Caroline lowered her lashes to hide the contempt in her gray eyes. “You swim, sir?” she asked innocently.
“I regret to say I do not.”
“I see.” She made as if to withdraw.
“Mam’zelle Caroline, if you would tarry a moment?”
Caroline glanced at Theo to be sure their voices had not disturbed him, then stepped back out onto the gallery. She kept the doorknob in her hand, lifting an eyebrow inquiringly.
“The night of the ball, I — that is, I realize my conduct was reprehensible. I wish to beg your forgiveness if I offended you.”
The only thing wrong with this most handsome apology was the sureness of M’sieur Philippe that she would grant what he asked.
When she did not answer, he went on. “I was carried away by the moment. Drunk with your beauty, I was too impetuous. I pressed you when I should have respected your maidenly reserve. You have my word it shall not happen again. In the future I will always allow you to set the pace in what passes between us. My worship, my love, nay, even my body, is at your disposal. You have only to command me!”
“M’sieur,” Caroline began, at a loss as to how to make plain that it was not “maidenly reserve” that had caused her to refuse him but a total lack of feeling for him.
“You do not have to speak, shy mistress, only allow me to kiss your hand in token of your forgiveness.”
A quiet knock and the sound of the door opening into the room behind her distracted Caroline at that instant. Before she could prevent him, M’sieur Philippe had taken her hand and carried it to his lips. She snatched it away at once, but the damage was done.
“Ah, my goddess, my love, you have made me the happiest of men. But someone comes. Do not despair, I will arrange all so that we may be together.”
“But M’sieur!” Caroline called as loudly as she dared. It did not serve. Sketching a hasty bow, he was gone.
Turning back into the sickroom, Caroline nearly collided with Amélie. The girl drew back with a soft laugh. “Sorry. I thought I heard someone outside.”
Caroline shook her head, whispering, “No, it was only M’sieur Philippe inquiring after our patient.”
“Oh. It will be time for him to use his talents at entertaining soon enough. Papa thinks Theo can sit up out on the gallery in a day or two. It will take all of us making his days pleasant to hold him there. But that isn’t what I came to tell you. I am to sit with Theo while you have the luncheon you missed, and then Maman wishes to see you in her boudoir.”
Caroline thanked her. She had been expecting a summons any time this week. She was only surprised Madame had been so long in sending it.
As she turned to gather up her sewing, the other girl put her hand on Caroline’s arm “Mam’zelle—”
“Yes, Amélie?”
“I — I hope you will not be hurt by anything Maman may choose to say to you. We have talked it over, Estelle and Anatole and I, and we are certain you are guilty of no misconduct. We would be sorry indeed to see you leave us. I don’t know what I would have done without you on the voyage from France, and to Anatole and Estelle you are like one of the family.”
Impulsively, Caroline reached out to hug the gentle, dark-haired girl. “Dearest Amélie, I am so grateful for your concern. I am in no hurry to leave you either, so you may be sure I will not say or do anything to jeopardize my position.”
After giving the girl a few instructions, Caroline let herself out of the room. Amélie was indeed a dear child, deserving of the best life had to offer. That included the best husband. Somehow, she must find a way of telling M’sieur Delacroix that the Marquis was an imposter. Amélie’s father was the best man to put a stop to any romantic notions the child might have in that quarter. Caroline realized she should not have let the matter wait even this long. Her only excuse was that she had been too astounded to take the proper action at once, too astounded even to speak. And then it had seemed callous and ungrateful beyond permission so to accuse the man who had just risked his own life to save Theo’s.
Madame Delacroix lay upon her chaise longue in a darkened room. A handkerchief moistened in cologne water lay across her forehead, and a glass of hartshorn and water stood at her elbow. Her eyes were closed and her hands lay listlessly at her sides.
The smell of scent was overpowering. Caroline swung the door wide, hoping to create a draft that would clear the air somewhat. Standing prudently near the opening, she said, “You wanted to see me, Madame?”
Madame allowed her eyelids to flutter open. “Oh, it’s you at last. Be so kind as to close the door.”
