This time it was Lisette who sighed. Her finger running around the rim of her glass, she murmured, "I did not know that I was such a good actress." At Micaela's astonished expression, she added with stunning bluntness, "You are old enough to know the truth—I despised Renault Dupree. And I hated your grand-pere for forcing me to marry him."
"B-b-but, but you—!"
"Presented the world with a pleasant facade? Oui, indeed I did! What else could I do once the marriage was fact? Weep and beat my breast? Shame myself before our friends and neighbors?" Her voice hardened. "Non! I did what other women have done before me—I forced myself to be a 'proper Creole wife'! I compelled myself to accept the caresses of a man who made my flesh crawl with revulsion. I made no complaint or mention of the women he kept, nor of the thousand slights I endured while he was alive. To you, the family, the servants, I acted the role that fate had assigned to me. I was a good, understanding, proper Creole wife—and I can think of no worse fate than that for you, ma chérie." She leaned across the table and took one of Micaela's hands in hers. Staring into Micaela's dark eyes, she said earnestly, "You have the chance that I never did—you have married an honorable, generous man. It is my dearest wish that you shall have what was denied me—a happy, loving marriage. And I think that if you will put your pride and hurt feelings aside and be honest about what you feel for him, you shall have it with Hugh." She smiled gently. "Hugh is a fine young man, petite. He has been very thoughtful and kind—the fact that I am staying with you this summer is an indication of his concern for your well-being." Lisette gave Micaela's hand a reassuring squeeze. "I know you were coerced into this marriage, ma chérie, but I would never have allowed the wedding if I had not been certain that he would do much to make you happy. I knew that he would make you, not only a good husband—Renault was, in Creole terms, a good husband—but with Hugh you have the chance of having a loyal, honest, loving husband!"
"You did not l-l-like Papa?" Micaela asked aghast, as she grappled with what her mother had revealed.
Lisette sat back. "Non. I did not like him. It is true that at one time there was talk of a marriage between us and that I was not indifferent to the idea, but that was before... She stopped, her inward gaze seeing something that Micaela could not. Lisette's face softened and a dreamy expression entered her dark eyes. "But that was before I met someone else...." She looked at Micaela, and her face grew more tender. "Someone who taught me what love could be like...."
Fascinated and intrigued by this glimpse into her mother's life, Micaela asked breathlessly, "But why did you not marry him? If you loved each other...?"
Lisette gave herself a shake. A bitter note entered her voice. "He loved me, I always believed that even after..." She took a steadying breath. "He loved me," she went on briskly, "but not enough to stand up to Papa. Papa was against a marriage between us. He wanted me to marry Renault. It was unthinkable that I marry—!" She hesitated, Micaela's riveted stare and rapt expression reminding her of just what she was revealing. Vexed with herself, Lisette smiled ruefully, and muttered, "It does not matter anymore. It all happened a long time ago. I married Renault, and I cannot complain of the life we led. Renault was not a cruel man, just a selfish one, and, most of the time, he was very good to me."
"But the man you loved? What happened to him?"
A sad smile on her face, Lisette said simply, "Oh, he went away and never came back...."
Micaela gasped, everything her mother had just told her suddenly coming together. The most outrageous thought occurred to her. Her eyes wide and startled, she breathed, "You were in love with Hugh's stepfather, John Lancaster!"
Lisette stared at her for a long time, and then she said simply, "Oui. Very much so."
* * *
Hugh rode back to New Orleans, staring moodily at the passing countryside. His heart felt like lead in his chest, and he was conscious of a strong inclination to get drunk and get into a brawl in some rank den of vice. The only ray of light in his black gloom, and it was faint at that, was Micaela's generous response to his frantic embrace. He grimaced. But then what else had he expected? She was a good Creole wife, he thought sarcastically.
She could despise him utterly, but her upbringing would not allow her to repulse him or, God forbid, cause a scene. He almost wished she had slapped his face and screamed at him than to have melted against him and made him aware of all that sweet warmth and silky delight he was denying himself.
