"I do not want to many this beastly creature!" Micaela burst out, appalled at how easily they were disposing of her entire future. "I refuse to marry him! You cannot force me!"
Walking over to where Micaela stood glaring at them, Hugh said grimly, "You have won, Micaela. Cease this playacting and accept your victory. I have."
"Do you know," Micaela spat, her eyes glittering with fury, "that I think it is you, monsieur, who has won, and I absolutely loathe you for it!"
"Ah, well, I shall have to see what I can do about changing your mind." He smiled crookedly. "Come now! Enough of this! Our fate is sealed, and there is nothing that you can do about it."
Micaela knew that Hugh spoke the truth, but during the long, miserable journey back to Riverbend, she tried desperately to find a way out of the trap in which she found herself. It was all the more galling to realize that by doing an act of kindness for a fellow creature she had brought this on herself. I should have, she thought viciously, left him lying there in the rain. Zut! He is far too arrogant to have come to any real harm!
It was a somber foursome which rode through the falling rain, no one pleased at the outcome. Hugh was, however, feeling resigned to his fate. It had never occurred to him not to marry Micaela. He was, after all, an honorable man. Yet he had the uncomfortable suspicion that there was a part of him that was actually a little too resigned to his fate. He would have preferred a more traditional courtship, but he was not exactly dissatisfied by what had transpired. All of his previous reasons for considering a union between them came flooding back. Nothing had really changed—it was still a good business decision and he would get what he wanted—Micaela in his bed. His mouth hardened. At least now he knew her for what she was, a scheming, greedy little minx.
* * *
Lisette gave a choked cry when she was reunited with her daughter. Micaela's features were white and strained, and Lisette enfolded her into a warm, maternal embrace, scolding and petting at the same time. They were all gathered in the library, the other guests having gone to bed.
Having satisfied herself that her daughter had suffered no lasting damage, Lisette glanced at the three gentlemen, a question in her fine eyes. Hugh bowed, and said quietly, "Your daughter has done me the honor of agreeing to marry me. I hope this meets with your approval, madame."
Into her mother's shoulder, Micaela hissed, "I do not want to marry him, Maman! I did nothing wrong!"
Lisette sighed and rumpled Micaela's dark tousled hair. "Shh, petite. I know you did nothing wrong, but the circumstances are such..." She dropped a kiss on Micaela's cheek. "Too many people know what happened, bebe. There is no way that we can hide the fact that you were alone with a man not a member of your family for so many hours. You have to marry him."
Micaela realized that further talk was useless and disengaging Lisette's arms, she stood up. Sending her husband-to-be a most unloving glance, she muttered, "Since I seem to have no say in the matter, I shall leave you all to plan my future."
Ignoring Lisette's exclamation of protest, she stalked out of the room. In a daze she walked up the stairs to her room and stripped out of her wet and ruined riding habit, any thoughts of a long, hot bath vanished. Too much had happened and her brain felt fuzzy—she could not seem to think at all. Creeping between the sheets of her bed, she welcomed the blessed darkness which swept over her.
It was sometime later that Hugh was able to seek out his own bed, and he was aware of an odd sense of satisfaction as he entered his room and began to undress. Everything was settled. The betrothal would be announced at the ball tomorrow. The wedding would take place in three weeks, just long enough away to give an air of respectability to the whole affair. If he had any regrets about the hastiness of his wedding, it was that his stepfather would not be able to attend. Getting a message up-river to John Lancaster could take several weeks, and everyone was agreed that the sooner the marriage took place and people had other things to talk about, the better.
There had been a long silence after Hugh departed from the library, leaving each of the three Duprees busy with their own thoughts. It was Lisette who broke it, saying with forced cheerfulness, "Eh, bien! It may not be so very bad. He has agreed to marry her—and tonight's ball will be a most appropriate time to make the announcement."
"How can you accept it so easily, Maman?" demanded François. "She is marrying an Americain!"
Lisette shrugged eloquently.
Jean gave a hard laugh. "Your Maman has always had a soft spot for the Américains. Is that not so, ma soeurette?"'
