My Cherie Amour

by Azod, Shara

  actions all she felt was deep, terrible trepidation.

  “Where is she?” Gaspar’s voice was deceptively soft. Agathe missed the warning in

  his eyes.

  “As I said, I witnessed her going to the retiring room after she said she felt a bit ill. It

  is not my fault no one taught the silly chit . . .”

  She did not see the blow that knocked her to her knees coming. The entire side of

  her face instantly caught fire as she gasped, trying to catch her breath. Gaspar seized a

  handful of her hair dragging her upright once more. Tightening his hold so she felt as if he

  would rip the hair out by the roots, he leaned close into her face and spoke with the same

  deceptive voice.

  “I will ask you again, where is she?” This time Agathe saw the cold determination she had missed just a second before.

  His eyes were devoid of any emotion. Any natural affection he might have felt for her was

  gone she realized with a start. She had often bristled at the pity and frustration she always

  saw when he looked at her, but there had always been at least some affection and maybe

  even love. Icy fear filled her heart. Had she lost the love of her father over a half-breed? As

  much as she might have wished anger over the injustice to augment her courage, all she

  could feel was an aching sense of loss. Not so much a loss over what was, but more a

  bereavement of what might have been.

  “I paid a Madame to sell her to the highest bidder somewhere far from here.”

  The next smack caused her to lose consciousness.

  Agathe awakened on the floor exactly in the spot she had fallen. Opening her eyes to

  narrow slits she could make out Claude on his knees facing his whore trying to console her

  as she cried freely now, mourning the loss of her daughter.

  “We will find her,” Claude was assuring her. “We will bring her back.”

  “She’s awake now,” came a disgusted voice somewhere above her.

  Agathe whimpered trying to scoot her body back by her father’s desk, but his voice

  stopped her in her tracks.

  “Stand, Agathe.” She hauled herself into a standing position cautiously. Her face was still a blistering

  inferno, but now her entire body ached. Well, there was nothing for it. She was well and

  truly caught. All thoughts of escaping were long gone. They would never allow her to

  escape to relative obscurity in some small village in France. The best she could hope for was

  being held a virtual prisoner in one her father’s homes. At least they couldn’t kill her

  outright-she hoped.

  “To whom did you sell my granddaughter, and where is she now?”

  Agathe considered her options. She could tell them the truth and have the little

  bitch returned here. She probably couldn’t marry Étienne now, which Agathe could take

  some amount of cold comfort in. She had saved at least one family from the stain of having

  a breed thrown into the bloodline. Or she could lie and have them chase circles for a while.

  Eventually, they would figure out she was lying, but by them the girl might be damaged

  irreparably.

  “I paid Madame L’Amour and her lover Didier Valent to take her. I believe they are

  planning on opening a new house somewhere in the Montréal area,” she replied offering a

  half-truth.

  “I will bring her back,” Étienne announced striding to the door.

  “Surely you cannot think of marrying her now?” Agathe asked incredulously. “I am

  afraid by the time you find her she will be well and truly ruined.” Étienne turned on his heel to face the pathetic excuse for a woman standing oddly

  proud though her world was crashing around her. The entire right side of her face was

  beginning to turn alarming shades of blue, green and purple yet her eyes were bright with

  righteous indignation. He wished he could feel sorry for her but all he felt was disgust with

  a healthy dose of hate.

  “I would not give a damn if she was forced to service an entire regiment,” he replied

  in an even matter-of-fact declaration. “I will find her, she will be my wife.”

  Agathe once again did not heed the implicate warning of the deceptive calm of the

  men in the room. She turned furiously to Rémi Barbin, fully expecting him to side with

  her against his son.

  “You must reason with you son! Tell him what that would do to you family, to his

  reputation!”

  To his credit, Rémi ignored Agathe.

  “You must let him go, Claude,” Rémi tuned completely from Agathe to address his

  friend. “He loves her very much, he will bring her home.”

  “I don’t know.”

  Claude was her father. It was his responsibility to find his child, but he knew if it

  were Amélie…nothing could keep him from her. Looking at Étienne he was not too much the father to recognize the feeling burning in the young man. He would protect Cherie

  with his life.

  “Go ‘Tienne. You have my blessings,” he said squeezing Amélie’s hand.

  “Please,” Amélie added through her tears, “she is my joy. Please bring her home.”

