“I do,” Alain objected. “A woman doesn’t belong in business. She belongs at home, caring for her husband and family.”
“I have no complaints, and I don’t think Rory does either,” Tom drawled.
“Pardon, Capitaine Franklin,” Dominique said smoothly, “but we are speaking of the establishment of a trans-Atlantic network, worth tens—no, hundreds of thousands of dollars. No offense is intended to your wife, but what does a woman know of these things?”
Aware his wife’s temper was about to flare, Tom laid a warning hand on her arm and declared quietly, “Without Simone, there would have been no Franklin Steamboat Company. Without Simone, there will be no Queen Enterprises.”
The lawyers held their breath at Tom’s uncompromising statement, but Alain ruminated, “Whether one or both of you is responsible for the operation of your businesses, you have made them great successes. Très bien, I accept Simone as a partner and a director.”
After staring at his client in amazement, Dominique forced his attention back to the remainder of the negotiations.
“Will you be coming to town before la saison is over, Tom?” Alain asked over dinner that evening.
“Probably,” the Virginian allowed. “Can’t keep Simone in the country all the time. I don’t want her to get bored.”
“There’s no time at LaVictoire to be bored. Still, I know how Tom misses the opera,” Simone teased with a theatrical sigh. “And the gossip from the customhouse.”
“Speaking of gossip,” Alain said suddenly, “have you heard the latest rumor, Simone? Marcel Baudin is dead.”
Her face blanched. “But . . .how? When?”
“It’s said he drowned trying to escape the asylum. I am not sure I will believe it, however, until his body is recovered,” he said pointedly.
“So he wasn’t invincible, after all,” Tom muttered, recalling his encounter with the madman.
“Poor, unhappy Marcel . . .” Simone murmured, lost in thought on this last chapter of so long and sad a story.
“How can you say that,” Alain lashed out, “after all he put you through?”
“I still feel sorry for him.” Her green eyes flashed. “Think how troubled, how tormented, he must have been to behave the way he did.”
“Already I’m beginning to question the wisdom of taking a soft-hearted female as a business partner,” Alain muttered.
“This conversation is becoming entirely too serious,” Tom insisted, rising. “Shall we have coffee in the parlor, gentlemen?”
While Tom, Hiram, and Alain talked with enthusiasm about horses, Dominique joined Simone on the settee.
“More café, M’sieur Cuvillion?” she asked brightly.
“Can’t you call me Dominique?” he requested. “You did at one time.”
“Oui.” Simone shifted uncomfortably.
“I’ve been wanting to talk to you all day.”
“Oh?” She stared hard at Tom across the room, hoping to catch his eye.
“I want to thank you for being so wise those many years ago.”
“Wise?” She looked at the bookish man.
“You knew a marriage between us would not work if you didn’t return my feelings. I married Bernadette, and now even I see the wisdom of letting love grow over time. She is a wonderful woman.”
“She was a wonderful girl,” Simone said sincerely, even as she remembered the terrible night Dominique had proposed. “I would love to see her again. Perhaps you can bring her for a visit.”
“I’m sure she would like that, when she feels she can leave our youngest child. We have five now, you know.”
They sat in silence for a moment, pondering the vagaries of fate. At last Dominique said with a reminiscent smile, “I remember the first time Alain came to see me about you, before I ever met you.”
“Alain went to see you about me?”
“To arrange the ‘inheritance’ for his ward,” he chuckled. “I could not understand why he would entrust so much money to a child. But you weren’t a child at all.”
“What do you mean, ‘to arrange the inheritance’?”
Dominique’s smile faded as Simone’s eyes bored into him.
“My father didn’t leave me anything, did he?” she asked in sudden comprehension.
“Non,” the lawyer admitted, clearly embarrassed by the revelation. He watched Simone anxiously, certain her temper was about to explode. “Alain . . .Alain wanted to be sure you were cared for, in case anything happened to him. He said you were too proud to accept money from him, so we set up the trust for you.”
