Three years ago John Lancaster, thinking to retire, had sold Hugh a forty-five percent interest in the partnership, retaining only a ten percent interest for himself. Hugh had acted as his stepfather's agent for a number of years prior to the sale and already had a keen understanding of the business—at least the Natchez end of things. But since then, with increasing frequency, he had been asking many pointed questions about the affairs of the New Orleans portion of the business. Considering that Hugh was now the largest single shareholder, his deepening interest was justified, but both Micaela's grandfather and uncle had been highly affronted by his actions. And while she had listened to them rail against what they claimed to be Hugh's unwarranted intervention in affairs none of his business, she had privately thought his visits and queries not unreasonable—annoying and irritating, perhaps, but not totally without justification.
Her grandfather's death, however, seemed to have engendered in Hugh Lancaster an acute concern about the future of the partnership. Micaela suspected that it was because of the ill-disguised hostility which existed between Hugh and Jean. Christophe Galland had acted as a buffer between the two younger men, but his death had forced the pair of them to deal directly with each other.
As his only child, Lisette had inherited Christophe's remaining shares. Not inclined toward business herself, she had asked her brother-in-law to handle her shares, just as he did his brother's for François and Micaela. John Lancaster preferred to let Hugh run things these days.
Since the shares owned by De Marco and Husson were nominal, and their dabbling in the business was perfunctory, Hugh and Jean, as the two active principals, were continually at odds. The situation between Hugh and Jean was a most uncomfortable state of affairs—especially when coupled with the general animosity shared by most Creoles for Americans. An animosity that was now further exacerbated by the sale of the Louisiana Territory to those same despised Americans.
Growing weary of François's tirade against the American, she glanced at him and commented, "François, you are beginning to repeat yourself. I think that you have made your feelings about Monsieur Lancaster quite clear to both Maman and me. Obviously, you are not happy at the prospect of Monsieur Lancaster living in the area, but there is nothing that Maman and I can do about it—I suggest that you take your views to Monsieur Lancaster."
"Bah! What good would that do? He will look down that long nose of his and ignore me! I tell you, Maman, there will be trouble once he starts his snooping and prying."
The two women exchanged glances, a faint frown marring Lisette's forehead.
François looked from one woman to the other. He drew himself up. "You think that I would challenge Hugh Lancaster to a duel, oui?" Fierce pride glittering in his dark eyes, he spat, "You have nothing to fear—I would not sully my hands fighting with an Américain!"
"That is very high-minded of you," Lisette said gently, "but if you do not wish to provoke a quarrel with him, I would suggest that you, if not graciously, at least politely, accept the fact that he is moving to New Orleans."
François grimaced. Sending a sheepish grin to both women, he muttered, "I have been acting rather a fool, have I not?"
Micaela smiled back at him. François's mercurial moods were one of his charms. A teasing gleam in her eyes, she said, "Since I do not intend to risk another display such as we have just seen, I shall not answer that question."
François laughed, and, bowing to first one and then the other, he said, "Forgive me! I let my vile temper rule me."
"There is nothing to forgive, mon fils," Lisette said. "It is understandable that you would be upset by the news, but we must accept the fact that Hugh Lancaster will be living in the city and that he will, no doubt, be taking an even more active interest in the business."
François sat down once more by his mother. Shaking his head, he said wryly, "Well, if you think that I took the news badly, mon Dieu! I do not even want to consider how mon oncle will take it. We should be grateful that he is out of the city until tomorrow. At least we will not have to face his rage today."
* * *
It happened that the family had more of a respite than twenty-four hours before having to face Jean's expected displeasure at their news. He had been due back from Riverbend the next day, but that very afternoon a servant appeared with a note from him, informing François that it would be three days hence, on Thursday, before he returned. By tacit agreement no one sent a return message to him revealing Hugh Lancaster's intentions.
