“I do when he is the handsomest man here,” she flirted safely.
“Ah, if only I were thirty years younger.” Smiling, he led Simone out onto the dance floor.
When Dominique halted in his tracks, frowning, Marie-France held her breath. She gasped quietly when he walked behind his uncle and tapped him on the shoulder.
“Dominique.” Robert glanced back at his nephew in surprise.
“I was on my way to ask Simone to dance, Oncle, but you were too fast for me. I’ve not danced with her once this evening. May I presume upon you to surrender your partner?”
Simone’s heart sank when the older man conceded with a conspiratorial smile, “Gladly, my boy.”
“You should not have done that,” she protested as Dominique swept her into the circling dancers.
“But I did.” He held her close, oblivious to his aunt’s scowl and the hurt on Bernadette’s face. “Why have you avoided me all evening, Simone?”
“I haven’t avoided you.” She nearly missed a step, endeavoring to distance herself from his clinging embrace. “You’ve been busy with Bernadette, and I have been quite content with Nonc’ Robert.”
“You’ve danced with every other man in this room,” he accused.
“Oui, everyone has been very kind, considering I’m a visitor.”
“Is that what you think?” Dominique asked, his voice tender. “They could not wait to dance with you because you are the most beautiful, the most charming woman here.”
“Now you are being kind,” Simone murmured, wondering whether the dance would ever be over.
“I’m very fond of you, you know.” The young man’s watery brown eyes searched her face for a response.
“Dominique, please, your fiancée is staring.” Simone caught sight of Bernadette over his shoulder as they whirled around the floor.
“Let her stare,” he said recklessly, uncaring of anything but the girl he held in his arms.
The moment the music drew to a close, Simone broke from the young Creole’s grasp and hurried to where Marie-France sat, her face grim under her lace cap.
“Your behavior is disgraceful, mademoiselle,” the old woman hissed, “allowing my nephew to hold you so closely.”
“I’m not responsible for his actions,” Simone snapped, out of patience at last. “Would you prefer that I had made a scene so everyone could witness his rather unwise advances toward me?”
“N-non.” Marie-France was taken aback by the girl’s vehemence.
“I sought to repay an obligation when I agreed to stay on at Paradis. I assure you I have done nothing to encourage your nephew,” Simone said hotly. “It seems tonight you must choose between Robert’s indiscretions and Dominique’s,” she added when the woman’s eyes went to her brother, who added to the contents of his punch cup from a silver flask. “I want to go upstairs now.”
“You are right.” Marie-France sighed reluctantly. “It would be best if you retired.”
“Merci. I’ll make my excuses to Madame Picard.” Simone stalked away, shaking with fury.
Pleading a headache, she went upstairs to the wing of the house allocated for the women’s use during the ball. As she opened the door to the bedroom she shared with three other women, she heard footsteps behind her.
“Simone, wait,” Dominique called softly.
“Go back downstairs at once, sir,” she ordered in alarm. “You know what people would say if you were found in the women’s wing.”
“I must talk to you,” he insisted stubbornly.
Feminine laughter came from down the hall, and shadows floated behind a half-open door. Grabbing her hand, Dominique ducked into Simone’s room, pulling her behind him.
She prayed none of her roommates had retired early. When she surveyed the moonlit room, she was relieved to find they had not. “You are going to ruin both of us,” she snapped.
“Shh, someone is just outside.” Listening at the door, he gestured urgently.
Simone froze when she heard soft giggles and the rustle of petticoats as the women passed through the hall on their way back downstairs.
When they had gone, she turned to reason with Dominique and discovered he was watching her, his gaze as limpid as the moonlight pouring through the window.
“I had to talk to you,” he whispered.
“Dominique, I don’t care how innocent a conversation you intend, if people knew you were in my room--”
“Are you afraid to be alone with me, Simone?”
She hesitated, then said carefully, “What I fear is that you are going to be very sorry for this later.”