Lisette flushed. Rising to her feet, and despite her pink cheeks, she said, "If you will excuse me, I think that I, too, shall go to bed. Bonne nuit!"
A frown on his face, François glanced at his uncle. "What did you mean by that?"
Jean made a face. "Put it from your mind—it was unimportant. And since we will have a busy day in front of us, I suggest that we try to get a few hours of sleep ourselves before we have to face our guests."
François's frown grew blacker. "Mon Dieu, but you seem to be taking all of this rather well," he said hotly. "What about Alain? And my vouchers?" An expression of unease crossed his face. "How will we face him with this news?" He swallowed. "He is going to be utterly furious!"
"I would not worry," Jean said. "Remember that whatever the reasons behind it, your sister is going to marry a very rich man, wealthier even than Alain Husson. Console yourself with the knowledge that in less than a month, your sister will be able to dip freely into a purse which is rumored to be nearly boundless!"
Much struck by this observation, François's features cleared magically. "Do you know," he said confidingly as the two men walked from the library, "this marriage to the Américain may not be such a bad thing!"
* * *
All during those swiftly passing hours before the formal announcement of the betrothal that Saturday evening, Micaela protested her innocence. But to no avail; her betrothal to the Américain was going to be announced as planned that night—the family was adamant. Jean and François had obviously had further conversation with Hugh, because her brother, somewhat amazed, told her that Hugh had refused a dowry. But, he reminded her just before they descended the stairs that night, Hugh's act wasn't as generous as it appeared—she did own ten percent in Galland, Lancaster and Dupree. In François's stated opinion, the American had gotten what he wanted.
The evening was a nightmare for Micaela. She kept hoping that something would change the outcome. It wasn't until Jean began to tap a crystal goblet for attention and she found Hugh suddenly at her side, that she accepted that her fate was sealed. Numbly she let Hugh escort her to where Jean stood, Lisette and François flanking him.
Hugh's hand was warm around hers as they joined the others in the center of the room and oddly enough the feel of that strong clasp gave her comfort. Uncertainly she gazed up at his unrevealing profile, wondering what he was thinking. Was he pleased at the outcome? Did he have any doubts about what he had done?
Jean played his part superbly. A smile on his lips, a twinkle in his dark eyes, he said gaily, "Mes amis, it has been a secret these past few days, but tonight it gives me great joy to tell you that my dear niece and the Américain, Hugh Lancaster, will be married. They are impatient, these two, and the wedding will take place in three weeks."
There was a collective gasp—Jean's words clearly having caught everyone by surprise. Then an excited babble arose, congratulations, exclamations of astonishment permeating the air. There were some disapproving faces in the crowd, a few of the older Creoles aghast at the match, but overall, most of the guests seemed to accept readily the idea of the marriage. That the Duprees were apparently happy with the match stilled even the most outspoken critic.
Micaela did not even have time to blink before she and Hugh were engulfed by the guests. The Creoles, voluble and excited as ever, rushed forward to press kisses and wishes for good fortune upon them. It all passed before her in a frenzy of motion and noise, Hugh's
hand the only real thing in a sea of confusion.
She was aware of Alice Summerfield and her parents eventually coming forward to offer their felicitations. If they seemed stiff and cool after all the warmth and spontaneity of the other guests, Micaela put it down to their disappointment at Hugh's choice of a bride—she had heard the rumors about his marked attentions to the Américaine young woman. Not by so much as a flicker of an eyelash did the older Summerfields give any clue to what they were feeling. Shaking Hugh's hand, Alice's father said, "John is going to be very pleased, my boy. Very pleased. Congratulations." Alice's mother added her own brief words, then it was Alice's turn.
Her face frozen, Alice murmured, "My congratulations to you both." Only the glimpse of rage and hurt in her eyes before she lowered her gaze from Hugh's face revealed her chagrin and disappointment.
Then as the others looked on, Micaela was stunned when Hugh gallantly presented her with a ring, a delicately wrought thing of gold and pearls. Brushing a kiss against her pale cheek, he murmured, "Did you think I would forget the most important symbol of our betrothal, sweetheart?"