  Gaspar listened with a half ear to the conversation going on around him while

  contemplating Agathe. What she had done was unforgivable. He could understand her

  hatred and prejudice. Agathe’s mother was a cold woman. He had married Vivienne

  Quevedo-Bonnet as a favor to her dying father, who had been his friend and mentor. After

  she had given birth to Agathe he had been barred from her bed. He could have set her aside

  for that alone, but there was little point. Vivienne enjoyed her position as his wife without

  having any of the responsibilities that entailed. She had never wanted anything to do with

  being a wife or mother, and had barely spoken to her own daughter until Agathe had

  married and became an acceptable companion who would not burden her with emotional

  needs. She was also a fanatical racist; not just against African slaves or people of color, but

  against anyone who was not Creole. She often referred to Cajun as swamp scum and

  Indians as soulless savages. Agathe had regrettably been poisoned her mother. To his

  shame, Gaspar had made a conscious effort to be as far away from the unpleasantness that

  was his wife as possible. After all, he had Solange. He had inherited her when he married Vivienne. She had

  been the cook; a pure bred born in Africa brought to the colonies as a child. Through the

  years they had been blessed with a deep abiding love built on mutual respect and

  friendship, though the passion had never waned. Gaspar had worked hard to build enough

  power and money – all for her. It was to be able to have enough influence society would

  simply look the other way when he made Solange his wife and legitimized his children.

  Things had been moving fast, perhaps too fast for Agathe.

  What could he do with her? He had tried to like Agathe, but she had never been

  interested in anyone other than herself. When she had first seen Claude she had begged,

  pleaded, threatened and screamed for him to “persuade” Claude to marry her. At the time

  Claude had been courting Amélie. Though nothing more than a simple sailor, Claude had

  saved every dime and invested wisely, trying to convince Gaspar he would provide for

  Amélie. He had been on the verge of granting his permission for Claude to take his

  youngest child to France or the Caribbean to marry (much top the heartbreak o
f his

  beloved Solange) when Agathe decided he must be hers.

  It had seemed like a perfect solution. Amélie could stay, Claude could have the love

  of his heart, and Agathe would have a husband. Agathe was so much like her mother that

  Gaspar believed she would never think twice about her husband as long as she was kept in

  the manner in which she felt she was entitled. And she hadn’t. Not until the night she had walked in on her husband and her half-sister. Something had awakened in Agathe that

  night. Perhaps the passion she had observed had awoken a dormant part of her, or perhaps

  it was simply a case of wanting something you had already thrown away just because

  someone else desired it. Who knew? But she became obsessed with the idea that Claude

  was hers.

  Gaspar knew of her late night exploits. He knew how she needed a group of men at

  the same time to satisfy her. He couldn’t say he understood, though he certainly didn’t

  judge. He had hoped she would settle down after a while. He had even breathed a sigh of

  relief when she had purchased several house slaves for the sole purpose of keeping her

  satisfied. All had seemed to calm down until the introduction of Cherie into society.

  Gaspar expected anger, threats and tantrums. Never in a million years did he believe

  Agathe was capable of something like this. He realized now he should have.

  “The basement has been – redesigned. It will be your home until Cher is found and

  brought home,” Gaspar told her quietly while everyone else was occupied with seeing

  Étienne off.

  “And then?” Agathe whispered wide-eyed. Would they lock her up like an animal

  then?

  Gaspar considered her quietly for a few moments. The love he should have felt as a

  father was not there, perhaps it never really had been. He had always seen this woman as an extension of Vivienne and not as his child. Perhaps in a way, this was entirely his fault.

  Perhaps if he could have loved her at least half as much as he loved Amélie she would have

  been different. God knows if Cherie was not found or was damaged in some way, he would

  carry the guilt with him forever. But Agathe was now a lost cause. He could see the slightly

  crazed look in her eyes. She really believed what she had done was justified, that it was all

  for the best.

  “After Cher is brought home, you will retire to St. Dympna’s Asylum.”

  Agathe was struck dumb. He was sending her to an insane asylum? Of all the

  possible punishments, never had she imagined anything like this. Gaspar nodded toward

  his sons who seized her arms and drug her away and for once Agathe made no move to

  protest. She had badly misjudged her father and overplayed her hand. There would be no

  forgiveness; she was as good as dead.

  Luc paced the bedroom suite he shared with Amélie and Claude. None of this would

  have ever happened had he insisted Amélie marry Claude. It was dangerous enough

  keeping her outside the plantation, but the situation was untenable for their children.

  Although Claude had legally adopted Cherie, she was still nothing more than his quadroon

  bastard. She would not be fully recognized until she married Étienne, which may be

  impossible by the time they found her. Despite the younger man’s determination, Luc knew better than to trust the return of his baby girl on a love sick, inexperienced man who

  had yet to see a quarter of a century.

  Since leaving France and eventually settling in Louisiana, Luc had been cautious.

  There were those who would pay dearly for any information that he was still alive. Some

  would like nothing more than to drag him back kicking and screaming to France. Some

  would like nothing more to see him dead. His entire life was a tragic mistake. It was better

  that the world in general think he was nothing more than a myth.

