With that determined thought, she set out at a furious pace, ordering the servants about with a briskness that surprised them. She had the best white tablecloth brought out and aired. Fresh flowers, anything that was in season, were gathered in fragrant bundles and arranged in vases throughout the dining room. Suzette’s family china was brought out of the cupboard and washed and polished until it sparkled as brightly as the crystal. New candles were placed on the table in tall, silver candlesticks that had also to be polished, and the best linen napkins were washed and pressed into shape.
It was already late in the afternoon when Gabrielle finally found time to sit down and cast an experienced eye over the dining room. Everything shone brightly or glowed darkly with the richness of cherrywood. The draperies had been aired, and the tall, many-paned windows had been washed twice over. She would go upstairs now and rest, herself, before it was time to dress.
She chose a gown of violet-blue silk with a flounce of white lace around the hem and more lace trimming the full, double-tiered sleeves, and she picked up her fan confidently. She had just joined Suzette at the foot of the stairs when a servant announced the general’s arrival.
Her first impression was mixed. The man was tall, certainly, but painfully thin, and his bones seemed to stick out through the dress uniform he was wearing. His face was kind, though, despite the sharpness of the features, the drawn, sallow skin, and the sunken look in the intelligent eyes. His hair was thick and grey, and his brow was furrowed, indicating the many worries that plagued him. She could see in that straight, tight-lipped mouth a firmness of purpose that in some part explained his desire to continue even in the face of his illness. His eyes seemed to lighten as they touched hers, and he was taking her hand firmly in his, and she noticed in his palm the heat that spoke of his fever.
“Madame St. Claire, I am deeply honored to meet you after so long a time in the city.”
She blushed a little, which seemed to delight him thoroughly. “Thank you, general. I am delighted to see you here tonight. I do hope we can take your mind off the depressing events of these days, if only for a little while.”
He grinned. “I'm afraid that would be a monumental task, my dear, but you are certainly welcome to try.” He kissed her hand and went on to greet Suzette, who seemed to be bearing up a good deal better after her nap. Gabrielle went through the rest of the introductions with only half an ear, as her eyes kept returning to the door, waiting for him. Even before she saw her husband, she knew he was about to enter, and her eyes locked into his. Her heart began beating so quickly that she felt the urge to press a hand against her breast. Then he was coming towards her, and she couldn’t fathom the look in those green depths. Her whole body trembled as he took her hand, and she knew he must be aware of it.
“Good evening, madame. You are looking exceptionally lovely tonight.”
He kissed her hand and went inside the room. Gabrielle could have screamed her impatience. That was all! Those few trite words that could have as easily been said to any other woman! Her eyes glittered with her anger, but she schooled herself to remain calm for the sake of her hostess, who was looking at her uneasily.
“I'm all right, Suzette,” she assured her as they walked into the room and sat down at the table.
She found herself between her husband and the general, a situation ill-timed for her riot of feelings, but she did her best to carry on light conversation. Rafe ignored her and appeared to be deep in important conversation with the gentleman to his left. Gabrielle seethed through the various courses of the dinner and was more than glad when it was over, although her stomach was fairly tied in knots.
“We will leave you gentlemen to your port and cigars,” Suzette said, rising. “I have planned a little entertainment for later on, general, if—if you are not feeling too tired.”
Once alone in the sitting room, Gabrielle faced Suzette, her face enraged.
“Did you see him? Did you see him! He ignored me grossly throughout the entire meal! General Jackson must be mightily confused as to whether he is truly my husband or not! He’s deliberately set out to humiliate me!”
“Oh, Gabrielle, perhaps he is—he is just not sure what he feels right now,” Suzette put in, hoping to alleviate some of her friend’s anger before the gentlemen joined them. “For goodness sake, he must feel something! He loves you!”