"N-n-non. But when did you...?"
He bent near her ear and whispered, "I rose at dawn and rode to New Orleans. I returned with just enough time to bathe and dress." He sent her an enigmatic glance. "I did not want my betrothed to find me wanting."
Wordlessly she stared up at him, a part of her touched by his consideration, another suspicious of his motives. He was a stranger. Not only a stranger, but a man whose culture and ways were different from her own. And she was to marry him.... She sighed and decided with a streak of good Creole practicability that for the sake of her future happiness her wisest course was to view his actions in the best light possible.
A muted smile touched her lips. "Thank you. It was very kind and thoughtful of you."
Hugh cocked a brow. "What, no barbed reply? Now that we are betrothed does this mean that I will no longer be the target of that sharp tongue of yours?"
Before Micaela could reply, Jasper came up to them, and, slapping Hugh on the back, he cried, "Mon ami, I am so happy! Did I not tell you that only a Creole bride would do for you? I am elated that, for once, you actually followed my advice."
Green eyes sparkling with pleasure, Jasper extravagantly kissed Micaela on both cheeks. "You have me," he told her gaily, "Jasper De Marco, to thank for your good fortune, chérie." He winked, adding outrageously, "And I expect for you to name your firstborn son after me! I tell you now, I will be devastated if you do not name me godfather to him also."
Micaela blushed, and Hugh grinned. "And what if our children are all girls, my friend? What then?"
"Ah, non! Me, I am certain that before many years pass, there will be an entire litter of Lancaster sons to bedevil all our Creole maidens."
It was several minutes before Micaela could decently escape from the crowd, and at the first chance, she sidled outside to snatch a moment alone. In the pale moonlight she stared down dazedly at the ring on her finger. She was betrothed! It seemed incredible, part dream, part nightmare.
"You think that you have been rather clever, do you not?" Alice Summerfield said from behind her.
Micaela whirled to stare at the other woman. Alice's face was pinched and hard, her mouth held in a thin, tight line and her blue eyes blazed with dislike.
"Mademoiselle, I am sorry," Micaela began softly, "that you feel this way."
"Sorry!" Alice hissed. "I do not need your sympathy." Her hands opened and closed convulsively. "I do not know what sort of trick you used to force an offer from him, but I tell you—it is you who will be sorry." She gave an angry titter. "He loves me! We planned to marry—and you stole him from me!" Fury glittering in her eyes, she said bitterly, "You think you have won, but I do not envy you becoming the wife of a man who is only marrying you because he was forced into it."
A horrible suspicion took root in Micaela's mind. Had Hugh told Alice the circumstances surrounding their betrothal? Her voice tight, she asked, "And how do you know he was forced into it, mademoiselle?"
An expression of confusion crossed Alice's face, as if she could not conceive of any other reason for their betrothal. "Because he was going to marry me," she said stubbornly. She gave Micaela a scornful look. "And the only way you could have gotten a proposal out of him was if you tricked him."
The relief which swept through Micaela was nearly palpable—Hugh had not revealed the truth. But Alice's certainty that Hugh would have married her, that he loved her, sent a pang through Micaela, and an odd ache bloomed in her chest. Quietly she said, "Again, mademoiselle, I am sorry that you feel the way you do, but I can do nothing about it."
Behind Alice's fury, it was apparent that she was suffering, that the announcement of Hugh's betrothal had hurt. Micaela felt a stirring of pity. Her life was not the only one to have been changed so painfully. Impulsively she reached for Alice's hand, and said softly, "I am sorry for your pain. You must think of your future. You are young and very beautiful—someday there will be another who will touch your heart."
Alice jerked her hand away. "I do not want another man! I want Hugh!" she almost wailed, as if her wishes were the only ones that mattered.
Annoyed. Micaela snapped, "Zut! Hush, you foolish creature. Believe me, mademoiselle, if I could give him to you, I would!"
Alice's eyes went round. "You do not want him? How can you not? He is so handsome and very, very rich."
