The Emerald Queen (A Vieux Carré Romance)

by Karen Jones Delk

  He led her near the window while Marie-France poured coffee in front of the fire. Reluctantly, he muttered, “The police still have not recovered his body but--”

  “But?” she prompted sharply.

  “Quietly. I do not want Tante Marie upset,” he insisted, his myopic brown eyes darting toward his aunt. “Alain’s clothes washed up on the levee a little below town a couple of weeks ago. Though it is hard to be certain, there appeared to be bloodstains on them.”

  Simone’s face paled. “But why...”

  “I don’t know,” he said gently, “but I think we must accept the sad truth. Alain is dead.”

  “I cannot believe it,” she whispered painfully. “I won’t.”

  “I do not want to admit it any more than you. Alain was my friend for many years. But the proof can hardly be questioned. He is surely dead.”

  “I must go back to New Orleans.” Simone drew a steadying breath.

  “Non,” Dominique said firmly. “Baudin is there. Since his mother’s death, he has nothing to distract him from his search for you. And from what I understand, he has been in an explosive mood. He was hardly off the boat before he killed another man in a duel. His sixth or seventh.”

  “His fifth,” she corrected absently, ignoring the man’s look of horror that she should know such a statistic. “Lisette wrote me about it last week.”

  “I thought now that you’re back among decent people, you would have broken your ties with Mademoiselle Dupré, Maître St. Michel, and their kind.” Dominique frowned, uncaring that his aunt squinted toward them curiously.

  “What kind is that?” Simone’s murmur was ominous. “Have a care what you say, m’sieur. We are talking about friends of mine.”

  He stared at her in astonishment. He had known the demure girl must have great inner strength to survive all she had been through, but he had never seen an external sign, of it. He was not sure he liked it, but decided perhaps she was simply upset about the news he had brought.

  “I meant only that they’re hardly suitable companions for a girl of les bonnes familles,” he soothed her.

  “Improper they may be, but they helped save my life.”

  “I helped save you, too, Simone,” he reminded her with a hurt expression.

  “‘You did, and I appreciate it.” Her anger at the man who gazed pleadingly at her disappeared, but she had to get away. Curtsying politely to the other occupants of the room, she requested, “If you will pardon me, I would like to retire. Bonne nuit, mam’selle, Capitaine, Dominique.”

  Both aunt and nephew watched her depart, uneasy for different reasons.

  Marie-France’s disquiet stayed with her the next day, unabated until she saw Dominique onto the packet for New Orleans, away from the girl’s allure. Standing on the landing beside the obese old lady, Simone watched the boat disappear around the bend and tried not to show how relieved she was that Dominique was gone.

  Simone pulled her woolen shawl tight against the November chill and placed another log on the grate. The afternoon was overcast and dreary, the cold wind making a tree limb creak in complaint against the window frame.

  “Steamboat comin’,” a slave shouted outside.

  She hurried to the window. An unfamiliar sternwheeler was slowing and edging toward the dock. Simone was about to turn away when she saw the gilded wooden crown suspended between the double smokestacks. A crown meant a Queen boat, and a Queen boat meant Thomas Jefferson Franklin was putting in at Paradis.

  She did not even stop to don a coat. Clattering downstairs and out the front door, she raced across the lawn, outstripping Marie-France, who shouted, “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “To meet Capitaine Franklin,” Simone called over her shoulder.

  “L’américain?” the old woman asked distastefully and slowed her step.

  Tom leapt to the landing as Simone arrived. “You’re pretty as a picture, gal,” he greeted her, taking her hands in his. Stepping back, he looked her over warmly. “Country living agrees with you.”

  “It’s good to see you again,” she answered, suddenly shy. The captain was more handsome than she remembered, and his pleasant face was lit with an elated smile. Looking away, she saw Marie-France approaching without haste.

  Simone reclaimed her hands hastily and said, “Capitaine Franklin, you remember Mademoiselle Cuvillion.”

  “I do indeed. A pleasure to see you again, ma’am.” Tom swept his hat from his head and bowed.

