The Unforgiven (Echoes from the Past Book 3)

by Irina Shapiro

  “All right. Look, Monica told me you were in New Orleans, and I thought it was too good an opportunity to miss.”

  Quinn exhaled loudly in irritation. Damn Monica Fielding. Why was that woman always interfering in her business? And how did she know where Quinn was staying? Gabe would never have told her.

  “She’s friends with Gabe’s PA,” Luke said as if Quinn had asked the question out loud.

  “Why are you here, Luke?” she asked, wary of his motives.

  “Ashley and I split up.”

  “My condolences,” Quinn replied sarcastically. Luke had hurt her, and she wasn’t about to let him off the hook. She’d loved him for eight years, had trusted him, and had been loyal to him, and he’d betrayed her without a second thought.

  “Quinn, walking out on you was the biggest mistake of my life. I grew too comfortable and too settled. I began to take you for granted. I suppose I stopped noticing you.”

  “But you noticed Ashley?” Quinn knew she sounded bitter, but it hurt to think she’d become invisible.

  “I was dazzled by her. She seemed so confident, so uninhibited, so spontaneous. She didn’t have any of that British reserve. She spoke her mind and did as she pleased, which was refreshing. But once I really got to know her, I realized her lack of inhibition was nothing more than an expression of selfishness. She said and did what she felt like because she didn’t give a damn about the consequences or anyone else’s feelings.”

  “She’s thrown you over, hasn’t she?” Quinn asked, giving Luke a smug grin. Now his unexpected appearance made sense. Free-spirited, uninhibited Ashley had grown tired of him. Perhaps it was his British reserve that had begun to grate on her American nerves.

  “Quinn, I know I don’t deserve a second chance, but I still love you. I didn’t understand how much until I realized I’d lost you for good.”

  Quinn stopped walking and turned to face him. He was the same old Luke. His hair was tousled by the breeze and his blue eyes crinkled at the corners as he gazed at her with his best puppy-dog expression and a winning smile, but there was a wariness about him now, and telltale signs of middle age. Even golden boys grew old, their charm tarnished by years of playing the field and living a life of excess. Luke had never wanted the responsibility of a family. He’d kept putting things off, and making promises that he clearly had no intention of keeping, and Quinn realized she was glad, and grateful. Luke had spared her years of heartache by walking out, and with him gone, she had been able to finally see something that had been there all along, something solid and true, and more romantic than anything she’d ever experienced with Luke.

  “Are you serious?” she asked. “Do you really think that coming here and telling me you’re disappointed and full of regret will win me back? I’ve moved on, Luke, and I am happy. Gabe and I are getting married next month, but I’m sure you already know that.”

  “Yes, I heard,” Luke replied, pulling a face. “Look, you didn’t deserve to be treated unkindly, and I’m very sorry for breaking things off the way I did, but I didn’t think you’d fall into Gabe’s arms as soon as I was gone. Are you really that desperate?”

  Quinn gaped at him. He’d never been spiteful, but this new side of him she was seeing was a revelation. She’d always tap-danced around Luke’s feelings because he avoided confrontations like the plague, but now she meant to tell him the truth without mincing words. Standing in the middle of a cemetery reminded Quinn just how brief life was, and how important it was to be true to yourself and your dreams. All too soon, everything she stood for would be reduced to dust, and she’d be damned if she wasted another minute being unhappy or disappointed.

  “No, Luke. I was desperate to stay with you for as long as I did. I was foolish, and blind, and way too trusting. Don’t think for one moment that I don’t know about your extracurricular activities. Ashley wasn’t the first, and she won’t be the last. But do you know what I realized once you were gone?” she asked, pausing to let him consider her question. “I realized that all the years I’d spend with you were a prelude to something better. You should have never been anything more than a summer fling, because a shag is about the only thing you’ve got to offer.”

  “Oh, is that a fact?” Luke sputtered, clearly cut to the quick by the insult.

