Placing a slender arm around Lavinia’s shoulder, Laurel hugged her. “I’m sure your father knows you love him, Lavinia. Seth is right. Your place is by his side.”
Lavinia grabbed Laurel’s hand in her own. “Would you consider returning to Texas with me? Please? I know Papa would want to see you again.”
“Our fathers weren’t very friendly,” Laurel reminded her.
“I’m aware of that. However, I think papa would like to make peace with you since your father is gone. Believe me, Laurel, Papa suffered a great deal after the breakup of his partnership with Uncle Sylvester. More than once I heard him bemoan the fact that he never told your father how sorry he felt over the whole incident. By the time he married my stepmother, he had long since gotten over his infatuation with your own mother. But your father never forgave him for falling in love with his wife.”
Laurel pulled away from her. “If you’re saying that my mother loved Uncle Arthur and led him to believe that she would have left my father for—”
“No, no,” Lavinia broke her off. “Papa knew your parents loved one another and accepted that fact. It’s just that his pride forbade him to admit he had made a monumental fool of himself where your mother was concerned. I know he would have liked to have made amends, but your parents died before he extended the olive branch.” Lavinia’s blue eyes narrowed. “You see, that time I was in ill health and arrived here with Papa to ask Uncle Sylvester if I might stay at the plantation, Papa was quite concerned about me and never got around to apologizing for his past mistakes before he returned to Texas.”
“I see,” Laurel said and disentangled her hand from Lavinia’s. Standing up, she crossed the room to the window and gazed out at the tranquil street scene. White-pillared mansions, as large as her own, stood majestically on both sides of Chestnut Street. From the moment she had been born, she had lived in this house, except for the summers on the plantation that she had sold last year, and the Boston boarding school. In truth she knew no existence other than this and was totally happy here. Now Lavinia wanted her to go to San Antonio because she feared Arthur Delaney might die and wanted to make amends.
Laurel didn’t understand why Arthur should care at all about her. When her parents died, he hadn’t offered to provide a home for her, and Laurel would have welcomed the gesture, though an empty one at best. Any family, even one with unresolved problems, was better than living in a boarding school and depending upon the good will of friends to ask her home for the holidays. She had spent a total of four Christmases with Anne Tyler’s family in New York. At school, Anne had been her best and dearest friend, and for the rest of her life Laurel would be grateful to Anne’s parents for providing a warm holiday for an orphaned girl.
And now, after all these years, Arthur Delaney wished to make amends. Laurel had no inkling as to what had transpired between her parents and Arthur. She only knew that Arthur had been left a widower with an infant daughter and that her own mother, Emily Delaney, had recently married her father. Evidently Arthur had loved Emily before his wife’s death and had pursued her. This pursuit had caused the rift between the brothers and ended the partnership of the Little L Ranch before it had even started.
The afternoon sun spilled into the parlor and highlighted the auburn strands in Laurel’s dark hair, casting a golden hue across her porcelain complexion. Lavinia wiped her eyes with a kerchief, and Laurel wondered if her tears were real. Could Lavinia be using her for her own reasons? Emily had always proclaimed that Lavinia could be deceptive. Laurel, however, could think of no reason why Lavinia would lie to her about such a serious matter as Arthur’s health.
“Will you come with me?” Laurel heard Lavinia ask.
Laurel gave thought to this question as once again the familiar street scene outside caught her attention. She swung her gaze away from the window to her elegant parlor, which was also familiar. She could walk blindfolded through it and the house, and not bump into a single piece of furniture. Nothing had changed since her parents’ deaths. Last year Laurel had returned home to the stuffy parties and dull young men eager to marry an heiress. But Lavinia with her bold blue eyes and flaming hair lived in an untamed land where convention and decorum could be set aside for the most part. How she envied Lavinia her freedom.
Suddenly Laurel realized that she was of age, her own woman, and no longer needed John Anderson’s reluctant approval. She surmised that Anderson wanted her to marry his Philbert, but Laurel found nothing attractive about the young man with clammy hands.
