A thoughtful expression on his lean face, he looked across at Leonie and asked carefully, "Have you any particular place you would like to live?"
Her heart sank like a lump of lead, as any hope that he might want to make their marriage work fled. Obviously he meant to send her away as soon as he repaid the dowry. Perhaps sooner, if he could arrange it, she thought miserably. Gathering her flagging spirits and ignoring the ache in the region of her heart, she smiled and said, "It was always my intention to live at Chateau Saint-Andre."
For a long, reflective moment, Morgan turned the idea around in his head. Everything he had learned of the Chateau Saint-Andre was discouraging, but then, it had once been a productive, profitable plantation... and it could be again. Especially, he decided slowly, if he could regain the lost acreage. If he were to invest his own money in it there was no reason why it couldn't provide them with a pleasant living. Besides which, he admitted ruefully, he rather doubted his stubborn beloved would settle for anyplace else. "Very well," he said, "if that's what you want."
Her chin set at a proud angle, Leonie replied, "It is, monsieur. If you will remember, it was to save Saint-Andre that I came to Natchez in the first place."
Morgan made a face. "So it was," he admitted. "Well, since that has been decided," he continued, "I see no reason not to send for Justin and the others. It will take them some time to pack and ready for the journey and by the time they arrive here we should have things settled."
Leonie nodded numbly, wondering if people really did die of broken hearts. Certainly hers was cracking into tiny pieces with every calm, indifferent word Morgan spoke. How easily he disposes of everything, she thought painfully. As if we were unwanted baggage that he is pushing out of his life. But did you expect anything else? she demanded. You knew he never wanted to marry you! So why should you be surprised now that he wants you out of his life? Because, her heart replied wistfully, there were times when he looked at me or held me in his arms and—and because I love him most dreadfully. Ah, bah! she scolded herself. You are a simpleton, Leonie, a gooseheaded simpleton, if you do love him!
To Morgan, she asked, "Will you send the message to Le Petit, or shall I?"
"I'll do it," he said. "There will be several other things that must be taken care of too, so if you don't mind, I'll send Saul with the letter rather than entrusting it to the mail."
"As you wish," Leonie returned, her fingers digging into the palms of her hands as she fought to control the urge to burst into tears.
Leonie's subdued mood hadn't escaped Morgan, that and the fact that she seemed to be angry and yet forlorn at the same time. That she had reason to be angry he couldn't deny—from her point of view she had been treated abominably and he was aware that it was going to be no easy task convincing her of his own innocence... or gaining her trust. A feeling of impotent rage swept through him when he thought of Ashley, and bleakly he looked across at Leonie, cursing the trick that fate had played against them. But conscious of the need for time, and hoping to erase the unhappy droop to her lovely mouth, he said with forced cheerfulness, "I'll see to it immediately and in no time at all Justin will be scampering underfoot." Glancing at his watch, he murmured, "And as there are several things I mean to see about this afternoon, if you do not mind, I shall leave you on your own for a few hours."
Leonie shook her head, almost glad to see him leave. She needed a respite from the bittersweet pleasure of his company... and time to consider a future that did not have Morgan Slade in it.
Bidding Leonie a brief good-bye, Morgan quickly left the room and went in search of Litchfield. Finding his manservant unpacking the few valises they had brought with them, Morgan informed Litchfield of what had transpired.
Showing no surprise at all, Litchfield replied sedately, "Of course, Ashley. How stupid of us not to have thought of him." Throwing Morgan a questioning glance, he asked, "Have you told the madame?"
"And have her think I'm mad? Do you honestly think she'd believe me, if I said, 'Oh, by the way, it wasn't me you married, only my cousin masquerading as me?'" His face twisting wryly, he added, "And considering everything, I can't say that I would blame her!"
"Yes, I do see the problem," Litchfield admitted, hanging up a white linen shirt in the tall mahogany wardrobe. Glancing back at Morgan, who had discovered quill and ink and was beginning to compose a letter to Dominic, Litchfield said, "If Ashley married her using your name, and forging your signature, is she your wife? Or his?"
