“It would be unseemly for him to stay here in our house, of course, because we do have young women living here. So the two of you will keep your rooms at the hotel. But he will be welcome into our midst. We’ll host a dinner to celebrate your return from the frontier, and Mr. Lafontaine’s presence among us, here at the house, in a few days. Oh, I need to confer with Ginger on whom to invite. I’m quite certain it will be the most talked-about event of the week. Annie Schemerhorn will be so jealous. Do you suppose our cook can prepare some Chateaubriand?”
Charlotte ceased her excited ramblings as she noticed both men staring at her. “What? Is Chateaubriand not appropriate for a Frenchman? I can’t very well serve bison and expect to keep his Indian identity secret, can I?”
Basil and George locked eyes, and then simultaneously broke into fits of laughter. George came around the desk to embrace his wife. “Although I’m not thrilled with having to dupe our peers for an entire season, I knew you’d figure out a way to manage it. Leave it to you to take what could have been a devastating situation and make it the most sought after social event of the week!”
Basil put his arm around her. “Thanks, Mother. I knew I could count on you.”
Charlotte wrapped her arm around his waist. “You’ll have dinner with the family tonight, both you and your friend. But the big affair will be the formal dinner. You do have some appropriate clothing to wear, I hope?” She ran her hand down the sleeve of his duster.
Basil’s smile was easy. “Yes, Mother. I do run a bank after all, even if it is in St. Louis. I will make certain both Joseph and I are properly attired for your big event, although I’m more excited about dinner with the family tonight. Shall we say eight o’clock?”
“It will be a challenge to keep his true identity a secret from the children. You know how inquisitive they are. Jasmine and Heather are sure to pester him to death. And Ginger seemed to enjoy their dance last night. I only hope he doesn’t let something slip out about his Indian mother.”
“Somehow, Mother, I don’t think Joseph will be the one we need to worry about. He’s accustomed to keeping things to himself. It’s the three of us I’m concerned about.” He shifted his gaze from his mother to his father. “This will be interesting.”
Chapter Six
In the livery, Joseph ran the currycomb over his spirited black steed. His soothing words and repetitive motions put the animal at ease.
“Calm down, mon petit. I will not bite.” He realized with a start he was repeating the same words to the horse he had used the previous evening to calm Ginger on the dance floor.
In a way it made sense, because he had thought of little else since his dance with her. Joseph had not been joking when he had compared her to a fine filly. What he neglected to tell her was the horse came up short in the comparison. He ran his hand over the horse’s flank, thinking of the swell of Ginger’s hips as his hand had encircled her waist. He found his hands could nearly span her waist, she was so small. But not delicate. She was a spitfire, not a fragile blossom. She would do well in St. Louis should she choose to move there. Unlike New York City, his hometown had plenty of fresh air, and hard work was necessary.
He sighed as he imagined her, smiling as she turned her face up toward the sun while walking along the streets of St. Louis. With the firm resolve he had developed over the years, he called a halt to his line of thought. No, it was best she stay in the privileged atmosphere of New York’s high society. It was what she was accustomed to, and he must not interfere with her parents’ and Basil’s wish to find her a suitable partner, despite his own feelings.
He rested his head on the horse’s neck in an attempt to get his mind off the wisp of a woman he had met only two days ago — was it only two days? Basil was expecting him to help protect Ginger’s reputation and to keep her focused on the goal of finding a husband during the upcoming season. Joseph did not think she needed any help in handling herself. That was part of what fascinated him. Her calm assurance and self-confidence.
Joseph remembered his conversation with Basil, when they began to talk about the trip. Basil first convinced him that he could make better money selling his horses to wealthy New Yorkers, an idea Joseph latched onto immediately. But when Basil presented his harebrained scheme that Joseph pass himself off as a French-Canadian and hide his Indian heritage from Basil’s family and friends, Joseph had strongly objected.
He still did not think it wise to present himself as something other than what he was. Though equally proud of both sides of his heritage, Joseph was smart enough to know most of society did not share his feelings. He thought the better approach would be to stay in the background while Basil had his fun with his family, but Basil had insisted.
Still filled with apprehension, Joseph had agreed to the trip, hoping Basil was correct in both his assumptions — that he could sell his horses at a huge profit and that his Indian blood could be masked. Then, on his first day in New York City, he met the woman he had been dreaming about all his life and it was his hard luck to discover she was Basil’s sister. He could still smell her scent. The lilac fragrance clung to his clothing. And just as her scent stayed with him, so did images of her body, and her upturned mouth.
Basil might be his best friend, but if he even guessed the path Joseph’s thoughts were taking he would turn his back on Joseph and demand he leave town immediately. They might lay down their lives for each other, but Joseph knew Basil would never consider him good enough for his sister.
Even knowing where his treacherous thoughts might lead, he could not still them. He remembered again watching her tongue gliding over her lips last night. Such an innocent gesture on her part, displaying her nervousness, but it had aroused aching flames of desire in him. He was thankful she had not noticed the swelling in his dress trousers as he painfully completed the dance with her. To feel her supple body moving in time with him was almost more than he could bear. He stifled a groan at the memory.
