Authors: Jennifer St Giles
I did not want Mr. Davis to start one of his long conversations, so I cleared my throat. "These are difficult times. Please let us know as soon as possible where we can contact Mr. Maison."
"Uh, Mrs. Boucheron " Mr. Davis said. "I never did get to speak privately about Mignon. I've been waiting for her to feel better."
I bit back a sigh. "Why don't you join us for dinner tomorrow and we can speak afterward." I hoped that during the course of the evening, Mignon would make it clear to Mr. Davis that the discussion he wanted to have was unnecessary.
"Tomorrow, then," he said, smiling.
"Mr. Davis, one last thing," Stephen said as I exited the office. "Where is a good place to eat lunch in the city?"
"Antoine's is an excellent establishment. You will see both the famous and the infamous dining there."
"Thank you." Stephen followed me down the steps.
"Shall we walk to Mr. Latour's office?" I asked.
Stephen agreed.
Strolling down Rue Royale, we passed several shops, glancing at the wares displayed. I paused before the Emporium of Unusual Antiquities and nearly pressed my nose to the window to see what was new. "Look, they've a full suit of armor."
"We've two of them at Trevelyan Manor. One is "a suit of metal; the other is Dobbs, the butler— though he isn't as stiff as he used to be. Ann, my brother's new wife, has managed to loosen up his starch a bit."
The warmth in Stephen's voice brought a smile to my lips.
"Every time you speak of your family, I can hear how much you care for them. Why did you leave?"
"They have a new baby, Elizabeth Ann, and they've built a happy family. They didn't need any reminders of tragedy," he said quietly.
Soon I would push past the stone wall of his past. For now, I glanced again through the window. "You look at the armor and you can almost feel the past, a time with knights and kings and quests. It's like there's a—"
"Story waiting to be told?"
"
Oui
." I moved away, angling my parasol to block the sun. "You have never told me what you write."
"I'm working on a play right now, and finding it thoroughly satisfying."
"Tell me about it."
He smiled. "Not until it's done. Then I'll let you read it."
"I'm intrigued."
"Good. But you're not allowed to go snooping into my room again."
My cheeks burned. "I didn't snoop. I just glanced about"
He laughed. "You snooped. Twice that I know of. Was there more?"
"Certainly not."
"Blushing becomes you. So does making love, " he whispered.
I shut my eyes, trying to escape the intensity of his gaze. "I shouldn't have let that happen."
He sighed. "We've discussed your husband, but we haven't talked about us."
I shook my head. "There can't be an us, Stephen. Jean Claude is alive. I'm married."
"As I see it, he forfeited his rights when he abandoned you and your son. Making love to you was not an ending to my desire, but a beginning of my passion for you."
"My mind is so muddled over everything that has happened, I don't know what to think or do."
He was quiet a moment. "Then what happened in the carriage? Were you making love to me, or trying to avoid a resurrected husband?"
I grabbed his arm, turning to him. Regardless of who might see, I pressed my fingers to his lips. "Never speak such a thing again. I've never wanted a man the way I want you. Every sense cries out for the fulfillment that only you have brought me. When you touch me, when I feel you, nothing else matters. But desiring you isn't going to make my problems go away, nor is it necessarily going to help me make the right decisions. I have a son. I need time to think."
He kissed my fingers, brushing his tongue across their tips, sending more heat and turmoil through me. "I'll give you time. I'm not going anywhere."
I nodded and we moved on to Latour's office, which wasn't as imposing as I thought it would be. The two-story building off Lafayette Square, with its fancily sculpted wrought iron and arched, beveled lead glass windows, was in as much need of repair as
La Belle
. We stepped inside to threadbare carpeting and tarnished brass gasoliers.
Mr. Latour himself greeted us, beaming excitedly above the rim of the spectacles sitting low on his puffy nose. "Come in, come in, Mrs. Boucheron. Please have a seat in my office." He directed us to his inner office. "My assistant is away. Family emergency. May I serve you a refreshment?"
"
Merci
, but I am fine. This isn't a social call. Let me introduce you to Monsieur Trevelyan. Monsieur Trevelyan, this is Monsieur Latour." They shook hands.