"Mine!" Morgan shot back before he had time to really consider Litchfield's question. Then he muttered, "I think. I don't know. But," he added, an implacable note in his voice, "it doesn't make any difference. Leonie will be my wife."
A few minutes later, the letter to Dominic safely on its way to Le Petit, Morgan was once again driving the curricle into the city. Though he had planned to drive back into the city before Litchfield had raised the disturbing question of Leonie's real husband, the need to know that answer made the trip even more imperative.
His first stop was the Beauvais townhouse where he learned to his disappointment that Jason had left the city not two days before, heading for Terre du Coeur. His inquiries about Armand's health brought forth the happy news that the old man was on the mend at the Beauvais plantation and that it was hoped he would return to town once he had regained his strength.
Leaving the townhouse, Morgan drove to the offices of Ramey, Ramey, and Jardin, the firm that had always handled the Slade legal affairs in New Orleans. Over several glasses of fine brandy, Morgan told Monsieur Leon Ramey the tale of Ashley's impersonation. At the end of the story, Morgan stared intently into his brandy and asked, "So, now that you know what happened, what I am almost positive happened... tell me, is Leonie my wife, or not?"
It was silent in the room for several seconds as the older man sat in his overstuffed leather chair and seemed to contemplate the air in front of him. Finally, looking at Morgan's tense features, he said, "He may have impersonated you, he may even have married her under your name, tricked the girl and her grandfather to gain the money, but... it is Ashley Slade who is legally her husband."
A shaft of paralyzing pain shot through Morgan and a shout of agonized denial rose up in his throat, but he throttled it. Grimly hanging onto his helpless rage, he asked, "Can the marriage be annulled? To my knowledge it has never been consummated." Some of his fury bursting through, he snarled, "She's never even seen the bastard in the past six years!"
Monsieur Ramey was impervious to Morgan's rage, and calmly he considered the problem. Glancing at Morgan, he asked abruptly, "What of the child? Are you certain the marriage was not consummated?"
His jaw set in an uncompromising line, Morgan gritted out, "Yes, I'm certain—she told me so herself. She will not talk about the child's father, but if he was"—the name gagged him—"Ashley's, she'd have no reason to deny it. Quite the contrary!"
Monsieur Ramey settled back in his chair, looking thoughtful. "The child," he said eventually, "does complicate things, but I think we can resolve that particular problem. But to return to your original question—I believe, considering the circumstances," he murmured, "that an annulment could be obtained... but it will take time. And there will be no way to conceal the infamy of your cousin's actions. The woman would be the one to suffer—could you bear to have her name on everyone's lips?" At the expression on Morgan's face, Monsieur Ramey held up an admonishing finger, "No, mon ami, no matter how many duels you fought, you would not be able to stop the gossip."
Tightly Morgan asked, "What do you suggest?"
Monsieur Ramey pursed his lips. "For the moment I would suggest you continue as you are. Tell her the truth if you wish, but I would not let the truth go any further. It is possible that if we keep the truth amongst ourselves and everyone acts with discretion, that we might brush through this most awkward situation with a minimum of distress for everyone. With your permission, I shall speak to Pere Antoine, to find out what he can do to start proceedings with
in the church. If we are fortunate, he may be the only other person besides ourselves in New Orleans to know of this travesty."
Morgan nodded, aware of the calm good sense in Monsieur Ramey's words. But it did nothing to still the ugly fury that raged within his breast. Ashley was not going to have Leonie! He'd kill him first...
They conversed for some time longer, but finally Morgan prepared to depart. He shook Monsieur Ramey's hand and said, "I'll leave it to you. If you need me, a messenger will find me at Mrs. Brosse's Inn or Chateau Saint-Andre."
Morgan next sought out the Slade business agent. As New Orleans was the port of departure for most of Bonheur's goods, the Slade family had extensive business and social connections in the city. The gentleman Morgan went to see, like Monsieur Ramey, had dealt with the family for many years.
