The Inheritance

by Rochelle Alers

  Hannah knew St. John was right, but the main house wasn’t her concern. When she’d contemplated asking Tonya if she’d be willing to relocate to New Orleans to open her own restaurant, she mentally chided herself for expecting a stranger to move to another state just to fulfill her personal dream of becoming an innkeeper.

  “You’re right. I am worrying too much.” She closed her eyes, exhaled an inaudible sigh, and shifted into a more comfortable position. “And it doesn’t help that I’m as full as a tick. My brain always seems to shut down whenever I eat too much.”

  St. John smiled. “I’m with you. I know I definitely ate too much.”

  “I always overdo it whenever I order from Chez Toussaints. Now, if I could entice your cousin to come and work for me, I’d be in hog heaven.”

  “That will never happen, Hannah. Eustace wouldn’t give up Chez Toussaints even if you offered him ten million dollars. And it’s not about money but carrying on a family tradition for his children, grandchildren, and eventually great-grands.” St. John sat up. “Speaking of families, I looked over the DuPont family tree and discovered there were a few placées and children of plaçages.”

  “Some of them are the descendants of distant cousins I’ve never met,” Hannah admitted. “It was Grand-mère DuPont who knew most of the family’s secrets. When I was a girl I’d sneak downstairs and listen outside the parlor when she’d whisper about mixed-race DuPonts who were fair enough to pass for white, and either left New Orleans for another parish or moved up North to escape Jim Crow. Some of them married into the white race, while there were a few women who gave birth to children of a questionably darker hue and that’s when, as they say, the cat was out the bag.”

  “Do you know what happened to them and their children?”

  Hannah nodded. “I recall reading a letter about one couple living in Ohio who told townspeople the baby’s mother was part Native American, because there were no laws forbidding whites to marry Native Americans. I came across a diary entry about Elijah DuPont, who gave up his inheritance and moved to Canada with his placée. They eventually married and had ten children.”

  “Do you still have the letters, or did you donate them to the historical society?”

  “I donated everything. But whenever you’re ready to research the DuPont gens de couleur libres I’ll contact the archivist at the historical society to allow you access to everything. Just be prepared to spend at least a month reading letters, diaries, Bibles, and legal documents going back more than two centuries.”

  St. John stared at her under lowered lids. “Now I have to rearrange my roster. I have the families listed alphabetically, which means I’m going to skip over B and C and go directly to D.”

  “There’s a lot to go over. The DuPont men were quite generous when it came to spilling their seed, and their wives and mistresses quite prolific when documenting what was going on in their lives.”

  A hint of a smile lifted the corners of St. John’s mouth. “Back then most white male colonists couldn’t marry until they’d accumulated some wealth, so they usually turned to women of color as consorts.”

  “That still didn’t make it right, St. John.”

  He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I’m not saying it was right. Please, let’s not rehash this, because I don’t need you going off on me again.”

  Hannah blinked once. “I had no idea that I’d gone off on you before.”

  “I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have used that phrase.”

  She inclined her head, smiling. “I accept your apology.”

  The last thing she wanted to do was get into a verbal confrontation with St. John; it was only after she’d read the recorded narratives of her family’s history that she saw them in a whole new light. She understood why her grandmother didn’t want her to know about the scandalous behavior of some of her male ancestors who’d physically and emotionally abused their slaves, wives, mistresses, and placées.

  St. John swung his legs over the side of the lounger, coming to his feet. Reaching into the rear pocket of his jeans, he took out his cell phone, tapped an icon, and within seconds the melodious tone of a muted trumpet filled the room. He extended his hand to Hannah.

  “Please dance with me.”

  She placed her hand on his palm, and he eased her to a stand, and then swung her into the circle of his arms, her curves molded to the contours of his lean, hard body. Hannah was certain St. John felt the runaway pumping of her heart against his chest as she sank even further into his embrace. A swath of heat swept over her, settling in her chest and then moved lower. Unfamiliar sensations and those she’d forgotten frightened her as she followed St. John’s strong lead.

  She swallowed back a moan when she felt his warm breath against her hair, wondering if St. John knew what he was doing to her. How dancing with him reminded her of how long it had been since she had experienced any close physical contact with a man. He spun her around in an intricate dance step, her sock-covered feet following his expert lead.

  “Very nice, sweetheart.” St. John whispered against her ear.

  “Do you call all women sweetheart?”

  She had to talk, say something if only not to think about how her feelings for St. John deepened each time they were together. Yes, they were friends and she enjoyed his company but she wanted more—much more. Reuniting with him made her aware of her femininity, of the passion she was capable of offering a man, and how wrong she’d been to punish every man who’d expressed an interest in her for her late husband’s licentious behavior.

  “No. Just the ones I like.”

  She smiled, easing back slightly to see his expression. “Would it bother you if I call you darling?”

  “No.” A slow grin revealed a mouth filled with straight, white teeth. “But only if I can be your darling.”

  Hannah stared at his strong, masculine jaw. “Do you want to be my darling, St. John?”

  His lids lowered as he stared at her parted lips. “Yes. But you have to tell me the requisites in order to become your darling, sweetheart.”

