Authors: Jennifer St Giles
"I was accompanied by a driver. Letitia Hayes used to be my best friend. I knew I wouldn't be welcomed there, but I didn't know there would be danger." I should have been appalled by the violence in his story, but I wasn't. He'd fought for my son and me, which touched me deeply. Brushing at the tears on my cheeks, I drew a deep breath. "I left Hayes on his back, and it is going to be a lot longer before he walks." I told Stephen what happened at the Hayes Plantation, then said, "The masked man claimed to be Jean Claude."
"Was it?" Stephen tightened his hold on me.
"No. I didn't recognize his voice. Oh, the driver and the puppy! We must go help them." When we exited the trees, I saw the carriage parked in front of
La Belle.
The coachman was in front of the house, pointing down the street. Papa John and Andre had rifles in their hands.
Stephen called to them as we hurried their way. The moment Andre saw us, he ran. I opened my arms to him and he hugged me tighter than I had ever been hugged before. After a moment, I felt Stephen's hand on my back.
"It would be better if everyone went inside. The man left, but that does not mean he won't come back."
I shivered, remembering his threat. Keeping an arm around Andre, I hurried into
La Belle
, bringing the driver and the injured puppy. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that the animal had been harmed on purpose. I wondered if I would find the evil lurking in the shadows of my life before it destroyed me.
* * *
"No matter what the man said, it wasn't Jean Claude." I paced in front of the French doors of my father's office. Two hours had passed since the attack. The authorities had come, spoken to the driver, and taken my story. Though I told them that the man threatened me and my family, I didn't tell them the man claimed to be Jean Claude. I knew it had not been my husband, and I had assured Andre. Now Stephen and I were alone.
"What makes you so sure?" Stephen stood in the shadows next to the hearth, appearing wholly dangerous, as if the day's events had stripped all semblance of civility from him.
"The attacker was larger than Jean Claude. He did not speak with a French accent as Jean Claude would have. And no matter what Jean Claude's crimes were, he would not threaten me, my sisters, and Andre."
"I agree with you, but for different reasons. A man declaring who he is has no need of a disguise. And were he here to torment you as he claimed, would he tell you to run for your life? The attack was meant to frighten you into leaving your home. You said Mr. Latour has been trying to buy
La Belle
, correct?"
"
Oui
. Do you think it was he?"
"You tell me. Did anything the man do reveal himself to you?"
"No. But I kicked him hard in the shin."
He smiled. "Then we will simply go around and pull up everyone's trouser legs, looking for a bruise. Add my name to the suspect list, since I have a nasty bruise on my leg."
"It was not you."
"How do you know?"
I drew a deep breath, and sent my mind tumbling in the direction my heart had fallen in. "I know it was not you, for I know your touch, and your scent."
"Is that the only reason?"
"No. I know without a doubt you wouldn't hurt me or mine. I trust you." At that moment, I realized that I loved him, deeply, irrevocably. "Stephen," I whispered, my heart in my voice.
He stared at me so intently that I thought he'd cross the room and kiss me. I wanted him to. But he cleared his throat and turned away instead, his hands fisted. "All of this conjecture regarding your husband's return is based on a note. How do you know it was really your sister-in-law who sent it?"
I shook my head, shocked by my feelings and his question. "It appeared to be Josephine's handwriting. I never even thought to doubt the news," I said with surprise. "I think it is time Andre saw his grandfather again."
Stephen crossed the room and took hold of my shoulders. His gaze searched mine, as if he were trying to reach my thoughts, my soul, the very heart of me. More gently than the feathery brush of soft down, he slid his finger along my cheek.
"I never again want to feel the fear that ripped me apart when I saw you being attacked and was too far away to help. You cannot go anywhere alone. I am now your shadow."
I nodded, swallowing thickly. I didn't want to know that terror again, either.
* * *
During the journey down River Road, Stephen regaled Andre and me with so many lively stories that I felt as if I'd lived his childhood with him, his sister Katherine, and his brother Benedict. We entered my sister-in-law's home in a jovial mood that quickly dissipated.