Once the coach reached New Orleans and he had been set down in front of his home, he dismissed the driver and vehicle. His temper and strong sense of ill use had not abated, and, cursing Micaela and his own unruly emotions, he entered the house. The place felt empty and uninviting as he wandered through the premises, and he cursed himself again for not damning the consequences and remaining at Par Amour, and in his wife's bed. It didn't help his temper any to admit that he could have stayed in the country. Staying at Amour might have meant frequent trips into the city, but he wouldn't have exiled himself from the very thing that he wanted with a painful intensity—his wife, in his arms and in his bed.
He spent a restless night, tossing and wrestling with his bedclothes, the knowledge that he had sent his wife away eating at him like acid. If he hadn't been so full of stiff-necked pride, he could have been at Par Amour, taking his pleasure of his wife, instead of sleeping, alone in his very big, very empty, bed.
His mood was not greatly improved when he rose the next morning. But stubbornly telling himself that he had made the right decision, he dressed. After a lonely breakfast, without much enthusiasm, he walked to his office.
And of course, there was little there to occupy his time or thoughts. He would give Jean credit for having competent men working for them—men who knew their jobs and made, for the most part, the owners' presence superfluous. Besides, he was sick of looking at cargo lists, and he had already discovered what he needed to know. Until something new was added to the current state of affairs, there was nothing for him to do but sit and wait... and brood. Not a happy prospect.
Seated at his desk, he stared grimly at the litter of papers which marred its smooth gleaming surface, his thoughts straying to his wife. What was she doing now? Had she slept well last night? His lips tightened. No doubt! He wasn't around to distress her with his presence.
Impatiently he rose from his chair. Stepping from his office, he walked over to where Etienne was working. Hugh glanced around. Seeing that no one was nearby or paying any attention to them, he asked softly, "Did you find any discrepancies in the invoice I asked you to go over?"
Etienne started and flushed. "N-n-non, Monsieur Lancaster. Everything was in order."
Hugh stared at him. "Do you remember what we talked about at the warehouse?"
Etienne nodded and swallowed. "Oui, monsieur, I have not forgotten your words."
"The offer is still open, but I would suggest that for anyone who wishes to take advantage of it, they not delay."
His voice barely above a whisper, Etienne muttered, "I understand."
Having done what he could to move things along, Hugh returned to his office. Seated once more behind his desk, he glared at the papers scattered across the surface. He had remained in town for this? To sit here and stare?
Inevitably his mind wandered to Micaela, and he wondered again what she was doing at this very moment. Enjoying a leisurely breakfast with her mother on the terrace? Strolling near the lake? Sleeping late? A tight ache in the region of his groin at the thought of Micaela lying in bed provoked something very near a growl from him.
Furious at the way she dominated his thoughts and not liking his own company very much, he stood up. He would go to one of the coffeehouses. Perhaps Jasper had not left the city yet and he could find some congenial company.
He started across the room when there was a knock on the door. "Yes? What is it?" he snapped as he flung open the door.
A tall, distinguished gentleman stood there before him, a faint smile on his darkly handsom
e face, a dimple lurking in his cheek. The gentleman was nearing fifty but wore his age lightly, his shoulders broad, his body still lean and well muscled, and though the majority of his hair was still thick and black, there were striking silver wings at his temples. "Am I interrupting something?" he asked, a twinkle in his dark eyes.
"Papa! It is damned good to see you, sir!" Hugh exclaimed delightedly, a wide smile crossing his face, his bad mood vanishing as if it had never been. Impulsively locking his stepfather in a powerful hug, he added, "When did you arrive? I have been half-expecting you, but I thought I would have advance word of your arrival."
Putting his elegant curly-brimmed hat on one of the chairs Hugh indicated, John Lancaster seated himself in another, and murmured, "It has been rather lonesome since you left, my boy, and when I received your letter telling me of your sudden marriage, why nothing would do but that I immediately order my bags packed and take the first ship leaving Natchez for New Orleans." The twinkle became more pronounced. "You are not the only one who can make swift, decisive plans, you know."