A wild longing overcame her. Her blood surged through her veins. Perhaps she did possess some of Lavinia’s fire. Why shouldn’t she be reckless and not think of the consequences just once in her life? When she returned from Texas, the house would still be here, and the same dull young men would vie for her favor. And if Arthur Delaney were ill and wished to make up for all the years he had barely acknowledged her existence, then she would allow him to apologize to her.
Turning to face Lavinia, Laurel said, “We shall make arrangements to leave for San Antonio immediately.”
“Wonderful!” Lavinia purred and watched Laurel leave the parlor in search of Gincie.
Lavinia clapped her hands together and crushed Seth’s letter to her bosom. What a coincidence that Seth would happen to write at this particular time. She thought it was a wonder that he could tear himself away from the tarts he frequented long enough to pen the letter. But the fact that he had written only served to make Lavinia aware of the grave situation at home. Granted, of course, her father wasn’t that ill. Seth said he had suffered a spell of sickness that had soon passed. Laurel didn’t need to know his illness wasn’t that serious, Lavinia decided, but Arthur Delaney might lose the Little L, and neither Lavinia nor Seth wanted that. His financial situation wasn’t the best, and if things didn’t turn around soon, he would lose the ranch.
Seth might be Lavinia’s stepbrother, but both of them couldn’t bear the thought of being poor.
“Well, that won’t happen,” Lavinia assured herself. “Not if Seth and Laurel marry.”
She smiled to herself and decided to begin packing.
~
The days before departure were busy ones for Laurel. Since she had no idea how long she would be in Texas, she made arrangements to close the house. Though Gincie didn’t wish to go and Laurel told her she could remain at the house with the few servants, Gincie staunchly refused.
“Where you go, I go, Miss Laurel.” Gincie stood with arms folded, not about to be deterred from accompanying her “baby,” as she referred to Laurel.
Laurel was glad Gincie would accompany her and Lavinia on the trip. She had been so long without Gincie that she dreaded to be separated from her again.
A few days before the Cotton Blossom was due to leave New Orleans for the meandering trek through the bayous, Laurel and Lavinia, followed by Gincie, made last-minute purchases.
The shopkeeper welcomed Laurel warmly but grew stony-faced at the list of clothes Laurel wished to purchase. “Mademoiselle Delaney, these clothes are not fit for a lady like yourself. I suggest satins and silks rather than … calico.” Madame Daphne could barely say the word. Laurel hid her smile behind her gloved hand.
“I have all the satins I need,” Laurel assured the woman. “I should like to be comfortable on my trip to Texas. The weather, so far this year, has been unseasonably warm. However, if you can’t oblige me…
“Oui, I shall immediately have gowns sewn for you,” the Frenchwoman said hurriedly. Her eyes skimmed with interest over Lavinia. “And what about you, mademoiselle? If I recall, you appreciate the finest silks. Why, when you and the gentleman were in here last month, I told you we’d soon receive a French silk. It has arrived, and the color will perfectly complement your eyes.”
“No, thank you.” Lavinia spoke icily and made a hasty retreat from the shop.
Laurel thanked the flustered Madame Daphne. Before she joined Lavinia on the street, Gincie whispered, “Miss Lavinia’s up to
somethin’.”
Laurel realized Gincie was most probably correct, but what Lavinia did with her time and with whom she spent it were none of her concern. Still, Laurel felt curiosity as to the man’s identity.
“Shall we go?” Lavinia asked brusquely and flounced down the street ahead of Laurel and Gincie.
Later they stopped at the French Market. Laurel helped Gincie choose fresh fruits and vegetables for supper while Lavinia stood at a distance. As Laurel walked among the stalls of colorful and fragrant-smelling produce, she noticed a young man approach Lavinia and engage her in conversation. At this moment Gincie asked a question about the menu for the next day, and Laurel turned her attention to her servant. By the time she cast a glance back in Lavinia’s direction, the man was gone and Lavinia stood transfixed.
Lavinia’s face was as white as the lace on the edge of her green bonnet. Immediately Laurel realized something was wrong with her cousin. She rushed headlong through the throng of bustling people and past the stalls until she reached Lavinia.
“Lavinia, whatever is the matter?”
