“I hate to bother you,” Julian said, nevertheless sounding determined to do exactly that.
Nick rose, shushing him until he left the room as quietly as he could and joined Julian in the hallway. Even then, he had scant attention for whatever problem he was about to hear. The entire goddamned plantation could burn down right now, and all he’d worry about would be rescuing Wendi in time.
He blew out an exhausted breath. That wasn’t exactly true, but it had better be some huge clog in the wheels running the plantation to take him away from that high-poster bed behind him. Never could he recall caring this much about another person.
Julian cleared his throat, indiscreetly, it seemed to Nick. But the sound made Nick concentrate. “What is it?”
“Five of our workers quit this evening,” Julian said bluntly. “They were all single men, who stayed in the community house together. But I think the only thing keeping some of the others here is the fact they have families and aren’t ready to give up the cabins we provide as part of their salaries.”
Hearing Cecile coming back up the rear stairwell, Nick motioned for Julian to go down the hallway. “I’ll meet you in the study. We can talk there, where the noise won’t disturb Wendi.”
A brief hint of displeasure flickered in the twist of Julian’s lips before he grunted an agreement and left. Cecile opened the rear stairwell door, balancing a small tray with a teacup on it. Her eyes slid past where Nick stood to the other end of the hallway where Julian had gone, then came back to him. She paused before going into the room, but didn’t speak.
“I need to discuss some plantation business with Julian,” Nick said. “But I won’t be gone long.”
She nodded, and Nick cast one lingering look into the room before he turned and went after Julian, following him to the study. Julian had two glasses of bourbon poured, and he handed Nick one when he entered.
“You look like you need this,” Julian said.
“Thanks.” Nick took a long swallow, then rounded the desk to sit in the padded chair. As before, a petulant look crossed Julian’s face, but he settled across from Nick.
It was late evening, and the drapes were drawn and wall sconces lit. Any other time, the masculine atmosphere of comfort would have soothed Nick, but now he ran a hand acrose the stubble on his face and sighed. He’d always had to shave twice a day, especially if he had an evening engagement, and he felt grubby and unkept, not at all in the mood to deal with what he had a feeling was coming.
Didn’t matter. It wasn’t going to go away. Hell, sometimes it didn’t pay to be an adult.
Julian cleared his throat again.
“All right,” Nick said. “Did the workers give a reason for quitting right in the middle of the season?”
Julian met his stare without blinking. “If you’ll think a minute, you’ll know why.”
“I’m too goddamned tired and worried to think, Julian. Tell me what the hell they said when they quit.”
He shrugged. “That they wouldn’t work on a plantation where witches were living. I even offered to double their bonuses at the end of the season, but only one of them took that offer. The other five left anyway.”
“You should’ve let the sixth one go without protest,” Nick said, and Julian’s eyes narrowed in anger at Nick questioning his judgment. “He’ll just cause more problems by hanging around. And you’ll have to do the same about the bonuses when he tells the rest of them what happened.”
Julian gulped the rest of his drink and leaned forward, slamming the glass down on the desk. “And just where the hell do you think I’ll get more workers this late in the season? Every other plantation already has their crews in place, and the rest of the men available are the dregs. Most of Belle Chene’s workers have been with us since after the war, and I could depend on them. It would be more work than it was worth to hire lazy help and have to stand over them to get them to do what was needed!”
“I don’t care.” Nick rose to his feet, his leg protesting with a sharp stab of pain, which had gotten worse all day long. He should have taken time to drink the cup Cecile was bringing him before he joined Julian. The last cup he’d had was the one Wendi conjured up for him at noon.
Noon. God, it seemed like a week ago.
Limping over to the sideboard, he poured his own glass full of bourbon again while Julian glared at him. Damn, he barely recalled drinking the first glass, but he felt it in his belly if not in diminished pain. Picking up the decanter, he held it out toward Julian, quirking his eyebrow in question. The glower on Julian’s told Nick a thin restraint kept his cousin from attacking him.