  “And do you know why our relationship was doomed?” Quinn continued. “Because whenever I needed a shoulder to cry on, or wanted sound advice, I never turned to you because I knew you were useless. It was always Gabe. You were always up for sex, but you were emotionally unavailable, and will probably be for the rest of your days.”

  “And now you will marry Saint Gabe and raise his spawn because he’s so good at giving advice?” Luke snarled.

  The gloves were off, and Quinn was glad. It was time they said what they meant and put their relationship to rest once and for all.

  “And now I will marry Gabe and raise our daughter because I love him and want to spend the rest of my life with him. Now, please leave. There’s nothing more to be said.”

  “There’s plenty more to be said,” Luke retorted, his anger heightening his color.

  “Quinn, are you all right?” Seth’s expression was as dark as a gathering thunderstorm as he strode down the avenue toward them. Quinn wasn’t sure how much he’d heard, probably just the last bit, but he looked furious.

  “Stay out of it, mate,” Luke growled. “It’s none of your business.”

  “It’s very much my business," Seth replied, his voice dangerously low. “If you don’t turn around and walk away from my daughter right now, I will knock you into the middle of next week, buddy. Am I making myself clear?”

  “Your daughter?” Luke echoed, staring at Seth with new interest.

  “Yes, my daughter. Now, get lost.”

  “This conversation is not over,” Luke warned Quinn.

  “This conversation is very much over,” she replied and slid her arm through Seth’s. “Ready to go?”

  “I sure am.” Seth gave her a brilliant smile and Quinn returned it. It was nice to have a tough dad. “They said at Reception that you asked for directions to the cemetery,” he said as they walked toward the market. “Was there anything in particular you wished to see?”

  “I just wanted to see the Besson family vault and the tomb of Charles Besson,” Quinn replied. Seth didn’t know anything about Corinne, and she wasn’t about to bring her up.

  “I’m a grown man, but that place gives me the creeps,” he said with a chuckle. “We used to dare each other to go there on Halloween when we were kids. That place at night is not for the faint of heart.”

  “No, I would imagine not. It isn’t very pleasant during the day either.”

  “Was that your old flame?” Seth asked conversationally as they entered the bustling market.

  “Yes, that was Luke.”

  “Came back crawling with his tail between his legs, huh?” Seth asked. “Any regrets?”

  “None. Seeing him was actually very therapeutic.”

  “Good, I’m glad. Now, let’s get something to eat. I’m starving.”

  “Me too,” Quinn replied, and realized she was.

  Chapter 22

  September 1858

  Arabella Plantation, Louisiana

  Rather than return from New Orleans by steamboat, George and Madeline traveled home by carriage, which had been sent from the plantation to meet them at the appointed time. It wasn’t as magical as the steamboat journey, but still very pleasant. The open carriage rolled along the River Road, a gentle breeze caressing their faces as slanted rays of afternoon sun dappled the road and twinkled through the intertwined branches of the trees. Madeline felt languid and content, having tasted champagne for the first time with lunch. She barely recalled what she ate, so excited had she been to dine in a restaurant and sit across from George, who was so charming that all the ladies stole glances at him over the rims of their glasses. Not only had Madeline felt grown up, but surprisingly she’d forgotten her misery fo
r hours on end and had experienced a glimmer of hope for the future.

  “George, thank you for a wonderful day,” Madeline said as the carriage left the city behind and entered a tranquil stretch of road. George sat across from her, with his back to the driver, who whistled under his breath as if they weren’t even there.

  “Are you happy?” George asked, smiling at her.

  “Yes. And tired.”

  George came to sit next to Madeline, putting a protective arm about her shoulders. She rested her head on his shoulder, the way she used to when Daddy sat next to her on the settee at home. It felt companionable and natural.

  “Enjoy the drive,” George said softly. “We’ll be home before dark. I’m glad you enjoyed yourself, Maddy. I was beginning to despair of ever seeing you smile.”