Josephine Boucheron Foucault had never been known for her hospitality, and a decade of postwar struggle had dried any kernel of kindness she might have once possessed. Her butler escorted us to a chilled parlor that held only straight-backed wooden chairs without cushions. The few decorations dotting the room were sparse and dull.
"You were asked to never come here," Josephine growled as she marched into the room, her mouth and face as grimly severe as her home. "My post in no way hinted otherwise."
"So you did write the note about Jean Claude." Part of me had hoped the note a forgery, for I did not want to believe Jean Claude was responsible for the menace stalking us. Yet part of me had hoped that Jean Claude would walk through the door with her. I could then confront his wrongs and move on with my life. "Since you contacted me, you have no one to blame but yourself, Josephine. We have several questions and then, once Andre has seen his grandfather, we will leave."
"Father is unwell"
"All the more reason for Andre to see him," I said. "Have you seen Jean Claude since you wrote to me?"
"No" she said dourly. "He came while I was at church, spoke to father, collected his trunk of belongings, and then left without speaking to me."
"He has not contacted me, either"
"I am not surprised. What man would want a wife who abandoned his family's home when he had to fight?"
I gritted my teeth. Josephine believed that if I had stayed on the Boucheron Plantation, the renegade Federal troops that burned the house and killed Jean Claude's brother would have been more lenient, and subsequently, Jean Claude wouldn't have stolen the gold. "Have you had any contact with him at all since he left the army?"
"I have not."
"Then if you will direct us to Andre's grandfather, we will leave shortly."
"He is in the solarium," she replied tightly, and quit the room without ever looking at Andre or Stephen. We went to the back of the house and through a glass door. The bright sunshine transformed the dullness of the small room. Near the windows, a uniformed nurse sat beside a feeble man in a wheeled chair. He did not resemble the vital man who had carved a successful plantation out of the untamed wilds of Louisiana's swampy land. Sliding my hand into Andre's, I urged him forward. Stephen stayed close behind, making true his shadow promise.
The old man looked up and beamed at us, but instead of looking at Andre, his cloudy eyes were focused on Stephen. "My son, I knew you had not forsaken me. Come sit with me for a while. It was very naughty of you to leave so quickly on your last visit. I have waited so long to see you."
Stephen returned my look of shock.
"What does he mean,
Mère
. Do Monsieur Trevelyan and my father look alike?" Andre murmured.
"No," I whispered, feeling uneasy.
The nurse said, "Don't take mind of his ramblings. He is often confused, and these past few days have been worse."
Leaning down, I met the old man's bleary gaze. "Monsieur Boucheron, do you remember me? I am Juliet, Jean Claude's wife."
The old man looked at Stephen, a broad smile on his face. "You married well, son." He looked at Andre, beaming with pride. "This must be your boy then, my own grandson. Come closer, lad. These old eyes can barely see anymore."
Andre stepped forward awkwardly and held out his hand. "
Grandpere
, I am Andre."
Taking Andre's hand, his grandfather pulled him into a surprisingly strong hug and patted his back with a gnarled hand. "You are a fine boy. The spittin' image of your father when he was a lad. Bet you are a devil at chess, aren't you?" he asked as he released my son.
"I enjoy the game very much," Andre said modestly.
"You have done well, Jean Claude. Thank you, my son, for coming back and for bringing Andre to me." The old man kept his gaze on my son.
I swallowed the lump in my throat as I realized Jean Claude's father held no hatred for Andre and me, despite what Josephine had claimed years ago.
The old man's expression became somber as he looked at Stephen again. "Be careful. I will die before I breathe a word of what little you have told me, but this plan is a dangerous one, and greed is stronger than loyalty to any cause. Watch your back, son."
My heart skipped a beat, but Stephen didn't even blink an eye as he replied, "Tell me what worries you. Would you have me do anything different?"
