Two days later, Francisco went with his father to the party, where he would et most of the high-class families of Antioquía—connections that could prove useful for Catalina. Though reluctant, he dressed in a finely cut navy-blue coat with subtle embroidery, a cream-colored waistcoat, and a crisp white shirt with lace cuffs. His breeches were shorter, as fashion demanded, paired with silk stockings and plain leather shoes. To complete the outfit, he wore a modest tricorne hat over his carefully combed hair.
When Francisco looked at himself in the bronze mirror, he almost burst out laughing. After glimpsing the fashions of the future, he couldn’t help but think he looked like a clown. Without those visions, he might have believed he looked normal—perhaps even handso. But the knowledge of what was to co had altered his sense of aesthetics. His father, anwhile, wore nearly the sa attire, though in darker tones, and was no less amusing in appearance.
"This outfit looks awful, Father," Francisco muttered, on the verge of tears though none would co.
"Awful? This is the latest fashion in France and Spain!" Carlos replied, puzzled. "I paid a fortune for these attires."
Francisco sighed. "If you say so... let’s just get this over with."
Together they traveled to Santa Fe. Such events felt overly ritualistic, and during the reception they exchanged greetings with many families of Antioquía—mostly rchants, though so belonged to households that could prove valuable allies in the future.
"Francisco, it’s ti for your presentation," Carlos said firmly once the guests were gathered. Forced into the ceremonial entrance, Francisco carried himself with perfect manners and discipline, determined not to embarrass his father. His poise marked a small success. Now ca the dances and introductions—though the first approach felt more like an ambush.
"A pleasure to et you, young Master Góz. This is my daughter, Tatiana," said Arnoldo Vélez, a robust man of pure Spanish lineage. The Vélez family was a military household, long tied to Antioquía’s defense, with countless mbers holding military positions.
Tatiana offered a graceful curtsy and held out her hand. Francisco bowed and kissed it like a gentleman.
"If you allow , my lady, would you grant a dance?" he asked.
"Please," she replied, and they joined the floor.
As they moved to the music, Tatiana eyed him curiously. "So, Señor Góz, I’ve noticed you don’t seem interested in the young ladies here. Does that an you already have a betrothed?"
"I could answer that," Francisco replied, puzzled, "but may I ask what gave away?"
"Look around," Tatiana said, gesturing with her eyes. Several young n, newly married, hovered near their family patriarchs, focused on conversation rather than their wives. "You remind of them."
"I see," Francisco admitted with a faint smile. "So I appear more interested in alliances than in ladies. You’re right—there is no official engagent, but there is a girl in my heart I refuse to abandon. I’m not keen on seeking others."
"Not official?" Tatiana arched a brow. "That’s rare for soone of your family’s status. With your connections—even to a Spanish duke—I doubt anyone would oppose the match. Why can’t the young master of the Góz household wed the one he loves?"
"There are... complicated circumstances," Francisco said, lowering his gaze.
Tatiana gave him a sly, almost gossiping look. "I’d love to know who she is. And perhaps, what business you seek with my father. I may be able to help."
"Truly? I thought the Vélez family would be far more conservative, considering your pure Spanish bloodline," Francisco admitted, surprised.
Tatiana chuckled softly. "Considering how you ended up in Antioquía, you should know better. This place is full of exiles. The truly conservative families live in Bogotá. No family chooses Antioquía unless forced—or unless they prefer to stay away from the power center of New Granada."
"Thank you for the insight," Francisco said politely as the dance ended. Tatiana smiled and added teasingly, "One more thing—when dancing with a lady, never look more at her father than at her."
Afterward, Francisco mingled with several other families: the Uribes, with their agriculture and trade in coffee and cacao; the Isazas, known for their local connections in comrce; and, in politics, the Ángel and Restrepo families, both highly influential. It was a powerful crowd.
Then the music stopped. A herald’s voice rang out:"Presenting Miss Sofia Lozano de Peralta, daughter of the prestigious Marquis Lozano de Peralta, and her husband Mauricio Álvarez del Casal."
A round of applause swept the hall as the two entered. The atmosphere grew solemn, and guests quickly gravitated toward the newcors. The Lozano de Peralta family was true nobility in New Granada, wielding imnse wealth and influence. The Álvarez del Casal family, though untitled, had long been one of the most powerful bureaucratic houses in Bogotá.
Francisco hurried to his father’s side. "Why do you think they ca?" he asked.
"I don’t know," Carlos said with narrowed eyes. "But I doubt it’s good. The Marquis, with his title, will always outrank us—Spanish or stizo alike. He has every reason to resist any change to bloodline policies. And the Álvarez del Casal family draws its strength from alliances among the most powerful bureaucrats in Bogotá."
"You think they ca to warn us? To show that no matter how many friends we make, their presence alone can sway them back?"
"Perhaps," Carlos sighed. "It’s also rude to attend a party without spending ti with the host. They may have co deliberately to diminish ." He shook his head. "Sotis I wonder if my choices were wrong."
Francisco, however, rembered sothing from his visions of independence: Manuel Bernardo Álvarez del Casal had been president of the state of Cundinamarca. Perhaps they sought not to harm his father, but to win him over.
At that mont, a servant approached Carlos. "Master, the young mistress and her husband wish to speak with you in the back room. If you would follow ?"
"May I bring my son?" Carlos asked.
"Of course," the servant replied with a smile. "The mistress wishes to et the mbers of the Góz family—and the man who once scolded the viceroy and bishop for ruining the empire. She still laughs when she recalls the viceroy’s face."
Sharing a glance, Carlos and Francisco followed the servant toward the private room.
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