Creole Fires (13 page)

“I won’t have it, Clarissa,” Alex raged. “I won’t allow you ever to mistreat one of my people again!” He paced the length of the thick Persian carpet, casting huge, dark shadows beneath the crystal chandelier.

He had decided against waiting until morning. He wouldn’t be able to sleep until the episode was settled—one way or another. “How could you do such a thing?” he pressed, fighting the urge to strangle her. Every time he thought of Nicki’s endless hours in the blistering tool shed, it almost made him sick.

“In truth,” she replied, apparently not intimidated, though she stood well out of his reach, “I forgot the little twit was out there. I had so much work to do and—”

“I don’t want to hear it.” Alex raked a hand through his wavy brown hair and forced himself under control. “If you’re to be my wife, there’ll be no more physical violence against my people. That is the understanding we must reach, right here and now. If you can’t abide by that rule, this marriage will not take place.”

“Alex, darling. I can’t believe you’re so upset.” At the hard look in his eyes, Clarissa pulled her heavy gingham wrapper a little closer. She had been readying herself for bed when Alex stormed into the entry demanding to see her.

“But Miz Clarissa done retired,” the butler had told him.

“I don’t give a damn. Tell her she’s to come down here now, or I shall go up and fetch her down.”

From the look of him now, he had meant every word. She had never seen him so angry. “I was only trying to teach the girl the value of self-discipline,” she told him. “If she’s to be of any use to us, she must certainly learn—”

“I’m warning you, Clarissa. This is not open for discussion. Make your decision. Now.”

Clarissa swallowed hard. For the first time since she’d entered into their marriage agreement, she had doubts about her decision. She’d known Alex was a man to be reckoned with; she just hadn’t known the extent to which he intended to impose his authority.

“Am I to have no say at all in the way our household is run?”

“Of course you will. I look forward to your assumption of duties as my wife.” He released a weary breath. “In truth, I could use your help. My concern is with the people you’ll be responsible for. I want them treated with courtesy and respect. I’ll accept no less.”

On this issue he seemed determined. But there would be years ahead of them, years for her to assert herself and her authority. “And the Elmtree household would remain under my supervision, just as it is now?”

“It would be my hope that this more gentle approach might eventually expand to encompass your people as well, but that is up to you.”

“Then I shall do as you ask, and I’m sorry for any inconvenience you feel I may have caused.”
Sorry.
Such a simple word, and yet Alexandre’s little bond servant had nearly choked on it. The very way she said it seemed as though she meant the opposite. No
matter what Alex said, sooner or later the girl would bend to Clarissa’s will or her contract would be sold.

“Then I consider the matter at an end,” Alex told her. “We’ll speak of it no more.”

“Would you care to stay for some tea?” Clarissa asked, grateful the subject was closed. “Or maybe some brandy?” She tucked a strand of pale blond hair up into her nightcap.

“I’ve got a long day tomorrow. I’d better be getting back.”

Alex was a very hard worker. She liked that about him. It was one of the reasons she’d approached him with the idea of marriage in the first place.

“Then I’ll see you sometime next week,” she said. “There’s much I still have to do before the soiree.”

Alex nodded. He bowed formally over her hand and took his leave. Through the heavy lace curtains at the window, she watched him swing into the saddle of his big blooded bay stallion. He was a handsome man. Powerfully built with strong hands and masculine features. She knew his reputation with the ladies, knew he kept a mistress in town, and assumed he intended to continue that arrangement even after their marriage.

It made little difference to Clarissa. She would do her wifely duty, bear him sons, breed children for the state and the country, but the idea of sharing his bed held little appeal.

She wasn’t a virgin, hadn’t been since she’d slept with one of the engravers from her father’s factory when she was seventeen. She had wanted to understand this strange attraction between male and female, especially since she hadn’t known when, if ever, she would marry.

Her night with William Lackey had been sorely disappointing. What a man got out of the sweaty, uncouth rubbing of bodies she couldn’t imagine. As for Clarissa, she’d been celibate ever since.

She hadn’t lied to Alex about her virginity. She had told him the story, and though he’d been surprised at first, he hadn’t doubted the truth of her years of chastity. It seemed fathering male progeny from his own loins was Alex’s only concern.

