“Por Dios! I had not realized.” The Spanish officer turned to Félicité, the handsome lines of his face set in an expression of sober concern. “Accept my condolences for your misfortune, Mademoiselle Lafargue.”
She lifted her chin. “Condolences are not in order, lieutenant. My father is not dead — at least, not yet.”
“Mademoiselle—”
The colonel made an impatient gesture. “Since she is here, Bast, it will be as well if the young lady could be allowed to state her purpose.”
Lieutenant Unzaga inclined his head, unabashed. “Of course. Mademoiselle?”
Félicité glanced from the smiling Spaniard to the Irish mercenary colonel. Because of the light falling from the windows behind him, his face was in shadow, while she herself felt exposed, with every nuance of expression revealed. She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “I — if I might speak privately, colonel?”
Morgan McCormack glanced at the lieutenant, who sighed, said a graceful farewell, and withdrew.
Quiet descended. Now that she had gained the colonel’s attention, she was at a loss. He surveyed her through narrowed eyes that missed nothing, neither the care she had taken with her appearance this morning, nor the quick rise and fall of her breasts beneath her fichu as she strove to contain her agitation. His chestnut hair was damp at the temples with perspiration in the overwarm atmosphere; curling slightly despite being severely clubbed back. There was an inkstain on one finger of his right hand as it lay on a stack of papers. The ruffles of his sleeves and at the neckline of his shirt were mere pleatings of linen unadorned with lace, a detail that made him seem austere, unapproachable. Félicité wished suddenly that she had not come. Speaking with this man would avail her nothing except embarrassment, and it might well make the situation in which she and her father found themselves worse, if such a thing were possible.
“Well, Mademoiselle Lafargue?”
“As you must have guessed, colonel,” she began, her voice husky and her hands clasped before her, “I have come because of my father. For him to be imprisoned, for any of the men to be put behind bars, is unjust and unjustifiable.”
“Are you saying your father and the others are not guilty of conspiring against the Spanish crown?” Despite her accusation, there was no heat in the question he put to her.
“How can they have conspired against the crown when the king’s representative had not officially taken possession of the colony? They were men without a country, repudiated by France, and not yet claimed by Spain.”
“That is not true. The Treaty of Fontainebleau had been signed, the Spanish representative was in residence. If Ulloa did not present his credentials, it was because he was reluctant to further inflame the feelings of the populace against him. But no man of those who marched and shouted revolutionary refrains could have doubted that Louisiana had become the property of Spain. Therefore, the things they did brand them as guilty.”
“I don’t concede that,” Félicité.’ said, “but even if it were true, why these men and no others? Why not round up every able-bodied man in the colony, every person who spoke or whispered, or even dared to think of governing themselves instead of submitting to a king who cared nothing for their welfare, a ruler thousands of miles away? If this is conspiracy, then nearly every person in the colony is equally guilty. It is a travesty to arrest a few for the crimes of the many.”
“There are many who commit murder, but the ones who are imprisoned are either those who are caught in their crime, or those whose probable guilt can be proven.”
“My father is not a murderer! He is only a draper, a dealer in silks and cottons who likes to concern himself with ideas and ideals in his leisure time. There is no reason for him to be singled out unless it is a matter of petty vengeance!”
He came to his feet, pushing back his chair and moving around to stand with one hand braced on the corner of his desk. “Could it be,” he said in grim query, “that we are now coming to the crux of the matter?”
Félicité resisted the urge to step back away from him. “Yes, I think we are. You are a high-ranking officer in O’Reilly’s entourage. You were incensed when your parade of force through the streets was made ridiculous by the traditional offering of scorn flung by a servant from my father’s house. Then later at the dance—”
“An insult that you ordered, I believe, mademoiselle?”
She bit her lip, vexation and an odd shame she had not felt at the time bringing the heat of a flush to her face. The urge to clear her name, in the hope that it might influence the treatment of her father, vied in her mind with loyalty to Valcour. Though he had left the city, he could not be out of the reach of the arm of Spain should O’Reilly decide to question him more closely about his political convictions.
“You did, didn’t you?” the colonel queried with a lifted brow.
“Yes, yes, I did,” she agreed, transferring her gaze to the landscape of the Loire Valley done in dark oils that covered the wall behind him.
“It has puzzled me that your brother, who was also present at the time, did nothing to stop you. Could it be that he shares your rebellious leanings?”
This was dangerous ground. “Who can say what he thinks, unless it is a question of the merits of one sort of snuff over another, or some such thing? More likely than not, it was sheer indolence that kept him from interfering. You spoke to him yourself while he was detained at your pleasure. Surely you were satisfied that he is not a revolutionary, or you would not have authorized his release.”
“I did not sign any such order.”
“But someone must have.”
Colonel McCormack moved to the front of his desk, where he leaned against it, folding his arms. There was a grating sound in his voice as he answered, “Not to my knowledge.”
“What are you saying? That he escaped?” Félicité flicked him a wide-eyed glance, trying to make sense of the colonel’s attitude, trying to see how this new development might affect her father.
