Patricia Rice (19 page)

She wondered what fears Nicholas could possibly have run away from. He didn't strike her as the sort to fear anything. But he had to have been young once. She understood his childhood hadn't been a great deal better than hers. It was ironic that they could both come from poor and essentially dishonest backgrounds, but his French family and education made him an aristocrat while her Irish name and religious upbringing made her a servant.

But she wasn't a servant. She was in a brand-new country where the men outnumbered the women and the differences between the classes began to blur. Black slaves were servants here. She wasn't a slave, and she wasn't French, but she was something in between, something just as valuable as anyone else. She had to remember that. Nicholas might poke fun at her accent, but he treated her as an equal. He did it for Jeannette's sake, but that was enough. She could raise herself up as high as she wished to go if she wanted to bad enough.

The question was how high did she wish to go?

When dawn filled the room with light, Eavin leapt from the bed to dress. She didn't have to be just a nanny. She could be Jeannette's aunt and a valuable member of the community, once she figured out what a valuable member of the community did. Most women she knew were married or had been married and had homes of their own. They ran their households for their husbands and children, helped in the church societies, and entertained. Being a dependent relative, she could only do one of the three, but that was a start.

Eavin was surprised to find Nicholas already at the breakfast table. He usually kept later hours than she, but she made no comment as he looked up from his newspaper and greeted her. It had to be yesterday's paper he was reading. Perhaps he hadn't had time to finish it last night.

Michael entered with a sheet of paper covered with numbers, and Eavin realized she was intruding on an impending business discussion. Picking up the cup of tea she had just poured, she started to beat a hasty retreat when Nicholas gestured her back to her seat.

"Don't let us interrupt. I just asked Michael to have breakfast with us before he runs off to the city."

Michael winked at his sister and helped himself to half a dozen
beignets
as he slid into his seat. "Want to go with me, colleen? I'll show you a side to New Orleans I bet this toplofty fellow hasn't shown you."

"I can imagine." As usual, Michael's presence both reassured and irritated Eavin. "You'd be much better off if you wouldn't do anything I wouldn't do."

Michael grinned. 'The next time I look down and find I've become a woman, I'll remember that. Until then you'll have to let me be what I am."

"A stag in rut." Eavin smeared butter on her roll and ignored the rustle of paper and choking sound from the man at the head of the table.

Before Michael could retort, Nicholas threw his folded paper in Eavin's direction. "Now, children, behave," he admonished with a look that silenced Michael's tongue though not his grin. Turning to Eavin, Nicholas pointed at an article near the bottom of the page. "Since you've proved so good with arguing by pen, why don't you turn your talent on this idiot?"

Eavin thoughtfully chewed her roll as she scanned the article while the two men discussed the numbers Michael had produced. The newspaper was the American one that Nicholas had introduced to her, but the writer was obviously French and rebutting some earlier story. He was scathing in his denouncement of the uncouth Americans who would turn New Orleans into a giant marketplace and the theater into a pigsty. He went on to declare that Louisiana should secede from the Union and pledge allegiance to France now that Napoleon had abdicated. Why should New Orleans suffer the plague of war with England when France had settled its differences?

Eavin wasn't certain why Nicholas had given the article to her. She had never been to the theater, but she saw nothing wrong with opening more marketplaces. Would the merchants of New Orleans prefer to starve and go naked? Seceding from the Union was so much balderdash. She had seen enough of that kind of cry in Baltimore, only then it had been the New England states crying the same thing when Louisiana had been admitted as a slave state. Men were behaving like petulant children who refused to play when they couldn't get their own way.

That thought brought a sudden gleam to Eavin's eye. French Louisiana would be the snobbish little brat who wouldn't play with the others because she might get her hands dirty. The New England states resembled querulous brothers constantly bickering and kicking and fighting with one another, while ganging up on everyone else. Virginia—well, Virginia would have to be the older child who smiled smugly on the antics of the younger children while dabbling dangerously in waters too deep for her to swim in.

The possibilities were amusing. Eavin could see them coming to life now, and her fingers itched for an excuse to hold a pen. She scarcely noticed when Michael pecked her cheek in farewell, and Nicholas had to remove the paper from her hand when he tried to address her before she would respond.

"Well? What do you think? Can you argue with the man?"

Still lost in her thoughts, Eavin returned to reality, focusing on his voice before the question. When his words registered, she stared at Nicholas without comprehension. "Why should I? Who would care what I thought?"

"The same people who care what that idiot thinks. They don't print names, so you needn't worry about that. I haven't got time to answer the fool, or I would. I thought it might amuse you. Besides, the paper will pay for an article. You can add the coins to that little store under your mattress."

"I don't keep money under my mattress," Eavin replied frostily. "Any thief would know to look there."

Nicholas grinned. "But you're hiding it somewhere, aren't you? I never see you spend any of the money I give you. Do you think I'm going to throw you out on the street without a cent someday?"

Eavin primly removed a crumb stuck to the upper curve of her bodice, deciding she resembled a pouter pigeon in gray, before deigning to answer Nicholas's nonsensical question. "It's been known to happen. Or you could gamble everything away or lose it all in a flood, and I would be no better off than before. I'll not take that chance, thank you."

"I won't, you know." Serious now, Nicholas rose from the table. "But you're entitled to do as you will. I'd recommend putting the coins in a bank, though. They'll not do you much good under the Mississippi if a flood is what you fear."

"Men run banks," she informed him.

"So they do, but all men love wealthy widows. I will introduce you to some bankers when we return to New Orleans." Without warning, Nicholas placed a peck on her cheek in the identical place that Michael had earlier, then striding out, left Eavin to hold her reddened face in peace.