Gabrielle snorted at these words. “He doesn’t love me, Suzette, he never has loved me! I tried to make myself think that someday I could make him love me, but how can I fight indifference! If he would only talk to me, treat me like a person instead of a fixture in the room! No, it’s impossible! I’m sick of being treated like a stranger. As though—” She stopped suddenly and leaned her head against the window. “I—I can’t go on like this, Suzette, with my heart twisted and battered by his casual attitude. I simply can’t go on.”
“Gabrielle, you must remember that Rafe has many, many things on his mind. You’ve got to try to understand what a burden this whole thing has been for him. I—I don’t know the circumstances of your quarrel, but I’m sure it was caused by tenseness over the campaigns. Look at yourself! Would you be acting this way if you weren’t affected, too?” She reached over to the side-board and poured her a small glass of wine. “Now I want you to drink this and pull yourself together. We still have the rest of the evening to get through, and I’m not about to face it alone.” Her words seemed to have the desired effect, and Gabrielle drank the glass of wine. “Now I must look to the dessert, my dear, so you wait here for me, and, if the musicians arrive, please show them to their places.”
Gabrielle nodded without enthusiasm, and, feeling the need of some fresh air, she opened the tall French doors leading onto the balcony. She could hear the men talking through the other door which led from the dining room to the balcony. She leaned her elbows on the stone railing and gazed out at the garden, her head full of memories.
“Madame?”
She didn’t hear the word the first time and continued her sad reverie, her chin propped up on her hands.
“Madame St Claire?”
She turned around, embarrassed, and found herself facing General Jackson.
“I saw you from the window, standing out here alone. It was beginning to get a little stuffy inside, and I hoped some cool air might lend a hand in sharpening my senses.”
Gabrielle noticed the tiredness in his eyes. “You’re not well, general. Perhaps you ought to lie down for a while.”
He chuckled. “Perhaps I should, but I can’t.”
“Why not? This party is only your staff and the governor’s aides. Surely they would understand. It is easy to see that you are ill.”
“No, I’m afraid they expect more than that of me,” he said, sighing a little. “You see, they look at the troops and see their ill-fitting clothing, their greenness, and they shudder to themselves, wondering how in the world such men can win a battle. If, on their other side, their leader becomes incapable of supporting them, they would be lost in the middle, able to rely on no one.”
“But, whom can you rely on, then?”
“I must rely on myself, madame, and, of course, the good Lord. So you see, I have many people who look to me for support, chief among them, myself.”
“But—but it is impossible to drive yourself to the point of exhaustion and then—then expect to lead men into battle!”
He patted her hand. “You know, my dear, you remind me of my wife, Rachel. She’s a strong-willed woman like yourself, always wanting to tell me what to do.”
Gabrielle blushed. “General, I didn’t mean to presume—”
He waved aside her words. “It’s quite all right, my dear. We could use more women like yourself. I must admit I was prepared for a lovely face, an enchanting smile, and an empty head, but it is easy to see that you are an intelligent woman. Mr. St. Claire is a lucky man.” He saw her face grow sad and realized that, as he had suspected, all was not well with these two. He took her hand in his. “You kno
w, my dear, I’ve been through a lot in my forty-seven years. I’ve been in battles that hung by a thread, have had bullets go through me, have been tomahawked and knifed more times than I like to remember, but I don’t dread anything more than having to face Rachel after a quarrel. It’s funny how a man can be the bravest one on the battlefield, but when it comes to affairs of the heart, he’s turned into jelly at the mere thought of patching it up. Oh, pride enters into it, I grant you that, and sometimes it takes quite a while to figure out the right words to say, but it never fails—there comes a moment when I’ll look in Rachel’s eyes and we both know we don’t have to say anything.”
Gabrielle could easily see the love and tenderness that seemed to reshape the tired features. He must have been a handsome man in his youth, she thought.
“It’s easy to see you love him, my dear. It’s all over your face when you look at him. And I have an idea that, no matter how he might think he must struggle against it, your husband is very much in love with you.