Hugh laughed. "I never doubted it, sir." Taking another chair near his stepfather's, he leaned forward eagerly. "How long will you stay? I hope for a long time. Now that you are here, mayhap, I can convince you to move to New Orleans."
"Perhaps," John said. "I have put most of our affairs in the capable hands of Mr. Norton, our esteemed business agent in Natchez, and have told him to expect me when he sees me. I am sure that he will continue to do the same admirable job he has always done for us, so I am here for as long as you wish."
"Excellent!" The gray eyes warm with deep affection, Hugh said, "I have missed you, sir—I did not realize how much until this very moment. It is good to see you."
John nodded. His face reflecting the same affectionate expression on Hugh's, he said quietly, "I missed you, too, my boy—more than I thought possible. I decided that it was foolish to let an old vow keep me from being with the one person who means the most to me in the world." A smile lit his features. "And so here I am, in a place I swore over twenty years ago that I would never set foot in again!"
"Is that why you never came back to New Orleans? Because you swore not to?" Hugh asked with a frown.
"Indeed, yes. I left this place, swearing never to return, with what I thought was a broken heart and my pride in tatters. But that was in the past and does not matter now. All that matters is that you are here—and married! Now tell me about this bride of yours. All that ridiculously brief note of yours stated was that by the time I read your words you would be a married man. Who is she? The Summerfield chit? You never even mentioned a name." John grinned at him. "You really must improve on your writing skills, my boy. I have been in a fever of impatience to learn more about this paragon who swept you so willy-nilly to the altar. Who is she?"
Hugh made a rueful face. "Not Alice Summerfield. She is a young lady from a prominent Creole family."
John looked astounded. "A Creole? Good God! How did that come about?"
It was on the tip of Hugh's tongue to tell his stepfather the true circumstances surrounding his marriage, but discretion held him back. He did not like lying to John—they had few secrets between them. But there seemed no point in telling him how Micaela had trapped him into marriage. For some reason, and it eluded him, he wanted his stepfather to think well of his bride. He wanted John to like Micaela.
So instead of a recital of the unpleasant facts, Hugh smiled and muttered, "She is very beautiful, Papa. I took one look at her and..." His voice thickened. "And I fell in love with her." With all the power and speed of a thunderbolt, Hugh realized that it was true. He did love Micaela! And she hated him.
He took a deep breath, his thoughts spinning. Forcing himself to act casually, despite the turmoil in his brain, he continued, "There did not seem any reason to wait, although if it could have been arranged, I would have wanted you there beside me the day I married."
"Ah, you young bucks, you are always so impatient," John said with a roguish smile. "And as I was young once and thought myself wildly in love, I understand. I am just surprised that one of those proud-as-sin Creole families was willing to let one of their daughters marry an American!" With a bitter cast to his face, he added, "Believe me, it was not always so!"
Hugh shot him a keen look, his own troubles forgotten for the moment. "Is that why you swore never to set foot in New Orleans again?"
John shrugged. "It may have had something to do with it. But it no longer matters. Let us not talk about me. It is you and your bride who are the more interesting topic."
"There is not much more to tell. I saw her and I had to have her. The family was not averse to the suit, and so you see before you a married man."
"I find it hard to believe that there were no objections to your suit. My memory of the Creoles is that they would sooner have a slave married into the family than an American!"
"There were, uh, good reasons why the family accepted me so readily," Hugh said carefully. "You might say it was as much a merger of interests as a marriage."
John's arrogant black brows met in a frown above his eyes. "A merger of interests? Who is this girl?"
"Micaela Dupree. Old Christophe Galland's granddaughter. It consolidated some of the shares in the business. In addition," Hugh added hastily, "to giving me a most charming wife."
John stiffened. "Christophe's granddaughter?" At Hugh's nod, he asked grimly, "And her parents?"