After her confession, when she had presented her proposal—her plan for uniting the two great plantations through marriage, the meshing of her family’s wealth with that of the du Villiers—Alex had recognized the advantages immediately. The following day he’d agreed, and their plans had been set in motion.

At the age of twenty-four, Clarissa had accomplished all that she could as an unmarried woman living on her own. What she needed now was a man. As the wife of Alexandre du Villier, she would have power and wealth beyond anything she had dreamed.

She worried she would also have a lot more man than she could handle.

The following week Nicole returned to her small attic room. Mrs. Leander had soothed Alex’s concerns about her health, and by the following week her hands had completely healed, allowing her to resume her full load of duties. She was sweeping the entry, immersed in her work, when a commotion outside the front door drew her attention.

Frederick answered the determined knock and a tiny gray-haired woman dressed in elegant black silk mourning clothes swept into the foyer.

“Bonjour
, Frederick,” she said. “Where is my grandson?”

Frederick smiled delightedly. “I’m afraid he’s away on business, madame. You weren’t expected until next week.”

“Well then, I shall have a chance to relax a bit before his return.” She swung her glance to Nicole, whose brows arched in recognition at exactly the same instant.

The gray-haired woman smiled. “Nicole St. Claire,” she said in the French she was most comfortable speaking. “What on earth are you doing here?”

The broom fell with a clatter to the floor. Nicki just stood there, speechless and staring, until the old woman crossed the few paces between them and embraced her. It was a warm embrace, kind and caring. The kind of hug her mother used to give her when Nicki needed it most. Nicole’s throat began to close, the sadness of the past three years rising up like a suffocating wave.

With a whimper that became a sob, Nicki wrapped her arms around the little Frenchwoman’s shoulders. Tears welled and slipped down her cheeks. Her body trembled, and her crying turned to full-blown weeping.

Astonished, Rachael du Villier just held her, rocking her tenderly back and forth and crooning gentle, comforting words in French.

“Grand-mère
is here,” she soothed. “Everything is going to be all right.”

“Oh,
Grand-mère,”
Nicki sobbed.

“There, there,
minette.
You must trust me to take care of you.”

Nicki just nodded. For the first time in the past three years, she no longer felt alone.

Since the foyer was hardly the place for discussion, and Nicki’s crying had finally ceased, they made their way, arm in arm, up the stairs to the room the older woman always occupied during her visits. It was a bright sunny room that dissolved the balance of Nicki’s sorrow.

Rachael led her to the embroidered silk settee in front of the pink-marble hearth. “Now. You will tell me why you are dressed as a servant, and sweeping the entry of my grandson’s home.”

It all tumbled out, in a jumble of words and occasional tears. The whole ugly story. When Nicole had finished, she leaned back against the sofa, too drained to say much more.

“I knew nothing of this. Nothing of your father’s troubles at Meadowood. Alexandre wrote me of Etienne’s death, but made no mention of his family. We assumed you and your mother had returned to England.”

“She had no one left there.”

“Why did you not come to us for help?”

“Your son was already dead by the time things got really bad. Papa went to see François, but he wouldn’t help. He said Alexandre felt the same.”

“François,” she scoffed. With a wave of her hands, she made her feelings for her younger grandson clear. “François is not Alexandre. Surely you did not believe Alex would turn you away once you told him who you were?”

“At first I wasn’t certain. Later, after I came to trust him, it was my pride—a du Villier discovering
St. Claire’s daughter was a bond servant and a criminal. In the end, once I’d learned of Clarissa and Alexandre’s coming marriage, I couldn’t face the idea of leaving the only home I’d known in years.”

“If only you had come to me,
ma fille.”

“I wasn’t even sure you still lived. I didn’t know where to find you.” Fresh tears welled and slipped down her cheeks. “Everything seemed so mixed up, I just didn’t know what to do.”

Rachael dabbed at Nicki’s tears with a lace-trimmed handkerchief. “It does not matter. From now on, you will leave everything to me.” With soldierlike movements that swished the full black skirts of her mourning clothes, worn for the son who’d been dead nearly two years, the old woman marched to the door and began giving orders.

