Patricia Rice (50 page)

Eavin stared out the glass panes at the desolate lane lined with moss-laden oaks. She heard what Isabel was politely telling her. Nicholas would remain married to Gabriella even if he lived. It would be dishonorable of him not to if Gabriella chose to cancel the annulment. At this moment Eavin didn't care. All she wanted to see was Nicholas riding up to the house, full of the health and vitality. It would be time enough to consider the future then.

"I think I will go up to Jeannette. She likes to be read to, and Annie can't read." Eavin turned on silent heels and walked out.

Isabel watched sorrowfully as she left, then pulled the letter from its hiding place and tore it open, ignoring the fact that it was not addressed to her. Letters were frequently lost in these uncertain days.

Chapter 42

Señor Reyes bowed low over Eavin's hand, straightened, and studied her face intently. Alphonso continued to hold her hand as his father spoke.

"You have been good for my son. You have kept him from acting on impulse, prevented any further tragedies between our houses." Reyes hesitated, then bowing his head with sorrow, murmured for her ears alone, "And you have taken my granddaughter into your arms and cared for her as one of your own. Do not think I have been blind to all that you have done."

Puzzled and not a little frightened at this unexpected visit, Eavin tried to free her hand, but Alphonso would not let it go. This frightened her even more, and she turned to reassure herself that Isabel was still behind her. The sad look on her mother-in-law's face told her more than she wanted to know, and something in Eavin's insides began to crumble and fall.

"Jeannette is my own," she managed to reply. "I would not have it any other way."

"That is good. That will make things easier. I do not know of anything else that will make things easier. I wish I did not have to be the one to bear these tidings. Please do not hold the news against the messenger, my dear lady." The stiff Spanish-accented words held an undertone of grief.

Wildly, Eavin swung her gaze to Alphonso. His expression, too, was grave. She couldn't believe this, wouldn't believe it. Jerking her hand away, she confronted both men. "Please say what you have come to say and be done. I assure you I have no intention of shooting anyone."

"My father has just come from New Orleans,
querida
."

Alphonso held out his hand to her, pleading with her to take it. "Nicholas died last night. There was nothing anyone could do to save him."

The scream Eavin heard was her own, but it didn't seem part of her. It seemed to come from the wind rushing through the room, from the angry waft of jasmine circling in the sudden breeze. Eavin didn't even realize she was falling until someone carried her to the sofa. She didn't recognize anything at all but the words that had snuffed out her existence.

After that, it was as if she moved in a world isolated from the rest by some unseen window. Eavin could hear what the others were saying, see what they were doing, but they meant nothing to her. She didn't even try to reach out to them. She kept searching for Nicholas and not finding him. Surely she ought to be able to feel his spirit as she had felt Francine's. She ought to be able to feel his absence as she had felt the absence of the child she had miscarried.
 

She sought Nicholas's room, held one of his cheroots to her nose to return his scent, buried her face in his pillow, but found evidence only of Gabriella's presence. There was nothing other than this dead numbness in the place where her life had been.

In the days that followed, Eavin heard the others discussing her. It seemed to be agreed that she should no longer be living at the plantation when Gabriella returned. Eavin heard Alphonso's proposal, but she didn't remember agreeing to it. Everyone just seemed to accept that she would, and she did nothing to disillusion them. It seemed too ludicrous even to consider.

Belle had to be told sometime, and there was none other to do it than herself. Eavin didn't know where Michael was, what he was doing. She had heard nothing from him other than a brief message sent back by the old black priest. That just said something about business in town and that he would arrive shortly.
 

"Shortly" stretched into another week and the news couldn't be kept from Belle any longer. Word had already reached the servants, and the quarters were buzzing with gossip and uncertainty. With the master dead, there was no one to guide them. With no announcement made, they could not even express their grief.

Eavin left Isabel to make the announcement to the overseer and slaves, but she took on the task of telling Belle herself. It wasn't really necessary to say anything, she discovered when she paced the room searching for the words and Belle said them for her.

"Nicholas is dead, isn't he? I can't feel it, but I know it. I'm lame, not blind. Raphael didn't die by a hangman's noose, did he?"

Eavin burst into tears then, tears that had not broken through since she had heard the news. They poured from her heart, pieces of broken dreams, a watershed of misery. Until now she had never admitted how much Nicholas had become part of her heart and soul, and now it was too late. She cried for that, too, cried for what she had denied him, for what had never been and could never be now. And she cried for the fatherless child she carried within her.

It was when she reached that point that Belle's words reached her. Eavin looked up and stared at Nicholas's sister with incomprehension, wiping her eyes and trying to stop the quivering that made her feel as if she would never be in control of her life again.

"They say that your Spaniard has asked you to marry him. You must do it at once, give Nicholas's child a name and a home. He took in Jeannette, it is only fair that they take in his child. You must see that, don't you?" Belle demanded, forcing Eavin to meet her eyes.

"No, no, I don't see anything. I can't. This is Nicholas's home. This is where his child should be raised. I can't do it, Belle. I can't leave him. I must stay here."

"Fool!" Angrily, Belle pulled herself upright, ignoring the discomfort of the movement. "That witch will come back here and declare all this hers. She will soon find someone worse than Raphael to share it with her. She will treat you and the child like dirt, and so will all of society. You will have nothing, no power, no control, nothing! I have lost what is mine, but you cannot lose what is yours. You can be someone. You can make a difference. You must stand up and take it while you can. Promise me you will do this. Nicholas would want it of you."

To hear a voice of reason in her present state of confusion made it possible for Eavin to nod agreement. She wasn't even certain what it was she was agreeing to, but it seemed to make sense at the time. She believed the house would belong to Jeannette, but the house didn't seem to matter any longer. Nothing really mattered, but Belle was forcing her to realize there was more to this world than herself. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps she could make a difference. And Nicholas's child deserved a name besides bastard.