Wishing she had kept her tongue still, and conscious that with a few ill-chosen words she was in danger of exposing the careful facade erected by her family, Micaela muttered, "Of course I want him. As you said, he is rich and handsome."
But Alice's suspicions were aroused. Speculatively she eyed Micaela. "I know he does not love you... and you apparently do not love him...." She gasped as enlightenment dawned. "You are only marrying him because of the business!"
Micaela was not about to get into her reasons for marrying Hugh. Feeling that she had spent enough time with Miss Alice Summerfield, she said frostily, "You may believe what you like, mademoiselle. I do not wish to be rude, but I think that it is time we rejoined the party."
Uncaring if the other woman followed her or not, Micaela fled inside. Alice's words pierced her confused emotions like hot needles. She already knew that Hugh did not love her, but Alice's confirmation of that fact hurt in ways she had never expected. And the hurt did not abate one bit when she looked up a few minutes later and noticed that Alice had indeed followed her inside, but was now smiling enchantingly up at Hugh. Micaela's fingers bit into the flesh of her hand. I am not jealous, she told herself fiercely. I am not!
Jealousy would have been the least of her emotions if she had been privy to the conversation that was taking place between Alice and Hugh. And she would have been astonished at Alice's broad interpretation of their brief conversation.
Looking seductively at Hugh over the rim of her wine goblet, Alice said, "She is not in love with you, you know."
His expression shuttered, Hugh glanced at her. His first instinct was to ignore her, but that devil curiosity prompted him to ask, "Oh, and how do you know that?"
"Because I just had a very interesting conversation with her. And she told me so."
Hugh's eyes narrowed. "She told you so?"
"Ummhmm. That and the fact that your marriage will be purely a business arrangement. She was very honest about it." She shot him a considering look. Driven by the need to strike back, she added, "It is only because you own the largest single share of Galland, Lancaster and Dupree that she consented to the match. Your marriage will be a very good thing for her family." Alice smiled deprecatingly. "You know these Creoles—they will do anything, even sacrifice themselves, for their family. Such a pity you fell into her clutches."
Hugh's gaze found Micaela standing across the room from him. Intently he stared at her vivid features as she smiled at something her brother said. "Perhaps," he said slowly, "I did not fall... perhaps, I went quite, quite wi
llingly. Did you ever think of that?"
"You are not serious! What about us?" Alice demanded, color burning in her cheeks.
"What about us?" Hugh asked, tearing his gaze away from Micaela.
Under her breath, Alice muttered, "Well, I thought, that is, your attentions led me to believe that—"
"I am a very good friend to you and your family," Hugh gently interspersed. "None of you knew anyone in New Orleans when you first arrived, and I did what I could to make things easier for you."
Their eyes met for a long time. "And that is all it was?" she asked painfully.
Hugh lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. "That and my sincere admiration for your beauty."
Her lip trembled, and she looked away, blinking furiously. There was a small silence, and then she tossed her head and gave a tight little laugh, "There is young Monsieur L'Aramy. I seem to remember that I promised him the next dance."
A moment later she was gone, having amply fertilized, watered, and added a few of her own to the seeds of doubt which already lay between Hugh and Micaela.
* * *
As if in a nightmare, Micaela drifted through the days before the wedding. On the surface, she was furious at the trick fate, or perhaps the very man she was marrying, had played on her. Yet deep within herself, buried so deeply that she was hardly aware of it, was a tiny spark of excitement, a thrilling, insistent eagerness to begin her new life as Hugh's wife. She did not admit her emotions to herself, instead, she pushed them determinedly from her mind just as she did the memory of all those times a glance from Hugh's gray eyes would set her heart beating so fast she feared it would leap from her breast. She pretended to forget the way that gleaming smile of his had made her feel vibrantly alive. She definitely did not dwell on the memory his kiss. Bah! She would not remember those times. Rather she would remember his hateful words the night he had sworn not to marry her and Alice's assertions that she was the one he loved as well as François's opinion that Hugh's only reason for marrying her were cold-blooded, mercenary ones.
Love Be Mine (The Louisiana Ladies Series, Book 3) Page 12