  “Bonjour, Capitaine.” Marie-France did not offer her hand. “What brings you back to Paradis so soon?”

  “Letters, ma’am. One for you and one for Miss Devereaux.” He presented the envelopes with a flourish.

  “Merci.” Marie-France pocketed hers at once. “I suppose your schedule will not allow you to join us for dinner?”

  “Since this is a shakedown cruise, I don’t really have a schedule, ma’am. I’d be delighted to stay, if you’ll have me.”

  “Of course,” she acquiesced stiffly. “Simone, see to our guest while I make arrangements with the kitchen. Pardon, Capitaine.”

  As the couple neared the house, they were hailed by Batiste. Excusing herself while the men visited, Simone withdrew a short distance to read Lisette’s letter.

  There was still no word of Alain, her friend wrote. Marcel was frustrated in his search, but he continued to look for Simone. Lisette believed the scarred Creole was mad, but those foolish enough to comment on his erratic behavior found themselves facing him under the Oaks. It was odd, she added, that when Dominique had challenged him to a duel, Marcel had declined.

  So Dominique had challenged Marcel after she’d asked him not to. Simone seethed, knowing the young lawyer was alive only because of Marcel’s whim.

  “Is anything wrong?” Tom asked, coming to stand beside her.

  “Non.” Shoving the letter into the pocket of her apron, she smiled. “Come. If I know Marie-France, she will be waiting with sherry in the first parlor.”

  The old woman was indeed waiting. She sat rigidly erect, the ribbons of her spinster’s cap tied tightly under her double chin, obviously disapproving of Tom and his friendship with Simone. Small talk was strained and the call to dinner a relief.

  When they returned to the parlor after dinner, Marie-France dominated the conversation, speaking of les bonnes familles. Her manner clearly telling Tom he was an outsider, she lapsed finally into scornful silence.

  Recognizing her game, Simone set out to make the man feel welcome. “Tell me about your new boat, Capitaine,” she encouraged.

  “Isn’t she a beauty?” He regarded the girl gratefully. He might not know les bonnes familles, but he knew steamboats, and he was delighted to tell Simone about his new Creole Queen. “A packet her size is better suited to the river than the bayou. And not only is she bigger than my other boats, she’s faster and luckier, too. I won her in a poker game.”

  “You won her?” Admiration mingled with incredulity in Simone’s voice.

  “A pair of fives beat a pair of fours.” He grinned broadly when she laughed with pure delight. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at the horror on Marie-France’s face.

  “Do you always bluff?” Simone asked, still chuckling.

  “When I can get away with it,” he admitted with a twinkle in his blue eyes, “and sometimes when I can’t. Last week I lost the money I was saving for the new boat I’m having built. She’ll be bigger than the Creole Queen and more luxurious. But I guess she’ll wait until I win again.”

  “I have not played cards in such a long time.” Nicholas’s daughter sighed wistfully.

  “I happen to keep a deck with me at all times,” Tom answered challengingly, pulling it from the pocket of his jacket.

  “I think it is time for bed,” Marie-France announced. Rising, she began to gather her things.

  “You go ahead,” Simone insisted politely. “I’ll be up in a while. If you like, I’ll lock up so Remi doesn’t have to wait up for me
.”

  Her objection done away with before she could make it, Marie-France marched out wrathfully, her lips tight. The girl took no notice, pulling a handful of buttons from her sewing kit to use as chips.

  Simone enjoyed the card game, laughing aloud at Tom’s bemused expression as she shuffled, performing the sleights of hand her father had taught her. She won steadily, and the captain decided he had never been taken so smoothly in all his twenty-six years, but he did not care. Their time together was relaxed and companionable, and it ended all too soon.

  Simone walked him out, across the veranda and onto the moonlit lawn toward the boat. Gripping her elbow to steady her on the dew-wet grass, Tom drew her into the shadows under a great oak tree and turned her to face him. Holding her arms in an easy grasp, he kissed her gently.

  Accustomed to casual flirtation, Tom was unprepared for the storm of feeling that coursed through him. He drew her closer, savoring the softness of her lips.