Isabel wept with relief when Eavin appeared to agree with her plans. Alphonso was overwhelmed and took her into his arms, only to set her down when Eavin stiffened and pulled away. He apologized, and she looked at him sadly, wondering what she was doing, but she touched his arm and remembered Isabel's words about it being better to be loved, and she hoped they came true.

After that, everything was done for her. The Howells swept down to take over the planning as if they were Eavin's family. With Mr. Howell in Washington on official business, they had no other affairs to conduct, and the quiet wedding that Eavin had envisioned began to turn into something only New Orleans could create.

She stayed out of the way of most of it, avoiding the sudden swarm of social visits. Isabel made it easy for her to escape, providing excuses so Eavin didn't have to listen to hypocritical condolences and congratulations in the same sentence. Eavin saw very little grief at Nicholas's death, and she despised his neighbors for not seeing what they had lost. As far as Eavin could tell, not one had even bothered to attend his funeral. She would have liked to hear of the people who had attended, but it was as if there were an unspoken agreement not to mention it to her. She suffered in silence, refusing to ask anything of anyone.

Eavin wished Michael would come home, but he was undoubtedly seeing to Nicholas's affairs in New Orleans. She had written for him to hurry back, but she couldn't bring herself to mention why. She just handed the letter to Isabel for posting and hoped Michael would hear the urgency. She wondered if she ought to write Daniel too, but the editor was strangely silent, and without Nicholas to bring home the scandalous news sheet, Eavin knew nothing of the outside world.

She assumed
 
Hélène and Gabriella were politely staying in New Orleans until the wedding was over. Eavin would have preferred it if they had come forward and announced their plans and wishes, but that wasn't the way it was done in polite society. She hadn't even heard word from Nicholas's lawyer about Jeannette's guardianship. At times she feared Nicholas had changed his will and left the guardianship to his new wife.
 

She feverishly wished the marriage was over and done with before then, so Alphonso and his father could fight for Jeannette for her. But those aberrations were few and far between. Mostly she dreaded the day that came closer with every passing minute.

Eavin couldn't think about it. She knew it had to be done. The child within her would show shortly. She didn't have the nerve to speak of it to Alphonso. He knew she was a widow and no virgin. Perhaps he could be talked into imagining the child was his own. It would be better for everyone if that was so. She just couldn't picture doing the deed that would give Alphonso the right to think that way. Perhaps he would make the marriage act as simple as Nicholas had done. She could only hope for the best.

But when the day of her wedding arrived, Eavin woke to the morning sickness that she had not suffered until then. Heaving her insides into the chamberpot, she wept brokenly, unable to cope with the thought of what the next hours would bring. Eavin heard Belle yelling in the room next door, heard Annie come running, but she couldn't stop the churning of her insides or the sobs that left her breathless.

Isabel hurried over at the first mention of illness. Lying on the bed with a cool cloth over her head, momentarily calm, Eavin took one look at her mother-in-law and felt the bile rising and turned over and reached for the chamberpot again.
 

Carriages were already arriving; Eavin could hear them from her window. The odors from the kitchen permeated the air. The scent of fresh breads and Creole spices drifted on the unnaturally warm breeze. Eavin's stomach heaved and
tossed
,
and this time Annie reached for the chamberpot.

By noon the women had managed to get Eavin out of bed and bathed, but she turned green every time they tried to dress her. Annie brought Jeannette, and Eavin calmed slightly at the sight of the child's laughing smile and tiny hands reaching for her.
 

Holding Jeannette, Eavin forced herself to think of her future and the future of her unborn child. She had to go through with this. Alphonso would make an excellent father. He was kind and gentle and understanding. He was wealthy enough to keep the children in comfort. And if Nicholas's lands came into Eavin's guardianship, he was wise enough to help her manage them well. She knew there wasn't a greedy bone in Alphonso's body. She was doing the right thing. Nicholas had showed her how it was done. He had married Gabriella because it was the right thing. Eavin could do the same.

Telling herself this over and over, Eavin allowed Isabel and Annie to lead her back to the house. They sneaked her up the back stairs and into her old room, the one Isabel had taken over.
 
Hélène had been using the chamber Nicholas had converted for their use, and Eavin didn't glance at the door now. She would remember
 
Hélène in there and not those hot summer nights when she and Nicholas had lain between the sweaty sheets and become one with the other. That Nicholas was gone, but a part of him lived on inside her. She would do what Nicholas would want her to do.

Eavin had wanted to wear black, but the women wouldn't let her; Nicholas was no relation, after all. It was this inability to mourn him properly that brought home the point that she had only been his mistress, a relationship unrecognized by society even though it was closer than Nicholas had ever been to his wife. Eavin grieved anew at this discovery, but her grief allowed her to continue with the charade of dressing for her new life.

She had been married before. She knew all about the puppet performance that must go on. She hadn't loved Dominic, but she had entrusted her life into his hands with the hope that love would follow. She had tried to be happy that day, but she had actually been paralyzed by fear. This time she knew what to expect, and she could be calm about it. She was a mature woman, probably far more mature than her husband-to-be. She would go down and smile at the guests and give her vows, and Alphonso would take her home with him. She even knew what would happen when she got there, and what would happen after that.

For Eavin fully meant to take charge of her own life from here on out. She wasn't blindly handing herself into anyone's care ever again. Nicholas said he had included her in his will. There would be funds for her somewhere, and if they weren't enough, she had the little hoard that had grown in the years of Nicholas's care. With money in her pocket, she could afford to be independent. And she could continue writing and earning more. If Alphonso didn't like it, she could leave him. The child would have a name, and that was all that mattered. She wanted both children to have a father, but not at the risk of losing herself. Never again.