“It appears that he simply walked out, vanished, while the guards were occupied with the women besieging the place, trying to see their men. How the door came to be so conveniently unlocked is a matter still under investigation.”
She hesitated, then took the plunge. “If — if such a thing could happen once, it might happen again.”
“No, it could not. The men now on guard at the barracks were hand-picked, the most reliable from my own company.”
“Oh, yes,” she cried, disappointment making her reckless, “no one else must be spared! The full complement of lawyers, planters, and merchants must be made to suffer as an example to the rest of us! Neither you nor O’Reilly will be satisfied otherwise.”
“The orders to seek out and punish the leaders of the insurgency came from King Carlos himself. The governor-general and I had nothing, personally, to do with the arrest of those unfortunate men. My only connection with this affair has been to obey the direct orders given to me by my commander, dictated from his written instructions brought with him from Spain.”
“Orders,” she said scornfully, “the excuse of all those who preside over actions they know to be wrong. You don’t really expect me to accept that, do you?”
“It’s the truth.”
The strain, the worry and impotent anger of the past few days, pressed in upon Félicité in a great wave, swamping caution. “What do you know of the truth, a paid soldier used to smooth and plausible answers that relieve you of responsibility while you condemn men to death?”
“Are you saying I lie?”
He stared at her, the expression in his eyes grimly shadowed, though there was steel in his tone. She had gone too far. She lowered her lashes, putting her hand to her face. “I don’t know what I am saying. It’s just that — things have happened so quickly, and that I am so afraid for my father. Why? Why must it be him? Why should he be chosen to suffer? He’s no fanatic, no rabble-rouser. He has always been such a quiet, peaceful man. He is a scholar, a man of
ideas, not a revolutionary.”
“Sometimes those are the most dangerous kind,” Colonel McCormack said, a softer note entering his voice. “You must not despair, mademoiselle. The men who have been arrested will be tried in all fairness for their deeds. If your father is as blameless as you say, then the court will discover it, and he will be sentenced accordingly. It is possible he could be released, or spend a few years at most in prison.”
“A few years, plus the confiscation of everything he owns, everything he has worked for his life long. I suppose I must be grateful, also, for this small mercy? May I ask, since so much depends on it, who will be the judge with this power over my father’s life?”
For the first time, the colonel glanced beyond her, the lines of his face stiff. “He will be tried before a panel of judges, in the presence of the governor-general and several officers of rank.”
Félicité allowed herself a bitter smile. “Spanish judges, and Spanish officers, too, I make no doubt. Will you, colonel, be among them?”
“That will be my duty, yes.”
“And what,” she said, drawing a deep, uneven breath, “will it take to assure that my father will receive a fair and impartial trial, that he will be given the lightest possible sentence?”
His brows snapped together, and he came erect, towering over her. “Forgive me, mademoiselle, if I misunderstand you, but are you offering me a bribe?”
The idea was not as unsound as it might appear. Corruption and venality, the exchange of favors, of money and goodwill under the table, had become the accepted way of getting things done in the colony, where the laws designed to benefit a country on the other side of the ocean strangled commerce on this shore. In addition, previous governors sent by the court of France had been much more interested in lining their pockets, or building a base from which to advance to larger things in the service of Louis XV, than they had been in honest and correct administration. Under the French, a probe of the sort she had made, even one so crudely put, would all too likely have been met with playful disclaimers, gracious denials, but eventual smiling accommodation. The colonel was not smiling.
“I meant no insult,” she said hurriedly. “I was merely trying to discover the most promising method of helping my father.”
His features did not relax. “Believe me, mademoiselle, there is none. Though the court may decide the degree of innocence or guilt, the sentences meted out will be decided by the governor-general as the supreme authority in Louisiana. There is no way you, or I, or anyone else, can influence that decision.”
“You can’t actually expect me to believe that you, his fellow countryman, a man guided by him to promotion in the Spanish army, hand-picked to come here as his second-in-command, has no influence, nothing to say in counsel with the governor-general?”
He frowned. “The gossips have been busy.”
“Knowledge can sometimes mean the difference between life and death. Why should vie not talk among ourselves of the men sent to rule over us?” He had not denied that O’Reilly might listen to his opinions. Could it be that his denials before had been nothing more than the rhetoric of pride, mere words to increase her desperation and also the amount she and her father would be willing to expend? Félicité studied the man before her, ready to use any advantage. It was disconcerting to discover that he was watching her with equal intentness.
“I am a colonial officer, a mercenary,” he answered, bitterness etching his tone.
“You are second-in-command with the authority to dismiss an incident such as that of the chamber pot, or, as you claimed, carry it further. That much being true, you could surely arrange leniency for my father.”
“That privilege belongs to Don Alejandro O’Reilly, and to him only, as administrator for the colony.”
“And what of you, Colonel McCormack? Have you no ambition to achieve a similar post, to make your own mark on the New World? If my father were freed, his gratitude would be such that he would be happy to arrange trading concessions, or other access to goods that would bring income useful in your future advancement.”