This was not a good sign. Grimly Caroline did as she was bidden.
“How is my darling son?” Theo’s mother asked in the subdued tones usually associated with a death in the family.
“Very well,” Caroline replied heartily. “He ate his luncheon with appetite. He is sleeping quite naturally now and has not coughed for some time.”
“Le bon Dieu be praised. Three times I came near to sending for a priest to shrive him.”
“As you can see, that would have been premature.”
Caroline’s tone was dry. Madame sent her a sharp glance. “No doubt we owe much to you, and to the valor of M’sieur le Marquis, for my son’s return to the living. My one regret is that my own wretched health kept me from his bedside at such a time.”
When she saw an answer was required, Caroline murmured something appropriate, her gaze on the French windows behind the chaise. She thought a shadow had moved beyond the draperies, but apparently she was mistaken.
“However,” Madame went on, “now that Theo is recovering so nicely, I feel it is time we turned our attention to unfinished business. I cannot let your excessive zeal in the sickroom blind me to what may well prove to be a serious flaw in the character of one to whom I have entrusted the welfare of my young daughters.”
Her excessive zeal! Could the woman possibly be suggesting that she had nursed Theo in an effort to make up for past mistakes? “Your meaning eludes me, Madame,” Caroline said in her coldest tones.
“I am speaking of your behavior on the night of the Marquis’s ball, as you very well know. I declare I was near to sinking into the floor with embarrassment at being forced to listen to Fletcher Masterson describe how you entered the ballroom from the garden on the Marquis’s arm, looking like a kitchen maid who has been caught in the pantry with a footman! Is this the example you set for my Estelle and Amélie? Should they pattern their conduct after yours? If so, I assure you there is not a man in the parish who will offer for them. Virtue and the manners befitting a lady are necessary qualities for attracting a husband. If you do not realize that, perhaps it is the reason you remain still unmarried at three-and-twenty!”
The blood rushed to Caroline’s face, glowing with the heat of fury. Never in her life had anyone spoken to her in such terms. She was only prevented from pouring out the hot words that rose to her lips by the memory of Amélie’s plea for caution.
Taking a steadying breath, she began, “If you will only let me explain—”
“By all means!” Madame cried. “I’ve been waiting this week and more to hear this story.”
Carefully, concisely, Caroline set out the train of events that had ended with her return to the ballroom on Rochefort’s arm. When she stopped speaking, silence fell, a silence echoing with the soft pat of Madame tapping the ends of her fingers together. The sound stopped. The room was still.
Abruptly the frame of the chaise squeaked as Madame sat up. “Do you really expect me to believe this tale you have concocted? Am I supposed to swallow this fabrication of my tutor’s sudden passion for you without a murmur? You must take me for a fool!”
Caroline’s polite disclaimer went unheard as the other woman stormed. “What proof do you have of what you say? None, I’ll warrant, while I have the proof of my senses. For one, I have seen no sign of this penchant for romance you describe in M’sieur Philippe. And for another, when Rochefort returned with you, h
e had the look of a man laboring under some deep emotion.”
“He was angry,” Caroline said.
“Some people might agree with you, but not I. No, I can find no reason to believe a word of your story.”
Caroline drew herself up. “Then I am afraid there is only one thing to be done. I shall regret leaving Beau Repos, but I cannot stay where my word, even my very honor, is in doubt. If you will be so good as to arrange for my return to New Orleans, Madame, I will relieve you of my presence as soon as may be possible!”
As Caroline uttered those last words, the French windows of the room swung open. “No, no, Mam’zelle!” Estelle cried as she pushed into the room.
“You must not do this thing!”
Madame slewed around on the chaise. “Estelle! What do you mean by this interference? I will not have it!”
“But you do not understand, Maman. Mam’zelle Caroline has told you nothing but the truth. You must believe her!”
“You know nothing whatever of the matter,” Madame told her daughter. “Have the goodness to cease putting yourself forward in things which do not concern you.”
