There was a faint touch of sarcasm in his smile. “Believe me, we all have to do things sometimes we don’t like to do,” he replied. “I can’t say I especially relish this role of guardian that has been pressed upon me, but someone has to take the responsibility for the welfare of you and your sister. And since it seems the burden has fallen on my shoulders, I suppose I have to accept it with as good a grace as possible, although your hostility toward me doesn’t make it any easier.”
“You don’t have to sacrifice yourself on our account. We were doing quite well before you came.”
“Ah, yes, I’ve seen how well you were doing!” He laughed sardonically. “You and your sister were running fancy-free in the streets with drunken riffraff at your heels, and the plantation was losing its crops to the worms! One more season like this last one, and you and poor little Celeste would have probably found yourselves bankrupt as well as dishonored or worse. A pretty prospect indeed!”
Monique flushed angrily. “Oh, but you’re despicable! Why don’t you and all your kind go back to Spain where you came from and leave us here in peace?”
“I’m thinking on it,” he replied with maddening tranquility in the face of her fury. “One thing is certain, I didn’t change my whole way of life and come across the ocean to this island in the swamplands to be sassed by a spoiled brat. So you’d better mend your ways, little cousin, or you’ll find yourself with even shorter reins than at present. Meantime, while I ponder on the temptations of returning to Spain, as you’ve so kindly suggested, will you please go to your room and stay there until you’re called?”
Monique turned to leave but then hesitated.
“What is the matter?” he asked sharply. “Why don’t you obey?”
“I… I was hoping to see Maurice this afternoon,” she confessed, regretting now that she had goaded her guardian as far as she had. “He usually comes by on Saturdays around this time.”
“Aha! Now I see the reason for all that talk about being bored. You simply wanted to get out of the house to go meet your beau!”
“And why not? We do nothing wrong. All we do is talk a little and perhaps take a stroll on the Orange Tree Walk along the levee. Is that so terrible?”
“It’s certainly not proper that you meet any young man alone on the sly, no matter how innocent it might be. You know better than that. I’m sorry, but I can’t give you permission to go out like that without a chaperon. Perhaps later on, once your new governess is here and I’ve met the young man, I might be willing to let him call on you sometimes. In the meantime, I’m afraid you’ll just have to remain ‘bored’ and find something else to do closer to home that doesn’t involve clandestine meetings with young men.”
“If… if I’m not waiting for him at the courtyard gate, he’ll probably knock to see what’s wrong.”
“Then let him knock,” snapped Vidal. “I’m anxious to meet that young man, anyway. The sooner he knows he can’t come sneaking around to the servants’ entrance to meet you, the better. Now will you please go to your room as I said? You won’t be seeing your beau or anyone else today.”
“I’m not a child to be treated this way!”
“Then stop acting like one, and you’ll be treated accordingly.”
For a moment she still hesitated.
“Don’t worry, I’ll meet this friend of yours and tell him he can’t see you today or any other day unless he presents himself at the front door like a gentleman and asks for permission to call on you in the proper manner.”
He stood tall and unrelenting, his hat and riding crop in hand, until she had swished past him, her long skirts and satin sash flying in a haze of blue, delicately scented with crushed rose petals.
Only after the door had slammed behind her did he finally heave a deep sigh and follow his wayward ward into the house at a more leisurely pace. How he longed to catch that delightful half-child, half-woman in his arms and awaken her to life! What a pity he was in so awkward a position! If he weren’t her guardian, how different things might be between them. More and more he found himself drawn to the fascinating woman He suspected lay hidden just below the surface of that restless, defiant child.
Chapter Six
Miguel Vidal de la Fuente sat uncomfortably in the pew reserved for His Excellency the Governor and his family. Between the exaggeratedly full skirts of the ladies and the Baron de Carondelet’s plump figure, space was at a premium, so Vidal felt obliged to extend one of his long booted legs discreetly out into the side aisle in order to balance himself on the edge of the bench.