He must contain himself. He could contain himself. Being part Indian and part white man, he was used to straddling both cultures and did so by keeping his thoughts to himself. The first time he had come home from town with a black eye, which he received while defending himself against the taunts of “half-breed,” his mother decided to teach him everything about the Indian side of his heritage. He and his brothers spent long summers with Joseph’s grandfather, who still lived in an Ojibwa settlement in Canada, and Joseph learned about their proud bloodlines and traditions. His grandfather was a wise man among his peers, able to interpret dreams and see visions of what was to come.
Joseph knew the jeers and torment his father endured over the years for taking an Indian woman as a wife. And he knew of all the people in town who had shunned him and tormented him and his brothers over the years because they were half Indian. It had made him stronger and developed his steely control over his emotions. His reputation as someone you do not want to cross grew in the town.
His father took great pains to teach his children how to speak English as well as his native French, and to read and write — all necessary tools for making a living in a changing world. Still, the white part of his heritage was always the lesser part when it came to acceptance in the community. Basil had been the only white man to show him an honest friendship. He would not let this mere slip of a girl destroy it. After all, he had not even set eyes upon her before a few days ago.
He knew Basil had gone to the Fitzpatrick home to discuss Joseph’s heritage with his parents and to question if they should leave town now. After all, most of the ladies of society had performed a serious breach of etiquette by dancing with him last night, unaware of his true heritage. He shook his head, unable to understand the ways of these New Yorkers.
Neither he nor Basil had expected Joseph would be as popular on the dance floor as he had become. It was all due to Basil’s mother allowing Ginger to dance the first dance with him, and having Basil’s family accept him wholeheartedly. Would they tell Ginger of his backgr
ound or keep it a secret? For her sake as well as his, he hoped they would tell her, so she would know to keep her distance from him.
Perhaps it would be best to leave today, and to avoid further involvement with New York’s upper classes, the Fitzpatricks, and especially Ginger. He controlled the impulse to jump on his horse and run away from this danger. In his gut, he knew any rational person would do exactly that. But ever since he had agreed to this trip with Basil he had not been thinking logically.
He put away the currycomb and walked back to the hotel to find Basil. He was anxious to hear how the Fitzpatricks had reacted to the news, and if he was no longer welcome in their midst. Despite his better judgment, he hoped for one family dinner with them so he could spend the evening etching Ginger’s lovely face into his memory. He’d leave town tomorrow.
Chapter Seven
With mixed feelings, Joseph looked forward anxiously to dinner at the Fitzpatrick home that evening and he could tell it was going to be a noisy and relaxed affair. As the house staff made the final preparations in the large dining room, the family gathered in the parlor.
All nine children were in attendance. One at a time, they introduced themselves to Joseph and welcomed their brother back into their midst. They each regaled Basil with tales of their accomplishments in the year since he’d seen them last. Basil was making a noisy show of measuring each of the children against himself to see how much they had grown during his absence.
Joseph removed a slim cigar from his shirt pocket, and raised a questioning eyebrow to Mr. Fitzpatrick.
“Mrs. Fitzpatrick put her foot down yesterday and has now confined my smoking to the library,” he said. “You’re welcome to use it, Joseph. Down the hall, first door on the right.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He exited the noisy parlor and took solace in a sumptuous leather chair in the quiet library. He lit his cigar and closed his eyes, enjoying the smell of the leather-bound books, the burning tobacco, and the small crackling fire.
With his senses honed from years of hunting game and horses in the West, his body tensed almost imperceptibly when the door to the library opened quietly. He did not open his eyes, but let his other senses take over. He listened to the soft rustle of fabric as the person came closer to him. When the air shifted as the person raised a hand in front of his face, his dark eyes flew open. His hand darted out and ensnared the smaller one before it could touch him.
Jasmine, or Heather — one of Basil’s twin sisters — let out a small scream. “Unhand me, please, Mr. Lafontaine.” She struggled against him. As he continued to hold her hand and stare at her, she opted for coyness. “But then again, if you are finding my hand hard to release, I’ll have to see what else you like.” Her brown eyes twinkled as she lowered her head, making her lips more accessible.
Joseph released her hand a bit roughly and stood up, towering over her. “Little girl, you do not know what you are doing. The next time you try tempting a man, he may not be as honorable.”
“I am not a girl!” Her eyes flashed as she confronted him. “Heather’s the one who is still holding on to her youth. I am seventeen, which qualifies me as a woman, and you are certainly the most handsome man we’ve had in this house in a long time.”
“Respectable women do not throw themselves at a man.”
“Humph. Perhaps you’re not so handsome after all. I don’t need to throw myself at a man to get his attention. How dare you even suggest that!”
She turned and flounced out of the room, her tattered dignity falling around her.
Joseph sighed and took his seat again. He smiled to himself at her awkward attempt at seduction. Girls, be they white, French, or Indian, all went through the same painful stages to adulthood, it seemed. He puffed on the cigar and the pleasant odors of the library once again began to relax him.
When the door opened a second time, his eyes were wide open as Jasmine, or Heather, returned to the room. She let herself in quickly, and turned, surprised to find him watching her.