  “We see each other exclusively for the duration of the summer.”

  He nodded. “I can do that. Is there anything else?” St. John asked when she paused.

  She shook her head. “I can’t think of anything else.” And she couldn’t. The only thing she wanted from St. John was not to share him with other women as she unknowingly had done with Robert.

  He pulled her closer, resting his chin on the top of her head. “As your darling do I have permission to kiss you?”

  Hannah closed her eyes, realizing they were taking their friendship to another level, and although her head told her to say no, it was her body that refused to listen to the dictates of her mind. “Yes,” she breathed out.

  St. John cradled her face in his hands, lowered his head, and brushed a whisper of a kiss over her mouth. Her hands covered his, and as he deepened the kiss, her lips parted of their own volition. She felt herself drowning in an abyss of newly awakened passion that could only be assuaged with his erection inside her.

  Without warning, she was lifted off her feet as St. John’s mouth devoured hers in a marauding, smothering kiss that stole the very breath from her lungs. Her arms went around his neck, clinging to him, and she knew if he released her, she would collapse to the floor like a rag doll. She’d agreed to let him kiss her; kisses she knew were a prelude to foreplay. In her erotic dreams she’d fantasized about a man making love to her, and Hannah feared sleeping with St. John would impact their easygoing friendship.

  Pushing against his chest, she managed to extricate her mouth, her breasts rising and falling heavily under her favored man-tailored shirt. She closed her eyes and bit down on her lip to keep from begging St. John to make love to her. The dormant sexuality had awakened and now screamed for release. Hannah realized she was falling for St. John, and falling hard, while not knowing where it would lead.

  “Please,” she pleaded against his throat.
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  Burying his face in her hair, St. John breathed a kiss on her scalp. “Please what?”

  “I can’t do this right now.” What she meant was she couldn’t allow him to continue to kiss her and not have him make love to her. She was on fire—everywhere.

  * * *

  St. John pressed his mouth against the rapidly beating pulse under Hannah’s ear. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been aware of a growing physical tension between them whenever they shared the same space, yet he wasn’t certain whether she was ready to go from friends to lovers. His promise to see her exclusively meant he would spend his entire summer break in New Orleans rather than spending several weekends in Baton Rouge.

  “Does this mean I can’t kiss you again?”

  “No. I mean yes, you can kiss me again. It’s just that it’s been a while since a man—a man . . .”

  St. John’s eyes caught and held hers. “You don’t have to explain. I know it can’t be easy for you to get involved with another man after being married for so long.”

  She pressed her lips tightly together. “It has nothing to do with the length of my marriage.”

  Now he was totally confused. “If it’s not that, then what is it?”

  “I’ve only been with one man, and I don’t know I can satisfy you if we do happen to sleep together.”

  Hannah caught him completely off guard, because St. John hadn’t expected her to be that straightforward. She had changed from the shy, reticent girl he’d remembered to a direct and very confident woman.

  St. John schooled his expression not to reveal his confusion. “Why are you talking about sleeping together when you haven’t given me any indication that it’s something you want? And if you want the truth, then you should know is it hasn’t been easy for me to keep my hands off you.”

  Her eyelids fluttered wildly. “And you think it’s been easy for me?” Hannah admitted.

  He was momentarily mute, unable to form a comeback. Not once during their brief encounters had she given him a hint that she was remotely interested in him for anything other than friendship. St. John cradled her face between his palms. “Hannah. Sweetheart. We’re not a couple of teenagers debating whether we should or shouldn’t sleep together. We’re adults—consenting adults who don’t have to answer to anyone but ourselves for our actions. I realize this is harder for you than it is for me because you’ve only slept with one man, but I’m more than willing to give you the lead as to where we’re going to take our friendship.”

  She nodded. “If we do sleep together, then there’s no way we can remain friends.”

  He smiled. “What the expression? We’ll be friends with benefits.”

  “Friends with benefits that are certain to change both of us,” she said softly.

  * * *

  A tender glow flowed through Hannah, wrapping her in invisible warmth as she experienced a return of a confidence she hadn’t felt in years. Then she’d taken complete control of her life when she told Robert although she wouldn’t divorce him, they would never sleep together again.

  Fast-forward ten years and now she and St. John had rekindled their friendship, this time as equals. There was one time in the past when she’d thrown a hissy fit because he wouldn’t do what she wanted, and he told her to grow up, because he had no time to entertain her childish tantrum.

  She had to swallow her pride and apologize; he’d given her a disapproving glare before accepting her apology. Although they’d resumed their friendship, Hannah knew things had changed between them, and it had taken years before she realized her outburst mirrored her mother’s behavior whenever she didn’t get her way.

  Taking her hand, St. John led her to the sectional grouping, sitting and pulling her down beside him. Draping an arm around her shoulders, he pulled her close. “I’ve never lied to you, and I don’t want to start now. When I saw you again at the reunion, it was as if I was seeing you for the first time, because we’re not married to other people. And when we were classmates I never allowed myself to think of you other than as a friend.”