“But — they do concern me, Maman,” Estelle faltered, her face fiery as she turned beseeching eyes to Caroline. “I — I have been mean and stupid and — and odiously jealous. It was I who gave M’sieur Philippe the hint that Mam’zelle — that Mam’zelle was not indifferent to him.”
Madame’s indrawn breath was perfectly audible. Caroline allowed herself the luxury of a small feeling of satisfaction. It said a great deal for Estelle’s character that she had brought herself to own her misdeed. It would have been much easier for her to allow Caroline to depart under a cloud.
Clasping her hands together, Estelle blinked away tears. “It seems the Marquis had no time for a female just out of the schoolroom. When we were together, he always appeared to prefer conversation with my chaperone to anything I might have to say. He — he always took her part against me, and if I was the tiniest bit rude, he gave me the most jarring setdown or looked at me in that amused way, as if he thought I was behaving like a child. More than once he mentioned to me Mam’zelle Caroline’s great good sense, as if — as if it were a quality I stood in need of.”
“How dared he!” Madame exclaimed.
“So I thought,” Estelle admitted with a wan and watery smile. “I set out to prove him wrong in his judgment — and only proved him right! I thought that if Mam’zelle could be made to look just a little foolish, he would no longer think her perfect and would cease holding her up to me as an example.”
“My poor baby,” Madame said, shaking her head.
Estelle gulped, searching wildly for a handkerchief. Caroline stepped forward to offer her own clean one which she had tucked into her pocket that morning.
Scrubbing her face with it, Estelle went on, “When M’sieur Philippe said to me one morning that it was a shame Mam’zelle had never married, the idea seemed to spring into my mind full-blown. I had only to suggest in a confiding way that Mam’zelle’s affections had lighted on him for M’sieur to act. I — I regretted the words as soon as they were out, but I could not call them back—”
Estelle ended on a wail. Her mother opened her arms. “Oh, my poor, poor baby! Come to Maman,” she said, and as Estelle threw herself down beside the chaise, drew her daughter’s head into her lap, smoothing the disordered black curls.
After a moment, the girl’s voice came again. “Oh, Mam’zelle, I never meant to cause so much trouble, truly I did not. I am sorry, so sorry.”
“There, there, ma chére, do not distress yourself,” her mother said, giving Caroline a look that accused her of causing Estelle pain instead of the other way around.
“I hold no grudge, Estelle,” Caroline said above the sound of sobbing. “We will talk of it later, when you are not so upset, shall we?”
There was no answer. Caroline stood there feeling completely de trop for the space of a few seconds, then, turning on her heel, she left the room.
~~~
“MAM’ZELLE, MAY I intrude?”
Caroline looked up from her book. M’sieur Delacroix stood beside her, a grave look on his usually sunny countenance.
“Yes, certainly,” she replied, setting the volume aside and straightening in her rattan chair. M’sieur drew another chair closer and took a seat, resting his hands on his knees.
For a moment neither spoke. With compressed lips, M’sieur Delacroix stared at the planking of the gallery floor. Lifting his gaze, he stared out over the gleaming width of the river. He pursed his lips and then compressed them again.
At last Caroline took pity on him. “Has Estelle recovered?”
“She has,” he said, visibly relaxing. “Sly little kitten that she is, I think this time she has learned a valuable lesson.”
Caroline agreed without heat. “She is very young, and it will, I think, do her no harm to discover the unpleasantness that can be caused by acting without due thought.”
“You are very charitable.”
“Not at all,” Caroline said, embarrassed already at speaking her thoughts aloud to Estelle’s father. “I am afraid I sounded like a prig.”
“Or a governess, which is not unreasonable, hein?”
When she smiled at his sally, he continued. “This is what I wished to speak to you about, my dear Mam’zelle Caroline. We would like you to know that we want you to stay — in fact, we insist that you stay. We will not allow you to go under any but the most dire circumstances.”