Vidal cast a glance back to where he knew his two pretty wards and their grandmother were seated. He had intended to sit with them, but he and the governor had been in the midst of talking crops and politics when mass had begun, so the latter had insisted that Vidal join him. It would have been impolite not to have accepted the invitation.
The padre was giving one of his fire-and-brimstone sermons, and Miguel shifted uneasily in his precarious seat. He had to admit, at least to himself, that he wasn’t the best of the Church’s followers. Not that he didn’t consider himself a good Catholic or a loyal subject of the Spanish realm, but he sometimes found himself plagued with feelings of guilt because he didn’t always like the way his religion was practiced in his country, especially when it came to making converts.
Of course, he would never dare voice such “dangerous thoughts” aloud. Who was he to question the methods of the Holy Office? But after he had spent those three years traveling about on the Continent and had had an opportunity to see the way his religion was practiced in other lands, he couldn’t help wondering whether the Spanish Inquisition, despite its centuries of existence, might not have hurt more than helped the overall cause of Catholicism. Religion, he felt, should be based on faith, not fear.
He had been happy to learn that the Holy Tribunal was not active in Louisiana. At least that was one of the redeeming features of New Orleans. If it weren’t for the heat, the city would be quite bearable.
This crowded guardhouse next to the cathedral was especially stifling. Poorly ventilated, it had never been meant to accommodate so many people under such conditions, but until the new church was ready, this was the only place in New Orleans large enough to hold a sizable congregation.
Vidal cast another glance back at his newly adopted family and thought how they were at least nearer the door and might be getting a little more air than he was. He couldn’t see Monique at that moment and craned his neck a little farther out of the folds of his cravat, trying to catch a glimpse of that glorious halo of bright gold hair that not even the black lace of the little headscarf he had given her could completely hide. There were too many heads, however, swaying restlessly between him and the object of his search.
He smiled inwardly as he thought of that rebellious little ward of his. What an adorable little thing she was, with her round, impish face and huge, defiant eyes! Sometimes, when she was angry, which was practically always when he was around, that tiny upturned nose of hers would crinkle up almost out of sight, and those budlike lips would become all the more pronounced. She was a sensuous child, unaware as yet of the woman dormant within her…
He checked himself. It was becoming more and more necessary to remind himself that the girl was his ward. How different things might be if he could court her openly. But he was a fool! Why look on her as anything more than the spoiled brat she was? Even if he weren’t her guardian, what difference would it make? She obviously couldn’t stand the sight of him. She preferred that pale, freckle-faced Maurice!
The boy had been polite enough when he had spoken to him yesterday afternoon. Maurice had accepted without protest the announcement that in the future it would be necessary to ask for permission first before seeing Monique, but Vidal had sensed a guarded hostility beneath the young man’s courteous exterior that foreboded possible problems. He sighed. Whatever could a girl like Monique see in a popinjay like that?
Of course, she was still so young
and inexperienced. What did she know about judging men? He was sure she had never known such emotions as love and desire. He wondered how she’d react if the woman in her were really roused. She was so intense, so impulsive in everything she did. He sensed there were great wells of passion waiting there within her to be explored. The thought both pleased and frightened him. Most certainly it was all the more reason to keep a short rein on her, for the girl really did need someone to look after her… someone to protect her not only from those around her but from herself, as well.
He tried to catch a glimpse of her once more, and this time he realized that the seat at the end of the row where she had been sitting was vacant. Now where had that skittish little ward of his gone off to this time? Perhaps she, too, had found the room overly close and felt the need for fresh air. She might not be feeling well… But no, if she were really ill, her sister would have accompanied her, yet there was Celeste still sitting quietly next to her dozing grandmother, appearing rather nervous, but not as though her older sister might be fainting away outside.
No, Monique had probably just wanted a little fresh air… or perhaps there was another reason?
