The Spanish Daughter: Sneak Peek

By Lorena Hughes

Be one of the first to read this sneak peek from the award-winning author of The Sisters of Alameda Street, set against the lush backdrop of early twentieth century Ecuador and inspired by the real-life history of the coastal town known as the birthplace of cacao, it is the captivating story of a resourceful young chocolatier who must impersonate a man in order to survive . . .
 
Puri inherited two things from her father: a passion for chocolate, and a cacao plantation located in Ecuador. After learning the art of chocolate-making from her grandmother, Puri opened a chocolate shop in her native Spain. But the Great War that devastated Europe has also ruined her business. Eager to learn more about the source of her beloved chocolate, Puri sets out across the ocean with her husband, Cristóbal. But someone is angered by Puri’s claim to the plantation . . .
 
When a mercenary sent to murder her aboard the ship accidentally kills Cristóbal instead, Puri dons her husband’s clothes and assumes his identity, hoping to stay safe while she learns the truth. Though freed from the rules that women are expected to follow, Puri confronts other challenges at the plantation—newfound siblings, hidden affairs, and her father’s dark secrets. Then there are the dangers awakened by her attraction to an enigmatic man as she tries to learn the identity of an enemy who is still at large, threatening the future she is determined to claim . . .

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kensington Books
• Release date: Jun 25, 2021
• ISBN: 9781496739087

Lorena Hughes

Lorena Hughes was born and raised in Ecuador until moving to the United States at eighteen. Her first unpublished novel, The Black Letter, took first place in the 2011 Southwest Writers International Writing Contest (historical fiction category), and an honorable mention at the 2012 Soul-Making Keats Literary Competition. She lives in New Mexico.

Book preview

Chapter 1

PURI

Guayaquil, Ecuador

April 1920

Surely they could all see through my disguise.

A drop of sweat slid down my forehead. I was definitely not dressed for the weather, which was akin to one of those Turkish baths gentlemen visited. The corset squeezing my small breasts was not helping matters. Neither was my husband’s vest, his jacket, or his bow tie. The fake beard made my face itch. If only I could scratch it, but any wrong move might tear it off. Even worse, my spectacles were fogging up and making everything blurry.

How did I ever think I could pull this off?

A tremor rippled over my entire body as I reached the end of the pier. Calm down, you can do this. I took a deep breath, but my lungs didn’t seem to get enough air. I did, however, get a mouthful of the stench of fish and smoke coming from the ship.

This was madness.

Herds of people waited for us to descend the plank. Some carried signs, others waved at my fellow passengers from the distance. I pictured one of them pointing at me in ridicule.

I can still go back inside.

I turned around and smacked into a shoulder behind me. With all the shouting, shuffling of feet, and dropping of bags, I hadn’t seen the young man jostling in my direction. I shifted to the side and he rushed past me, ramming into an old lady strolling in front of us. She squealed as she fell on the ground.

"¡Bruto!" she called after him.

I darted toward her and helped her up—her bony arms as fragile as toothpicks.

Are you all right? I said in a low voice.

Yes, I think so. She snatched her hat from the ground. "That man is an animal! But thank you, caballero. At least there are still a few gentlemen around."

I smiled at the irony but more importantly, it gave me a small measure of confidence that my disguise was working. I was about to ask her if she needed to see a doctor when a woman—older than Methuselah—approached us, leaning over a bamboo cane for support. I’d never seen so many wrinkles and spots on a single face.

"¡Hija!" she told the lady I’d just helped.

"¡Mamá!" the old lady said, hugging her mother. The women had a lot to say to each other and left without giving me a second glance.

If only my mother could be here to help me with my ordeal, but she’d passed away three years ago.

And now Cristóbal.

My throat tightened.

But I couldn’t fall apart at this moment. I was already here. I had to follow through with my plan, no matter what.

A Moorish tower in yellow and white stripes rose behind a cluster of hats and palm trees. Although narrower, it reminded me of Torre del Oro, back in Sevilla, a slice of my old life appearing before my eyes to reassure me everything would be fine.

That was what my mind said. My legs told a different story. They had become as heavy as lead. At any given moment, someone—anyone—could attack me. But I had no way of knowing who or if I would be able to even move.

Get a hold of yourself, Puri. Relax.

I scanned the strange faces around me. Certainly, my father’s lawyer would be among these people, though I had no idea what he looked like. I hoisted my husband’s typewriter and dragged the trunk with my other hand.

Fortunately, I had given away all my gowns, which meant I only had to worry about one trunk as opposed to three. As I wandered about the harbor, I ran into several of my dresses in the bodies of other passengers. The last one of them—a pink taffeta sheath my mother had sewn for me—dissolved like foam among a sea of linen and sheer drapes.

A flock of seagulls cawed over my head. I walked past a row of canoes moored along the dock and a group of women carrying umbrellas to shield their faces from the unforgiving sun. Behind them was a man in a dark suit that stood out among the white jackets and hats like a black bean in a bowl of rice. He was holding a sign with my name; the words