On Friday morning, they were still at breakfast, seated around a small table, considering how to break the news of Hugh's plans to Jean, when the door to the pleasant room was flung open. His dark eyes blazing, his normally even features twisted with outrage, Jean Dupree burst into the room. "Do you know," he demanded in savage accents, "who just walked up to me on Chartres Street? Hugh Lancaster"'
Chapter 2
Stripping off his gloves, Jean tossed them onto a mahogany sideboard and continued in angry tones, "He apparently just stepped off a barge from Natchez this morning, and he informed me with that arrogant smile of his, damn his eyes! that this is to be no mere visit—he intends to take up residence here."
Slinging his high-crowned hat onto a nearby chair, he ran agitated fingers through his abundant black hair. "Mon Dieu! We will never be rid of him—he will hover unceasingly over our shoulders like a harbinger of doom, asking endless questions, insisting on answers I do not have. I am only glad that Renault and Christophe did not live to see this day!"
Micaela caught her breath. "He is here already? But his letter telling Maman of this news only arrived a few days ago. He wrote that it would be months before he came to New Orleans. How can he be here today?"
"Letter? What letter?" Jean inquired sharply, his black eyes flashing as he glanced at Lisette. "And why was I not told of it?"
"You were out of the city," Francis said, "and we did not wish to spoil your trip with this unfortunate business."
"Spoil my trip?" Jean gave an ugly laugh. "Our lives are spoiled!"
Lisette motioned him to take a seat near her, and murmured, "Oh come, now, Jean, it is not that bad. You are putting too dramatic a face, as you usually do, on something which will not affect us that much. Here now, have some coffee, and I shall ring Antoine to bring you some freshly fried beignets from the kitchen."
Jean grimaced but did as his sister-in-law requested. They had known each other a long time and they were of an age—Jean had turned thirty-seven this past December. It was natural that they were used to each other's moods.
Unlike the punctilious politeness he showed Lisette, Jean had always been indulgent and generous to both Micaela and François—often more so than Renault. After their father had died, Jean had deftly stepped into Renault's shoes. Since he had not yet married and set up his own home, he had always lived with them at Riverbend, which was half his anyway, although he did have his own comfortable quarters a mile downriver from the big house. In town, on Bienville Street, he also kept his own suite of rooms, but he had run tame through their various households ever since Micaela could remember. The polite restraint between Lisette and Jean vaguely troubled Micaela although she knew that her mother relied upon Jean and trusted him—otherwise, she would not have left her affairs in his hands.
Antoine, their mulatto house servant, answered Lisette's ring almost immediately. "Some more of Marie's beignets for Monsieur Jean, s'il vous plait, Antoine. Oh, and we shall need some more hot milk and fresh chocolate and coffee."
As soon as the door shut behind Antoine, Jean looked at Lisette, and said sourly, "So, soeurette, tell me of this letter."
Lisette made a face. "On Monday, I received a letter from Monsieur Hugh, telling me that he planned on moving here."
"Why did he write to you?" Jean demanded moodily. "He should have written to me—not involved the women of my family."
With an edge to her voice, Lisette said, "It was a very polite letter, and since you usually look like you
are suffering from a stomach ache whenever you are in his presence, I am not surprised that he wrote to me. I am at least pleasant to him!"
Jean's lip lifted in a sneer. "Pleasant? I think softheaded would be more like it—as usual, in the presence of a wealthy Américain."
Francois sprang to his feet, his hand instinctively going to the place where he would normally be wearing a small sword cane. "Sacrebleu! How dare you insult Maman so!" he declared hotly, his features flushed with quick anger.
Jean rolled his eyes. Settling back in his chair, he said wearily, "Oh, sit down, you young fool—I have no intention of meeting my own nephew on the field of honor, and I meant no insult to your maman. I am merely furious and out of sorts at this unexpected turn of events." Sending Lisette an apologetic smile, he asked, "Having vented most of my spleen, may I now, please, see the letter?"