Monsieur LeFort, a dour, pragmatic man approaching middle age, had thought that nothing the heir to the Slade estates could ever do would surprise him. After all, what could one expect of a gentleman who willingly lived with savages for two years? But when Morgan blandly stated that he wanted a rather large sum of gold put into an account for the sole use of his wife, Monsieur LeFort's round blue eyes nearly started from his head. "But—but, Monsieur Slade! Isn't that a trifle excessive? I certainly do not venture to tell you how to spend your money, but do you think it wise to allow a woman to handle so large a sum?"
Morgan smiled, thinking of the years that Leonie had thriftily kept her little family living on a mere pittance. "Monsieur," he said dryly, "believe me when I say that the young lady is more than capable of handling her own affairs."
Monsieur LeFort shrugged his narrow shoulders. "Very well, monsieur. And will there be anything else?"
Morgan was silent for several minutes, wondering at the wisdom of the step he was about to take. He was aware that he could simply allow Leonie to use what she assumed was her dowry to pay off her debt to Maurice de la Fontaine, but something within him balked at that idea. God knows what the little minx could have accomplished with the money, he thought, if her grandfather had not insisted that it be squandered in buying a husband... especially a husband like Ashley. For a moment he looked grim. If only the old man hadn't made the mistake of approaching the wrong Slade!
Feeling an overwhelming need to make some sort of restitution, to do something that would make Leonie see that all men were not unscrupulous bastards, Morgan finally said, "There is a gentleman by the name of Maurice de la Fontaine who holds a note on my wife's home, the Chateau Saint-Andre." The long mouth tightened slightly and he went on, "I should say rather, he holds a note against what remains of the plantation, after the bulk of the acreage had been sold. At any rate, I want you to pay off the debt in full immediately."
Thinking of all the money that was going to be leaving his wise management, Monsieur LeFort fidgeted with some papers on his desk. "That is in addition to the money you want deposited in your wife's account?"
Morgan almost grinned, aware of Monsieur LeFort's frugality. "Yes," he answered cheerfully. A mocking gleam in the blue eyes, he asked, "I do have enough money, don't I?"
Monsieur LeFort sent him a speaking glance. Aware that he was being mocked, he said stiffly, "There is no lack of funds, monsieur, as you must know!"
"Then there shouldn't be any trouble for you to arrange everything, should there?"
Monsieur LeFort nodded. "It will be done within a matter of hours."
Morgan cocked an eyebrow at him. "That soon?" he asked skeptically.
Monsieur LeFort allowed a superior smile to cross his thin features. "Claude Saint-Andre was my client as well as the de la Fontaine family. Maurice de la Fontaine was in here at the beginning of the month speaking to me about the Saint-Andre note—he wanted a quick sale, but until now, I have been unable to find a buyer. He will be pleased that I have arranged the matter so satisfactorily."
"I see," Morgan said slowly. "It appears that de la Fontaine was not going to wait for his money, after all."
"Pardon, monsieur? I'm afraid I don't understand."
"De la Fontaine had told my wife that he would give her an additional thirty days to redeem the property. She thought she had until the first of July to come up with the money."
Monsieur LeFort appeared uncomfortable. Reluctantly, he said, "Monsieur Maurice is not the gentleman his father was."
Privately Morgan thought that was an understatement, but he let it go, even though he filed the information away for future reference. "It makes little difference," he said crisply. "The important thing is that I have that note just as soon as possible."
Monsieur LeFort nodded again. "It will be in your hand by tomorrow afternoon. I am aware that Monsieur de la Fontaine is in the city and one of my assistants will inform him of our transaction immediately. In the morning all I will need is his signature clearing the debt." Hopefully, he asked, "And will that be all for you today, monsieur?"
Morgan slowly shook his head, his lips twitching a little as he pictured the gloom that was about to descend upon Monsieur LeFort's face. And when he informed LeFort what it was he wanted, the business agent's face was gloomy indeed.
A few minutes later a smiling Morgan strode out of Monsieur LeFort's office, but the smile faded as he settled into the curricle and began to drive away from the city toward the inn. Despite the plans that he had set in motion, nothing had really changed. Leonie was still Ashley's wife, and Morgan was aware that if he tried to explain the tangle, she wouldn't believe him. He had trouble believing the situation himself.
