“Don’t get your bloomers in a bind, deary. You needn’t worry. Sin and I are family.”
“That’s right, Lillibet,” Brazos hastened to agree. “I’d like you to meet my cousin, Trixie Wallace.”
Trixie gave him a questioning look. “What is the connection, Sin? I never can quite remember.”
He shrugged, frowning. “I forget. I’ll have to ask my mother when I see her. I think it’s kissing cousins on Pa’s side, three times removed.”
“What does that mean?” Lillibet asked.
Trixie patted Lillibet’s hand, saying, “Honey, let me give you some advice. Half the folks in Texas are related to the Sinclairs one way or another. Now, why don’t you help out my poor cousin, and tell him what he wants to know.”
Lillibet remained stubbornly silent, but André leaned forward and said, “Madeline spoke with my tight-lipped wife, here, Brazos, then got into a carriage and left.”
“Was a man with her?”
Brunet shrugged. “I’m sorry, I didn’t notice. I was helping Lillibet with Thomas.”
“Who is tired and needs to be settled down for his nap,” Lillibet interjected. “Please excuse us, Mr. Sinclair.” She leaned forward and instructed the driver to take them to the Powhattan Hotel.
As the carriage creaked away toward the center of town, Brazos realized he knew where to find Madeline—if not right now, then later. Even if Emile planned to house his family wherever he was living, Madeline would still need to take Rose to Lillibet. “Thank God, the child’s not totally weaned,” he muttered. Then he thought about Maddie and her Emile together and alone, and his mood darkened like a bushel of wet coal. “Come on, Trixie. Buy me a drink. I reckon I’m in no rush, as Tyler’s probably at lunch already. Anything but French brandy, all right?”
She took his arm, and her expression wrinkled with concern. “Sin, honey, what’s wrong? Who is that woman?”
“We didn’t even discuss where and when to meet to sign the papers. Now that I think about it, she’d a helluva nerve running off like that.” Brazos glanced around the wharves one last time, then followed Trixie to her carriage. Stepping up into it, he nodded at the driver and finally answered her question. “Her name is Madeline, Trix. And until I get over to Tyler’s and take care of a bit of business, she’s my wife.”
“Your wife!”
“Yeah. And she’s probably tipping her fiancé even as we speak.”
“Her fiancé?” Trixie shook her head. “Oh, Sin, it sounds to me as if you’ve quite a story to tell.”
Brazos grimaced. The last thing he wanted to do was to tell this tale. Some parts of it he would never share with another soul—although if he were to tell anyone about the difficulties he’d experienced in Madeline’s cabin, it would probably be Trixie.
Simple arithmetic meant that Trix might well have run across a similar thing once or twice. “Maybe you’d have some advice for me,” he murmured.
“Hmm?” she asked, turning her head to smile at him. “Advice about what?”
Advice. Advice
. The word echoed in his mind. There was another person to whom he could risk relating this particular story. Dr. Louis Castillon. Brazos would have to go see him while he was in Galveston. Although he’d written a doctor a letter detailing some of the Swiss physician’s recommendations, Brazos had promised to provide the old family friend a full report upon his return to Texas.
As Trixie’s carriage drove down Market Street, Brazos caught from the corner of his eye a glimpse of a golden-haired woman on the arm of a tall, dark-haired man. Brazos twisted around for a better look.
No, it wasn’t Maddie and her flowery Emile. But the sight brought back to the forefront of his thoughts a vision of Madeline saying hello to her Frenchman in an extremely personal manner. Brazos made his decision. “I’ve changed my mind, Trixie. Drop me off at Louis Castillon’s office, would you? I’ll be by for that drink later on.”
Trixie offered him a compassionate look. She patted his knee. “Of course, darlin’. I know that Louis as been waiting anxiously to speak with you.”
Hell
, Brazos thought.
Does everyone in town know why I went to Europe
?
No
, that voice within him answered,
but everyone in your family has been worried sick about you since you returned from Mexico
.
The carriage rolled to a stop at the Castillon home. Semiretired, Louis treated his patients in an office on the first floor, and as Brazos made his way along the familiar stone path leading to the front porch, the futility of the trip to Europe, the fact of two wasted years, rolled over him like a black tide. As he knocked on the doctor’s door, he softly cursed, “God damn the bastard. God damn Damasso Salezan.”