“I don’t think so. And the risk is worth it if you will promise to marry me.” He took a tentative step toward her.
She stared at him in amazement. “Marry you?”
“Of course. Don’t you know I love you?”
“But I don’t love you, and I never let you think I did,” she said gently, deciding truth was the best course. “I cannot marry you. Besides, you are betrothed to a lovely girl.”
“Bernadette was chosen for me. I don’t want her. I want you.” He held out his hands in supplication. “It doesn’t matter if you don’t love me yet, Simone. Love can come after marriage. It happens all the time.”
“Then it could happen if you married your intended.”
“I will never feel for her what I feel for you,” he maintained. “Marry me, Simone.”
“I cannot.”
“Is it because Alain is not here to give you permission?”
“No!” she protested hotly, her cheeks reddening.
“Ah, I see the problem,” the young attorney said knowingly. “Many wards become infatuated with their guardians. But it passes, Simone. I promise if Alain were here, he would approve our union.”
Her eyes filled with tears, Simone shook her head and retreated a step.
“All I ask is that you think on my proposal and accept this as a token of my love,” he insisted, producing a dainty golden locket from his pocket.
She stared at the necklace dully. “I can’t accept this.”
“If you will not take it to seal our engagement, consider it a gift of the season. I have not yet told my aunt, but I must leave the day after tomorrow, and I won’t be here for the exchange of gifts on New Year’s.”
“Dominique--”
“When I return for Epiphany, I will expect your answer,” he cut her off. Then, capturing her face between moist, uncertain hands, he brushed her lips with his. “Until morning, chère,” he whispered and was gone.
Still clad in her ball gown, Simone lay across her bed and pondered her problem miserably. She was bound by her word to stay at Paradis until Nonc’ Robert departed, but she did not know if she could do so without hurting Dominique.
Two days later, the young man rode to Donaldsonville to catch a packet to New Orleans. With a sigh of temporary relief, Simone watched his horse trot through the hazy December morning toward the Mississippi.
On the day after New Year’s, a message arrived from Dominique. He was still finishing his business and might not arrive in time for Epiphany, but he would come as soon as possible.
Simone’s discomfort was not alleviated by the news. Dreading the hurt her rejection would cause him, part of her longed to be gone from Paradis before he returned; another did not want to leave without making things right between them.
Epiphany crawled by as Simone apprehensively awaited Dominique’s return, but he never arrived. Early the next morning, Olympe and Colette and their families piled into their carriages and departed, taking Robert with them.
When they were gone, the house became quiet and the mood, dismal. Freed of her commitment, Simone decided to leave as soon as possible and explain to Dominique later. Almost as soon as the coaches had disappeared down the narrow lane, she sent Batiste to put out the signal flag for any passing steamboat. Marie-France watched without comment before stamping into the house.
During the afternoon, the old woman was call
ed away to a difficult birth in the slave quarters. Simone’s melancholy lifted somewhat when the sun broke through the overcast. Putting on a jacket, she wandered to the landing. No boats were in sight. On impulse she tied Tom’s handkerchief to a steel ring on a piling, then strolled to the back of the house, where she found Batiste mending fishing nets under a mimosa tree.
“Saw you out at the landing.” He grinned as she approached. “Any boats yet?”
“Non,” she muttered. She stopped near him and listlessly poked her toe at the long brown seed pods that littered the ground below the tree. “I’m afraid the first one that comes will carry Dominique.”
“You don’t wish to face him because he is in love with you?” Batiste said.
“Oui, and nothing I say seems to change his mind. I think I must write what I feel in a letter and get away from here quickly.”
“I agree.” He nodded. “Where shall we go, petite amie?”
“Do you still want to go with me?” She looked at him discerningly.
His strong black fingers ceased their activity, and he gazed up at her, surprised by the question. “Of course I do.”
“I would release you from your promise, Batiste,” she offered.
“Only Alain could do that. But I would go with you anyway, and I’ll stay with you as long as you need me.”