* * *

She was having difficulty keeping the rambunctious Kentucky child out of her elder sister Virginia's problems. Eavin was quite certain that this wasn't the kind of article that Nicholas had in mind when he had suggested that she write, but she didn't care a fig for his opinion. If she could earn coins from a newspaper article, it might as well be for one she wanted to write, and one that gave her great pleasure. From her observations, these New Orleans newspapers preferred trivia to news in any case.

She hated to set her pen aside when Clemmie announced she had a caller, but neighbors were so far and few that she couldn't refuse to greet one. Wiping ink off her hands, Eavin hurried out to the hallway.

Hat in hand, Alphonso Reyes waited patiently. Although he was not tall, his slenderness gave that appearance. His solemn dark features broke into a tentative smile at Eavin's greeting, and he made a courtly bow that left no strand of his ebony hair out of place. Eavin was quite certain that Nicholas would come up looking like a lion should he ever bend so low, but then, she couldn't see him bending that low for anyone. She held out her hand, and Alphonso brought it to his lips to kiss it.

That particular habit disturbed her, but Eavin tried to be polite about it. She was a stranger in a foreign land, and she must get used to the local customs. "It's good to see you, Alphonso. Won't you come in the salon? I'll have Clemmie bring you something cool to drink. I'm sure the heat outside must be oppressive."

Alphonso followed her into the
petite salle
, but his concentration was evidently set on one object, and he ignored any distraction. "I have come to ask you to accompany me to the Howells' ball next week. It would give me great pleasure if you would say yes."

Startled by his intensity, Eavin evaded an immediate response by taking a seat. She was vaguely irritated that Alphonso did not follow suit, but she could understand nervousness. What she didn't understand was why he should be nervous with her.

"I am flattered, Alphonso, but I can't think that your father would approve. There are enough hard feelings between Nicholas and Señor Reyes without searching for ways to create more. Please sit, and let us just talk about pleasant things."

Alphonso obstinately remained standing, looming over her with what she could only identify as a noble Spanish frown.

"Nicholas should have no claim on what you do. I would halt these rumors now, before your reputation is irrevocably damaged."

Perhaps she should be flattered that he sought to protect her, but she didn't place much trust in the idea of male protection. She folded her hands in her lap and sought to remain polite. "What rumors, may I ask?"
 

The Howells had dutifully informed her of the ridiculous slanders concerning Nicholas and Francine, and even Jeannette. One of the benefits of taking Jeannette to New Orleans had been to disprove the theory that Nicholas had murdered the child. But accompanying Alphonso anywhere wouldn't prove anything that she knew of.

Alphonso's face darkened. "You live here unchaperoned with a man of destructive nature. It is only natural that gossip should pair your name with his. I wish to put an end to such tales."

Eavin smiled wryly, remembering the prior night's argument. "That is generous of you, sir, but not necessary. Your intentions could only do more harm than good. If you truly wished to be helpful, you would find some way to reconcile your father and Nicholas, but I suppose only a saint could grant that."

A smile glimmered at the edge of his thin lips. "Thank you for recognizing that I am no saint. Neither am I my brother. You will be safe in my company."

"Your father would come after me with a sword if I accompanied you. I have no name and no wealth, and I'm quite certain that's what your family intends for their remaining son—unless Raphael has returned from wherever he has disappeared?"

Alphonso sank onto the chair beside her and played with the edge of his hat. "It is true that they expect me to take his place, but I cannot. There is a betrothal contract binding Raphael to the daughter of a noble house in Spain. My father wishes me to stand in his stead, but I am not Raphael. I do not need title or wealth. I never expected either. I thought to be a priest until this happened with Raphael. I will acknowledge that it is now my duty to carry on the family name unless my brother returns, but I cannot go to Spain to find my future. I wish to remain here."

Eavin touched his hand in sympathy. "Families can sometimes make life difficult, but they only want what is best for us. It is just that we often disagree on what is best."

Alphonso's hand closed eagerly around hers, and he looked up as if ready to make some confession, but a movement in the doorway brought him to a frozen halt.

"How very touching. Alphonso, I suggest you leave before your father finds out where you are. I have a reputation to keep up, and it doesn't include dueling with children and old men."

"Nicholas!" Infuriated at this treatment of a gentle boy, Eavin jumped up, ready to do combat. "You have no right to insult my guests."

Alphonso rose with her and nodded stiffly to his host. "I did not think I had done anything to offend you. Pardon my misunderstanding if the rumors I have heard of you and Mrs. Dupré are true."

"Alphonso!" Now thoroughly outraged, Eavin swung around to confront this betrayal.

"Leave him alone, Eavin. He's only spewing the poison his father has fed him. You will know your real friends by the trust they have in you." Nicholas strode into the room carrying the scent of the horse he had just dismounted, his hair tangled and blown from the wind. Next to Alphonso's elegant slenderness, Nicholas appeared almost bestial, but his voice held the dangerously cool tones of an aristocrat.

"Then if there is naught between you, there is no reason Mrs. Dupré cannot accompany me to the Howells' ball," Alphonso stated emphatically, meeting his antagonist's gaze and ignoring the ire of the woman beside him.

"Sure, and there damned well is!" Eavin exploded. "I'm the reason I will not accompany you to the ball. Remember me? While the two of you glare daggers at each other, I shall be in the nursery. Let me know when you decide to be humans again."

Nicholas imagined he heard the rustle of ruffled feathers as Eavin flew by, but he made no attempt to stop her. He had nothing against Alphonso, but the treachery of the man's father could lead to anything, and he would have Eavin out of the way of it. When she was gone, he asked sardonically, "Does that mean she thinks we're animals?"

Alphonso's glare was still suspicious, but the tension in his clenched fists relaxed a degree. "I do not understand women well, but I think you are correct. Do all American women swear?"