“When did all of this happen?”
“At the same time Corinne was murdered. No, there was nothing between Bernard and Corinne. He was completely involved with this girl. Losing her affected him so deeply that he had never wanted to marry anyone else.”
“I didn’t know.” Lysette actually found herself feeling sorry for Bernard. “Bien-aimé,” she said tentatively, reaching up to stroke his bristled cheek, “are you unhappy about what I did this afternoon?”
He rubbed his cheek against her soft palm. “Actually, I was expecting it, my curious little cat.”
“I saw Corinne’s portrait,” she said soberly. “She was very beautiful.”
“Yes.” He brushed a wisp of hair off her forehead. “But she didn’t have hair the color of a sunset.” His thumb glided over her lips. “Or a mouth I wanted to kiss every time I saw it.” His lips moved to her ear. “She certainly didn’t have a smile that stopped my heart.”
Lysette’s eyes half closed, and she shifted closer to him. As she slid her arms around his neck, her wrist bumped against the back of the chair. She winced at the unexpected pain.
Max looked at her sharply. “What is it? Are you hurt?”
“Oh, it’s nothing.” Lysette groaned inwardly as she realized that the sight of her bruised wrist was going to bring up more questions about today, when she was now willing to forget the entire matter.
Ignoring her protests, Max unwrapped her arms from around his neck, his gaze raking over her. “Why did you flinch like that?”
“It’s only a little—”
He drew in his breath sharply at the sight of her swollen, discolored wrist. Black finger marks showed against her pale skin. Suddenly there was a look in his eyes that made her uneasy. “What happened?”
“Just a little accident. I was coming down from the attic— the steps are so narrow, and there is no railing— and I lost my balance. Justin was quick enough to catch my wrist and pull me back. Everything is fine now. In a day or two my wrist will be perfectly—”
“Did this happen before or after Bernard appeared?”
“Er… during, actually. Bernard shouted and startled me, and that was when I fell.” Lysette did not tell him how slow his brother had been to offer help. Her perception of things might have been more than a little awry. And Bernard had probably been too stunned to move. Some people were quick to act in such situations, like Justin, while others froze.
“Why didn’t Bernard mention it to me?”
“I have no idea.”
He lifted her out of his lap and set her on her feet.
“What are you doing?” she asked warily.
“I’m going to get an explanation out of him.”
“There’s no need.” She tried in vain to make peace, reluctant to cause further trouble between the brothers. “It is all over now, and I—”
“Hush.” Gently he took her arm, holding it in order to inspect her wrist. He uttered a curse that made her ears burn. “I want you to go to Noeline. She has a salve for bruises.”
“But it is nasty,” she protested. “I was there once when she was putting it on Justin. The smell of it made me ill.”
“Go to her now. Or I’ll see that you do later.” He paused meaningfully. “Believe me, you would prefer to do it now.”
A few minutes later Lysette sat glumly in the kitchen with Noeline, focusing her attention on the kettles bubbling merrily in the fireplace while the housekeeper tended to her wrist. A housemaid stood at the huge wooden table, cleaning the iron chandelier. Deftly Noeline smeared the mustard-green salve on Lysette’s arm. The noxious odor caused Lysette to jerk her head back. “How long must I keep this on?” she asked in disgust.
“Until tomorrow.” Noeline smiled a little. “You’re not going to make babies with monsieur tonight, I think.”
Lysette raised her eyes heavenward. “Bon Dieu, I’ll be fortunate if he ever comes near me again!”
Justin appeared at the doorway of the kitchen. Keeping his hands in his pockets, he wandered over to them. “What is that smell?” he asked, and clutched his throat, pretending to gag.
Silently Lysette vowed to wash her wrist as soon as she escaped from Noeline.
Justin grinned at her consolingly. “It smells like the devil, sans doute. But it does work, Belle-mère.”
“He knows for certain,” Noeline said, wrapping a length of cloth around the arm.
“I know what you put in your salve, Noeline,” Justin said. He squatted on his haunches and murmured confidentially to Lysette, “Snakes’ tongues, bats’ blood, toad hairs…”
Lysette scowled at his teasing. “Why don’t you go find Philippe? He can help you with some of the Latin lessons you’ve missed.”
Justin grinned. “There is no need to bring Latin into this. I will leave. But…” He glanced at her bandage. He was silent, as if he wanted to say something but was uncertain of the right words. Raking his hand through his black hair until it stood on end, he looked at the floor, the ceiling, and then his gaze met hers.
“What is it?” Lysette murmured, surprised by his sudden shyness.
Noeline went to check one of the pots over the fire.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you, belle-mère,” Justin muttered, gesturing to her wrist. “I’m sorry.”
“You helped me, Justin,” Lysette said gently. “I am very grateful for what you did. I might have been badly injured otherwise.”
Seeming relieved, Justin stood and dusted his breeches unnecessarily. “Did you tell Father what happened?”
“About your saving me from falling? Yes, I—”
“No, about Uncle Bernard, and how strange he was this afternoon.”
“Oui.” Lysette smiled wryly. “Your father seemed to think it was not unusual. He told me your uncle has always been a bit peculiar.”