He was as nervous coming over here tonight as a boy going to his first dance. Give him time. It’s hard to fight two battles at once.”
Gabrielle sighed, and her eyes were bright. “For a general, you are awfully romantic,” she murmured shakily, and Jackson laughed.
“And I do tend to stick my long nose into other people’s affairs, eh?” He shrugged. “Well, someone’s got to keep up morale. Now, before Mrs. Claiborne begins to wonder what’s become of me, I suppose I’d best get in and endeavor to enjoy the entertainment.”
He rose and took her hand, tucking it into his arm. Gabrielle had found a good deal of comfort in his words, and her heart ceased its wild crescendo and began to beat normally again. She held up her head proudly as they entered the salon.
“Ah, there you are, general. I see you are enjoying one of the fairest flowers of our city,” Governor Claiborne said gallantly.
“Mrs. St. Claire and I have been having an informative discussion.”
Gabrielle caught the eye of Bernard de Marigny, who had arrived late, and went over to greet him. “Bernard, I haven’t seen you for ages!” she exclaimed.
“Gabrielle, my dear, seeing you is better than a good stiff drink!” he said, kissing the hand she extended to him. “I see you have already worked your charm on the general.”
“I would say rather that the general has worked his charm on me,” Gabrielle returned, smiling. “He is truly a wonderful man, Bernard. I can see how the men have taken to him so.”
“His health has many of us worried, though,” Bernard frowned. “He’ll keep going until he drops from sheer exhaustion.”
“I think he will make it,” Gabrielle said soberly. “His determination is boundless, and his concern for the troops quite remarkable.”
Suzette was clapping her hands now for their attention, and Bernard and Gabrielle moved in closer to the others. “Everyone must be seated. General, if you please,” she said, indicating the chair next to hers. “I have a little evening music and a singer whom I think will please you all greatly.”
Everyone took their seats and Gabrielle was careful to sit as close to her husband as she dared. He had only to lean forward a little, and she would be able to feel his breath on her neck. During the course of the evening, she was sure she could feel his eyes on her, and, when she dropped her fan accidentally, a familiar brown hand brushed hers as he handed it to her. Their eyes met and she smiled shyly at him, watching his eyes change expression. For a moment, she thought he was about to say something, and then he sat back in his chair, his face carefully closed once more against her. She had to cling tightly to the general’s words in order to keep herself from weeping once more with frustration.
When the evening came to a close and everyone was saying their farewells, Gabrielle walked deliberately over to her husband. “Will I be seeing you later tonight, darling?” she asked sweetly, keeping her voice low.
He acted as though she had stung him for a moment, but when he looked at her his eyes were almost teasing. “I’ll see what I can manage, madame,” he said wickedly, “but please do not wait up for me.”
She waited expectantly for his kiss, and, when he would have only brushed her mouth, she put her arms strongly around him and molded her lips to his. Her eyes were sparkling seductively, and it took all of his strength to leave her there.
“Your wife is an exceptional woman, St. Claire,” Jackson commented as the men walked outside.
Rafe nodded absently, but his mind was recalling the texture of her mouth when she had kissed him, the slight pressure of her impudent breasts against his coat, the way her eyes tilted upwards when she smiled, revealing the dimple in her cheek. Why must he continue denying himself the pleasure of that sweet, vulnerable body that he dreamed about at night? Why did he keep on resisting the urge to tell her—to tell her. . . .
He frowned to himself. He couldn’t allow such thoughts to keep thrusting themselves at him. He must concentrate on the battle against the enemy. It would take all of their cunning and strength to pull a victory out of their situation. He knew it as well as Jackson and Claiborne and the rest of them. Lafitte’s stockpile had helped, that was certain, but the question remained— would that be enough?
