Patricia Rice (3 page)

"The brat stays here. Call her Francine or Josephette or Napoleon Bonaparte for all I care, but she stays here. I'll not send her to that pit of vipers in the city. Calm down, woman, I don't mean to eat her for breakfast!" He roared this last as Madame Dupré increased her wails.

"Come,
madame
, you must calm down. We can discuss this reasonably a little later. Monzure San-Juze needs his rest."

"Bloody damn hell, just call me Nicholas, or Mister Saint-Just! I'm a bloody American like everybody else now. There's no point in fracturing two languages." He stalked toward his wardrobe, ignoring Eavin's pained expression at her placating attempt to use his French name correctly.

"Sure, and we'll poison his milk should he come down to eat," Eavin murmured in a mocking brogue as she led Isabel out.
 

The threat shocked the woman into staring at her, which had the immediate effect of halting her weeping. If the man behind them heard, he gave no indication, and the door slammed after them as they departed.

Eavin's irate expression settled into the calm mold required of any good servant. She might be out of her depth with these high-strung aristocrats, but she had enough experience dealing with people to know how to smooth over any situation. Life in a boardinghouse full of powerful and temperamental men had that effect.

"We must call for the priest and have little Francine baptized before he can change his mind." That served to distract Isabel, although frankly, Eavin fully intended to call the child Jeannette. Two Francines, even when one was dead, was more than one household needed.

Pacified that this one request would be carried out, Isabel hurried to put her plan in motion. Eavin stuck her tongue out at Nicholas's closed door and headed for the outside kitchens. She'd not had any sleep, but that brief nap in twenty-four hours, but it was obvious that no one would sleep while the lion prowled.

It was odd that she had never noticed Saint-Just's true nature while Francine was alive. True, the servants had whispered behind his back and even Francine had occasionally expressed uncertainty about his temper, but Eavin had always thought of Nicholas as the polite gentleman who bowed to her whenever she went in and out of the room. Perhaps he had been on his best behavior while his wife was ill and now felt the need to vent everything he had kept pent up. She could sympathize easily.

She was quite certain Nicholas didn't realize who had taken charge of his kitchen and his servants and returned order out of chaos, but Eavin fully intended to remind him if the need arose. Confined to her bed, Francine had been less than useless in overseeing the help, and they had taken full advantage. They would do so again if Eavin left. It wasn't a large lever, but it might hold open the door until she could find another.

It would be an uphill battle all the way. Reluctant servants, a filthy-tempered man, and a country so strange that it might as well be another planet did not make the task of staying easier. But when Eavin considered the alternative, she set her jaw determinedly.
 

That night, after the child was baptized and arrangements were made for the funeral and Nicholas had disappeared somewhere on his own, Eavin lay in bed wondering if she had made the right decision.

She could die out here and no one would know the difference, or even care. At least back in Baltimore she had her mother and, occasionally, her brother. Before his death, when Dominic had mentioned coming here, he had assured her that his sister and mother would welcome her with open arms, but of course, she had been pregnant then.
 

It had seemed wisest to join his family while she carried his heir, particularly with the British sending their navy up and down the coast to terrorize seaports. But now she no longer carried a child, and it seemed the British were just as likely to take New Orleans as the East Coast.

But she had been told the Saint-Just plantation was far enough up river not to be bothered by the war and close enough to the city not to be a target of Indians.
 

Remembering the helpless infant sleeping in the next room, Eavin knew there had to be a way to stay; she just had to find it. If God had seen fit to deprive her of children of her own, He must have sent her here to take care of Francine's child. The will of God would win out over the temper of a Nicholas Saint-Just.

Chapter 3

Madame Dupré left after the funeral without protest. Eavin wondered what Nicholas had used to buy her off, but that was of no concern to her. That he had not mentioned Eavin leaving was satisfaction enough.

But it couldn't go on forever. Not knowing her place was almost as bad as being told she was unwelcome.
 

Not that Nicholas noticed that she was there. When he was in the house, he haunted the main rooms, where Eavin didn't dare stray. If he ever slept, it was long after she had retired to her own bed. She made certain that meals were available at regular times of the day, but for all she knew, he never ate them. She took to eating hers in the nursery.

It was those times when she was alone with Jeannette that Eavin enjoyed the most. The child was a pure delight, staring unblinkingly at everything around her, crying only when something hurt, sleeping soundly after every meal. Her tiny fingers curled trustingly around Eavin's when she held her, and her head turned eagerly at the sound of her voice. Eavin's heart was well and truly lost before a week was out.

The fact that Jeannette's hair was black and not the blond of her parents only endeared her more to Eavin. It made her that much more like the child she had lost. It was a dangerous attachment, but her miscarriage had only been a few months ago, and the loss was still achingly real.

If Eavin had thought about it, she would have known that she didn't miss Dominic as much as she missed the babe. But Dominic was a part of her life of which she was not particularly proud. It was better to remember her late husband with fondness and let it rest there.

Still, she couldn't let the prowling lion of Nicholas Saint-Just rest. She was growing too attached to Jeannette to find herself out on her ear one day. She had to confront him, one way or another, and make her position clear.

Hearing him roam the downstairs salon one night before she prepared for bed, she straightened the high neck of her mourning gown, checked the ribbons holding the black cotton beneath her breasts, and verified in the mirror that her face was unsmudged. She wrinkled up the small nose that she considered too pert for her face, bit her lips to add color, pinched her cheeks, and strode determinedly to the staircase. That her knees were quaking before she reached the bottom did not deter her in the least.

The door was open, so she saw no reason to knock. The salon was a public room, after all, and it was only her uneasiness at her position that kept Eavin from using it.
 