“I see. . . .” Then she shrugged, as if the subject were unimportant. “Well, what’s past is past. More café, anyone?” she asked.
Simone’s smile felt painted on her face as her thoughts roiled. The money she had invested in the Emerald Queen had not been her own, after all. And Alain, the arrogant cad, had known it even as he had accepted her as a partner that very afternoon.
She hated the idea that the money—that her new life!—had come from him. Somehow she would have to repay him. She could not bear to remain in his debt now that she knew.
The next day, while the men took a respite from work to go hunting, Simone rode over to Hideaway.
“Oh, ma petite, you didn’t!” Lisette protested, laughing. “You sent the amount of your ‘inheritance’ to a home for unwed mothers—as a contribution from Alain de Vallière?”
“Oui,” Simone acknowledged with a saucy nod. “He has always had a soft spot in his heart for girls in trouble, non?” she said mischievously.
“I wish I could be there when he receives the thank you note from the good sisters,” Lisette said, her gray eyes sparkling.
“So do I,” Simone answered with a grin. “So do I.”
Neither woman would have wished to be present if they could have anticipated the thunderous expression on Alain’s face when he opened his mail the next week. When he first read the effusive letter of appreciation, he was baffled. Then he became angry. A donation to a home for unwed mothers! Whose idea of a joke was this? When he got his hands on the prankster, he would throttle him.
By week’s end, he would have throttled almost anyone. Not only did the sisters speak widely of him in the most glowing terms imaginable, they also announced their intention to hold a party in his honor.
When that information reached him, Alain went in person to straighten out the misunderstanding. Unfortunately, the mother superior merely admonished him that false modesty was a sin. Besides, the invitations had already been sent.
By afternoon, the news was all over the Vieux Carré and spreading like wildfire toward the American Section. A few brave souls teased the man about his choice of charities, but seeing his grim expression, they swiftly apologized. No one wanted to find himself under the Oaks with Alain de Vallière.
Alain was still in a foul temper when Tom and Simone arrived a few days later for the first board of directors meeting for Queen Enterprises. He kept his promise to meet them at the wharf, but, his mood was not improved by the rain, the Bayou Queen’s tardiness, or the mountain of luggage they brought for their stay. When Jupiter bounded off the boat, it was the last straw.
“I am not taking him in my new coach,” Alain announced brusquely. “I don’t want muddy paw prints allover the upholstery.”
“I want to stay with Jupiter,” Rory said at once, her lower lip trembling at the thought of leaving the big dog.
“Jupiter will follow in the coach with the luggage,” Simone soothed her daughter.
“I thought you’d want to ride with Uncle Alain,” Tom cajoled. “Didn’t you say you loved him almost as much as me?”
“Oui.” Rory sniffled and slipped her small hand into Alain’s.
When Simone joined the others in the carriage, she looked back regretfully at the Bayou Queen. As they had drifted along on the current this afternoon while the engineer tried to repair the engine, Tom had told her that this would be the faithful old packet’s last trip
. She knew it was silly, but her throat burned with unshed tears at the thought of retiring Tom’s first boat.
“You’re telling me that someone made a contribution in your name to this home for unwed mothers, and you don’t know who it was?” Tom guffawed, suddenly drawing her attention to the conversation.
“If I knew, I would have met him under the Oaks by now,” Alain growled. “As I was saying, there is a reception tonight in my honor, and I would like you to go with me.”
“What do you think, Simone? Do you need time to rest?”
“We should go. Charity functions attract businessmen, and we could always use new contacts,” she improvised. Not for the world would she miss this event!
“That’s my girl.” Tom grinned. “All right, ‘Lain, we’ll be happy to join you.”
In fact, Simone thought smugly, we can hardly wait.
When Alain’s carriage pulled under the porte cochere at the house on St. Charles Avenue, Wakefield hurried out to meet them. “Welcome home, Mrs. Franklin, Captain.”
“What about me, Wakefield?” Rory tugged on his coattail.