“Oh, my goodness.” She fluttered near the doorway.
“You are back again?” Joseph once again stood.
“What? Oh, do you mean Jasmine has been here? She said she was going to our bedroom for a new hair ribbon!”
“You are the other one, then? Why are you here?”
They stared at each other in confusion for several heartbeats. Then both watched the door open yet a third time. Ginger hurried through the slight opening at the doorway with a backward glance to the hall and then turned to see both of them watching her, adding to the confusion in the room.
“Heather, what are you doing here?”
“One could ask the same of you, Ginger.”
“I was coming here to, ah, to tell Joseph we are ready for dinner. Stop avoiding my question. What are you doing here?”
“I, I was about to do the same thing. Tell Joseph it’s time for dinner. But, doing so hasn’t made me blush, as you are.”
Ginger’s blush became even more pronounced. She put a hand to her cheek as if to check the heat. “Go on with you, Heather. And Joseph, it is time to eat.”
Heather quickly backed out of the room.
Joseph’s gaze warmed as he raked his eyes over Ginger. Her color deepened, but she stood unwavering in front of him. Their eyes locked and neither spoke for a long moment. Then Ginger dropped her eyes and cleared her throat.
“I apologize for my sisters’ behavior.”
“You are not to blame for their silliness. They are just trying out the wings of adulthood as all young ladies do.”
“I hope they weren’t too obnoxious to you. I fear there’s more to come over dinner. Prepare yourself to be assaulted by questions from them.”
“And you? Do you have any questions for me?”
Ginger’s eyes moved back to Joseph’s warm brown ones. She gazed at him for another long moment. She had a million questions for him, but nothing that was anywhere close to being appropriate. Were his lips as soft as they looked? Was his chest as hard and muscled as it appeared to be? She racked her brain, unable to think of anything suitable to say. Then, she turned and fled the room.
• • •
The roast chicken with its sage stuffing, sweet potatoes, garden vegetables, and luscious hot flaky rolls gave off pleasant aromas. Basil looked at the spread of food with delight.
“I’ve missed home-cooked meals. Life on the frontier is very different from New York City. Normally, if I can’t beg a meal at the Lafontaine home, Joseph and I eat at a roadhouse. It can’t begin to compare with the supper you’ve laid out, Mother.”
“Don’t they have chickens in the West?” Rosemary, one of the younger girls, asked.
“No, you silly girl,” replied Valerian, the youngest boy. “They only eat buffalo and deer on the frontier.”
Basil laughed and threw his hands up. “One at a time, please. We’ll be here all night, and will answer every one of your questions. Yes, Rosemary, we do have chickens in the West, along with buffalo and venison. But nothing can compare with a meal that Mother is involved in.” Basil smacked his lips in appreciation. “Now, who’s next with a question? I think it would be Saffron.”
The youngest Fitzpatrick child, Saffron was only seven, with a head full of yellow curls that matched her name. Her doll had a seat at the table with her. She smiled brightly at Basil.
“Are there any little girls in St. Louis I could play with?”
“I have a sister about your age, Saffron,” Joseph replied. “Her name is Elise.”
Saffron’s blue eyes grew large as she surveyed the tall, dark man who was her brother’s friend. “Really? Does she look like you?”
“A little bit. Her eyes are the same color as mine, but her hair is more the color of yours. And she has a doll, too.”
“Could we have a tea party for our dolls together?” Saffron’s expression was very serious.
Joseph held back his smile. “I am certain Elise and her doll would welcome y
our company. You are lucky to have so many sisters. Elise has only brothers.”
Jasmine and Heather sighed in unison. These twins were due to be introduced into society next season. If his experience with them in the parlor was any indication, Joseph thought these two young ladies were much like two-year-old horses about to race for the first time. They were poised and ready, chomping at the bit to make their entrances. Joseph smiled inwardly as he thought of the havoc they would cause to next year’s crop of unknowing suitors. Unlike Ginger, who despised every moment of her time in the spotlight.
“How many brothers do you have?” Jasmine, or Heather, asked.
They really are copies of each other, so my confusion in the library was not unwarranted, Joseph thought as he compared their skin tone, their brunette hair, and their brown eyes. Both sets of eyes were eagerly trained on him right now.
“I have three brothers, all younger than me.”
“Oooh. What are their names and ages?” Heather or Jasmine cooed.
“There is Gaston, who is now twenty-three, Raoul is nineteen, and Etienne is the youngest brother at sixteen.”
“Umm, Gaston ... Raoul,” they rolled the French names over their tongues. “Do they look like you?”
Joseph was glad Basil had enlisted his help only for Ginger.
“Gaston looks more like our father. He has hair the color of sand, sort of like Valerian’s.” Joseph nodded at Basil’s youngest brother and smiled. “But Gaston’s eyes are green.”
“Raoul and I look most like each other, except he’s not as tall as I am. He is living in Canada right now, with our grandfather.”
“Raoul sounds perfect, if he looks like you, Joseph,” Jasmine, or Heather, replied breathlessly.
Becky Lower Page 4
