Awakening His Duchess (21 page)

The man turned his horse and faced him. His features niggled
at Henri’s brain. The ragged hair the color of mixed tobacco leaves and skin
like a fisherman’s was not familiar, but the features on his face were...so
familiar, not from the days in Port-au-Prince when he had tempted Yvette into
madness. No, his visage was that of the boy’s, only matured into a man’s hard
face.

No, it could not be so. The wood of the cigar box bit into
Henri’s hand.

It could not be the man he had almost lost Yvette to. That
man was dead. He’d seen his casket lowered into the ground, and while he had
not stayed to watch the dirt shoveled in because of the rising hurricane winds,
he’d known the man was in there.

It could not be that the man he had hired the bokor to kill
was yet alive. It destroyed everything.

Henri was so close to everything coming together. The cigars
for the duke would be the death of him, then all his sons were gone—but Lord
Beaumont wasn’t gone.

Etienne’s father was alive. Henri hadn’t believed the rumors
in town of the duke’s long lost son returning, but he couldn’t ignore the
evidence of his own eyes.

How had the stupid bokor failed in this? Henri clenched his
good hand so tightly his arm cramped.

The old man had sworn that he could rid him of the problem.
If he wasn’t already dead, Henri would wring his neck, but the old man had been
found on the side of the road with his throat slit before the slave revolt. Had
the old vodou man made Lord Beaumont into a slave instead of killing him
outright?

The betrayal was sour in his mouth. He’d paid good money to
have Lord Beaumont eliminated—before he’d known his rival’s real identity.

The bark of the tree bit into his back as he tried to still
the bile rising in his throat. If Lord Beaumont lived, everything fell apart.
The marriage he had bought was not a real marriage. A woman could not have two
husbands. His claim to her was not valid.

His breath came in short bursts and his head felt as if it
might fly apart.

His schemes of year after year crumpled.

He told himself to calm, to breathe in slowly. There had to
be a way to make this work. He had not survived being attacked and maimed to fail
now. He had to get rid of Lord Beaumont then convince Yvette to marry him
again. In her grief she would turn to him again. He could do it. He could
provide the solace she would crave.

Another horse accident? He still had the horse-hoof shaped
rock that had claimed the life of one the brothers. He’d kept it to fondle and
remember the way he’d strung a snare that unseated the duke’s son and then the
expression on his face as the rock crashed into his temple when he expected a
hand to help him up.

But no, if the “accident” was too similar to what had gone
before people might question it. Henri rubbed his head. No, he needed more
information before he killed this man.

He had to be certain it was Lord Beaumont and not some
lookalike byblow of the duke. After all, the man on the horse was hardly
dressed as a gentleman of that stature. But for now Henri would go back to the
inn and think what he should do. He could not decide if the paper in his pocket
was a good thing or bad thing now. He would learn more then decide how to
proceed. A few days to decide how to eliminate this complication, no more.

But his blood raced faster. The idea of killing heated him
and made him feel alive, but he would have to be careful. He wasn’t as well as
he once was. Before he did anything, he would have to learn if Etienne’s father
had any weakness he could exploit.

 
*~*~*

Beau didn’t believe Yvette was totally innocent in what had
happened years ago, but his mind was unsettled as to how much to believe. The
temptation to think her blameless was tangled with the desire to bed her. He
knew he should resist that weakness or the next time she betrayed him could be
far worse.

Still her tears had come and gone so quickly he wasn’t
certain she hadn’t been using an age-old woman’s trick to twist a man’s heart.

The answers he’d received raised more questions. His
footsteps led him to the stairs while a footman and Digby tried to redirect him
to his father’s study.

“Send the tailor to Mr. Mazi,” he told Digby. Turning his
attention to the footman, he added, “And I shall return to speak with my father
in a bit.”

He climbed to the nursery floor and knocked on the
schoolroom door.

Danvers called for him to come in.

“Beg pardon, but might I have five minutes with Etienne?”

After the old tutor left the room Beau sat down in the
school desk next to Etienne’s.

“Can we go ride horses again?”