If only I had remembered Ashley's trip to New Orleans sooner, he berated himself for the hundredth time. Then at least we wouldn't be so firmly enmeshed in this charade. And Leonie wouldn't be so mistrustful of me, he thought regretfully. All it would have taken, he mused, was just the mention of Ashley's name and everyone in the family would have realized what had occurred. The outcome would have been the same: The entire family, himself included, would have been united behind Leonie and against Ashley. But more importantly, the mistrust and suspicion that had underlined his every move with Leonie would never have existed.
Thinking of how much simpler his relationship with Leonie could have been, Morgan sighed. But then his lips curved in a reminiscent smile. No, he couldn't say that he entirely regretted what had transpired in Natchez, the memory of Leonie in his arms crossing his mind. But even without their living together at Le Petit, he knew he still would have fallen in love with her. I could have courted her properly, he thought, wooed her as she deserves, instead of treating her like the little scheming devil I assumed she was. His mouth twisted. Damn Ashley! Damn, damn him.
* * *
At the moment, Ashley was cursing too, but his cursing had to do with the cramped quarters that had been assigned to him on the ship. At first they hadn't seemed too bad, but after almost a month at sea, and the prospect of another two weeks, his complacency was rapidly disappearing. Even dwelling on the fortune that would be his once he found his wife and returned to Europe no longer had the power to cheer him. Cursing the weather, the sea, the ship, and the necessity for the trip, he stared moodily at the choppy blue-green waters.
I just hope I can find the little bitch without too much trouble, he thought sourly. It'll be my damned luck that she's run away with some itinerant peddler. But then again, he mused, it was possible she was still clinging to the old plantation, in the hope that he would honor their bargain and return the dowry. For a second an unkind grin split his face. Stupid bitch! To think, she had tried to get the better of Ashley Slade. His good humor restored, for a moment he considered the remote possibility that she had finally managed to meet the real Morgan Slade. Picturing the confusion and dismay such an event would have caused, he laughed out loud. If it wasn't imperative for his own bright future to take his rightful place as her husband, Ashley rather thought he would have arranged just such a confrontation. It would have been one way of taking a small measure of revenge against Morgan. By God, but it would be a joy to watch
, he chuckled to himself.
* * *
Morgan found no joy in his present predicament, and Leonie's withdrawn, aloof manner that evening did nothing to help his frustrated impotence. A dozen times, he nearly broached the subject, but Leonie's attitude, stilled the words on his lips. Not that he blamed her—his own actions since they had met had not been kind or charming, he thought with a grimace, as he prepared for bed that night. Tomorrow, he promised, tomorrow will be different. Tomorrow I begin as I should have in the first place.
Leonie's view for the next day was not hopeful. It was true Morgan had been kind at dinner, but protecting herself from the further pain of the approaching separation, she would not let herself respond to his attempts at gallantry or conversation. She wanted it over with. If he was going to leave her, she did not wish to be subjected to a lingering, painful farewell. Just leave me! she thought fiercely, as she lay in bed that night. Just leave me and let me get on with my own life.
In the morning she woke feeling exhausted and depressed. It was an effort to dress, and all she longed for was privacy where she could release all the bitter, unhappy tears that clogged her throat. But Leonie was a fighter, so she forced a pleasant expression, and went to meet Morgan for breakfast.
It was a delightful morning. The sky was a bright, cloudless blue; there was no hint of the enervating mugginess that would permeate the air later.
Even the setting for their breakfast was delightful. During the summer Mrs. Brosse preferred to serve her guests their morning meal on a small patio at the side of the inn. The iron tables and chairs were placed under the welcoming shade of a huge oak tree. Vivid flowers bloomed everywhere; purple bougainvillea cascaded down near one corner of the house, pink camellias grew nearby, and scarlet geraniums danced in the slight breeze that broke the stillness of the air.
But Leonie had no heart to take enjoyment from either the day or her surroundings; her only thought was to see Morgan and make clear that once he had seen to the business of repaying her dowry, that there was no reason for him to have any further involvement in the affairs of the Saint-Andres. She had managed alone before he had so high-handedly taken over her life, and she would manage again.
Deceive Not My Heart Page 38