Vidal felt the sudden urge to investigate. Knowing his impetuous ward as he did, he found himself wondering what new mischief she might be up to at that very moment.
Feigning a few discreet coughs into the linen handkerchief he had been using to keep his brow dry, he murmured his excuses to the governor and slipped off down the side aisle of the improvised church toward the rear exit. The sonorous tones of the priest’s voice resounded throughout the room as his thunderous tirade continued to barrage the assembly.
As Vidal reached the arched doorway he nearly collided with the drab figure of Padre Sebastian, who was standing there staring out into the bright morning sunlight with fixed fascination. Whatever the friar was looking at seemed to be holding his undivided attention.
Vidal followed the Capuchin’s intense gaze to where Monique stood in the shadow of an arch engaged in earnest conversation with a slim, sandy-haired young man whom he immediately recognized as Maurice Foucher. In her long flowing gown of pale yellow lawn, topped by the burst of her bright gold hair, no longer hidden beneath the black lace of her headscarf, the young girl seemed like a blazing torch in the dazzling light of the noonday sun.
Vidal couldn’t blame the padre for staring at so delightful a picture, yet there was something in those deep-socketed eyes that made him uneasy. Even as he made his way angrily toward his capricious little ward, Vidal found himself fleetingly thinking how strange it was that this somber monk so often seemed to be around wherever his cousin Monique happened to be.
Chapter Seven
“I’m so glad you understood my signal to come outside,” Monique was commending the freckle-faced young man standing tall and gangly before her in his Sunday finery. He held his high-crowned felt hat respectfully in his hand as he gaped adoringly at her.
“You know I’m always at your beck and call,” he assured her. “I’ve been desolate all this past week, now that you can no longer come out of your house at will.”
“I know. I feel like a prisoner these days.”
“I’d like to visit you, but frankly, my dear, your guardian doesn’t strike me as the type of person who will welcome many callers. I don’t know what to do.”
“He’s promised to allow my friends to come to the house, but I’m sure he’ll only frighten most of them away,” lamented Monique, tragedy written across her dimpled face.
“Perhaps you could sneak out as you used to do?”
“No, that’s impossible now. Celeste and I are going to have a new governess beginning tomorrow.”
“Is he abusive? I mean, he hasn’t tried to strike you or anything, has he?”
“Oh, no, he’s never done anything like that. To the contrary, sometimes I’ve had the impression that he goes out of his way not to touch me.”
“Well, after all, he is a man, and there are no real blood ties between you.”
Monique was thoughtful for a moment. The fact that Miguel Vidal was a man had also occurred to her, and it was rather disquieting. Actually, it often aroused strange, confusing feelings within her. Celeste was always saying how handsome he was, and Monique had to admit that, even if he was a Spaniard, he could hold his own with any of her French beaux, perhaps even surpass them.
It was true about his never touching her, and his seeming hesitancy to do so only made her wonder all the more how it might feel if he ever did. She had never before thought about any man the way she did about Miguel Vidal.
At that moment the object of her curious musings came marching over to them and, with no preamble, proceeded directly to the point.
“I thought I’d made myself clear yesterday afternoon, Senor Foucher, yet here I find you sneaking behind my back again, trying to see my ward.”
Before the startled Maurice could reply, however, Monique sprang to his defense. “Please, Cousin Miguel, it’s my fault. He came out because he saw me leave the church and was afraid I was ill.”
Her guardian cast a skeptical look at both of them. “Indeed? Don’t tell me!” he quipped. “Well, I’m not interested in arguing the point. The important thing is I want these impromptu meetings of yours to stop. You’re not to see my cousin again for any reason, senor, without my permission. Is that understood?”
Maurice had regained his composure now, and, pulling himself up to his full height, he met Vidal’s dark, penetrating gaze with his own unflinching blue one.