  Hannah rested her head against his shoulder. “Are you saying if I hadn’t been dating Robert or you Lorna, you would’ve asked me out?”

  “I doubt it. Not because I didn’t find you attractive, but it was that we were going in different directions. Remember, you were engaged and going off to college, while I was planning to attend Howard University with the intent of joining the ROTC. I was discouraged by several of my older cousins who’d fought in Vietnam from enrolling in the program. They talked about killing Vietnamese, not knowing whether they were ally or enemy, because they were following orders. Some of them are still suffering from PTSD, and whenever they hear a helicopter they experience flashbacks.”

  “Do you regret not following through on a career in the military?” Hannah asked as she draped her denim-covered legs over his thighs.

  “No, only because I’ve learned not to regret any choice I’ve made of my own free will. Is there anything you’ve done that you now regret?” The seconds ticked as Hannah appeared to ponder his question.

  “I regret I married so young.”

  “How old were you?” St. John asked.

  “Twenty-one. Three weeks after graduating college I became Mrs. Robert Lowell, and we still hadn’t celebrated our first anniversary when I gave birth to my son.”

  “That’s very young, by today’s statistics. I believe the average is now somewhere around twenty-seven for a woman.”

  “How old were you when you married Lorna?”

  “Twenty-five. We’d agreed to wait until I finished grad school. Lorna was working as a nurse and still living with her aunt and uncle to save money, and after I got a position teaching at a high school in Kenner, we had enough cash to put a down payment on a house in Tremé.”

  “You never had children.” Hannah’s question was a statement.

  “Lorna didn’t want any.”

  “Did you know this before you married her?”

  “No.”

  “And you were okay with it?”

  He kissed the top of her head. “You don’t miss what you’ve never had. Did you plan to have one child?”

  “After I had Wyatt, I waited a few years before trying to give him a brother or sister, but I never got pregnant again. I don’t regret it, because he’s a wonderful son who has given me two adorable grandbabies.”

  St. John shifted her body so they lay side-by-side, she savoring his warmth and the sensual scent of his cologne. They lay together, each lost in private thoughts as the distinctive voice of Adele singing “Sweetest Devotion” filled the room.

  “That’s a good song for a tango,” he said offhandedly.

  She smiled. “You’re right.”

  Softly falling rain sluiced down the glass as Hannah closed her eyes and succumbed to a peace that made her want to surrender herself to the man holding her in a protective embrace. If possible, she wanted to lie with him until hunger, thirst, or nature forced her to get up.

  “Are you falling asleep on me, sweetheart?”

  “No. I was just thinking,” she admitted, not opening her eyes.

  “I hope you’re not thinking about your inn.”

  “No. I realize now worrying and agonizing over something over which I have no control is counterproductive.”

  “Do you have a backup plan if you don’t get approval?” St. John questioned.

  “I don’t need a backup plan. The lease on my apartment expires at the end of September and because I don’t plan to look for another job, I’m not going to renew it.”

  He traced the outline of her ear with his fingertips. “Are you saying you’ll move back here permanently?”

  Lifting her head, Hannah gave St. John a direct stare, suddenly elated by her newfound objectivity. She lay in the arms of man with whom she could have an honest relationship without having to change into someone she didn’t want to be. And she planned to move back to the city of her birth to do what she’d always wanted to d
o—practice law. She would study for the Louisiana bar and, once licensed, establish a practice where she’d advocate for and defend marginalized women and their children.

  “Yes. Inn or no inn, that’s exactly what I’m saying. I’m going to take the Louisiana bar, and after I pass I’m going to open a practice.”

  “So you’re really serious about not teaching?”

  Hannah pulled back, putting some distance between her and St. John. Even if she’d thought about teaching a pre-law course, she knew that wasn’t going to happen now that she’d found herself personally involved with a department head of the college.

  “I can’t teach at your college even if I wanted to, because I’ve made it a practice not to mix business with pleasure.”

  His expressive eyebrows lifted a fraction. “Are you speaking from experience?”

  “Yes. I went out with a junior partner at the firm where I’d worked, and after I refused to sleep with him, he started a rumor that I preferred women to men because he believed he was god’s gift to women.”

  “Pig!” St. John spat out.

  Hannah managed a small, tentative smile when she recalled the names she hurled at him, while verbally attacking his manhood minutes before handing in her resignation and walking out. “I left on not too pleasant terms, but managed to find another position four months later with the investment bank and earning more than twice what I’d earned at the other firm.”

  “What made you decide to move to New York?”

  “Once Robert started hinting about retiring from the navy, I began studying for the New York Bar. I passed on my first attempt and told him I wanted to move to New York. He said he wanted to move back to Baton Rouge, so I told him he could live wherever he wanted, because after eighteen years of uprooting my household moving from base to base, it was my turn to determine where we should live. Wyatt had been accepted as a cadet at the Air Force Academy, so as an empty nester that strengthened my resolve. Within a month of Robert of becoming a civilian, a former admiral offered him a position at the Defense Department. After he was granted security clearance, he rented a furnished studio apartment in D.C. and commuted between Washington and New York every other weekend.