  Madeline looked up at and smiled just for him. She was still floating on a cloud of happiness when they arrived at the plantation. The sky was a deep shade of lavender, and the sickle of the new moon seemed to be suspended directly above the house, the delicate crescent surrounded by stars. The air was thick with the scent of flowers and freshly cut grass, and a chorus of insects filled the night with song. Madeline couldn’t ask for a more perfect evening. Still full from lunch, she asked to be excused from supper and went up to her room, where she threw open the widows and snuggled into the widow seat, her arms wrapped around her legs.

  For the first time since her father’s death, Madeline saw a way forward for her. She would get used to life on the plantation, and in time, George would see to it that she was introduced to society and made a good match. Some girls married as young as fifteen, but there was no rush. Amelia had married George when she was eighteen and he twenty-one. That was the perfect age, Madeline decided as she finally left her perch by the window and prepared for bed. Cissy had helped her out of her hoops and corset when she first came in, so all she had to do was put on her nightdress and climb into bed. She stretched out on the cool white sheets, a small smile playing about her lips, and fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

  Sometime in the middle of the night, she was jolted out of a deep sleep by anxious voices in the corridor and the sound of several pairs of feet treading up and down the stairs. Madeline got out of bed and went to the door, peering into the dim hallway. Sybil was standing at the top of the stairs, her expression stern, as Cissy and Bette—still in their nightclothes—brought up pitchers of steaming hot water and clean towels. A low moan came from Amelia and George’s bedroom. The door was closed, but Madeline could hear a man’s voice—not George’s—speaking softly.

  “What’s happened?” Madeline asked Sybil. She rarely addressed her directly, but there was no one to ask except the servants and they looked harassed enough.

  “Amelia’s pains have started,” Sybil replied brusquely.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “You can go back to your room and not get in the way.”

  Sybil’s tone brooked no argument, so Madeline did as she was told and got back into bed, but sleep was impossible. After about an hour she retreated to the window seat where she wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and fitted herself deeper into the corner, making herself as small as possible as life went on just outside her room. Amelia’s moans turned to screams, and Madeline heard George’s voice several times, begging for news of his wife through the closed door of their bedroom.

  “George, go downstairs and wait,” Sybil replied, as if addressing an errant boy. “Dr. Holbrook will speak to you as soon as he is able.”

  Madeline heard George’s footsteps as he trudged down the stairs. She considered joining him, but changed her mind, not wishing to intrude. Madeline found her dark corner comforting and remained in her hiding place, her ears attuned to whatever was happening down the hall.

  The night dragged on. Amelia’s screams grew more desperate and hoarse, and Sybil’s commands to the servants more hostile. Madeline must have dozed off in the small hours because when she woke the house was silent. A faint strip of light rimmed the horizon as night finally gave way to morning, and a fresh wind moved through the trees, making the gauzy curtains billow like the sails of a ship. Madeline stretched her stiff muscles, fetched her dressing gown, and quietly stepped into the corridor. She couldn’t hear any sounds coming from Amelia’s room, so she made her way downstairs. Cissy or Bette might be up, although they would be exhausted after a night of boiling water and running up and down with kettles and towels.

  The first floor was still dark, except for a faint light glowing beneath the parlor door. Perhaps George had fallen asleep and forgot to turn down the lamp. Madeline stopped on the stairs, unsure whether to return to her room or check on George, when she heard Sybil’s voice coming from the parlor. She was speaking very low, but Madeline could still make out her words in the tomb-like silence of the house.

  “Pull yourself together, George. The child didn’t stand a chance. Surely you realized that as soon as Amelia went into labor. A few more weeks in the womb and it might have survived. I’ve known seven-month babies who suffered no ill effects, but this one came too early. Pity Amelia didn’t die in childbirth,” she added coldly.

  “Grandmamma, what are you saying?” George sounded more bewildered than angry. His voice cracked with fatigue and bitterness, and Madeline was sure he’d been crying.

  “I’m saying that Amelia has lost three babies. I really thought she’d carry this one to term, but it wasn’t meant to be. You must get rid of her, George.”