Good. Let him. It would give Nick an excuse to vent some of his worry in rage.
“Now what the hell’s wrong?” Nick prodded.
Julian’s jaws clenched before he visibly relaxed, disappointing Nick while at the same time making him realize fighting wouldn’t help anything. Picking up his glass, Julian walked over, waiting until Nick poured him a drink, then taking his seat again. His continuing deadly silence was more clamorous than if he had shouted whatever thoughts he barricaded in his mind.
Nick took his own seat again, leaning back and drinking, letting the silence linger. If Julian had more to say, he would have to say it without further prompting. Damn, he was tired and wrung out.
At last Julian spoke. “You’re forgetting something, cousin. You’ve got whatever businesses you’ve started out west to provide for you. All I’ve got is Belle Chene.”
Nick nodded an acknowledgement. “But if I remember right, you told me that the lovely Felicite is an only child. Or is now, anyway. Her brother was killed in war. So Candlemas will be yours after the two of you are wed.”
“Probably, but her father hasn’t said,” Julian admitted. “Felicite said more than once he’s threatened to sell the place as soon as he has her wed. Travel for his remaining years with his wife on the money he gets.”
“I see.” Nick drained his glass, too tired to rise and get another drink. The bourbon didn’t kill the pain nearly as well as the brandy used to. Or was he just used to the other medications Wendi had shown him how to use?
Wendi. Oh, God, why had he ever brought her to Belle Chene? If she died here--
“How would you feel if I said I was going to go ahead and deed Belle Chene over to you?” Nick asked Julian.
Julian quickly tempered the astonished look on his face with a skeptic grin. “Sure.”
“I’m not kidding, Julian. You’re the only male Bardou heir besides me, and I have no plans at all to remain in Louisiana. If I did. . . .” He didn’t know where those words came from, but he continued, “Even if I did, it wouldn’t be here at Belle Chene. The memories would never allow me any peace. And I’d have more trouble than you keeping workers.”
Julian leaned forward eagerly. “Are you serious, then? You’d give me Belle Chene?”
Nick rose. “Consider whatever operating profits you get this year your own money, without any percentage to me. As soon as Wendi’s out of danger, I’ll send word to my lawyer in the city, Justin Rabbonir, and have him draw up the papers. In the meantime, you can assure any other workers who give you problems that I’ll be taking Wendi out of here as soon as she’s able to travel.”
Julian kept his seat, shuttering his eyes and taking a swallow of bourbon. “Then,” he said when he lowered the glass, “you feel she’ll recover.”
“No,” Nick admitted, wanting to get back to Wendi. He clenched his fists and gulped back the rising dread through a tightening throat. “I mean, I don’t know for sure. Even the doctor can’t say. But I’ll take her away from this hell-hole one way or the other.”
Leaving the study, he headed up the stairwell. At the top, he nearly collided with Sybilla.
“I was just coming to get you,” Sybilla said, tears streaming down her face.
“No.” Nick could barely force the word out. Blood roared thunderously in his mind, and pain he thought would kill him exploded in his chest. He staggered and hit the wall, cov
ering his face with his hands.
“Nick. Nick!” Sybilla grabbed his arms and shook them. “She’s not dead. She’s awake, Nick.”
The words penetrated the cacophony in his mind, but he couldn’t make himself understand them. He stared at Sybilla in confusion.
“I can’t believe it myself--not this soon,” she said. “But she’s awake, Nick. She’s not able to say very much, and she’s going to drift back to sleep any minute. But she’s going to live.”
Stunned, Nick couldn’t move for a moment. Then a wild sort of joy filled him. Shoving past Sybilla, he raced down the hallway. Cecile blocked the doorway, holding up her hand but with a slight smile on her face.
“Don’t scare her to death, Nickie,” she said. “She’s still very, very ill.”
Nick nodded, head bobbing as though controlled by puppet string until he thought he’d never get it to stop. He took deep breaths, all the while peering past Cecile. God, he didn’t want to do anything to counteract Wendi’s recovery, but he wanted to be closer to her so badly he ached with yearning.