The old man’s lined face arranged itself into a fond smile. “Welcome home, Miss Rory. And good afternoon to you, Mr. de Vallière. Come in. There’s a fire in the library to take away the chill of the rain.”
As they trooped into the elegant house, Tom stopped and inspected a shiny object hanging on the doorjamb. “Wakefield,” he asked casually, “why is there a sifter hanging on the door?”
The butler looked embarrassed. “Well, sir, the slaves consider that it was put there to keep away the loup-garou. You know, the werewolf. I consider it was put there to appease the slaves. They’ve been talking among themselves about, er, ‘ha’nts.’ They’re quite upset over the reports in the newspapers of sightings of the beast and of nocturnal attacks near the back of town.”
“How long has this been going on?” Simone asked.
“For several weeks, madame. Just two nights ago, one of the maids swore she saw a face in the window. But when we investigated, there was no sign of anyone.”
Her eyes round, Rory said in a hushed voice, “I’m glad Jupiter is coming. He will protect us.”
That night, the ferocious watchdog was sound asleep beside Rory’s bed when Tom and Simone left with Alain for the party. Neither he nor the little girl awoke as the carriage rolled away down the drive.
The rain had stopped, and the night was cool. The breeze carried Simone’s rose scent to Alain, reminding him disturbingly of other nights. He was glad when they reached the old mansion that served as the charity home. Every window was lit with a candle and the building seemed an earthly extension of the starlit sky.
Alain was met by the mother superior and whisked away at once. After several rhapsodic introductions, he asked to speak to her privately.
“Madame, you must temper your praise,” he requested. “What I told you before was not false modesty. I’m here tonight because you named me your guest of honor, but I did not send you any money.”
“But you are the only person I know to thank,” the woman said, confounded. “Someone certainly made a generous contribution, and your name, Monsieur de Vallière, was on the envelope.”
“The envelope?” He seized on the tidbit. “Do you still have it?”
“I am sure I do.” Leading him to her spare, tiny office, she dug in a drawer and withdrew a small square envelope. The handwriting on its face was feminine, and the scent wafting from the paper was the fragrance of roses. Simone’s scent.
“May I have this?” Alain asked, gripping it tightly.
“If—if you wish,” the nun stammered, taken aback by the ominous glint in his eyes.
The furious man went in search of his tormentor. He found her in the dining room, standing alone near the door to the courtyard. Going directly to her, he took her elbow and guided her outside, unmindful of whether anyone watched.
“What are you doing?” Simone demanded, wrenching from his grip in the dark courtyard.
“The question, madame, is what have you done?” He waved the envelope accusingly under her nose.
Seeing it would do no good to deny it, she lifted a defiant gaze to his. “Just as you knew I would not take my ‘inheritance’ from you, I knew you would not accept repayment from me. You made your arrangements,” she said with a shrug, “and I made mine.”
“You made me a laughingstock,” he growled.
“I made you a benefactor to the needy,” she retorted, sweeping past him toward the house.
His face dark with anger, he whirled her to face him. “I ought to wring your pretty neck.”
“I am surprised you don’t try. You always were a bully.”
They scowled at each other, almost nose to nose.
“Damn it, Simone.” Alain’s voice was strangled. Suddenly he was holding her in his arms, and his mouth was upon hers. His lips were at first hard and demanding, but they softened to a kiss of aching tenderness.
Different than the brutal kisses he had stolen in his hotel room or in the carriage house, this one shook Simone far more. Involuntarily, she found herself beginning to respond. Summoning all her will, she pulled away and glared at him accusingly. “How could you?”
“The same way you could . . .quite by accident,” he answered hoarsely. “I beg your pardon, madame, and I assure you, it will not happen again. You go in. I will follow in a moment. We don’t want to give the gossip mill any more fodder.”
Inwardly trembling but with her head held high, Simone hurried through the French doors into the house. Alain remained in the courtyard, smoking moodily for a time until he collected himself sufficiently to return to the damnable party given in his honor.