  “She’s my wife,” George protested.

  “A wife who can’t give you a living child, and likely never will. Accuse her of adultery and start divorce proceedings against her.”

  “I will not!”

  “So what do you propose? Staying married to a woman who’s as good as barren? Don’t be a fool, Georgie.”

  “Don’t call me that. I’m not a child.”

  “You’re carrying on like one. A man does what must be done.”

  “Grandmamma, Amelia just lost a child. Don’t you think she’s suffered enough? I will not be cruel to her. I love her.”

  Madeline heard Sybil’s hiss of derision. “Love! What’s that got to do with anything? Duty is what matters. You are the last living Besson male. It is your duty to run this plantation and make it profitable. It is your duty to produce an heir to leave the plantation to. And it is your duty to do what’s right for future generations. Amelia is nothing but a cog in a wheel. When the cog breaks, you replace it with a new one.”

  “The way grandfather replaced you?” George asked, his tone mocking.

  Madeline cringed when she heard the sound of a slap. “Shut up, you insolent pup! You will do as you are told.”

  “Or what?” George baited her. “What will you do?”

  Sybil remained silent.

  “That’s what I thought. Perhaps you should consider taking a European holiday. It will do you good.”

  “The only way I will leave this plantation will be in a pine box,” Sybil retorted.

  “And that day will come sooner than you think if you continue to lord it over me, Grandmamma. You look tired. Perhaps you should get some rest.”

  Madeline crept up the stairs and returned to her room, reeling from the conversation she’d overheard. How could anyone be so cruel? How was it possible that Madeline’s kind, loving father came from this heartless woman who didn’t have a shred of sympathy for anyone? And what had George meant when he mentioned that Sybil’s husband had replaced her? Replaced her with whom? But what troubled Madeline the most was the note in George’s voice when he had threatened his grandmother. Sybil had pushed him too far, but could he really be capable of doing her harm?

  Madeline waited until the usual time, then returned downstairs. The dining room was set up for breakfast, but neither Cissy nor Bette was there. Madeline was surprised to see Mammy coming into the room with a platter of eggs and bacon.

  “Good morning, Madeline,” Mammy said. “And how ar
e you today?”

  “Sad.”

  “Losing a child is a sad business,” Mammy agreed as she set the dishes on the sideboard.

  “Mammy, did you know my grandmother when you were young?”

  Mammy pursed her lips and looked away from Madeline. She pretended to busy herself with rearranging china on the table.

  “Mammy?”

  “Yes, I knew her. And she knew me. And it made neither of us very happy.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that history is best left in the past, child. Now, eat your breakfast. You’s growing too thin.”

  Madeline opened her mouth to ask more questions, but Mammy walked out of the dining room and closed the door behind her, signaling that the conversation was over. Madeline helped herself to some eggs and a strip of bacon, but she didn’t have much of an appetite. Only two days ago she had sat here with Amelia, discussing layettes and baby names. Amelia had planned to call the baby George, but if it happened to be a girl, she favored Rosalie or Josephine. She’d said that George didn’t like either name and thought it might be nice to name the baby Arabella, after the original mistress of the plantation.

  Madeline turned around at the sound of the door opening. She thought Mammy had returned, but it was George. He looked gray and tired, his eyes red-rimmed from exhaustion and grief. He was still wearing the clothes he’d worn yesterday and dark-blond stubble covered his lean cheeks.

  “George, I’m so sorry,” Madeline said. She wished she could hug him, but it didn’t seem appropriate, so she remained where she was.

  “So am I.” George collapsed into a chair and poured himself a cup of strong black coffee.

  “Are you hungry?” Madeline asked.

  “Strangely, yes.”

  Madeline filled a plate for George and set it in front of him. He picked up his fork and began to eat, but his motions were jerky and unnatural.

  After a few forkfuls, George pushed the plate away in disgust. “These eggs are too salty.”

  “Should I ask Mammy to make you some fresh ones?”