"The whole setup bothers me," the old man said, his agitation growing. "A spy for us or not, that lad, the... Shepherd Boy, does not have the experience to help you and Roth, should things go wrong." He coughed heavily. "No one is going to believe you innocent, and a man's honor is a hard price to pay for any victory, much less a minor one. But I agree with you: if you are sure our salvation is safe, then at least the families who sacrificed will not starve, no matter what the outcome of the war."
Jean Claude's father lapsed into another coughing spell, suddenly exhausted.
"What are you doing to him?" Josephine shouted as she stomped into the room. "Is your intent to kill him for what little inheritance remains?"
Andre gasped, clearly horrified. Laying a protective hand on him, I faced Josephine. "I pity you. You have so little joy yourself that you try to steal it from others. What has it gained you to keep Andre from his grandfather?"
"I will not have anyone poison my father against his only daughter."
I shook my head sadly. "We will leave, but Andre will be back to see his grandfather, now that I know the truth of things."
I ignored Josephine's ranting as I ushered Andre out of the house with Stephen close behind us. The cloud of Jean Claude's theft and desertion that had hovered darkly over my life now roiled with questions.
"Well, that was enlightening," Stephen said the moment the carriage door shut.
I drew a deep breath. "As confused as Jean Claude's father is, anyone could have claimed to be Jean Claude and collected his trunk. I am beginning to wonder if anything I believed about Jean Claude's betrayal is true."
"You mean my father might not have stolen the gold?" Andre asked.
"
Non
, but it is clear from what your grandfather said that your father did not act alone. And there was a plan and a purpose for the gold."
"I hate to say this, but I must," Stephen said. "What we have is Jean Claude, a man who has never been seen by anyone he cared about since he went on a mission for a cause that he was willing to sacrifice his honor for, so that others would not starve. And we have a plan for seven hundred and fifty thousand in gold that was never put into action."
"You think my father is dead. That he really did die in the war," Andre said, his tone so bleak that my heart wrenched for him. I held my hand out to him and he slid his hand into mine.
"Yes," Stephen said.
No one said more until we were on our way home. The sounds of the creaking carriage, rolling along the rutted road, and an occasional screech of an owl above the low hum of katydids had filled the silence until Stephen spoke again.
"I am curious," Stephen said after a time. "Why did your sister-in-law have Jean Claude's belongings and not you?"
"Josephine claimed everything had been destroyed in a fire."
"If your sister-in-law was any smarter, I might suspect her as being the power behind the malevolent forces darkening your life."
I blinked in surprise because I never even considered her a threat, but from the apparent degree of her hate and resentment toward me, I should have.
C
HAPTER
F
OURTEEN
Upon waking Tuesday morning, I had one thing on my mind: the man who'd filled my hot dreams during the night. I couldn't solve the mystery of Jean Claude's disappearance, but I could reach out for the man I now loved. I went to the French doors with an anticipation for the coming night that not even the heavy rain outside could dampen.
Opening the doors, I almost screamed at finding a man lying at my feet. He rolled over in a flash. "
Bon Dieu
," I gasped.
"Morning," Stephen mumbled, sitting up, damp from the rain.
"What are you doing?" I whispered.
"Guarding the gates of heaven while the world sleeps," he said with an impish smile.
Warmth filled my heart, and I leaned down to cup his beard-roughened cheek in my hand. He brought my fingers to his lips, then turned my hand over and brushed a kiss to my palm and my wrist.
"Stephen," I whispered as he kissed his way higher, rising to his feet. My knees nearly gave way when his lips reached mine, brushing softly at first, and then delving deeply.
"Juliet," he said softly, when he ended the kiss. His gaze sought an answer from me.
"Please," I said. A gripping anticipation captured my pulse as he set his hands on my shoulders.
"Please what, dear Juliet?"
"Love me."
"Yes," he said, swinging me into his arms as his mouth covered mine. He walked to the bed and set me on my feet. "I have longed to touch you again, to feel all of you, to love you."
Taking the hem of my gown, he lifted it over my head, leaving me naked in the lamplight.
He groaned as he raked his gaze over me, his eyes burning. He reached for me, but I stepped back.
"I want to see you, too."
"Whatever the lady wants. Touch me. Feel me. See how much I want you."