  He had gathered a small army of men, all loyal to the death, led by capable captains

  who would die before revealing the secret he had shared with only them and Claude and

  Amélie. It had been necessary in order to ensure the safety of those he loved. Generally a

  group of twenty patrolled the outskirts of the plantation; a group of twenty each blended

  into the general population at every level of society in Baton Rouge and New Orleans,

  which the remaining forty moved from place to place around the perimeter, outside the

  major cities but close enough to warn of incoming danger. He had men on the docks and a

  few in scattered ports around the New World. Unfortunately none had seen anyone

  slipping a young woman out by boat or by carriage. Luc had sent ten men North by land,

  ten South by sea. He could not count on Agathe being truthful about the destination of the

  madame she had sold Cherie to. For that matter, he couldn’t really count on her being

  truthful about selling her to a madame at all. He made a mental note to check all the major plantations outside French held areas. A Frenchman would be suspicious of anyone selling

  a quadroon into slavery, especially a very lovely young woman being sold by a bitter middle

  aged matron. The English held plantations, or Americans as they were no called, were not

  to scrupulous.

  “You will stop blaming yourself this instant!”

  Luc whirled to see all five feet of Amélie standing with her hands on those shapely

  hips he loved so well, tapping her little foot glaring at him. Despite the gravity of the

  situation he had to smile.

  “Come here, petite,” he murmured holding his hand out to her.

  She came without delay, leaning her body onto his bigger frame.

  “We are all worried about our little girl, Luc. No one is to blame but Agathe. And

  even she had her reasons,” Amélie sighed into his chest as she burrowed closer, comforted

  by his strength.

  “How can you say that, Ami? That woman sold our child! It was all I could do not

  to wring her neck with my bare hands!”

  Amélie looked up at her long time lover. To Luc, there large unusual family was

  everything. She and Claude loved Luc, their children and each other every bit as much, but

  unlike Luc, both had the love of their parents and a stable up-brining. Luc was born into a

  world of intrigue, deception and selfish power grabbing. From birth he was a pawn to be played in the most dangerous of games. The family he had built here in the New World

  was everything to Luc. He loved and cherished all of their children regardless of who the

  actual father was. Cherie was very special to all of them being the only girl and the only

  child neither Luc nor Claude was sure who had been the actual father.

  “Ah, but remember the horrible blow our relationship was to her,” Amélie reasoned.

  “And then the annulment. It was a horrible shock to one such as her to be thrown aside for

  one such as me.”

  Luc stared down at the beautiful woman in his arms. He did not doubt she ached as

  only a mother could for her child, yet here she was defending a horrible woman who was

  responsible for selling their daughter. He marveled how such an ugly world could produce

  an inner beauty such as Amélie. He felt humbled by her love for him, knowing deep down

  he was not worthy of such a pure soul.

  “Ami, Cherie was innocent in all of this,” he reminded her gently. “I would not

  waste any sympathy on her.”

  Amélie reached up to caress his cheek until she felt the tension in his jaw slowlyr />
  drain away.

  “I do not excuse Agathe for what she has done, but I do understand her need for

  revenge in any form she can get it. I doubt I can forgive her until my baby is safely home. But it would not be right for me to dismiss her pain anymore than I dismiss my own.

  Despite what she might feel, she is still my sister.”

  Before Luc could argue Claude walked into the room looking defeated. Seeing Luc

  and Amélie embracing brought a tired smile to his face, but he said nothing as he sank

  tiredly into an arm chair before the empty fireplace. He didn’t turn as each of his lovers

  surrounded him in silent comfort.

  “We will find her,” Luc assured him.

  “I just pray we find her before . . . “

  “Don’t say it!” Luc commanded. “Don’t even think it! If we have to move heaven

  and earth, we will find her.”

  Claude nodded bleakly, but his heart was too heavy to be convinced. He should

  have married Amélie long ago, just as Luc had suggested. He hadn’t, because it had not felt

  right. Luc was the real head of the family, though in public he was nothing more than a

  distant cousin and business partner. To give Ami his name seemed wrong. Now he

  understood why Luc had kept mentioning it over the years. Legitimate children could be

  protected. Illegitimate children could not. Both he and Ami had felt they were protecting

  Luc’s feelings, while in actuality they were punishing their own offspring, leaving them

  vulnerable to the whims of fate. “I know you and Ami did not want to marry because of me,” Luc was telling him in

  a much softer tone. “I respect why you did not and I love you both for it. You cannot

  blame yourself for this. If anything it was my fault. I only suggested marriage because did

  not want to be on the outside – I should have insisted on it.”

  “You are both full of it,” Amélie declared, getting to her feet and moving toward the

  bed. “And I refuse to listen to either of you a moment longer.”

  Both men turned dumbfounded as she began to disrobe, letting her riotous curls

  loose from the elegant chignon to fall down her back.

  “Well?” she asked as she finished, smiling as he lovers rushed to her side.

  Amélie allowed herself to be lost in arms of the two men she loved more than life.