Growling, Jupiter rose from his spot beside the bed and padded in front of the windows.
“What’s the matter, Jupe?” Tom whispered sleepily. Rising, he went to look out. The moon was behind the clouds, and the lawn below was dark.
With a glance at his sleeping wife, Tom opened the bedroom door for the dog and followed him downstairs.
“What is it, boy?” Tom asked as Jupiter scratched at the French doors in the dining room. The dog pranced in excitement, hackles raised and still growling. Tom let him out, and the animal charged into the night, his bark bugling.
Tom followed, looking around as the damp earth squished beneath his bare toes. In the darkness, he could hear Jupiter, but the dog was nowhere in sight. Behind him, in the house, Simone opened a window and leaned out.
“What is it, Tom?”
“Jupiter heard something. Sounds like he’s got it treed. We’ll be in as soon as I round him up.”
Jupiter finally returned to Tom’s side, now silent, his tail wagging. The moon broke through the clouds as they started back to the house, and in the mud near the door, the man saw footprints. Someone in boots. The prints were not his, and they certainly were not Jupiter’s. He scanned the area, but whoever had been there was clearly long gone.
Deciding to say nothing to worry Simone or disturb the household, he headed back to bed, having secured the doors behind him.
Rising early the next morning, he strolled around the perimeter of the property. Discovering a gate swinging open, he ordered Rufus, a young black slave, to have the locks replaced with sturdier ones. Then he returned to the house where Simone waited for him in the foyer.
“There you are, Tom. Are you ready?”
“Don’t you look pretty in your Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes,” he teased. “Is this to impress our new partner?”
“No.” She made a face at him. “It’s to impress my old one. Come on, we’re going to be late.”
When their carriage reached Canal Street, the broad avenue was nearly devoid of its usual drays and cabs. In its center, a crowd was massing for the St. Patrick’s Day Parade, an event that was becoming a tradition among the Irish immigrants in New Orleans.
As the documents formalizing Queen Enterprises were signed and witnessed in Hiram Anderson�
�s spacious new office, the sounds of revelry could be heard from outside. Their business completed, Hiram called for champagne.
“I thought you might like to toast this auspicious occasion,” he suggested.
Everyone lifted a glass and looked to Tom. Smiling broadly, the captain said, “To Queen Enterprises, may we all--”
“Make a fortune,” they all chimed in, laughing.
Grimacing good-naturedly at their teasing, he added, “And to Simone, the loveliest member of the board.”
“And the bravest,” Alain murmured behind her. Lifting his glass, he said so only she could hear, “You always did flirt with danger, ma chère.”
That evening, Simone thought it was Alain who flirted with danger. She and Tom were invited, along with the Andersons, to his home for a celebration. Besides Dominique and Bernadette, he had invited Emilie Thibault, Bernadette’s cousin, as his dinner partner.
Emilie was a pale, fragile-looking woman in her mid twenties, past the usual marriageable age for a Creole woman. Though she was not a great beauty, she was not unattractive. In her youth she had turned down several offers of marriage, waiting for the one that had not come. Now there was a quiet desperation about her, for it would not be long before she would be expected to put away her maidenly attire and don the lace spinster’s cap.
Through dinner she flirted with Alain, and, prompted by the sight of Tom and Simone together, he responded. Fleetingly he wondered if he could ever have the same closeness with Emilie, who so clearly wished it.
He noticed the married couple’s every exchange. When the women adjourned to the parlor after dinner, Tom winked at his wife, as if they had a private secret between them. When the men joined the ladies, he stood behind her chair, one hand on her shoulder. Without even realizing it, she laid her hand on his as she talked.
Suddenly feeling he must get away for a moment, Alain rose to his feet and requested, “Bernadette, will you pour the café?”
Emilie looked chagrinned, for she had expected to serve as Alain’s hostess, but her face brightened when he asked, “Emilie, would you join me in the courtyard for a breath of fresh air?”
The Emerald Queen (A Vieux Carré Romance) Page 34