Through tears of gratitude, she murmured, “Merci, mon ami.”
“But the question still stands,” he went on practically. “Where will we go?”
“Back to New Orleans, I suppose.”
“That could be dangerous for both of us,” he counseled. “Marcel Baudin searches for you and the law for me.”
“The law?” She stared at him in consternation.
“M’sieur Cuvillion says I am wanted for further questioning. Since the police now believe Alain was murdered, they naturally suspect me. M’sieur Cuvillion will not tell them where I am because he wishes to keep you out of the investigation. If we go back to New Orleans, I fear both of us will have to live in hiding.”
“I suppose we could go to Texas,” she suggested dubiously. “So many people are heading there these days. Still, we must go to New Orleans to get my money. I don’t like living on charity.”
While she talked, Simone picked up a mimosa seed pod and slashed the air with it, testing its rigidity and strength. With a sudden impish grin, she saluted Batiste with the stubby, unwieldy “sword.” To her delight, he rose and found himself a “weapon.”
Assuming the en garde position, they began to duel, their seed-pod swords buckling and wobbling. Simone had not realized that Batiste was a skillful fencer, but he had trained with Alain. He fenced effortlessly, laughter rumbling deep in his massive chest as she kicked her skirt out of the way and advanced. She giggled when her sword began to sag limply.
Abruptly Batiste ceased his sport, his face subdued, his arms falling limp at his sides. Simone turned and saw Dominique behind her, his pinched face white with rage.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he choked.
“Fencing,” she said coolly, trying to maintain her temper in the face of his.
“It’s a fine thing to come home and find you cavorting around the grounds with a freed slave,” he lashed out.
“Simone meant no harm,” Batiste defended her.
“You!” Dominique turned a wrathful gaze on the black man. “I expect you off this property at once or I’ll beat you within an inch of your life.”
“Just a moment,” Simone said hotly, grabbing his coat sleeve.
“And you, go to your room,” he commanded, wheeling on her. “I will speak to you when I’ve had time to compose myself.”
“You’ll speak to me now. What right have you to order me around?”
“The right of a future husband. And your behavior does not become a Cuvillion,” he answered, his voice rising.
“Future husband?” she shouted. “I told you I would not marry you. Besides, although you seem to have difficulty remembering it, you already have a fiancée.”
With a pained expression, Dominique looked around to see if any of the slaves who worked nearby had heard, then said in a more moderate tone, “I told you I would break the engagement. I love you, and I want to protect you and your reputation. That is why Batiste must go. He has overstepped the bounds.
“Don’t say anything else,” he cautioned her wearily. “We will talk later. I’m going to the garçonnière now. Remi says my aunt may be away well into the night. We should not sleep under the same roof without a proper chaperon. I will see you at dinner.”
He left Simone, speechless with anger, under the mimosa. When she looked around, Batiste had disappeared, leaving his nets unmended.
“I told Remi and I’m telling you, I’m not coming down to dinner,” Simone informed Dominique through her closed door.
“Please, we must talk,” he pleaded. Not in his wildest imagining would he have recognized the slender lad who stood poised on the other side.
“I haven’t had time to compose myself yet,” she replied icily, borrowing his words from the afternoon.
“Come out, chère,” he cajoled. “I cannot bear your anger. Everything I have done has been for your own good.”
“For your own good, Dominique, leave me alone.”
He must have sensed that her ire was about to erupt again, for he departed, and she heard him trudge downstairs.
Simone paced before the fireplace. She must leave Paradis, for she could not marry Dominique. She could not marry anyone. She was promised to Alain. And if, God forbid, Alain was gone . . . then she must live her own life.
Her preparations for departure were complete, but she waited, clad in Jean-Paul’s clothes, knowing Batiste would return for her.
Just then, a light tap sounded at the French doors. Flooded with relief, she hurried to open them.
“I was beginning to worry,” she whispered to the man crouched on her balcony.