Lisette nodded. "When Antoine returns with your beignets, I shall send him to my rooms for it."
There was desultory conversation among the four of them until Antoine arrived with a tray heaped high with sugary beignets, steaming milk, and a pot each of fresh chocolate and coffee. Hearing Lisette's request, he bowed and departed, returning shortly with Hugh's letter.
Sipping his coffee, Jean read the letter in silence. Laying it down near his untouched beignets, he muttered, "Mon Dieu! It is true. He is here—and means to stay."
"What are we going to do about it?" François demanded, leaning forward, the light of battle in his expressive eyes.
Jean shrugged. "There is nothing that we can do, mon fils. The territory is now Américain, we cannot prevent him from moving here."
Uncertainly, Micaela asked, "But will it really be so very bad? He is one of the partners, and you have dealt with him for years. His living here in the city should not change things very much."
François curled a scornful lip. "It is easy for you to say—you do not have to meet him or even speak to him, but we"—he nodded toward Jean—"do not share that same happy state of affairs. We will have to face his arrogant ways every day."
Rising gracefully to her feet, Lisette said calmly, "I think that all of you are making far too much of this development. As Micaela said, you have been dealing with Hugh Lancaster for years; he is one of the partners, the partner with the largest share in the business, I might add, and his living here should not change a thing. Why do you not try working with him for once, instead of assuming that he is trying to discredit you or destroy the company?"
"Because he is trying to do just that," Jean said gloomily. "He is blaming us for the drop in profits, accusing me of not paying close enough attention to what is going on. He does not hesitate to tell me that I am a careless and inept businessman. Mon Dieu! The overweening conceit of the man!"
Lisette sent him a glance, and Jean moved restively under her look. Like most wealthy Creoles, the Duprees did not actually soil their hands in the day-today running of Galland, Lancaster and Dupree—they employed others to do that tiresome task. Instead, they mostly just cast an intelligent, if erratic, eye over the firm which bore their names and it was no wonder that Lisette looked at him so.
She said nothing to Jean, however, merely glanced at Micaela and murmured, "Come, petite, I thought that since it is a fairly pleasant day we should visit the dressmaker and see if she has some new materials which might interest us."
Silence fell after the two women left the room. Jean finished his cup of coffee before saying, "That damned Américain! I do not want him here. I wish to God that we had never formed this cursed partnership with John Lancaster."
"But it is not John Lancaster who is causing us so much trouble," François said fairly. "It is his stepson."
"Do not remind me," Jean muttered. "To think that we shall be tripping over Hugh Lancaster everywhere we go in the city. It is enough to make me bilious. And as for having him constantly underfoot at our place of business, always asking questions and demanding to know why such and such is done a certain way..." Jean shook his head, unable to complete the terrible thought.
* * *
Well aware of how Jean Dupree felt about him, Hugh Lancaster, with a rueful smile, had watched him stalk away down Chartres Street after their unexpected meeting. He had not intended to arrive in New Orleans so soon after his letter announcing his plans, but having made up his mind to move to the area, it had seemed useless to wait. By May, early June, most of Creole society would have departed the city for their plantations and when summer arrived, and with it the fever season, New Orleans would be deserted except for those poor souls who had to remain within the city. Consequently, after a brief consultation with his stepfather, and another attempt to convince the older man to join him, Hugh had wasted little time. Not three days after he had sent his letter to Lisette Dupree, he was stepping on a barge sailing for New Orleans. Beyond personal effects, Hugh had brought little with him—once he reached his destination and found suitable quarters he planned to buy any furnishings or household items he might need.
Strolling down the street in the direction opposite taken by Jean, Hugh decided that he wasn't sorry at the unexpected meeting. The Duprees had to learn of his presence in the city soon enough, and getting it out of the way in this fashion saved him from making a formal call on the family. A twinge of regret nudged him. He would have, he admitted, enjoyed watching Micaela Dupree's magnificent dark eyes sparkle with disdain when she learned who was actually in her home, but it seemed that pleasure was to be denied him. Ah well, there were bound to be other opportunities to bring that delightful expression of smelling offal to her pretty face.