MADELINE BOUNCED Rose on her knees as she sat waiting in a carved mahogany ladies’ chair in the office of Melbourne R King, attorney-at-law. Since Brazos was otherwise occupied, she’d decided to take care of this little matter of an annulment herself. She’d thought it best to leave before he decided to wait around to meet her phantom fiancé.
Then, too she’d found she couldn’t stomach witnessing for another moment the public display he’d put on with that—
woman
.
The lawyer entered his office and sat behind his desk. After short introductions, Madeline stated her business. He pulled at the tip of his neatly trimmed mustache, looked over the rims of his wire spectacles at his prospective client, and said, “Mrs. Sinclair, I’m afraid I can’t possibly draw up this type of agreement without your husband’s consent.”
Madeline wanted to hit him.
The sooner I get to La Réunion, the better
, she told herself. Pasting a false smile upon her face, she took a leather ball from her reticule and handed it to a squirming Rose as she said, “He’ll be here shortly. I’m afraid he was unavoidably detained. While I understand that you cannot possibly accept a mere woman’s word for the need for this document, I’d like to provide the information for the drafting of the paper. It will speed things up when my husband arrives, don’t you see?”
“This is quite irregular, but very well. I shall need some particulars.” King pulled a sheet of paper from a desk drawer, inked his pen, and began, “Your full name, madam?”
“Madeline Christophe Sinclair”
“Your husband’s?”
“Brazos Sinclair.”
The lawyer lifted his gaze from the paper. Madeline shifted Rose from one knee to the other as she noted puzzlement written upon his face. “May I inquire, Mrs. Sinclair, how it is you chose this particular office for your legal needs?”
She leaned forward in her chair and asked, “Is something wrong, sir?”
He thrummed his fingers on the polished top of his desk and said, “Did your husband request my services, or those of my partner?”
Rose dropped the ball and began to cry. Madeline considered joining in. “What does it matter? Mr. King, we need a document drawn up. My husband mentioned your firm; therefore, I assumed you’d be the one to do the work.” King stood and retrieved the toy. He handed it to Rose as Madeline continued, “Personally, I don’t care if the governor himself drafts the paper I simply want my annulment!”
King pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “If you don’t mind, ma’am,” he said, “I’d like to bring my partner in on your case. I suspect we’ll need his help.”
“Is this necessary?”
He nodded. “I suspect that in this case it is.”
As King excused himself and left the office, Madeline allowed Rose down to crawl around. Casually, Madeline inspected the framed documents hanging on the wall. One was signed by Senator Sam Houston; another by Sam Houston, president of the Republic of Texas; and a third by General Sam Houston. “Mr. Houston has been a busy man,” she murmured.
The sound of a male voice raised in disbelief snagged her attention. She clutched her reticule with straining fingers and stared intently at the dust particles floating in the sunlight that beamed through the window and listened. “Such rough language,” she observed, shaking her head.
King returned to his office, followed by a tall, spare man who looked to be in his late twenties, wearing a well-tailored business suit and a frown. “Mrs. Sinclair” King said, “this is my partner, Tyler, I apologize for the delay.” He took his seat.
Mr. Tyler nodded toward her and refused a chair, preferring to stand against the wall, his arms crossed, his countenance skeptical. His gaze kept wandering to Rose.
Beneath her skirt, Madeline’s foot began an agitated tap. She grabbed up her daughter and held her close. Something about Mr. Tyler bothered her.
“Now, where were we?” King asked, stroking his beard. “Ah, yes, your husband’s name.”
“Brazos Sinclair.”
Tyler’s gray-eyed gaze bore into her. She returned Rose’s ball to her reticule, yanking the strings to pull the bag closed.
King continued, “I need to know where the wedding took place and the circumstances surrounding it.”
Do it all at once, Madeline
, she told herself.
It’ll be easier that way. Be done with it.
“Mr. Sinclair and I met in Antwerp, Belgium, this past January. Both of us desired to sail upon a ship leaving Antwerp for America the following day, and we each had difficulties securing passage. We concluded that marriage would solve both our problems, so we did the deed, with the intention of obtaining an annulment once we reached Texas.” She lifted her shoulders, silently saying,
Here I am
.
Tyler spoke for the first time. “And you will claim what reason for the annulment of this marriage?”
Madeline took a deep breath, then said in a rush, “It has not been consummated.”