"Lisette and Renault Dupree—although as you know, Renault has been dead for a number of years. His widow, Madame Dupree, was Galland's only daughter. I believe you may have met her when you were here setting up the business. She has been extremely welcoming to me. In fact, if it had not been for her warmth and charm, I would have gotten a very cold reception from the remainder of the business partners." Hugh grinned. "With the exception of Jasper, of course. But then you know Jasper."
"Yes, I know Jasper. I seem to remember several harrowing visits from him when the two of you attempted in various hair-raising manners to get yourselves killed," John replied easily, seeming to lose interest in Hugh's bride and her family. "As a matter of fact," he went on, "I had my bags sent to his house, since I did not have your direction."
Hugh stood up again. "I was on the point of leaving when you arrived. Shall we go find your baggage and get you settled in at my house?"
Smiling and nodding, John rose to his feet, and the two men departed a few minutes later, after Hugh had introduced him to several of the employees in the office. It did not take long to get John's baggage sorted out. Luckily Jasper was still in residence, and, finding that he was leaving for his country estate on the morrow and would be out of the city for several weeks, Hugh pressed him to join them for dinner and renew his acquaintance with John. Jasper accepted.
As Hugh and John walked the short distance between Jasper's house and Hugh's, Hugh mentioned that Micaela was not, at the moment, in New Orleans. If John was disappointed or surprised to discover that Hugh's wife of barely six weeks was living in the country apart from her new husband, he kept his reactions to himself.
Instead, he exclaimed with pleasure at the house and stated that he was looking forward to the evening and reacquainting himself with Jasper.
Jasper arrived early, and the three gentlemen enjoyed a long, leisurely meal, reminiscing and discussing the latest events at Galland, Lancaster and Dupree. After dinner, they moved into Hugh's study, enjoying a snifter of brandy as they continued their conversation.
A tap on the door broke the relaxed mood. Sampson, one of Hugh's servants, announced that there were visitors who had come to call on John Lancaster. After he had sent Sampson to bring the guests to the study, Hugh turned to his stepfather and murmured, "One of the Duprees must have gone to the office this afternoon and learned of your arrival. It seems Jean and François have come to call... as well as Alain Husson."
John frowned. "Husson? I do not recall that name."
"Like me, he won his shares from Chris
tophe shortly before the old man's death," Jasper said. "The Husson family is well-known and respected in the city, although your stepson and I have had our disagreements with Alain."
"Disagreements?" John asked with a raised brow:
"We do not know if he is behind the troubles at the firm, but we suspect he may have a hand in it," Hugh said. "And of course, there is the fact that I fought a duel with him several weeks ago." Hugh grinned at his stepfather. "I won."
There was no time for further conversation. Sampson opened the door, and the three guests entered the room. Everyone was on his most polite behavior, but there was tension in the air. Hugh and Alain had not met privately since the duel, and, of course, John had not spoken with Jean Dupree for over twenty years. Everyone was standing as introductions were made and greetings exchanged.
Jasper's presence helped to smooth over any awkward moments and Francis was impressed at meeting the legendary John Lancaster.
In the French manner, François kissed John on both cheeks and declared, "Monsieur Lancaster! I am most delighted to finally meet you. I have heard of you all my life, and it is a pleasure to see you face-to-face. Welcome to New Orleans!"
John smiled at François's enthusiasm, but his eyes were on Jean's face, as he said dryly, "I wonder if all you have heard of me is good."
Jean grimaced. Standing in front of John, he muttered, "The past is the past, John. Shall we start anew?" And astonishing everyone, he stuck out his hand in the American manner.
John hesitated only a second before he clasped Jean's outstretched hand and shook it vigorously. "I will not say that it is good to see you again," John murmured, a sardonic smile curving his long mouth, "but I will say that the years have treated you kindly."
Jean bowed. "And you. You have not changed a great deal, except, perhaps, for the silver at your temples."
Aware of Alain Husson standing quietly in the background, observing the meeting, John turned to him and gave him an encouraging smile. "I understand that you, like Jasper here, also owe your membership in the family business to Christophe's penchant for deep gambling."
Love Be Mine (The Louisiana Ladies Series, Book 3) Page 19