Chuckling to himself, he walked into a coffee shop and looked around for a familiar face. The place was full of Creole gentlemen sitting around several tables leisurely drinking coffee and smoking long black cheroots, their canes and gloves lying on the polished tops of the tables. The rhythmic sounds of the French tongue came to his ears, as did the intoxicating odor of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the scent of fine tobacco.
There was, he decided pleasurably, no place like a coffeehouse in New Orleans. Spotting a lively profile he knew very well, Hugh made his way in that direction, aware of the cessation in noise as he sauntered across the room and aware, too, that every eye was on him.
Hugh did not make it to his destination before his target, a tall elegant gentleman about his own age, glanced over to see what had caused the fluctuation in the various conversations and, spying him, sprang to his feet with a wide smile and a glad cry. "Mon ami!" Jasper De Marco exclaimed gaily. "You have arrived so soon! I did not expect you for months, yet. Tell me, all is well with your step-papa? It is not bad news that brings you to our fair city so early?"
Giving Hugh no chance to reply, Jasper grasped his shoulders and kissed him exuberantly on both cheeks. Well used to the affectionate French greeting, Hugh returned it and said with a twinkle in his gray eyes, "Bon-jour; mon ami. I see that you are, as usual, wasting away the time when you could be helping me toward our mutual goal."
Jasper managed to look mournful, despite the teasing gleam in his dark eyes. "Ah, mon ami, I must take you in hand and teach you that there is much more to life than work, work, work. You Americans, business is all you think about."
Allowing Jasper to urge him toward a seat, Hugh murmured, "And you Creoles, all you think about is pleasure!"
"Oui! And which one of us enjoys life more? Hmm?" Jasper retorted with a grin.
Hugh laughed and shook his head. "You will not catch me arguing with you on that one."
Hugh and Jasper had known each other for nearly ten years—ever since Hugh's first visit to New Orleans. They had gotten into a hot disagreement about the charms of a certain lovely quadroon and had retired, with their less-than-sober seconds, to the dueling field beneath the oaks. Fortunately, the two principals were both more than a little drunk themselves and were both equally expert with the sword. Despite the heat of the moment and the Madeira fumes in their brains, they were impressed with each other's skill a
nd instead of killing each other, as they had sworn vehemently to do, they had left the field of honor as brothers under the skin and had ended the night in Jasper's town house. Even in the morning, when the Madeira fumes had faded, each discovered that he had not been mistaken in his estimation of the other, and their friendship was sealed that very morning over several cups of hot coffee.
Few Creoles would even acknowledge an American, much less befriend one, but Jasper De Marco, the only son of a great French heiress and a major Spanish official, cared nothing for a man's nationality. Hugh had proven himself to Jasper's satisfaction to be an honorable man. Besides, as he told his friends and family with a teasing sparkle in his dark eyes, he did not want to be enemies with a man who was nearly as good as he with a sword.
Once Hugh had been served his coffee and Jasper's cup had been refilled, the two men talked for a few minutes. Replying fluently in French to Jasper's questions, not for the first time, Hugh silently thanked his stepfather for insisting he learn the language. From the moment Hugh had first expressed an interest in joining Galland, Lancaster and Dupree when he had been a youth of sixteen, John had been adamant that he learn French—otherwise, his stepfather explained, he would be always at a disadvantage when dealing with the partners in New Orleans. And thinking of the many sharp exchanges he'd had with Jean Dupree, Hugh had to agree with his stepfather.
"Now what, mon ami, brings that look to your face?" Jasper asked.
Hugh grimaced. "I was merely thinking of our good friend, Jean Dupree."
Love Be Mine (The Louisiana Ladies Series, Book 3) Page 2