“You are very kind, but—”
“No, please, hear me out. In this I speak not only for my daughters and myself, but also for Madame Delacroix. I know, for she has told me, that she said some hard things to you. You needs must be a saint to overlook them entirely, but I beg you to try. Madame, my wife, is many things, but a harsh woman she is not — at least in the ordinary way. She is, you must understand, over and above all else a mother. For her children she can be suspicious and vengeful, a veritable tiger in their protection. This may not always be good, but neither is it always bad.”
“I think I take your meaning, sir,” Caroline said, a tiny frown between her eyes.
M’sieur Delacroix nodded. “Before, when Amélie was immured in her convent and Estelle still learning her letters and how to use watercolors, Madame was quite pleasant, is it not so? Quite so. But now, with both girls to establish suitably in the world, you are become in some sense an obstacle to that aim. Add to that the sudden descent upon us of a matrimonial prize of the first water, and what do you have? A mother desirous of claiming that prize for one of her daughters, a mother who looks balefully on anyone who might in any way interfere with her plans.”
“If Madame feels so toward me, perhaps it would be best if I did go away.”
“No, no, how can you say so? It is Amélie whom my wife would prefer to see as a marquise, but would I send Estelle away in order to leave my eldest a fair field? Never!”
Smiling, Caroline said, “But I am not your daughter.”
“No,” he answered. “A pity. I would have been proud.”
They went on to speak of other things, of Theo, his lucky escape, and his hero worship for the man who had saved him. Once or twice she came near to telling M’sieur Delacroix of her discovery concerning Rochefort. Each time something held her silent. She must balance Amélie’s welfare against that of Theo, she told herself. It would be hard to keep such knowledge from the boy, and in his weakened condition the news might overexcite him, even set back his recovery. This must not be allowed to happen. It was a relief when Theo’s father moved on to talk of the damage done by the storm, the flattened cane and downed trees, the green fruit blown from the trees in the orchard. So lush and bountiful was the soil of Louisiana that the scars of the earth would soon be covered over and forgotten.
Not so her own. Despite M’sieur Delacroix’s protests, Caroline knew she could not stay at Beau Repos. Soon, when Theo was completely well, she must go. It would be better that way.
They were joined on the gallery by the younger children, Mathilde, Ange-Marie, Baptiste, even two-year-old Thérèse. They had escaped from the nursery for a few precious seconds. Full of glee, they descended on their father, climbing over him like playful puppies. Pushed aside by the others, tiny Thérèse settled for Caroline’s lap, laying her firm, plump cheek against Caroline’s breast. Smoothing her hand over the fine ringlets which covered the small head, Caroline felt an unaccustomed ache in the region of her heart. With this mite in her arms, it was not so difficult to understand Madame’s protective maternal instincts.
The day was hot, a portent of the summer to come. The sun drew vapor from the stiff-damp earth, increasing the discomfort. It was no surprise to see riders in short sleeves on the river road. The astonishing thing was discovering their identity. One was Anatole, the other, Rochefort.
As they dismounted Rochefort slipped back into the coat demanded by the dictates of fashion and society; Anatole did not trouble himself.
“Lemonade,” Anatole cried, mounting the steps like a man on his last legs. “Orangeade, ratafia, anything! I am like to die of thirst!”
“Is this my son I see with actual pearls of perspiration dewing his face? Wonders will never cease. Tell me what can have occasioned such a phenomenon?”
Anatole grinned at this bit of raillery. “Rochefort and I have been showing a brace of field hands the best way to clear a drainage ditch, haven’t we, sir?”
Rochefort acknowledged it with an inclination of his head. “I will stand as your witness if you will be mine.”
“Done! And a hunger-making business it was too, especially for a man who missed his midday meal. If I removed some of my dirt, do you think I could persuade Cook to dish up something in the kitchen?”
M’sieur Delacroix stared at his son, who not so many weeks ago would have just been arising from his bed and querulously ordering his valet to serve his breakfast in his room. “I’m sure she will be able to find you a crumb or two,” he answered finally.
“Excellent! Anything for you, sir?” he inquired of the man beside him.
Sweet Piracy Page 13