“Yes, Don Miguel, I understand perfectly,” he replied calmly, “And since you say I cannot see your cousin without your permission, I am requesting that permission here and now. Tell me a time when I may call on Mlle. Monique that will meet with your approval, and I’ll be there.”
“Frankly, senor, it’s not that simple,” retorted Vidal, although he liked the boy better now for this new stand he was taking. “You see, I’d prefer that my cousin have no young men calling on her at the moment. Believe me, there’s nothing personal when I say I’d like you to wait at least a few months before asking for permission to visit her. It’s simply that I’d like to be certain first that my ward is mature enough to be receiving calls from members of the opposite sex. Actually, much will depend on her deportment in the future.”
Monique was fuming. “I told you, Maurice. I may as well be in a convent!” she murmured between clenched teeth.
“Not at all,” Vidal assured her. “The only thing I’m asking is that you wait a little until you’re more accustomed to your new mode of life and have demonstrated that you’re a well-disciplined young lady instead of just an irresponsible child.”
The final blessing of the church service was just beginning, and Padre Sebastian, abandoning his post in the doorway where he had been watching their discussion, made his way toward them. His eyes were fixed on Monique as he spoke. “I see you flee from the sermon, my child,” he said, a recriminating tone in his dry, cracked voice. “It’s a pity, for one should never turn a deaf ear to the word of the Lord.”
Monique’s rosy cheeks flushed to a deeper shade as she lowered her gold-tipped lashes and acknowledged her guilt.
“Forgive me, Padre,” she replied meekly. “I meant no disrespect. It’s just that I… I felt faint from the closeness of the room and came out for a breath of air.”
The monk gave a smile that bordered on a sneer. “Don’t add lying to your list of sins, Monique Chausson, for the Lord is looking down on us and can see all.”
Vidal suddenly felt sorry for his poor ward as she stood there so obviously uncomfortable beneath the monk’s accusing gaze.
“Don’t worry, Padre. I’ll get to the bottom of this,” he quickly assured the friar. “After all, Monique is still quite young and unfortunately has been without much discipline until now. But things will soon be different. I’ve finally found another governess for the girls—a fine Christian woman, fluent in both French and Spanish, who will start with us
tomorrow. My ward is not really a bad girl, Padre. She may be a little too frisky sometimes, but she’s really good at heart, I assure you.”
“Don’t be too certain of that,” snapped Fray Sebastian, still not taking his dark, accusing eyes from the girl’s highly colored face. “A pretty girl is always easy prey for the devil. She makes a handy instrument for Satan.”
He turned suddenly to Maurice, who was standing back abashed now, not knowing quite what to say. “And you, young man,” the monk added stonily. “If you value your immortal soul, stop letting pretty young girls distract you from the word of the Lord.”
The congregation was beginning to pour out of the building now, so Vidal welcomed the excuse to be free of the monk’s disturbing presence. Celeste came anxiously toward them, carefully leading her grandmother by the arm, while the latter blinked dazedly in the bright sunlight.
Just as Miguel was trying to think of some way to break away from the overzealous friar, the latter suddenly murmured a quick blessing and walked abruptly off, losing himself in the tide of dispersing townsfolk.
Miguel paused only long enough to catch the eye of Celeste and her grandmother. Monique felt his hand tighten on her arm, and the strength she sensed behind it awed her. So he was touching her at last, but in anger. For some inexplicable reason, her legs seemed to be buckling beneath her. She stumbled in momentary confusion as he pulled her in the direction of Rue Roy ale.
Vidal looked down questioningly at her. Perhaps the girl really didn’t feel well, after all. “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice suddenly less stern.
She nodded her head feebly, unable to find enough voice to reply at that moment. The spot where his hand circled her arm seemed to be on fire.
“Then come along,” he urged. “When we get home, we’ll talk further.” He didn’t want to say anything more for fear of upsetting Grandmother Chausson, who fortunately seemed unaware of anything having been amiss.
Iron Lace Page 5