Blue eyes, filled with an unfathomable fear, flickered over Laurel. Laurel repeated her question, but Lavinia seemed barely able to speak.
“I … must get home,” she said at last through pale, trembling lips.
Gincie joined them as Laurel helped Lavinia into the carriage. At home, Lavinia sat on the sofa and refused to drink the tea offered to her by Gincie.
“You’re acting real peculiar,” Gincie frankly told her.
“Leave me alone, both of you! I don’t need your forced solicitations.”
Lavinia jumped off the sofa and paced the room like a caged tigress. Laurel nodded to Gincie to leave them alone.
“When are you going to tell me what’s troubling you?” Laurel asked after Gincie’s departure.
Lavinia attempted to feign ignorance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Nothing is wrong with me.”
Sighing in exasperation, Laurel poured some tea into a teacup. “I noticed a young man speaking to you at the market. After his departure you looked ready to faint. Do me the courtesy of telling me the truth, dear Cousin. I’m beginning to wonder if you’ve ever been truthful about anything. I have never asked you about all those afternoons when you left the house and returned with packages, or about the expensive gowns you’re suddenly wearing. Evidently you spent your time with a more than generous man. Madame Daphne mentioned that today.”
“That woman and her big mouth! I’d like to ram one of her bolts of French silk down her throat.”
Laurel couldn’t help smiling. At least Lavinia was her feisty self again, and color had invaded her cheeks. “Why don’t you tell me everything, Lavinia, and no lies?”
When Lavinia finished telling Laurel about her affair with Auguste St. Julian and his subsequent death, Laurel remained silent. She had no idea what to say to Lavinia. Never had she imagined something so tragic had befallen her cousin, but she felt that Lavinia’s headstrong attitude had caused her own misery.
“Are you going to lecture me now, Laurel, tell me what a wicked woman I am for becoming involved with a married man?”
Laurel shook her head and gently patted Lavinia’s hand. “I don’t believe you’re wicked, and I won’t judge you. All I hope is that in the future, you’ll give more thought to the men you become involved with.”
Twisting the kerchief in her hands, Lavinia gave a nasty laugh. “Thank you for that.”
“You didn’t mention the young man at the market. Who was he?”
“He was Auguste’s driver when he stayed in the city. He said he wished to warn me about a private investigation by a family member into Auguste’s death. Someone in the St. Julian family has discovered my identity and holds me accountable for Auguste’s sudden demise.”
“But you didn’t kill the man. He died of natural causes,” Laurel remarked.
Lavinia got up and moved restlessly about the room. “Evidently this person wants revenge of some kind.” After a few moments she stopped, and her face was wreathed in fear. “We must travel by steamboat through the bayous before we take the coach into Texas. The St. Julians are quite powerful in the bayou country. Laurel, anything could happen to me before I arrive home. I can’t leave for San Antonio now. I can’t risk entering the bayou country. My life is at stake!”
“Hush!” Laurel attempted to calm her and pulled her down beside her on the sofa again. “I admit your situation is a serious one, but no one is going to harm you. Did St. Julian’s driver give you the person’s name?”
Lavinia shook her auburn head. Fear still gleamed in her eyes.
“Then perhaps all he heard was a rumor of vengeance. Maybe this investigator was only checking into the facts, and now that the police have ruled St. Julian’s death was from a natural cause, I doubt very much if you’re in danger. You might be guilty of being indiscreet, Lavinia, of dallying with a married man, but murder, no. No one can hold you accountable for such a thing.”
Lavinia longed to believe Laurel, but she couldn’t stop her mind from running away with her. “I can’t go to San Antonio. I shall be harmed if I do, I know I will.”
“Stop it! We will go to San Antonio. Your father needs you. We’ll simply come up with a plan to protect you.”
“What sort of plan?” Lavinia asked, immediately interested.
“I’m not certain.” Laurel shrugged her shoulders and contemplated her cousin. Lavinia was extremely beautiful in a wild sort of way. She was the type of woman people noticed immediately, but if her hair were worn more severely and she dressed in darker clothing, then whoever was searching for Lavinia Delaney would be put off … at least until they reached Texas.