“Bien sûr, that’s true enough.” Justin shrugged. “I’ll go now.”
Lysette watched him as he left, thinking that the boy had changed since the duel and his confrontation with Max. He was friendlier, less sullen, as if his dark nature had been tempered by new understanding. Noeline sat down beside her again, shaking her head with a smile. “That boy was born for trouble.”
———
“And what is their complaint?” Bernard asked, looking wounded and upset. “That I did not move quickly enough? I was startled, Max. By the time I recovered my wits, Justin had already pulled her to safety!”
Max’s frown did not ease. “Your manner seems to have been rather belligerent. Why is that?”
Bernard hung his head with an ashamed expression. “I didn’t intend to lose my temper, but all I could think of was how it would upset you, knowing they had been combing through relics of the past. You’re my brother, Max. I don’t want you to be troubled with reminders of that horrible time. I tried to tell them that it was better to let things be. I suppose I expressed myself far too strongly.”
“Corinne was Justin’s mother,” Max said. “He has a right to look through her belongings anytime he wishes.”
“Yes, of course,” Bernard replied contritely. “But Lysette—”
“Lysette is my concern. The next time you object to something she does, take the matter up with me. Bear in mind that she is the mistress of this house, and more of a wife to me than Corinne ever was And…” Max paused to give his next words emphasis, staring hard at his brother. “If you ever raise your voice to my wife again… you’ll take up residence somewhere else.”
Bernard’s cheeks flushed with suppressed emotion, but he managed to nod.
———
Early in the morning, Max strode down the long curved staircase, having been sent out of the bedroom with Lysette’s adamant refusal to ride around the plantation with him. After the previous night’s vigorous lovemaking, she had decided that it would be too uncomfortable for her to manage the highspirited Arabian he had recently purchased for her.
As he headed to the front door, his attention was caught by the sound
of a groan from one of the double parlors. Investigating the sound, he saw Alexandre’s long body stretched out on the parlor settee, one booted foot braced on the gilded rococo arm, the other resting on the floor. His hair was wild, his face unshaven, and his clothes were disheveled. There was a sour alcoholic smell in the air.
“What a pretty sight,” Max remarked sardonically. “A Vallerand after a night of self-indulgence.” He jerked the drapes away from the windows, letting in a flood of brilliant sunshine.
Alex groaned as if he had just been stabbed. “Oh, you evil bastard.”
“Fourth night this week?” Max said casually. “Even for you, that is an excess.”
Alex tried to burrow into the settee, like a wounded animal seeking refuge. “Go to hell.”
“Not until I find out what is bothering you. At this rate you’ll kill yourself by the end of the week.”
Alex made a smacking noise and caught the scent of his own breath. His face crumpled in disgust. He squinted at Max and raised an unsteady finger to point at him. “You…” he said heavily, “tipped your wife this morning, didn’t you?”
Max smiled pleasantly.
“I can always tell by the disgusting smirk on your face. Tell me… married life suit you? Good. Too bad you ruined it for the rest of us.”
“Oh?”
“Don’t look at me like that. Did you ever think I might like to have a wife… a woman to cover whenever I felt like it… maybe even have children someday?”
“Why don’t you?”
“Why?“ Alex wobbled to a sitting position, holding his head as if he feared it would topple from his shoulders. “After you ruined the Vallerand name, do you think a decent family would give their daughter to a brother of yours? All fine and good for you now… you’ve got Lysette… but me…”
“Alex, tais-toi,” Max said, his amusement replaced by compassion. He sat in a nearby chair. “Hush.” He had never seen his youngest brother so miserable. “I should wait until you’re sober before attempting this, but we’re going to try talking about it anyway.”
“All right,” Alexandre said gamely.
“Now, this is about Henriette Clement, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“You’re in love with her? You desire permission to court her?”
“Yes.”
“But you don’t believe her father will give his consent?”
“I know he won’t. I’ve already tried.”
Max frowned. “You’ve asked for Clement’s leave to court Henriette, and he refused?”
“Yes!” Alexandre began to nod, and stopped with a wince. “And she loves me… I think.”
Leaning forward, Max spoke slowly. “I will take care of it. For your part, I want you to— Alexandre, are you listening? Stay here and rest today. And tonight. No more drinking, do you understand?”
“No more,” Alex repeated obediently.
“I’m going to tell Noeline to bring you her special remedy.”
“Bon Dieu, no.”
“You’ll do it,” Max said evenly, “if you want Henriette. By tomorrow morning I want you looking like a fresh-faced boy.”
“I can do it,” Alex said after a moment’s painful thought.
“Good.” Max smiled and stood up. “You should have talked to me about this before, instead of drinking yourself into a stupor.”
“I didn’t think you could do anything.” Alex paused. “Still don’t, really.”
“People can be managed,” Max assured him.
Alex looked up at him quizzically. “Are you going to threaten a duel?”
“No,” Max said with a laugh. “I think the Vallerands have had enough of dueling.”
“Max… if you persuade Clement to say yes… I… I’ll kiss your feet.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Max said dryly.
———
Jacques Clement greeted Max in the hallway with wry amusement. “I expected you would be here today, Vallerand. Here on your brother’s behalf, oui? Father is having café in the breakfast room.”