“Tomorrow morning,” said Beau. He wondered if questioning
Etienne about what happened on the night of the revolution was a good idea, but
he needed to know that Yvette was not manipulating him to her own ends.

He held out his hands, but Etienne looked at them strangely.
Boy didn’t trust him that much yet.

“I need to ask you a few things about Saint-Domingue.”

Etienne looked away.

“I know you might not want to talk about it, but I just
would like it if you would tell me what you remember.”

He seemed to throw back his shoulders a bit. “Maman doesn’t
like me to talk about it. It makes her cry. But I don’t cry.” His lip quivered
just a little giving lie to his statement.

Beau nodded, slowly. “If it is too painful, I wouldn’t think
less of you if you did cry. Men cry sometimes too.”

“Do you ever cry?”

“I cried when I thought I couldn’t get back home and never
would see my family again,” said Beau. Children could sense truth and usually
didn’t have the skill to lie effectively. He’d cried like a baby when he
learned of Yvette’s betrayal. Unmanly tears of despair, great racking sobs that
matched the shattered pieces of him, then despair turned to rage that she could
have torn out his heart while forcing him into a life that was brutal and
unforgiving. A life where all he could think about was keeping on his feet,
working, lest he feel the foreman’s lash. He’d been little more than a mindless
body struggling just to live and make sense of the warped reality of a world
gone mad.

“You want to know about the night with the fires,” said
Etienne.

Beau nodded.

“First there were the drums. The slaves called Maman to take
care of one of the sick ones. Pere didn’t want her to go, but she said she must
and I ran after her to protect her.”

“You were very brave,” murmured Beau.

“I liked going to the slave huts. They sang.” He shrugged
and a confused look passed over his face. “I liked them before...”

“It’s all right,” said Beau. “Just tell me what happened.”

Etienne tilted his face up and his blue eyes looked stark
against his face. “Beenie said I must go and take care of my maman. Make sure
she didn’t do anything stupid.”

“Who was Beenie?”

“She was my nurse. She was crying.” Etienne rolled his
shoulders as if he knew what had happened wasn’t as simple as it had seemed.
“Maman was angry, but I wouldn’t go back so she let me come with her.”

“Do you know why your nurse was crying?”

Etienne looked toward the window and shook his head. “When
we got to the huts an old slave grabbed me and said he wouldn’t let me go
because of the magic. They told Maman to go to the other hut for the sick man.
Then the old man told me I belonged to the
traite des blanches.”

The white slave. Beau’s heart jolted hard in his chest. Had
they known of him on the plantation where Yvette lived?

“Then the old man sang to me.” Etienne’s voice got very
small. “But I heard the screams anyway, and a bang, like a shot.”

Beau reached out again and this time Etienne put his hand in
his.

Etienne continued on, “He tell me
le
traite des
blanches
is a great teacher.” His eyes grew round and he stared at Beau,
obviously things clicking in his head. “You were a slave. Did he mean you?”

“It is possible.”

Etienne popped out of his chair and ran toward the window.
Beau let the silence settle over the room. Had Etienne and Yvette been spared
because of him somehow? Etienne slid his finger on the glass. “I only just
remembered that part about the white slave.”

“Will you tell me what happened next?” Beau could see the
tightness in the boy’s shoulders. “Or not, if you don’t want to talk about it
any longer.”

“Maman came back, she was very angry. She said there was no
sick slave. She took my hand and pulled me back to the house. I didn’t want to
go, and when we got close I saw a slave hit my papa with a machete. He fell
down. Then Maman covered my eyes and I could only hear her crying and saying
‘pourquoi,
pourquoi,’
and
‘non, non.’
We ran upstairs and I could smell smoke
and smells like” —his nose wrinkled— “like when they butchered pigs.”

“Then we run to Grandpere’s house. It is very far, but Maman
make me run, only we are too late. The house is burning.” Etienne looked down
at the floor. “She tell me later they kill my little brother and baby sister.”

“I’m sorry, Etienne.” What horrors this child experienced.
He had a new burst of anger and frustration. The child should have been here in
England and never seen such things. Beau held open his arms and the boy rushed
into them. “I won’t ask you about it again.”