Nicole’s few possessions were to be moved to the room next to Rachael’s. A bath was ordered, and the best dressmaker in New Orleans was to be brought to the house no later than the following morning.

Nicole could scarcely believe the activity around her. “But what about Alex? What will he say when he finds out?”

“Frederick tells me Alexandre is away on business until next week.”

“He’s probably with Lisette,” she said without thinking, then wished she could call back the words.

“His mistress?” Rachael shook her head, eliciting a look of surprise from Nicole.
“Non.
Frederick says he has gone to Mobile to discuss a shipment of sugar. He will be back on Wednesday. There is to be a small dinner party in my honor. We shall see that the daughter of an old family friend is also in attendance.”

Nicki’s eyes went wide. “You mean, you aren’t going to tell him?”

“He should have been smart enough to have seen for himself. Besides”—she smiled mischievously—“this should be so much more entertaining.”

Entertaining?
“Oh, God,” she whispered in English.

“Leave Alexandre to me,” Rachael told her, speaking with the assurance of the grand old duchess she was. But the confidence in the old woman’s words did little to allay Nicki’s fears.

“Grand-mère!”
Alex called out, spotting the old woman on the stairs. When she reached the foyer, he swept her up in a warm bear hug and soundly kissed her weathered cheek. “You’re looking as fit as ever.”

“And you,
mon fils
, look tired. You work too hard, Alexandre.” They embraced again.

“Now that you’ve arrived, I’ve an excuse for a few days off. When did you get in?”

“My ship docked several days early,” Rachael told him. “I arrived last week.”

“I hope you haven’t been bored.”

“Actually, I have been blessed by a visit from an old family friend. Etienne St. Claire’s daughter. I insisted she attend our dinner party.”

“Is she here?”

“Yes.”

“With her mother?”

“I am afraid her mother has passed away.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I hope you’ve extended our condolences and offered any assistance she might need.”

“As a matter of fact, I have.” She smiled at him warmly.

“I look forward to meeting her. She was just a child when last I saw her. I really don’t remember her much.”

“She is quite grown-up now.” Rachael hid an almost wicked smile by bending her head and brushing a piece of lint from the folds of her black bombazine day dress. “As you shall see for yourself at supper.”

Alex nodded. “Until then, why don’t you and I catch up on what’s been going on.”

“An excellent idea, Alexandre. I should like very much to hear exactly what has been going on.”

Nicole took more care with her toilette than she ever had in her life. The bustle of activity below had signaled Alex’s arrival several hours earlier. Time and time again she had been tempted to go him. Tell him the truth herself, instead of waiting, as
grand-mère
had instructed. She hadn’t because the old woman seemed so sure of herself, and of her influence with Alex.

Nicki prayed the duchess was right.

Danielle came in just as Nicki finished her bath and pulled on her chemise. “I have come to assist you, mademoiselle,” Danielle said stiffly, “as Madame du Villier requested. From now on I’m to be your lady’s maid.”

Nicki laid a hand on the plump girl’s arm. “I’m the same person I was last week, Danielle. We were friends then, I hope we still are.”

“Of course, mademoiselle.”

“Then why don’t you just call me Nicki, as you did before.”

“Ah, non
, I could not possibly.”

“It would please me if you would.”

Danielle looked uncertain. “What would
le duc
say?”

Indeed.
What would Alex say? “That is for me to worry about, not you.” Nicki smiled warmly and extended a hand. “Friends?”

Danielle grinned, accepting the handshake and falling back into her usual relaxed manner. “So, if we are still friends, I can tell you about my latest meeting with René.” René Bouteiller was her fiancé.

“You had better. I want to hear every juicy detail.”

Danielle giggled. In her own lush way, she looked feminine and attractive. More than one man had asked for her hand, but René had won her heart. “I will tell you while you get dressed.”

With their relationship back on an even keel, Nicki allowed Danielle to assist with the pretty embroidered undergarments she now wore and to tighten the laces on her corset. Seated on a pale-blue tapestry stool in front of the gilded mirror above the dresser, Nicki fidgeted nervously while Danielle coiffed her hair into a cluster of long copper ringlets that fell below her shoulders on each side of her face.