The first thing I noticed was the humidor on his desk. Stephen did, too.
"I see that you smoke," Stephen said.
Mr. Latour turned red and flustered. "I, um, used to indulge often. I haven't in a while. The humidor is empty, so I fear I can't offer you one." He turned a jovial smile my way. "Since you are here, Mrs. Boucheron, I assume you have changed your mind about
La Belle
. Fortunately, I have yet to commit Packert Investment Company's funds for another property. They will be so delighted."
I shook my head. "I have not changed my mind about selling
La Belle
, Monsieur Latour. I came today to ease your mind about our welfare, so that you won't be compelled to send any more auction representatives to my door."
Mr. Latour's widening smile froze. "That was a mistake. They misunderstood what I'd said."
"You have heard of Trevelyan Trading Company, have you not?"
"Of course." He shot a quick look toward Stephen.
"I will be leasing acreage on the riverfront to them for a wharf and a warehouse facility," I said with satisfaction.
Mr. Latour's mouth gaped. "But... but... can you legally do so? I mean, without permission from, well, you know?" He shot another glance at Stephen, then at me, twitching his eye as if trying to get me to understand a secret message.
"If you are referring to Mrs. Boucheron's husband, then your answer is yes. She can do so. I have a panel of lawyers that are going to make sure of that." Stephen's tone brooked no argument
"If Jean Claude has a problem with my decision, he can tell me directly," I said.
"I am sorry, what did you say?" Mr. Latour squinted as if blinded by bright light.
"I said Jean Claude can—"
"That's what I thought. Are you feeling ill, Mrs. Boucheron? I mean, you do remember everything that has happened. You do know that this is 1874 and that, well, Jean Claude—"
"Has returned" I pulled out the note from Jean Claude's sister and showed it to him. "I thought he would have contacted you."
Mr. Latour snatched the note I held out. His face went stark white, then flushed purple. "He is back!"
I jumped at the force of his voice.
"Where! Where is he?" Mr. Latour demanded, standing and leaning over his desk at me. "He owes me for what he stole from my family, and I aim to get it back one way or another. Do you understand, Mrs. Boucheron! Now where is he?" He reached out as if he were about to grab my arm. Stephen wrapped his hand around Mr. Latour's wrist and pushed the man back. Off balance, he fell into his desk chair, knocking his spectacles askew when he slammed into the wall behind him. It all happened so quickly, I almost thought I had imagined it
"Surely I misunderstood your intent, Mr. Latour. You were not about to manhandle Mrs. Boucheron, were you?" Stephen's tone cut like a knife through the air.
Mr. Latour shook his head, seemingly recovering his senses. "Certainly not! I, uh, was only reaching out to emphasize how important the information is. I would very much like to speak to Jean Claude."
"So would I.” I retrieved the note about Jean Claude from his desk. "So if you do see my husband, tell him that for me."
C
HAPTER
T
EN
As soon as Stephen and I returned home, I went to the kitchen. Stephen might have been giving me time to think, but the desire in his eyes wasn't. Every time I looked at him, I wanted to reach for him and damn all the consequences.
Mama Louisa stood at the counter, cleaning fish for dinner as Mignon shelled peas, but something was very wrong. I saw Mama Louisa swiping at tears with her sleeve and Mignon nearly mangling the pods she split.
"What is it?" I gripped the back of the chair, thinking that Jean Claude had come to
La Belle
while I was out.
"A miasma is claiming Miz Ginny," Mama Louisa said. "I told you I was feeling them bad spirits."
Mignon gave an angry snort. "I do not believe a word of it. I do not care what Dr. Lanau says. There is no poisonous effluvium floating through the air, draining the life out of my sister."
My breath caught. Twenty years ago, thousands had died from yellow fever, which many had claimed was a miasma of death hanging over the city. I sank into the chair at the kitchen table. "Does Ginette have a fever? Are others in the city ill as well?"
"
Non
," Mignon said. "I asked Dr. Lanau specifically if others were ill. Ginette does not have a fever, though he gave her a sleeping powder and told us to call him if she developed any other symptoms."
"Perhaps she has the ague."
"No chills. No fever. No pain. No cough. No congestion. He just does not know what is wrong with Ginny."