Thinking of Lafitte, he shifted uneasily in the coach. She had at least been telling the truth as far as his integrity was concerned, but what of the other? What had she done to actually make the pirate help the Americans? Could he believe that they had only talked of arms and battles and the enemy? Objectively, he had been aware of the man’s good looks and abundance of charm. It would have been easy for him to seduce her, the two of them alone in the dark, their memories of their time together brought back to them.
He shook himself to clear his head and for a moment thought of slipping back to her tonight. No, he wouldn’t go back just yet, he decided firmly. He looked forward with a groan to the hard bunk he would be using once again tonight.
Chapter Forty-five
Rafe waved away the hand that shook his shoulder. “Get up, St. Claire. Get dressed. The general wants to see you!”
“Christ, man! I’ve only just gotten to bed,” Rafe mumbled irritably, turning over in his bunk.
“The British have landed only a few miles east of New Orleans in a surprise assault. We’ve no time to lose!”
Rafe came awake instantly then and looked up into Leigh Owens’ pale face. Grabbing his boots and jerking them on swiftly, he splashed some tepid water over his face and hurried after the other man. Jackson’s headquarters on Royal Street were aswarm with militia, everyone talking at once. Rafe was ushered into the room and presented himself to Jackson with all speed.
“Sir, I’ve heard the news,” he said as Jackson shook his hand and asked him to be seated.
“Yes, it’s lucky we’ve had men posted in strategic spots, or they might have slipped in unnoticed.” Jackson shuddered at the thought. “We’ve got to attack now, during the night when they least expect it They’ll be regrouping after their landing and won’t know what the hell’s hit them!”
“Right, sir, but how can I be of service?”
“As the governor’s aide, I know that you have led several surveillance missions, St. Claire. I am aware that you are not a military man, but from all accounts you can fight like the best of us.” Here the general offered a craggy smile. “I suppose I’m drafting you into the damn thing, but I’ve got to have someone who can carry this out without blundering. Do you think you can do it?”
Rafe nodded quickly.
“Good. I'll give you the best men among the troops. Now here is the plan. You’ve got to come up on them by surprise while it’s still dark. No doubt they’re confident enough to leave a few small fires going, and these will help to guide you. You will attack swiftly and do as much damage as you can, then withdraw to our defensive lines. I’ve drawn them along the map here.” He pointed to the paper spread out over his desk.
“But, general, your defensive lines are barely five miles
from the city limits!” Rafe exclaimed in disbelief.
The general nodded. “I’m aware of that, St. Claire, but it is the best place to make our stand. The ground is not so soft or swampy as it is further south and west. I'm told an abandoned canal runs along this line and it will be the perfect place to construct our breastworks. I’ve already had men working on the parapet, throwing up logs and mud. I suppose cotton bales might be used also.”
Rafe shook his head. “The bales would be useless, general. The British could set them afire too easily.”
Jackson nodded. “You’re right. Christ, that could have proved our downfall!”
Jackson ordered the troops singled out for the mission to be readied. “God go with you,” he said to the man he was sending into battle. For a moment he hesitated, thinking of accusing violet eyes and a trembling mouth, but he shrugged the image aside. He watched as Rafe hurried off and hoped he had chosen the right man.
In his own mind, Rafe was aware of the danger and of the trust Jackson had shown in him by selecting him for this job. He assembled his men in an encampment close to the defense line. He was glad to see Leigh beside him. His orders were quick and given sharply with no time for questions. The men silently checked their weapons and waited for the signal to move.
“Do you think they have an idea what they’re in for?” Leigh asked Rafe as they marched in loose formation towards their goal.
“I don’t think it will be as bad as you think,” Rafe returned. “The British will probably have posted a few sentries around their camp, but most of them will be asleep.”
He directed the men to split up into small groups as they neared the shoreline so that they could surround the encampment on all sides. They crouched among the weeds, the smell of the swamp sharp in their nostrils. Above him, on a slight crest, Rafe could make out the figure of a sentinel, silently pacing back and forth, his gun cocked and ready to sound the alarm.
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