Max leaned against one of the elaborately carved columns framing the wall. He was in no hurry to confront Jacques’ father, Diron Clement, who was a venerable lion of a man, and in a perpetually bad temper. Descended from the first French settlers in the Louisiana Territory, Creole in every drop of his blood, Diron had no tolerance for those who wished Louisiana to become part of the United States. Or for those who were on friendly terms with the American governor.
The old man was experienced and clever, and had proven himself to be a survivor. Along with Victor Vallerand, Diron had been richly rewarded by the Spaniards for using his influence to soothe the discontent in the city when they took possession of it from the French forty years earlier. Now Diron was wealthy and influential enough so that he never had to do anything he didn’t wish.
Victor and Diron had been good friends. Unfortunately, Diron’s warm feelings for Victor had never extended to Max. For one thing, their political beliefs were too sharply opposed. For another, Corinne’s death had widened the gulf between them, as Diron hated scandals.
Max glanced upstairs. “Jacques,” he said speculatively, “has your sister indicated that she feels any sort of affection for Alexandre?”
“Henriette is a little goose,” Jacques said. “She always has been. Tell your brother he could find another girl just like her for far less trouble.”
“Does that mean she would not welcome his suit?”
“She fancies herself madly in love with him. And this scenario of star-crossed love—”
“Only makes it worse,” Max finished for him. “How does your father regard the matter?”
“He disapproves, of course.”
“Truthfully, it wouldn’t be a bad match, Jacques.”
Jacques shrugged. “My friend, I know what Alexandre is like. You will never make me believe that he will stay faithful to Henriette. This so-called love will last a year at most, and then he will take a mistress, and Henriette will be devastated. Better for her to marry without the illusion of love. With a well-arranged match, she will know exactly what to expect.”
“On the other hand, perhaps a year of illusion is better than no love at all.”
Jacques laughed. “What an American notion. Love before marriage is their way— Creoles will never take to it. And I warn you, don’t try to convince that crusty old man upstairs otherwise, or he’ll have your head.”
“My thanks for the warning. I’ll go see him now.”
“Would you like me to accompany you?”
Max shook his head. “I know the way.”
The Clement home was designed with simplicity and elegance. The red pine floors were polished to a ruby gleam, the rooms filled with dark oak and fine hand-knotted carpets. As Max walked up the staircase, he ran his fingers lightly over the balustrade, remembering sliding down it when he and Jacques were boys.
He stopped in the hallway upstairs, sensing someone’s gaze upon him. Looking over his shoulder, he saw that one of the paneled doors was partially ajar. Henriette stared at him through the narrow crack, her eyes filled with pleading. Max guessed that some watchful tante was nearby, and Henriette did not dare say a word for fear of detection. He gave her a short, reassuring nod. Throwing aside caution, Henriette opened the door wider, and suddenly there was a burst of chatter from inside the room, a woman’s voice scolding the wayward girl. The door closed immediately.
Max grinned ruefully. He hated the feeling of being the distraught lovers’ last hope. He made his way to the breakfast room, hoping to hell that he’d know what to say to Clement.
Diron Clement greeted him with a glare. A ruff of white hair haloed the top of his head. When he spoke, the edge of a sharp jaw showed through his sagging jowls. Iron-gray eyes bore through Max’s, and he gestured to a chair.
“Sit down, boy. We have not talked for a long time.”
“The wedding, sir,” Max reminded him.
“Non. We exchang
ed four words, perhaps. You were too busy staring at your flamboyant little bride to pay me any attention.”
Max sternly held back a smile, remembering that most frustrating of evenings. He had not been able to tear his gaze from Lysette, dying to have her, but knowing it was too soon to have her. “I regret that, sir.”
“Do you?” Diron harrumphed. “Yes, I suppose you do, now that you desire my good favor. What about the marriage? Do you have regrets about that as well?”
“Not in the least,” Max replied without hesitation. “My wife pleases me very well.”
“And now you’ve come to plead your brother’s case, eh?”
“Actually, my own,” Max said. “Since that seems to be your main objection to Alexandre’s suit.”
“Untrue. Is that what he told you?”
“He has the impression, sir, that were it not for the damage I have wrought on the Vallerand name in the past, his intentions toward your daughter would be welcomed.”
“Ah. You are referring to that business about your first wife.”
Max met his piercing gaze and nodded briefly.
“That was bad,” Diron said emphatically. “But my objection to the match has to do with your brother’s character, not yours. Foppish, weak-willed, lazy— he is unsatisfactory in all respects.”
“Alexandre is no worse than any other young man his age. And he will be able to provide well for her.”
“How is that? I would wager he has run through most of his inheritance by now.”
“My father charged me with the responsibility of overseeing the family’s finances. I assure you, Alexandre has the means to support a family in a suitable manner.”
Diron was quiet, glaring at him from beneath massive gray brows.
“Monsieur Clement,” Max said slowly, “you know the Vallerands are a family of good blood. I believe your daughter would be content as Alexandre’s wife. Discarding all sentimental notions, the pairing is both practical and suitable.”