  Simone’s head whirled with wonderment. How could the mere touch of his lips take her breath away? Where was her loyalty to Alain? Was she wanton? Traitorous?

  Her questions remained unanswered, unexamined, as Tom’s kiss deepened and she forgot all but sensation.

  Shaken, they parted at last, both uncertain what to say or do.

  Recovering himself first, Tom caressed her cheek with a tender hand and murmured, “I think I’ve wanted to kiss you since the first time I saw you on the bow of the Bayou Queen.”

  “Please don’t say that,” she implored. “I-I’m not ready for--”

  “It’s all right,” he interjected soothingly, kissing her chastely on the forehead. His hands gently slid down her arms as he released her. “In time, you’ll be ready, and I aim to be here when you are.”

  He strode toward the boat, his voice drifting back to her. “I’ll be back, darlin’. Don’t forget me while I’m gone!”

  After a night haunted by dreams of Alain, Simone was awakened at dawn by the Creole Queen’s whistle. Standing at her window, she watched as the boat steamed away from the Paradis landing, the roiling waters of the bayou matching the disturbing churning in her heart.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The mood at Paradis was cheerful as Marie-France supervised the twining of a garland in the chandelier in the foyer. The scent of pine mingled with the aroma of cider from the parlor as Simone helped prepare for the arrival of Dominique’s sisters and their husbands and broods for Christmas.

  Simone was looking forward to the holidays. Celebrations shared with her father had been meager but festive, and réveillon at LeFleur and the exchange of small gifts on Christmas Day were her fondest childhood memories.

  Suddenly the front door opened and a gust of cold wind swept in.

  “Robert, you great baboon!” Simone heard Marie-France squeal. “Take your cold hands off of me.”

  “A fine way to greet your favorite brother,” a male voice chided.

  “My only brother,” the woman retorted. “Give Remi your greatcoat and come in.”

  The voices grew louder, and Marie-France appeared in the doorway to the parlor, carrying a candied pineapple, the bachelor’s contribution to family dinner. Behind her was an elegant, silver-haired man who stared with delight at Simone.

  “Simone, this is my brother, Robert,” Marie-France announced decorously. “He’ll be with us for Christmas. Robert, I want you to meet Simone Devereaux, the ward of one of Dominique’s clients.”

  “A pleasure, mademoiselle,” Robert said heartily, kissing her hand. “You must call me Nonc’ Robert as the other young people do.”

  “If you will call me Simone.” She was immediately at ease with the older man, recognizing him at once as the fainéant, or the loafer, of the Cuvillion clan. Almost every Creole family had one; Nicholas had counted many among his friends.

  “Café, chère?” Marie-France asked him.

  “Oui, and a bit of brandy to warm me, if you have it.” Robert smiled disarmingly at his prim sister. Catching himself before he sat on a sewing basket, he picked it up and peered inside. “This is your work, Simone? What are you making?”

  “Bean bags for the children.”

  “How very kind of you. I take it you don’t yet know the little ruffians,” he commented dryly.

  “Robert, how can you say that about your own family?” Marie-France protested.

  “You know it’s true, chère. When Olympe and Colette and their clamorous progeny get here, there won’t be a moment’s peace.”

  “Try to behave yourself,” she scolded, though he had voiced thoughts close to her own.

  “I always try to behave, ma soeur. I just fail so miserably at it, it’s hardly worth the trouble.” He winked merrily at Simone. “But for our lovely guest’s benefit, I will take the trouble.”

  Marie-France wasted no time in seeking Simone’s assistance. “Would you be Robert’s dinner partner during his visit? Play cards with him, keep him busy. When he is bored, he, er, imbibes rather freely.”

  “I’d love to,” Simone answered, happy to provide a service for her hostess. And Nonc’ Robert was already her favorite Cuvillion.

  When Dominique returned to Paradis just before Christmas, she was doubly glad that she had agreed to the arrangement. Her duty gave her an excuse to avoid being alone with the young lawyer. His too-frequent touch and possessive manner disturbed her and she felt the Cuvillion women closing ranks against her when they observed his pursuit of her.