Nicholas was pouring liquor from a decanter when she entered. As usual, his coat and waistcoat were unbuttoned, and his cravat hung, untied, around his neck. It was as if the clothes required by civilization were too restraining, and he pawed them off as he paced the confines of the cage that was this house. Eavin shrugged away that fantasy. She was nervous enough without conjuring up wild animals.

"If you have a minute…." she hesitated over the proper title and settled on, "sir, I would like to speak with you."

Nicholas lifted a tawny eyebrow and merely gestured for her to take a seat while he completed filling his glass. The lamplight flickered over his golden hair as he impassively regarded the color of the liquid and waited for her to sit.

"I suppose you want money to return to wherever it is you came from." He spoke idly, throwing open a humidor and selecting a cigar. He gestured as if asking permission, but snipped off the tip before Eavin could give it.

Startled by this tack, she wasn't prepared, but she recovered as quickly as she could. "Actually . . . sir . . ."

"Nicholas. Just call me Nicholas. Or Nick. Or monster. Whatever comes easiest." He took a seat and drew on the cigar as he eyed her impatiently.

"Nicholas." Reasserting herself, Eavin began again. It wasn't easy. He was every inch the noble French aristocrat, and there were more inches than she cared to consider. She wasn't a particularly small woman, but she felt almost diminutive in his company. "I would like to stay and look after Jeannette. I realize she doesn't need a nanny yet, but she will, and in the meantime I could help look after the household. I have been doing so for some months now, and you have seemed satisfied with my efforts."

Nicholas sipped his brandy. His side ached, but that helped distract from the aching hollowness that had taken root in his guts. He really wasn't paying much attention to the woman across from him, not any more attention than he would pay the chair she sat on. Francine had bought that frivolous piece of furniture. Francine had wanted her brother's common Irish widow to stay. One was the same as the other.

"The damned house could molder back into the swamp from whence it came for all I care, but you're welcome to try to keep it afloat if you wish. The brat will need a woman of some sort to raise her, I suppose, and you're her aunt. Wherever you came from must be hell indeed if you want to stay here."

Hell wasn't an adequate description. Rising, Eavin nodded agreement. "I come from Baltimore, sir, but I prefer the quiet of the country. If you would excuse me…."

Bored and momentarily amused by her presumption, Nicholas gestured with his cigar. "Sit down. The brat isn't crying yet. You're as entitled to use this room as I am. If we're to rattle around in this empty shell together, it will be a lot simpler if you don't scamper into hiding every time I walk through."

Trying to appear relaxed, Eavin returned to her seat. "I am unaccustomed to sitting idle. I should have my mending, at least."

"You will need light for that. Call for Hattie and have her bring what you need. It's time you learned our indolent life if you mean to take up residence here."

The sarcasm tingeing Nicholas's voice seemed out of place. He was raised to this kind of life. He pursued it with the same languid grace as all the other inhabitants of this tropical country. Why did he mock what he was?
 

Eavin didn't reply but took the bell he handed her and shook it hesitantly. She was too accustomed to being the one on the other end of the call.

And Nicholas seemed to know that. He watched with amusement as the black slave appeared and took her request. Eavin knew she was supposed to order and not ask, but she had two good legs of her own and could have brought the requested mending and lamp without summoning someone to do it for her. The only reason she and the servants had managed some rapport these last months was because she made no unnecessary demands.
 

"They'll give you grief if you're not firmer," Nicholas admonished as the slave hurried to carry out her request.

"If I were paid nothing for my services, I would be resentful, too." Flustered by this unanticipated converse with a man she scarcely knew, Eavin let slip what she thought rather than what she was supposed to say. She waited in horror for the explosion sure to follow.

"You just offered your services for nothing," he reminded her, drawing on his cigar. "Will I have to listen to your complaints in recompense? If so, I'll have to rethink this arrangement."

"I am not complaining." Eavin accepted the basket of mending with a word of thanks that brought another mocking smile to her host. "I am merely stating a fact. If you would prefer I say nothing, then allow me to return to my room. I find it unnerving to sit in silence while someone criticizes my behavior."

"I'm certain 'unnerving' isn't the word, but I stand corrected. I get what I pay for, and if I pay nothing, then I should expect nothing. Perhaps I ought to offer you an allowance."

"That would be most generous of you, but I did not come in here to beg. Room and board is adequate recompense, although I might find it awkward in the future to come to you should I require certain necessities. Dominic left me nothing but his back pay, and I used that to come here."

"Dominic was a young fool to marry when he had nothing to his name." Sipping his drink, Nicholas leaned back in his chair and, indolently throwing one leg over the arm, stared into the cold fireplace.

"He was going off to war with every expectation that he might never return. Wouldn't you prefer to know some of the joys of life before going to death?" Eavin hadn't fooled herself into believing Dominic's passionate vows. Although he had been her own age, he had lived a protected life and was vastly immature compared to her. He had wanted a woman, one who would always be there when he came into port, and she wouldn't give into him without marriage. It had been as simple as that.

Of course, Dominic had told her embroidered lies about his loving family and grand home, and because she had known he was a gentleman far above her station, she had believed him. So they had both got what they bargained for, little or nothing.

"I would prefer to go off to war without leaving a woman and possibly children in poverty, grieving over my death. Dominic was a selfish ass, but it's a little late to tell him that. If he'd had the money to buy you, you both would have been better off, but I suppose he should be congratulated for doing the honorable thing. One must always give credit for honor."

The tone of his voice indicated the opposite belief, but Eavin was in no position to argue. Honor was for those who could afford it. The rest of the world did well to stay alive.