"I think you should call another doctor to see your sister. I have a recommendation, if you wish." Everyone jumped at the sound of Stephen's voice.
I whipped my head around, realizing that I had not even heard his approach. A person would have to walk on air to keep the old planks of the breezeway from groaning. "Ste—"
"And what would another doctor tell us, Monsieur Trevelyan?" Mignon's frustrated interruption saved me from blurting out Stephen's name.
"My friend specializes in exotic illnesses. The focus of his work is researching how to keep diseases from spreading, but he has treated a number of patients with unusual ailments, as well. I am sure he could be here tomorrow."
He had friends so close by? He had given me the impression he was alone in New Orleans. Some things about Stephen didn't match up.
"That would be much appreciated, monsieur," Mignon said.
"I suppose it will do no harm," I agreed. "Is there anything else that you needed, monsieur?"
"I missed breakfast and find myself famished. Might there be any beignets and coffee left?"
I motioned for him to join me and he sat
"I didn't realize you had friends in the city," I said, sliding the tray of beignets toward him.
He took a confection, avoiding my gaze. "I have friends in many cities." He shut his eyes before I could see more, then bit into the soft, sweet, fried dough. I watched pleasure ripple over his features and felt a responding vibration inside. Then he opened his eyes and looked directly at me, causing my insides to clench even tighter.
Mignon set two cups of chicory-flavored coffee on the table. "Ginette wanted me to get some boxes off the high shelf in her room, and I need Mama Louisa to help me. You will not mind if we leave for a few minutes?"
"Boxes? What for?" If Ginette was ill, why was she worrying about boxes?
"We will take care of it." Mignon patted my shoulder and grabbed Mama Louisa's arm, pulling her from the room before I could ask more. With very little subtlety, they'd left me alone with Stephen. Heat flushed my cheeks.
Stephen bit into another beignet, this time leaving a crumb of sugar at the corner of his mouth. Without thinking, I leaned toward him and brushed the sugar away. He grabbed my wrist, bringing my gaze to his.
"Tread carefully," he said. "A husband who has abandoned you for so long isn't proving to be much of a deterrent to me. He doesn't deserve you." It was all there—the desire, the want, the consuming passion that had blazed between us. Everything within me wanted to kiss him again, touch him again, and feel his hard body pressing so intimately into mine. It was too much.
"I must go," I said, jumping up, pulling from his touch. I hurried up the stairs.
Ginette's door hung ajar and I slowed my steps so that I could sneak by, but Mignon's voice brought me to a halt.
"I think my plan is working, Ginny. I left Monsieur Trevelyan alone in the kitchen with Juliet. Monsieur Trevelyan is so wonderful."
I stepped to the doorway, planning to admonish Mignon. But I saw she was indeed retrieving boxes from the top of the armoire and handing them down to Mama Louisa while Ginette lay on the divan.
"From the way they are looking at each other, I say they are already in love."
"Nonnie," Ginette said, before I could speak. "It will never work. I want Juliet to be happy, but as long as she is married to Jean Claude, she will never allow herself to be. Juliet's and my fate are already sealed. It is you who needs to find love."
Mignon turned around sharply. "What do you mean your fate is sealed?"
"Love will never be mine to hold, just as it is with Juliet, but your future is bright. Some young man will come along and find your beauty irresistible."
It pained me deeply to hear Ginette condemn herself to such a fate,
"I do not want a man. I am not ready for love or marriage. I want to travel and see places that I can only read and dream about. I want to reach out and make my own destiny. And you should, too."
Ginette sighed, more heavily than before. "It is too late for me. Can you bring me the blue-flowered box? I need it" she said, her voice wavering.
I moved from the doorway into the corridor and stole quietly to my room. Lying down on my bed, I stared up at the ceiling. How could I not know the hopes, desires, and despair of my own sisters? How did Mignon know of my feelings for Stephen? Were they so apparent? I shut my eyes to rest for a moment. I awoke to darkness. Disoriented, I sat up wondering why I was fully dressed. Judging from the shadows, I must have slept the entire day. After lighting a lamp, I splashed my face with water, smoothed my hair, then went downstairs and I hurried to the kitchen. The boarders would be expecting dinner soon.