“I wouldn’t leave you, little friend.” Stepping into the bedchamber, Batiste nodded approvingly. “I see you’re ready to go.”
“When we left New Orleans, I didn’t know why, but I brought these along,” she said, plucking at her baggy clothes. She had not believed how difficult it was to don them again. She had stuffed her hair into a stocking cap, vowing not to crop it again unless it became absolutely necessary.
“Are you ready?” He waited at the door to the balcony.
“One more thing.” Simone placed the notes she had written to Dominique and his aunt on her pillow. She had expressed her appreciation to Marie-France for her generosity and enclosed money with a request that she forward her belongings to Lisette’s house. She could imagine Dominique’s disapproval when he heard of it.
In the note she wrote to him, Simone tried to rebuff him gently. With thanks for his kindness, she enclosed the locket he had given her.
“Let’s go,” she murmured, picking up the bundle containing a few of her possessions.
The pair eased themselves onto a tree limb near the railing and climbed down to the lawn. Stealing through the shadows to the bayou road, they set out toward the Mississippi.
After a cold night of hiding in a barn, Simone and Batiste cut across open fields to the River Road, a little south of Donaldsonville. Before long. they heard the distinctive churning of a paddlewheeler. Climbing the levee, they waited until it came into sight around the bend, then both began to wave wildly.
“Is it . . . ?” Batiste wondered aloud, his eyes fixed hopefully on the steamboat.
“It is!” Simone shouted gladly. “It’s the Creole Queen!”
“Cap’n Franklin,” Batiste bellowed across the water as the boat slowed and nosed toward the riverbank. Sleepy passengers poured onto the deck in various stages of dress, abandoning their morning toilettes for fear the rumors were true—that steamboats were little more than floating volcanoes. When they found, to their relief, that they were not sinking, they lined the railing to watch as new passengers
were taken on.
Simone spied Tom on the hurricane deck, and she knew he had recognized Batiste when he vaulted the ladder to the lower deck and hurried forward to where the gangplank was being readied. Tom’s steps faltered when he recognized the smaller of the travelers, and he stared at Simone in disbelief. Since he had kissed her, he had been unable to get her out of his mind. Now she was here, but what a sight she was—rumpled, dressed as a boy, with a stocking cap pulled over her ears. Still, her green eyes were unmistakable.
“Thanks for stopping, Cap’n,” Batiste said as soon as he was aboard,“the lad” in tow. “You remember my master, M’sieur Jean-Paul?” he asked, gesturing toward Simone, who stared at her feet.
“Sure do. How are you, Jean-Paul?” Tom played along.
“Still shy,” the servant explained when the youngster mumbled unintelligibly, his chin firmly tucked against his neck. “His widowed mother just died.”
“Sorry to hear it,” the captain responded appropriately, knowing his passengers were listening. “Y’all going to family in New Orleans then?”
Batiste nodded. “We have money for M’sieur Jean-Paul’s passage. I can help wood up, in exchange for steerage.”
“Reckon we always need another hand,” Tom ruminated agreeably. “Ask the first mate down on the main deck for a hammock. I’ll take Jean-Paul to my cabin till we find accommodations for him. This way, young man.” He strode toward the companionway, leaving Simone to follow.
The moment he closed his cabin door, the captain said severely, “I don’t know what you’re up to, Simone Devereaux. And I don’t care, now that you’re here,” he added, his frown giving way to a smile.
Wrapping his arms around her, he planted a kiss more of relief than of passion on her lips. Before she could object or respond, he released her.
Simone blinked in surprise, then removed her cap so her brown hair tumbled to her shoulders and grinned at him. “I’m glad to see you too, Capitaine.”
“I’ve been worried sick about you,” he said gruffly. Dropping into his shabby armchair, he pulled her down so she perched on his knee. “I stopped at Paradis this morning when I saw your signal.”
The Emerald Queen (A Vieux Carré Romance) Page 20
