the time, he’d arranged for it to be managed by Prescott Childers, an old friend in Edinburgh. It made sense then. She’d been young and could’ve used the help navigating her finances, but now, at twenty-eight, it was at best an inconvenience and at worst a potential disaster. The conditions, as they were, only granted her access to her inheritance with permission of the trustee or if she married and her spouse released it to her. To further aggravate her already-precarious situation, Prescott had been ill in the past year and had scarcely responded to her letters. The first she received in almost six months came only weeks before she departed from Santo Domingo, informing her that Mr. Prescott Childers had passed away and the trusteeship had passed to his oldest son, Percy.

Percy was as elusive as his father.

She would never know if her father neglected to change the terms before he died because he assumed he had time or if he didn’t trust Luz with the management of her inheritance. To think her father found her lacking in the ability to care for herself and her sister had been devastating. It still was. She didn’t know if that wound would ever properly heal.

“Are you still with us, Luz?” Manuela teased. She’d been lost in thought again.

“My mind keeps wandering,” she said by way of an apology.

“You have a lot to consider, Leona. Which is why we must make a plan for our conquest of Paris,” Manu said kindly, making Luz smile at the nickname the three of them had acquired while in finishing school in Switzerland. The three Latinas who roamed the hallowed halls of the famed Ville Mont-Feu like a pride of three. Twelve years on and here they were, still ready to take on the world for each other.

“We already have plans,” Luz reminded her, while she passed a biscuit to her sister. “You’re presenting two of your paintings at the Beaux-Arts salon so all of France can witness your genius.”
They all turned to look at Manu, who blushed at the attention. Manuela’s art was the one thing she took seriously. She was talented—brilliant, even. Getting her work selected for such a prestigious event was evidence of that.

Luz Alana tipped her chin toward Aurora next. “Aurora has plans to meet with her group of women physicians at the exposition and formalize their international society of women doctors.” Aurora, who had a true talent for organizing people, had been corresponding with other women physicians around the world for the past couple of years. A few of them would be in attendance to the exposition, and their friend had lofty plans for what they’d accomplish during their time together.

“You should make time to enjoy yourself too, Luz,” Aurora said, uncharacteristically. If the woman whose idea of leisure was improvising a clinic in a steamer thought Luz was taking things too seriously, the situation had to be dire. But her friend lifted a hand before she could respond. “Enjoyment within reason, of course.”

“Everyone brace for Aurora’s list of all the things we can’t do, see or touch.” If there was one thing Manuela loved above all else, it was to needle their best friend.

“You are the reason I even make these lists, Manuela Caceres,” Aurora retorted, falling right into the trap as usual.

Manuela leaned forward to cover Clarita’s ears and whisper. “As long as your rules allow for our Luz to at least once kiss the wrong man for the right reasons.”

“And that misguided request gives us the first rule,” Aurora announced. “No falling in love.”

“Love?” Manuela, balked. “What does kissing have to do with love?” She was whispering but, given the gasps around the room, the acoustics were better than Luz would have thought.

“Concurred about the no falling in love. Not the kissing,” Luz echoed, as her friends continued to argue their differing views on what constituted enjoyment. It was not that she didn’t yearn for love, for companionship…but those were for the Luz Alana who had parents and whose every decision didn’t hang her sister’s and her own future in the balance. Love was for girls who had someone to depend on. For her, it was merely one more item on the long list of things she could not afford.