“Love means doing what’s best for the one you care for,” Cecile said. She stepped aside. “Go on over there, Nick, but don’t tell her how awful she looks.”
He stepped forward, his boot landing with a clump on the bare floorboard before the carpet began. On the bed, Wendi opened her eyes, a slight smile curving her lips when she saw him. He gulped and took another step, this one quiet, since he’d reached the carpet. Then another one. Weakly, Wendi lifted one pale hand and beckoned to him. He crossed the room in two more strides, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips.
He kissed her hand. “I love you,” he said.
Her blue eyes smiled tolerantly at him. “You don’t have to say that,” she whispered. “But thank you for the thought.”
He sat down in the chair, never letting go of her hand. “You don’t understand--”
“I do,” she interrupted. “You thought I was going to die, so you’ve got a whole lot of pity and sorrow for the way you treated me built up in you. It’s all right, Nick.” She squeezed his fingers, then shut her eyes. “It’s all right.”
Her breathing softened, and Nick stared wildly at Cecile and Sybilla, who had joined him at her beside. Cecile removed Wendi’s hand from his, tucking it beneath the bedsheet.
“She needs to rest now, Nick. This time it won’t be unconsciousness, but a healing rest. True sleep. It’s probably better if you leave now.”
“No.”
“Yes, Nick,” Sybilla put in. “Your frantic worry is disturbing the healing vibrations in the room. It will be better if you get some rest yourself now.”
He rose to his feet. “My worry didn’t disturb the vibrations while I was waiting in here for her to wake up!”
“Shhhh,” Sybilla said. “That was a good sort of worry, Nick. It probably even hastened her returning to consciousness. But now it can cause problems.”
He looked at Cecile, hoping for assistance.
“It’s for the best right now, Nick,” Cecile said.
Capitulating, Nick bent over the bed and tenderly kissed Wendi’s forehead. He’d talk to her later about this stupid notion that he’d only admitted his love to her out of pity. She wasn’t fully cognizant yet of what she said or thought. She couldn’t be. She’d feel differently when she regained full use of her faculties. When she was farther on the road to healing.
He tenderly caressed her cheek with the back of one finger, but she didn’t wake again. She would wake, though, and she wouldn’t have any permanent damage from the injury. She’d known him and spoken rationally. Not logically, but rationally. He could hardly contain his elation.
Reluctantly, he left the room and Wendi’s care to the women. At the bottom of the stairwell, he found Julian waiting. His cousin gave him a questioning look.
“She’s going to recover,” Nick told him, unable to repress a huge grin.
“Then perhaps you regret your hasty decision about Belle Chene.”
Nick frowned at him, perturbed that Julian appeared more concerned about that damned plantation than Wendi’s recovery. But hell, it wasn’t his cousin’s woman lying up there hurt. His cousin was on his way to see the woman he wanted to spend his life with, so he supposed Julian’s concerns were founded.
“I’ll write a note to Justin in the morning,” he told Julian, “instructing him to draw up a deed transferring Belle Chene to you. Will that be soon enough?”
Julian dropped his gaze. “That will be fine, Nick. And--” He took a breath. “And I’m happy Miss Chastain will recover, for your sake. I assume you’ll have some tidings yourself for us soon?”
Understanding immediately what he meant, Nick shook his head firmly. What on earth had given Julian the notion that he and Wendi might wed? “No. No, of course not. As soon as we have things settled here, I’ll be going back to California.”
“Without Miss Chastain?”
“Without her,” Nick acknowledged.
“But it seemed like--”
“Without her,” Nick said more sternly. “But I’ll see that she’s taken care of.”
A near sneer lifted one corner of Julian’s mouth, but he looked at Nick and evidently thought better of his words. Instead, he tilted his head in a leavetaking and walked out the front door.
Nick turned to gaze back up the stairwell. Julian’s sneer was tantamount to the same type of attitude Wendi’s mother had faced when word leaked out that she was his father’s mistress. Could he really expect Wendi to face that type of censoring, judgmental gossip the rest of her life?