  Dinners, which, in Creole fashion, went on for hours each night, became a misery. Seated at the head of the table, Dominique insisted Simone sit at his left, with Nonc’ Robert at his right. As host he prevailed, but Simone could feel Marie-France watching her balefully from the other end of the table.

  Throughout the meals, the young man’s weak brown eyes, magnified through his spectacles, tried to hold hers. Each time he passed a dish to her, his fingers brushed hers lingeringly. And several times, speaking so only she could hear, he repeated the story of his role in her rescue, seeming just as amazed at his bravery in the fifth telling as he had in the fourth.

  “I wish you could have seen Baudin’s face when he discovered the woman in my carriage was not you,” he chuckled again on Christmas night.

  “Shame on both of you,” Nonc’ Robert boomed suddenly, causing his nephew and nieces to regard him indulgently.

  “Shame, Dom,” he repeated playfully. “You tell Simone secrets and leave me to find solace in my wine glass.”

  Simone observed Robert warily. His patrician face was flushed, and his speech was slightly slurred. Dominique had monopolized her company, and she had not paid enough attention to the old man.

  She turned a dazzling smile on him and said quickly, “But, Nonc’ Robert, the entire time I conversed with my host, you were never far from my thoughts. I kept wondering when you might be ready for a game of cards before the fire.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Marie-France relax, certain Simone could cajole her brother away from the table and the wine.

  “In a moment, chère. A toast first.” Robert got to his feet unsteadily and lifted his glass. “Each Christmas we gather here. Each Christmas the faces remain the same, if a little older. This year, I propose a toast to Simone, the lovely new addition to our holiday celebration. May it be the first of many.”

  Marie-France and Dominique’s sisters glared at the inebriated man, while the husbands squirmed uncomfortably, aware of their wives’ upset. Simone blushed and stared down at the table, feeling the hostile eyes of the other women upon her.

  By the next morning, it was apparent that the Cuvillion women intended to exclude Simone whenever possible. They ostracized her from conversation, their voices dying when she entered a room. At last she asked Marie-France to be allowed to leave Paradis on the first available packet.

  But Robert’s sister was intractable. “I will not release you from your promise, Simone. It’s true Robert made a fool of himself last night, but for the first
time in memory, he apologized this morning. I expect you to keep him in line until the day after Epiphany, for that is when he plans to leave. In the meantime, do nothing to encourage Dominique. He is betrothed.”

  “It seems my very presence here encourages him,” Simone said bitterly. “That is why I must go.”

  “When Robert is gone, you may go when and where you wish,” Marie-France answered.

  Heartsick, Simone knew she must honor her word. In the rainy days that followed, she tried even harder to maintain her distance from Dominique and to ignore the hurt she saw in his eyes.

  Just before New Year’s, the family was invited to a ball at a nearby plantation. Simone selected her gown carefully, choosing a modest dress, almost plain in its simplicity.

  Dominique was admiring when she descended the staircase, but before he could step forward to claim her, Marie-France seized his arm. “Will you escort me to the carriage, Dom, and be my gallant on the ride to the Picards’? I promise to release you from that duty when we arrive, for I know you will want to spend your time with Bernadette.”

  “Bernadette?” the young man repeated dumbly, his eyes on Simone. “Of course, Bernadette,” he winced when his aunt pinched his arm.

  At the Picards’ home, they found a country ball attended by Creole neighbors for miles around. It was unlike the elaborate masque she had attended in New Orleans, but Simone enjoyed it, forgetting for a while her troubles.

  After dancing with her host, she hastened to Nonc’ Robert’s side, but she was not allowed to stay there. One partner after another claimed her. She danced with young and old, trying not to notice how Dominique’s eyes followed her even when he danced with Bernadette Blanchard, a plump, pretty girl who gazed up at him in adoration.

  At last the moment arrived that Simone had been dreading: She spied Dominique crossing the dance floor toward her.

  She turned to his uncle desperately. “You haven’t danced with me once, Nonc’ Robert. Would you think me bold if I asked you?”

  “Not at all, chère.” He seemed flattered by her request. “The young gallants have kept you so busy, I did not think you had time for an old man.”