Tyler made a choking sound and turned away. He tapped his fingers against the windowpane and gazed out toward the street. King cleared his throat. “Mrs. Sinclair please pardon my indelicacy, but as I understand what you are saying, you and Brazos Sinclair lived as man and wife for a period of time as was required to sail the Atlantic—”
“Seven weeks,” Madeline interrupted. “We were delayed by ill winds.”
“You lived as wife to Brazos Sinclair for seven weeks in the intimate confines of a ship, and you are claiming nonconsummation?” King shook his head slowly. “I know Brazos Sinclair, madam. Do you truly expect us to believe this story?”
Madeline took great pleasure in allowing Rose to lean forward and tip the inkwell she’d been reaching for. “Oh, dear,” Madeline exclaimed sweetly as King scrambled to contain the slowly spreading indigo stain with his pristine handkerchief. “I am so sorry.”
Tyler stepped forward, his shoulders quaking with suppressed mirth. “I’ll draw up the document, Melbourne. Please, Mrs. Sinclair, let’s adjourn to my office. I’ve a puzzle board in there that your daughter might enjoy.”
Only too glad to flee Mr. King’s personal questions, Madeline followed Mr. Tyler, determined to ignore the uneasy feeling he created within her. “I should have waited and let Brazos do this, after all,” she grumbled beneath her breath. Leave it to him to make something sound easy when in truth, it wasn’t easy at all.
In his office, Tyler gestured for Madeline to take a chair, then walked to a cabinet. He pulled both a puzzle and a rag doll from its interior, saying, “My nieces and nephews regularly come to visit. I keep a few things around for them.” He shrugged and handed the toys to Rose.
Madeline felt it again. Something about how he holds himself, she thought, studying him. He was quite handsome, with a patrician nose and square jaw. A single curl of coarse black hair tumbled across his brow, but it was the gleam in his bluish gray eyes that she suddenly recognized. “Mr. Tyler?”
He grinned, and then she knew for sure.
“Sinclair. Tyler Sinclair at your service. Brazos is my older brother.”
LOUIS CASTILLON himself answered Brazos’s knock. “Sin!” the physician exclaimed. “Heaven be praised, Sin has finally returned to Galveston.”
“That’s an old joke, Louis, and it still isn’t funny.” Brazos grinned as he grasped the elderly gentleman’s outstretched hand and clapped him on the shoulder. “However, it tells me I’m home, and that’s a right fine feeling. How’ve you been, sir?”
“Fine, fine. Busy of course, but then, that’s what keeps me young.” He stepped back for Brazos to enter his home. “I was in the kitchen shelling shrimp for tonight’s dinner. Come on back,” he paused and gave Brazos a serious look. “Unless this is a professional call?”
Brazos shook his head. “No, although if that’s gumbo I’m smelling, I could be persuaded to stay for supper.”
A pleased smile wreathed Louis’s face. “You always did like my cooking, didn’t you. Over the years, I’ve found but a few people who have the stomach for my special spices.”
Thinking of the peppery blend favored by this longtime friend, Brazos grinned. “I always liked the ale you’d let me drink to cool off my tongue.”
“Medicinal purposes,” Louis said cheerfully, grabbing his apron as he walked through the kitchen door. Watching the doctor tie the cloth around his waist, Brazos recalled the argument with Madeline. “You know how to bake chocolate cake, Doc?” he asked.
“What?”
“Never mind.” Liquid in a cast-iron pot bubbled on the stove, and Brazos walked over to check the contents. He sniffed. Tomato, onion, garlic. He drew a deep breath, and immediately, his eyes began to water. “What’s in this stuff?”
“Just experimenting with some peppers out of South America,” the doctor explained. “I believe this gumbo may be my best yet.”
Brazos decided to find somewhere else to eat his supper. He washed his hands, then sat at the table to peel shrimp with the doctor. After a few moments of conversation catching up on family and friends, Brazos got down to business. “I need your advice, Louis.”
The physician paused and looked up. “You continue to suffer the blackouts?”
Brazos nodded. He tossed a peeled shrimp into the wooden bowl between them and said, “For a long time, I had none; then a letter arrived from Juanita. I was in Paris in a coffee shop—I’d been there many times, the owner was a friend of mine. I opened the letter and began to read.” Abruptly, he stood and pushed away from the table. Walking to the stove, he picked up a long-handled spoon and began stirring the gumbo. “I woke up three days later in Spain. My shirt was splattered with blood.”