“Access to goods? I assume you are suggesting smuggling activity, or maybe even the outfitting of a privateer?”
“If that is your preference.”
“Tell me,” he said, his tone colorless, “is your father aware of your promises on his behalf?”
Félicité felt a small thrill of triumph at this expression of interest. “No, he isn’t, but I am certain he would cooperate in any way necessary.”
“I wasn’t aware that the possibilities you outline were within his power to arrange. It occurs to me that it might benefit the crown if a more diligent investigation were made into the affairs of Monsieur Lafargue, perhaps even a reevaluation of his estate!”
There was a glitter of emerald hardness in the sudden, piercing look he sent her from narrowed eyes. With a tightening of her nerves, Félicité recognized that he really was indifferent to the prospect of personal gain. It was an attitude as unfortunate as it was incredible. Through stiff lips she said, “As you please, colonel, since it seems you are determined on your revenge.”
He stared at her for long moments, his gaze drifting from the honey-gold curls confined beneath a muslin cap edged with lace, down over the curve of her cheek to the roundness of her breasts beneath her bodice, then to the slim span of her waist and the fashionable fullness of her skirts. It was a thorough appraisal, one that left her trembling with rage and something more she could not have named.
“As I please? Not quite, mademoiselle. If you are so certain your father is being held because of your behavior, it puzzles me that you offer recompense in such terms that only he can pay. Are you so unwilling to sacrifice your pride for your father’s sake?”
“What do you mean?” The expression in her brown eyes was wary, her tone uncertain.
“I mean, there is a commodity of value that has so far gone unmentioned, one that only you can offer.”
“I don’t think I understand.” She was afraid she did, but she refused to commit herself for fear she was wrong.
“I think you do. I am speaking, Mademoiselle Lafargue, of the pleasure of your company.”
Anger boiled up inside her. The worst thing about his suggestion was that she could not afford to reject it out of hand, could not risk the retaliation that might be directed toward her father. “You — you can’t mean it!”
“Why would you think so? You are a beautiful woman. I am alone in a foreign country, surrounded by people who, to put it mildly, are less than friendly. I find myself growing tired of cold shoulders from the females I meet. A warmer relationship would be most welcome.”
His manner was odd, almost as though he mocked himself instead of her, as though he expected her to take to her heels at any moment, leaving his insolent proposal only half broached. “It’s preposterous! Valcour tried to tell me how it would be. I should have listened to him!”
“And just what did Valcour Murat say?” he inquired in hard tones.
“That you would expect me to — that it would be necessary for me — that—”
He lifted a brow as she stumbled to a halt. “Yes, Mademoiselle Lafargue?”
Embarrassed rage came to her aid. “He said that as a woman I would be fair game, especially to a man like you, that — that the taking of such personal favors was one of the rewards of war.”
“And you are unwilling?”
It was impossible to read his expression behind the screen of his lashes. Félicité lifted her chin. “How could I be anything else?”
A tight smile curled one corner of his mouth. “There was always the possibility of an unexpected boon. But let it go. As fascinating as the idea might be, that was not my meaning.”
“It wasn’t?” She was relieved, of course she was, and yet she was also aware of a confused sense of pique. She thrust it from her with determination, trying to concentrate on what he was saying.
“I believe I mentioned to you the governor-general’s
interest in improving relations with the community? It is his goal to deal with the punishment of the leaders of the insurgency as soon as possible, then put the unpleasantness behind us so that the day-to-day administration of the colony can proceed on a normal footing. It is his contention that the easiest way to make our presence in the town acceptable is by encouraging his officers to behave naturally, though with all gallantry, toward the female population. If this results in numbers of his men settling down here, then that will not displease either him or the Spanish crown. Insufficient population has always been one of the problems of the Louisiana colony.”
“Colonel McCormack, do you mean—?”
“Any officer who is seen riding with a Frenchwoman, strolling in the Place d’Armes with one on his arm, or dancing at the various assemblies, is certain of commendation. Likewise, the lady in question might reasonably expect a favorable response to any request she might make. Especially one who steps out first as a pattern card of behavior for her sex in the town.”
“And that is all?” Félicité asked, the tone of her voice blank.
He smiled, his green gaze meeting her brown eyes in a direct clash. “That was the original intention. I will be happy to take your brother’s suggestion under consideration if you prefer.”
She drew in her breath as a rush of heat suffused her, followed by the chill of dismay. The brief glimpse of controlled ardor she had caught in his expression brought the rise of something near panic to her chest. “If this is your idea of gallantry—”
“I am offering you the opportunity to aid your father in the only way possible. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“No! No, it’s impossible!” The words were spoken before she could think, before there was time to soften them or make them less final.
“Decisions taken in haste are often regretted, mademoiselle. I will give you time to consider before I require an answer.”
The tone of his voice was assured, faintly mocking. It was a dismissal of sorts, one Félicité was not loath to take. Fearful of what she might say if she stayed, she whirled in a flurry of skirts. Snatching open the door, she stepped through and slammed it behind her.
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