Making a slightly different decision, he headed for the study. He’d go ahead and prepare the instructions for Justin this evening, and also have him find a minister.
He’d go ahead and marry Wendi before he left. He still didn’t intend to remain in Louisiana, but it would leave her more protected as his wife than just his former mistress. It would prove his love to her, negating that stupid idea in her mind that what he felt was only pity.
Chapter 20
Wendi was not an easy patient. And, not surprisingly after the reaction of the workers on Belle Chene to her presence, none of the wives stepped forward to help with either the nursing care or the housework. By the end of the third day of her recovery, even Nick found himself avoiding the room--or at least, asking someone to see if she was awake or asleep before he went to check on her, so he could gird himself one way or the other for the encounter.
Asleep, she was a beautiful princess, ensconced in snowy sheets and the spider web throw covering the bed, her hair and pink cheeks the only spots of color besides the cherry wood posts and head- and footboards. Awake, she was a petulant witch, frustrated both by her weakness and the fact Sybilla’s prediction about her magic had come true. Until she healed completely, she wouldn’t be able to perform even the simplest magic.
Unfortunately for herself and Cecile, Sybilla had conjured up a small bell for Wendi to use if she woke and found no one there to take care of her needs. More unfortunately, Sybilla had given the bell a tinkling quality unlike anything anyone had ever heard before. The tone, instead of a pleasant sound like windchimes, had a flat, off pitch, which made a person grit their teeth when it reverberated against their ear drums. Nick swore the sound penetrated even the far walls of the manor house.
At least no one ever missed hearing it!
Sybilla met Nick at the bottom of the stairwell. “Cecile’s turn with her,” she responded with a relieved sigh to his unspoken inquiry. “And I need to ask you something.”
“Should we go into the study?”
“No. No, I just want to know if you have any objections to Thalia returning. I think I can talk her into it, but not if you’re going to make her feel unwelcome here.”
Nick’s stomach chose that moment to growl loudly, and Sybilla smiled in understanding.
“Neither Cecile nor I have had much time to cook lately, have we?” she asked.
“And what you have c
ooked hasn’t been--uh--” Nick floundered to a stop, cheeks flushing in embarrassment, but Sybilla only laughed.
“That’s one of the things Thalia can take over,” she said, grinning when Nick’s hand settled on his stomach. “And I’ll admit, I need her vast experience here with me. Wendi’s asking questions about when her magic will return, and I don’t have answers for her.”
Nick stared up the stairwell, shaking his head. When had his conceptions changed? A month ago, if someone had told him he would be standing there discussing magic with a witch, along with the problems some other witch was having with her magic, he would have laughed. No, he would have probably thought the other person had escaped from a loony bin. Now, he couldn’t decide if he was the crazy one or if Sybilla was. Or both of them.
Sybilla’s eyes twinkled when he looked at her, and he knew at once she’d been inside his mind. Rather than piss him off, he was glad he didn’t have to discuss his confusion out loud.
“Bring her back if you can,” he said. “And if she’s coming by air, have her bring a load of crawfish with her.” He winked at Sybilla, and turned to the front door when someone knocked. “I’ll get it. You go ahead and contact Miz Thibedeau.”
When he opened the door, Justin Rabbonir stood there, with another slighter-statured man, who glanced around apprehensively. Even without the telltale collar, Nick established the man as a minister. He quirked a brow at Justin.
“Hello, Nick,” the lawyer replied. “I know you thought I might not make it out here until tomorrow, but here I am. And this is Reverend Coglin. You said you didn’t care whether we had a priest or not, and the reverend is a new arrival to our city.”
Not new enough not to have heard the tales of witches at Belle Chene, Nick thought, immediately gleaning the reason for the man’s fearful attitude. But a newly arrived minister would need funds to prove his mettle, and he’d told Justin to pay whatever it took to get a minister here. He held out a hand to the man, although it took the reverend a few seconds to notice the outstretched palm. Finally he gave a weak response.
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