Etienne spoke into Beau’s chest. “We hide in the forest and
run. When it is daylight, I see I have blood on my shoes. Maman say that they
must have let her live because she treats the sick ones, but I think she wished
she had died. She cried so much. The slaves were bad. They should not have
killed.”

“They should not have killed women and children,” said Beau.
“They did nothing to deserve that.”

Etienne pushed away and glared at Beau. “They should not
have cut
mon pere.
”

To debate whether the plantation owners had deserved to be
killed for treating the slaves a hundred times worse than an Englishman would
treat his livestock was well and good, but the fierce glare in Etienne’s eye
stilled Beau’s explanation.

War, revolution was never pretty. Beau swallowed hard.
“You’re right. They should not have killed your family, but I am so thankful
they did not kill you.”

But the moment of closeness was lost. Destroyed by their
being on different sides of a revolution that had nothing to do with the rest
of their lives.

“They were bad, bad men.”

“Perhaps,” said Beau. The plantation owners were evil in the
way they worked their slaves to death. Few Africans lasted more than seven
years, many did not make it that long. And it might all end up being futile.
The slaves had only switched hands from white masters to the mulattoes who took
their place. “I don’t think it changed much.”

Etienne shoved at Beau. “You are on their side.”

Beau caught Etienne’s hands. “I will never lie to you. But
you must understand, I would not be here now if it were not for the
revolution.”

“Revolt!” shouted Etienne.

“It was a complicated situation. And smarter men than I
could debate for centuries about whether it was a good thing or a bad thing. And
I was a slave. There was only one side for me to be on. Just as there was only
one side for you to be on, but there are no sides here, Etienne.”

His son wouldn’t be appeased, and Beau reluctantly rose and
headed for the door.

He felt like an ass as he descended the stairs. He had
succeeded in making nearly everyone here angry. No matter how he tried, the
duke and he didn’t see eye to eye. The old man was likely to be angry by the
time he went to the library as requested. Yvette had called him a bastard.
Perhaps deservedly so. He was not ready to forgive her, but if they were going
to have a pleasant life, he had to at least be civil to her. And now Etienne
had decided he had been on the wrong side of the revolution.

He needed to at least handle one thing appropriately. He
headed toward the stables.

As he approached the low building, Mr. Gates came out into
the cobbled yard. “My lord, I am so sorry—”

Beau cut him off with a wave. “I doubt my father has been
here lately to give any useful direction. Let us just inspect the horses.”

“The mares will be brought in from the pasture with their
foals in the next few days. Perhaps one of them would suit my lady and the
young master better.” When Beau didn’t answer, Gates added nervously, “I can
have them brought in today if you’d prefer.”

Instead Beau’s mind was spinning with thoughts about why
Yvette considered the horses and riding dangerous. “Were you here when my
brother had his accident?”

Mr. Gates nodded. “I was.”

“What happened? I take it my brother was kicked by his
horse.” Arri for all his bookishness had liked to ride and had gone out most
mornings, weather permitting.

“Didn’t make no sense. Your brother was as good a horseman
as any. And that animal wasn’t a mean sort, even though the duke had him put
down afterwards.” Gates scratched his nose.

“Are you certain he was kicked?” asked Beau.

“The hoof print was clear as day.” Gates frowned. “It
weren’t like his lordship was kicked though, because the curved part of the
hoof was on the top of the wound.” Gates ran his fingers along his temple. “He
must of fell under the horse and got trampled.”

Beau nodded. Most horses would try not to step down on a
fallen rider, but no matter how many precautions one took, they were big
animals and could unintentionally do damage. Still he couldn’t make the
connection that they were discussing his brother. No, it was more like Arri
must be away.

“Damn shame, it was. Summer of ’90. Remember thinking it
were unfortunate his lordship were riding alone. ’Cause Lady Arrington gone to
stay with her folks, what she did most summers. When the riderless horse came
back...” Mr. Gates eyes welled up and he pulled out a handkerchief as he turned
away.