Laurel grabbed Lavinia’s hand and pulled her up. “Come upstairs with me,” she told her cousin. “We’re going to change a silk purse into the proverbial sow’s ear.”
~
As Laurel and Lavinia boarded the Cotton Blossom nearly a week later, Gincie, who walked behind them, shook her turban-clad head in dismay. “Ain’t right, Miss Laurel,” she muttered.
“Hush, Gincie,” Laurel rebuked the woman. “We’re doing this for Lavinia.”
From the levee, the busy hum of labor reached Laurel when she stood on deck while the trunks were taken from the carriage and brought to the boat. People of all tongues, all races and nationalities buzzed on the dock in Babel-like confusion. Despite the strangeness of the circumstance, Laurel looked forward to her Texas journey; however, she didn’t believe she could say the same for Lavinia.
“How long do I have to stand out here with all eyes upon me?” Lavinia asked in agitation. “I feel quite ridiculous. Did you actually wear this hideous dress once?”
The “hideous dress” Lavinia referred to was a dark-brown calico that Laurel had worn to church on Sundays when she was in Boston. The dress was plain but serviceable, and Laurel thought Lavinia resembled the part she played rather well. With her thick auburn hair pulled tightly back into a coil at the base of her neck, the prim brown bonnet on her head, and the pair of spectacles that had belonged to Laurel’s mother perched on her nose, she indeed resembled a lady’s companion. No one would be able to identify her as the wildly beautiful Lavinia Delaney. Until they reached Texas, Lavinia would be known as Agatha Malone.
“You look quite respectable,” Laurel told her in lieu of another description.
“I look like hell, and you know it. I believe you’re enjoying my humiliation, Cousin Laurel.”
Perhaps she was at that. For the first time in her life, Lavinia’s beauty paled alongside her own. Laurel only smiled. “If you want to change, you may do so. But if a relative of St. Julian’s should be searching for you, you’ll be safe in your disguise. Remember, I’m not the one who has to travel incognito.”
“Oh, bother! I’m going to the cabin and wait until supper.” Lavinia stalked off after Gincie, leaving Laurel on deck with an amused grin on her face.
It was then she saw him out of
the corner of her eye. The man must have been watching her for some time. He leaned on the railing and shot her a penetrating glance that sent shock waves down to her toes. Never had any man looked at her with such a degree of arrogance. He appraised her as if she were a tasty confection in a sweet shop, yet he seemed to find her not at all to his liking. She noticed his eyes, which were blacker and harder than granite, flickered over her steadily.
Laurel felt herself color under his intense perusal. Briefly she wondered if her lace petticoat showed beneath the rose-colored satin crinoline. Her matching bodice with white lace at the square neckline, she knew, wasn’t cut indecently low, but she wondered if her bonnet were askew. The thought occurred to her that this man found nothing lacking in her physical appearance. Indeed, the hungry look in his eyes was testament to that fact, but he evidently didn’t think much of her as a person. Laurel didn’t care for such rudeness from a stranger.
Lifting her chin high, she attempted to pass him without glancing in his direction, but he blocked her way and bowed formally. The river breeze ruffled the strands of his curly black hair when he straightened. “Good morning,” he said in a silky voice.
She caught the scent of fresh tobacco, mingled with his own musky male scent. This man cut a dashing figure in a dark frock coat with matching trousers. Many women would melt willingly into this man’s arms, if given half a chance. Laurel might be inexperienced in the ways of passion, but she was well aware that some men could ruin a woman with a glance. She felt this man was one of those.
“We haven’t been formally introduced, sir.” She sounded curt, very cold. The man only smiled, but there was no warmth in his eyes.
“I am a stranger to New Orleans, mademoiselle. I hope not to be a stranger to you much longer. I shall make it a point to be properly introduced to you.”
With that remark, he bowed again and then quickly walked away. Laurel thought he was an odd man and didn’t care for the way her heart thumped in her chest. But when she was in Boston she had been approached by men who were less than gentlemen, and her frosty manner had deterred them. She didn’t believe an icy approach would matter to this man. Already she sensed he was a hunter, and she the prey, and not about to be stopped until he had made his kill.
Midnight Flame Page 2
